#the only time I was close to actually fainting was when I almost got carbon monoxide poisoning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

internalsealpanic · 4 years

Text

Cosmonauts

Summary: You always call Tim space related nicknames. No one knows why.

A/n: This is technically a follow up to Art Gallery Smile but it can be read on its own. This was posted on mobile so Idk how bad it got formatted. Will edit when I get to my laptop.

Warnings: mentions of panic attack and anxiety. No graphic detail but just in case. (Yes, I gave Tim anxiety. Fight me.)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“IT WAS ZOMBIE ADJACENT,” Roz protests, shoving another one of Tim’s fries into her gaping maw in a vain attempt to stop the petulant pout retching its way to her lips. You roll your eyes hard enough that your entire head follows along with their movement, taking a nibble of your own fries. Roz scowls, mouth twitching the way yours does (4 times to the left and 4 and a half times to the right) it was honestly the only way to tell that you two were related in any shape or form.

“It wasn’t even close, you deep-fried stick of margarine,”

“It shambled, didn’t it?”

“So does Space Case over here when you don’t funnel enough caffeine into his system, what’s your point?” You bite out leaning back, slinging your arm over the back of the bench and over Tim’s shoulder making his breath hitch. Tim can feel his skin heat up. For once, he’s thankful for just how much Roz hordes your attention. He’s starting to run out of excuses for the color of his cheeks. Not that you ever fell for any of it from the way you hummed every time he stammered out his excuse.

Based on the way your hand flexes and not so subtly moves away, you noticed his flush but made no comment. Instead, you grin- all sharp teeth and cocksure and smug bastard- leveling your older cousin a look which roughly translated to ‘Checkmate, motherfucker’. Despite his apprehension, Tim can’t help the smile that twitched on to his lips. Your eyes flickered to him. It might just be his imagination but Tim was pretty sure he saw fondness chip away at your smug grin. Tim kind of wants to lean into your arm but instead, he leans forward pretending to pay attention hiding his smile in his hands. His face is gonna get tired from smiling too much around you.

"It wasn't even close,"

"It was freaky looking,"

"Damn woman, you're being real judgy there,"

“Back me up here Duckie!” Roz screeches, shoulders hiking up making her look like a frazzled cat about to hiss pulling Tim away from his reverie. You roll your eyes all the way to the back of your head while Steph just snorts. Tim sighs. None of you have stopped calling him ‘Duckie’ or ‘Ducktective’ after that stint of being ‘Drake’. Admittedly, it wasn’t his best idea but you didn’t have to laugh that hard and slap your knee. When you were done laughing, you vehemently protested the name change by wearing your precious, well-kept, one of a kind Red Robin hoodie for the duration of the ‘Drake’ thing. You had said it was to bring him back to his senses (sense of fashion). Maybe you just wanted to fluster him. He certainly couldn’t put it past you. It worked. Oh, it definitely worked. Now, all he could think about was how nice you looked in his colors which inevitably lead him to think about how nice you would look in his shirts, in his clothes- Damn it. He’s doing it again.

Roz clears her throat. It is loud and rough and it makes all of you wince despite the already loud atmosphere of the cafeteria. Really what does Roz expect him to say? One, Tim wasn’t fully paying attention. How could he when you two are smooshed together on a cramped cafeteria bench with you still wearing your Red Robin hoodie? Tim’s surprised he isn’t keeling over. Two-

“See! Even our darling-” Tim’s brain short circuits. “Space Cadet can’t even defend your bullshit,” you laugh reaching over to Roz’s drink leaning a little too close to Tim’s face. He can almost feel the heat radiating off your skin.

If I lean in just a little more, I could probably…

“It isn’t bullshit!”

“You’re right! Bullshit has more substance-”

“Sooooo, what’s with all the space nicknames for Tim? When do I get one?” Steph asks casually, popping another of Tim’s fries into her mouth.

Has he even eaten any of his fries? It’s almost gone and he’s eaten at most one.

You choke making a pained noise, likely due to said carbonated drink going into your nostrils (and possibly your lungs), as you turn away. Your neck visibly red from where Tim is sitting. Based on the sparkle in Steph’s eyes, she can see it too. A manic grin spreads on Roz’s face wide enough that Tim legitimately worries that it’ll split her face wide open. A shrill sort of giggle escapes her which has you whipping your head to her direction to scowl at her. It does absolutely nothing to deter the sheer glee on her face as she sneers back to you. Some secret conversation passes between the two of you. Tim and Steph watch in slow motion as mortification creeps on to your face.

Suddenly (not really), Tim’s thankful that his only sister is practically a saint. At least compared to the horror that is Roz.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, you have a plethora of space-themed nicknames for him when you aren’t busy calling him whatever endearingly aggravating name Steph came up with that week.

Cosmo

Space Case

Space Nuts

Rocket Man

Martian Manhunter

Marvin (the Martian)

And your favorite, Cosmonaut.

At first, he figures it was because of his obsession love for Star Wars and Star Trek but no, that couldn’t be it since you had started calling him that long before you two ended up marathoning the entirety of Star Trek instead of working on your project. He can still remember just how engrossed you looked while watching as you hugged your knees to your chest leaning forward as you waited for the next episode to start up with bated breath. Your features highlighted by the glow of the laptop screen making it very easy for Tim to memorize the contours and angles of your expression. Yet another moment Tim really wanted to capture with a photo. You even did your mouth twitch thing without noticing.

He really wanted to just keep an entire album of all the different expressions you made. Wait. That sounds weird. Does it sound weird? It probably does.

Then again, maybe you called him those because of just how much of a weirdo he was. He couldn’t blame you if you did. But he found that highly unlikely. Sure, you can be mean at times (a lot of times) but you were too oblique for that. Years in customer service made sure of that. Your jabs were usually of the subtler, more needling variety. The type that makes you pause for too long. Plus, you said every nickname with a fondness that made his heart skip a beat. It was like when you called Roz or Steph ‘Fucker’. Maybe a little warmer. Or he could just be imagining that. Probably. Hopefully not. It was hard to get the honey-sweet way you said them out of his head.

Maybe they were just jabs. Lighthearted one. They could have just had easily been comments on just how much he spaced out. Tim has a tendency to live in his own head and it shows especially when he’s stressed or tired or both. Sometimes he would completely shut down as a result of excess anxiety. He can still remember the number of times he had let his anxieties run rampant letting them drag him away from the moment. His breaths were too quick to back then. He felt like he was gonna faint but then you just smiled at him like you were there for him which as it turned out you were. You gently squeezed each segment of his fingers until his breaths slowed. Even when he did fully calm down, you didn’t relinquish his hand. You held them firmly in your own even as you looked entirely unsure of what to do and what to say. You didn’t whisper the usual ‘you’re ok’ or the classic ‘you’ll be fine’. No, you just sat there with him quietly. Letting his feelings ebb and flow as he needed them to.

Tim really isn’t sure what he did to deserve even knowing someone like you but he would do it again and again if it meant being able to stick close to you.

Roz, ever the agent of chaos, throws a conspiratorial smile around the table like a flail. You look like you’ve been hit by one.

“Sorry, Steph. You won’t get one,” she says glancing at you. Steph pouts before she and Tim follow Roz’s gaze expecting you to glower or snarl or get up to deck her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. You just kind of sit there frozen and mortified with a face that simply says ‘Oh. God. This is happening.’. All you can really do is mouth a ‘fuck you’. This obviously pleases Roz. Say what you will about Roz, but there is abso-fucking-lutely no denying that she is petty as hell when it comes to revenge. Nothing is sacred to this woman. Nothing.

“Why’s that?” Steph asks innocently, smiling around her bendy straw also enjoying this rare chance to torment you.

“I’m so glad you asked!” Roz answers her voice twisting into a horrifying facsimile of a daytime talk show host. You peel your arm away from the backrest and place your arms over your head and neck as you do in an earthquake drill bracing for impact. By the way, you were shaking, you’d think there was an actual earthquake. Your reasoning can’t be that stupid.

“My dear Stephanie-” Steph scrunches her nose at the overly sweet tone Roz lathers on her name but makes no move to interrupt. “(y/n) only uses space-related nicknames for people they think are- and I quote- ‘waaaaaay outta their league’,” You let out a pained groan and Steph’s face unfurls as she lets out the loudest snort, loud enough to draw the attention of several tables around them.

Tim’s mind is still reeling, still trying to process what Roz just said.

Him?

Out of your league?

Excuse him, isn’t it the other way around?

What the hell?

“Tim, for the love of Alfred, please unhear that,” you plead wetly, parking your head out just enough for Tim to see just how red your face has gotten. “God, please unhear it or I might just die,” Tim kind of didn’t doubt that you would. Steph somehow laughs even louder at this. Roz, not one to miss pouring salt in the wound, laughs along with her. You look like you wanted to implode out of existence. You could certainly try but Tim seriously doubts the universe is kind enough to let you escape.

Yeah, Tim’s brain has officially left the building. He’ll be back at 9 o’clock sharp tomorrow. Promise.

“You mean to tell me that-” Steph chokes, unable to control her laughing fit. “-You’re telling me that you’ve been watching them pine for each other for over a year now and you just let them?!” Steph wheezes still holding her stomach.

Roz looks offended and makes a whiny little noise. “Weeeell, technically I offered to wingman-”

“YOU WERE GONNA CHARGE ME FIFTY BUCKS,”

“Hey, matchmaking is hard,”

“It isn’t worth fifty bucks!”

“You’re right! It is worth so much more,”

“God, I hate you,” you groan into the table.

“God can’t help you now, kid,”

Tim frowns, mind backtracking to dissect the information. Apparently, his brain decided to clock back in.

They knew. Even Roz ‘I don’t give a shit what you do as long as it doesn’t affect me’ Andrada, noticed. Was he that obvious?

A year? Wait. No. Over a year. They knew about this for over a year.

Lastly, what do you mean each other?! As in mutual? Mutual pining?

As if reading his thoughts, you ask “Wait… what do you mean each other?”

Roz blinks at you not entirely sure if you’re being funny. When you give her a look, she slumps back in her chair. “I’m related to a dumbass,”

“That you are. Speaking of dumbasses-” Steph whips her attention to Tim giving him a shit-eating grin.”-You said you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask (y/n) out, right?” Steph waves her hands doing jazz hands as she points at your still dumbstruck figure. She’s smiling as if she was the world’s best wingman at the moment.

Tim suppresses a groan. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured it,”

Roz reaches into her pocket and produces a lighter. Grabbing the last of Tim’s fries and lighting it. “There. Mood lighting. Do the thing.”

“Ah yes, because surely the scent of burning potatoes is gonna sweep (y/n ) off their feet,” Tim said flatly crossing his arms. He knows he’s definitely focusing on the wrong thing but as with all things it was easier to procrastinate. This is especially true when you’re afraid of the outcome.

Roz huffs, waving the fry to extinguish it and muttering something about beggars and choosers. “Trust me kid that isn’t hard to do. Besides, did you not hear the part where I quoted (y/n) about you being ‘outta their league’,” You open your mouth to protest but slam it shut when Roz gives you a lopsided grin looking like she had a mountain of dirt on you which she likely did. He was definitely thankful that she has never met his family. He’s pretty sure Gotham wouldn’t survive.

“How could I possibly be out of (y/n)’s league. I- I don’t- I mean- I’m not-”

Your body twists his way fast enough that he’s sure you either have whiplash or a twisted spine. Your eyes are set on him glowering as if he’d said something wrong. He’s pretty sure he didn’t although he did have a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. Your jaw is set tight, your teeth almost grind. He could see the tight hitch in your shoulders. He is 100% sure you’re going to deck him.

“Do you want it listed alphabetically or what?”

“What?”

“Structure it like an argumentative essay. Speak nerd.” Roz instructs, earning her the full force of your glare. Your face pinches even more. Maybe this was the part where you implode.

You suck in a calming breath before turning back to Tim.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are a fucking moron, and here’s why:” Taking another breath, you turn to face him fully your cheeks reddening but you press on either from pure unadulterated spite or determination.

“You quite literally co-run a multibillion-dollar corporation. You’ve been doing that since you were seventeen apparently. You know several languages and you are not only fluent but proficient. You’re well versed in an insane amount of fighting styles. You are the smartest dumbass I know-”

“Preach!” Steph jokes.

“-You can basically operate any machinery I put in front of you. I have no doubt you can Macgyver one up if you fucking wanted. You could hack into any system you want just as a joke. You could probably throw the entire global economy into the toilet just for shits and giggles. Need I go on?”

Tim looks at you wide-eyed and speechless. You shrink a little as he continues to gape at you but you keep looking him in the eyes daring him to refute your claims. Really what was there to say? As much as he wants to come up with something witty to snap back at you, his chest is too crowded with warmth from the absolute sincerity of your voice. He knows you didn’t set out to make him fall deeper in love with you but he feels like he’s in free fall with your gravity pulling him downwards. Tim can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears.

You shrink again, your mouth twitching. “I-” Another calming breath. “I said too much. But my point stands!” The infinitesimal gap he felt between the two of you practically vanished. Still, he could do nothing but stare. Words fail him in the most inopportune moments even when you look so desperate for any kind of response. You swallow thickly looking like you think you’ve ruined everything when the fact was you haven’t. Quite the opposite really. Tim feels like he could take on the entirety of Gotham’s rogue gallery right now. Still, his brain was drawing a blank.

“Mood,” His brain has short-circuited and is now beyond repair. His palm is in his face before he even sees your reaction. You give him an entire speech about how great he is and all he can say is ‘mood’. Looking over at Steph and seeing her phone on her hands, he can tell she’s already transcribing the events to the group chat. Well, It can’t get any worse.

You giggle snort eyes slamming shut from the force of your laughter. Joy suffuses throughout your tense body, loosening your tense muscles. “Thank you for proving my point,” you say between gasps.

Tim falls victim to the infectious smile spreading on your face. He feels the warmth crowding his chest grow fuzzy.

Now’s your chance.

Tim takes a steadying breath. He rolls his shoulder back to straighten his posture. He waits for you to calm yourself a bit. When you do, he asks as confidently as he can “Are you free this Saturday?”

“No,”

Oh crap. He knew he screwed up. He feels cold seep into his feet.

You shake your head at his panic. “I work Saturday, ET,”

“Oh, I-”

“I have all of Sunday off though,” A hum of excitement spreads through his limbs. “Name your time,”

“9 AM?”

You give him a look roughly translating to ‘You aren’t going to lose sleep over a date, so help me’.

“11:30?” He corrects. You smile and hum seemingly making the oxygen in the atmosphere disappear. He finds that he doesn’t mind, not when he feels like he’s floating on zero gravity.

-------------------------------------------------

Bonus:

Steph: Tim’s a dumbass😌🙃

Damian: Thank you for stating the obvious, Brown.

Step: 🙄 Do you wanna hear about it or not?

Dick: 👀We’re listening…

Steph: (Y/n) made this whole speech about Tim and all Tim could say was 'mood' cycgu9c8ychic8td 5d8fcouv9ygpuv

Jason: F

Duke: F

Cass: F

Babs: F

Dick: F

---------------

Thanks for reading!!!!!

Taglist:

@idkmanicantenglish, @batarella, @batarella-mini, @birdy-bat-writes, @anothertimdrakestan, @founduebitches , @lucy-roo

#tim drake imagines #tim drake x reader #tim drake #batboys #step brother #wingmanning is hard #batfam #red robin #dc fanfiction #dc x reader

190 notes · View notes

zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

Text

Hello sweetheart!! I’m really a huge fan for you and your page, honestly I’M IN LOVE WITH!!❤️❤️

So I see your request is open. So If you don’t mind and have time could you write a scenario or headcanon whatever you are comfortable with, about Kin’s and Kaito's during and after marriage each one is separate? Don’t get me wrong I don’t mean they get married from each other no I mean they married from their lovers. How would dadovehaul react to his children?? I appreciate your time to read my suggestion :) I hope that you will receive this🥺

(A/n): I'm so glad to see you like my work and i apologize for taking too long 😫🙏

To be honest Kai isn't much fazed until he notices that both his son and daughter aren't going to live in the Hassaikai but instead in another house.

When he heard that from his son from the first time after he married Haru both him and Kurono losed their shits.

"There is plently of space here brat." He said with crossed arms as his son only arched one eyebrow before sighing, scratching the back of his neck.

"Dad is just literally three houses away from the Hassaikai and you literally rule this whole neighborhood."

Kai is still petulant about letting his first born move out but is at least relieved that he both gets back two times at a week along with his wife and that he lives close enough.

Although... Kin was a bit difficult to let go.

Is his baby girl after all, it didn't mattered that she wore a ring on her finger and even himself got her to the altar, he was hopeful to at least have his daughter close to him.

Although you prevent him to kill Naoko. So Kin has no worries.

Different from kaito, Kin doesn't live that close but still on the same neighborhood.

Kaito, much to everyone's dismay, is a carbon copy of Kai but with the morals of both his mother and grandfather. A true gentleman but anti social as fuck.

Treats Haru much like Kai does with you but with more affection since he isn't a germophobic/mysophobic like his dad.

Kurono is always watching his daughter and what Kaito does by the way.

The now (H/c) eyed male always talk about bussines and other things with his father and always tell that when the time of him take over the Hassaikai he will move back.

Chisaki is actually impressed by his son's maturity since he only moved out to get some free and good time with his wife not because he wanted to ran away.

*Relieved Chisaki noises*

While Kin is much like you but with the tendencies of her father, the house of Naoko and her is like... shining bright. Seriously, you can even see yourself on the floor.

Kai was never so proud on his life.

Kin is very mature and likes to take care of things on her own while Naoko is just proud looking at wife he got for himself.

Kin visits a lot you and Chisaki since she does want to keep in touch with you both and her little brother (HA GOT YOU ALL CHISAKI GOT A THIRD KID)

The third kid was born when kin had 13 so no worries tell me if you want me to introduce the newest member Kazuya

Kin and Kaito always remain in touch in anything. Speaking about about how both their partners are doing and things aside.

Chisaki's daughter isn't much in detail with the Hassaikai bussines only offers her help with things involving count of money and such, asides of that? She doesn't know neither wants to.

About grandkids, Kai isn't much found because he still has the image of his son and daughter being kids.

Chisaki almost fainted when he came to know that his son was getting twins and his daughter triplets.

Asides from that, even if he doesn't want to admit it, he does enjoy that his kids still keep in touch with him. It meant that he wasn't a disgrace as a father for Kai so is much relieved on that part.

Enjoys that both his three kids get along pretty well and how kind and lovingly does them treats you.

So, after more then four decades.... Chisaki could sigh in relief and watch how it is to see a kid grow up to form into both a fine man and a smart young woman.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki kai #overhaul #bnha x reader #bnha au #chisaki family au #kaito chisaki #kin chisaki #kazuya chisaki #bnha villains x reader #haru Kurono #naoko #zuffer writings #submission

96 notes · View notes

sakurablossomcreamlatte · 4 years

Text

tiny giants made of tinier giants

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines

Characters: Dipper Pines, Ford Pines, Stan Pines (mentioned), Mabel Pines (mentioned)

Words: 3,596

Summary: “It’s two AM, and Ford has a visitor.”

[AO3]

why would I work on any of my own WIPs or try and get my life together when I could write oneshots

(this work was inspired by this super sweet comic by @rosesanddoodl3s! I hope you don’t mind, I just really loved it and had to write some of my feels out)

Ford’s been back in his own world for approximately thirty-two hours, and yet it’s almost like he never left - sitting at his desk in his old room, scribbling in the back of his second journal and muttering hissed curses between his teeth. The Oregon sky sits inky and indigo outside the panes of his window, studded with stars, and despite their apathetic, twinkling benevolence Ford can’t shake the feeling that they’re watching him.

It’s not something he can just let go of after thirty years on the run between dimensions.

On top of snatching away his chance to finally take out that demon once and for all, mercilessly and swiftly as he was powerless to stop it - his idiot brother’s activation of the portal literally created an interdimensional rift. He spent most of the day figuring out a way to contain it... and subsequently wrestling the slippery splashes of interdimensional matter around the portal room into the glass orb he was able to create. At least he’s in good enough shape to do so, despite his age - not that Stan would have a clue, if the beer gut he’s developed over the years is anything to go by.

He crosses out one equation and scribbles another, tugging at his hair in frustration. All that stands between Bill and his goals now is a veil of worryingly breakable glass.

There has to be something else he can use to protect everyone until he can find something stronger. Project Mentem, maybe? Would the machine still even work? It would probably need some level of repair after thirty years of disuse - not that he’d even used it successfully the first time round.

A tentative knock on the door jolts him from the letters and numbers that are starting to spin on the pages in front of his eyes, and he really hopes it’s not Stan - but then again, Stan’s not really the type to knock either. Brow creasing, Ford turns to face the door. “Yes?”

The door slowly creaks open, and he can’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow at the sight of the boy twin - Dipper, that’s it - hovering apprehensively in the doorway, clutching what looks like the comforter from his bed. “Um, Great-Uncle Ford?”

“Dipper?” Ford frowns again, closing the journal and setting his pen down as he checks his watch. It’s after two AM. “What are you doing up?”

Dipper hesitantly crosses the threshold, and as he steps into the dim light of the room Ford notices that his eyes are red - and a little puffy. “I, uh…” he averts his gaze, biting his lip, “...couldn’t sleep.”

“I… see.” Ford can feel his heart sink a little. Dipper and Mabel were certainly a lot to take in upon his arrival back in this dimension, considering the thought of descendants hadn’t even crossed his mind - but they seemed assured of themselves, despite the way Dipper had almost fainted and/or thrown up upon discovering that yes, Ford was the one who wrote the journal he was clutching in his hands. The bright-eyed expression of hope and determination the boy had turned to him with as he’d pulled the memory eraser gun from his rucksack was a stark contrast to the one on his face now, and Ford’s struck out of nowhere with a sudden urge to protect him - his sister, too. He’s only known them for a day and he already knows he never wants to see them cry. Ever.

Stan might want him to stay away from them, but he certainly can’t stop him from caring about them - and if Dipper’s down here of his own volition, Ford certainly won’t push him away. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Something like that.” Dipper hugs the comforter to himself a little tighter, and Ford makes a decision, rising from his desk and crossing the room to take a seat on the couch. The kid’s wide-eyed gaze follows him, and Ford simply pats the cushion next to him as an invitation.

Dipper comes to sit on the couch next to him, tugging the worn, patched blanket around his shoulders. There’s still something hesitant in the movements of his limbs, like he’s holding himself back, and something twinges uncomfortably within Ford’s chest. He doesn’t want either of the children to feel like that around him - but he just wants to protect them from the dangers Stan’s opened their world up to, regardless of how inadvertent it might have been, and for that he probably needs to keep his distance. Even now he feels like he’s breaking some arbitrary rule, with Dipper perched on the couch at his side - before a wave of indignation washes it away. It’s Ford’s house, damn it, not Stan’s - despite what he may have told them… and everyone else in this town.

“Any reason you came to me rather than Stan…?” Ford ventures. He’s absolutely not against it - if anything, he feels strangely honoured that one of the kids came to him seemingly looking for comfort - but considering how long they’ve known him against how long they’ve known Stan, he has to wonder why. Dipper simply stares at his socked feet instead.

Were ten year olds always this… small? Both the boy and his sister barely come up to Ford’s - and Stan’s - elbows. Are they just short for their age? What were we like compared to Dad?

He wonders if it’s a good thing that he’s struggling to remember.

“I….” Dipper starts, and then seemingly gives up on himself, thin shoulders slumping with a sigh. “Sorry. I just - I dunno. I don’t think Grunkle Stan’s… mad at me, as such, but I kind of… said some things to him yesterday.” He averts his eyes, curling a little further in on himself.

Of course. Ford’s still smarting at the idea that his brother claimed his name as his own (and almost certainly amassed an impressive criminal record under it). Stan obviously cares about these kids - that part’s so glaringly obvious that even Ford can’t deny it - but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s essentially betrayed them.

“Well,” Ford concedes, “it’s… a lot to take in. I think you’re handling it better than I might have at the age of ten.”

Dipper looks up at him, stricken. “I’m twelve.”

Ford makes a mental note to correct his journal entry on the boy later. “I see. My apologies.”

His great-nephew (and that feels so bizarre to think, knowing that less than forty-eight hours ago he wasn’t even aware of the kid’s existence) just deflates even further. “It’s... okay, I guess. I know I’m short.” He pulls his knees up to his chest. “I mean, it’s just really annoying right now. Grunkle Stan’s really tall - and so are you, actually - and so’s my dad. I guess I can’t be short forever, but… I dunno.”

Right, their father. Shermie’s boy - David.

“How is Shermie, anyway?” Ford ventures, and no sooner have the words left his mouth than he wishes he hadn’t asked - because at the mention of their elder brother’s name Stan’s face immediately falls, any light that might have remained leaving his eyes, and that tells Ford pretty much everything he needs to know.

“What’s your father like?”

The question leaves Ford’s lips before he even really has the time to think about how random it is. He hasn’t even seen David since… what, Thanksgiving in third year of college? His nephew was barely four or five years old at that point, a rambunctious child with big brown eyes and a mop of chestnut-coloured curls who gleefully ran around their parents’ apartment while Shermie chased after him, throwing out frantic, stuttered apologies in their dad’s direction. It’s crossed Ford’s mind every now and then while jumping between dimensions, but he’s always pushed it away just as quickly, not wanting to dwell on the pain of everything else he threw away the second he shook Bill’s hand.

Dipper’s seemingly just as taken aback by the question as Ford is, and when he lifts his head to look up at him, brown eyes wide beneath his fluffy chestnut fringe, for a second it’s almost like he’s looking at a carbon copy of David himself… although he thankfully hasn’t inherited the infamous Pines nose. “My dad?”

“Ah - yes.” Ford coughs, averts his own eyes. “I suppose - well, Mom babysat for Shermie sometimes.”

Dipper’s brow lifts a little in the light of recognition, before furrowing again in thought. “He’s…” he trails off, visibly searching for the right adjective. “Nice. Kinda goofy, I guess. Mom always says that’s where Mabel gets it from.”

“What does he do?” Ford presses.

“He’s a software programmer.” Dipper’s shoulders relax, if only by a fraction. “And Mom’s a lawyer.”

“A software programmer, huh?” A memory of Fiddleford holding up a laptop prototype with bright, shining eyes briefly floats to the surface, and a stinging pang of regret bounces painfully against the inside of Ford’s ribcage, and he tries to focus on the child sitting next to him - family that he didn’t even know he had. It’s more than he expected, and more than he could have asked for. “Does he work a lot?”

“Yeah,” Dipper answers, kicking his feet under the seat of the couch. “He has his own business, but he works from home a couple of days a week - and he tries cooking dinner sometimes, but he’s not great at it.” His shoulders twitch beneath his blanket, the shadow of a laugh bubbling up. “One time he made us spaghetti sauce with ramen noodles - it was so gross. When Mom got home we ended up ordering Chinese food instead.”

Ford has to chuckle at that. “You know Shermie was never a great cook, either.”

Dipper relaxes a little more, and his shoulder bumps against Ford’s elbow as he leans a tiny bit closer. “I don’t remember a whole lot about Grandpa Shermie,” he admits, hesitantly. “Mom always says he really loved us, though. And Dad always took us to the planetarium on our birthday, because he said that was his favourite thing to do with his dad when he was a kid.”

And even if Ford’s trying to stave off his own looming anxiety about the very real possibility of the world as they know it ending, there’s something in his nephew’s words that lifts his own battle-scarred heart by just a touch. Maybe it’s knowing now that for all he left behind him when he hightailed it out of Backupsmore with two PhDs and a fat research grant cheque, back home Shermie turned out to be a good man, bringing the happy, excitable child Ford once knew as his nephew along that path with him. Seeing that David apparently grew up to be a good man himself, if the little smile that tugs at the corner of Dipper’s mouth when he talks about his parents is anything to go by.

At least someone in this family of ours turned out to be remotely functional.

Ford’s next question emerges a little more easily, the distance between them slowly beginning to close in fractional increments. “Did they give you your nickname?”

The question had already arisen when Stan was catching him up on the family history - the name Mabel is a little old-fashioned, although sweet in its charm, but surely nobody would ever call their child Dipper legitimately? - and Stan had simply shrugged and grunted something along the lines of, ‘Look at the little goofus’s forehead. It’s like someone spilled hot sauce on his face.’

He would, if the kid would stop vibrating with anxiety/pen clicks long enough to sit still. Not that it was even necessary, with the carefully inked sketch - which, sure enough, was a dead ringer for the Big Dipper - he’d found flipping through the third journal under the entry titled, ‘Your new author!’.

He’s ten - no, twelve. Ford won’t hold it against him.

Back in the present, Dipper nods. “Dad said Grandpa pointed it out to him when we were little and then he couldn’t unsee it, and then they both started calling me Dipper and it just… stuck.” He hugs his knees. “I feel like it fits. My real name’s kind of dumb, anyway.”

There’s probably not much that could be dumber than naming a pair of twins Stanford and Stanley, but Ford decides not to push it. “Well, it’s certainly unique.”

Dipper shrugs and averts his gaze, and a silence falls between them… but after a few moments, there’s a soft weight against Ford’s arm as he leans against him.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his arm to rest it around the boy’s shoulders. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s expecting - but Dipper doesn’t jolt, or flinch away. Instead, he simply shifts to rest his head against Ford’s chest with a soft exhale.

That in itself can only be a testament to the kind of fathers Shermie and David turned out to be. When Mabel threw her little sweater-clad arms around his neck earlier that night and chirped, “goodnight, Grunkle Ford!”, the wave of longing and affection that surged through his chest was so powerful that it both ached and almost took him off his feet at the same time.

He’d forgotten what love - and the affection that goes hand in hand with it - felt like, and in one simple hug from a niece he didn’t even know he had, it had come rushing back with all the force of a tsunami. These kids - Mabel especially - are so strangely warm and open, with each other, and with Stan and that young man - what was his name, Zeus? no, Soos - and now with Ford himself, too. And Dipper could barely make eye contact or stop shaking, but in the middle of the night, worn down by exhaustion - and he hasn’t missed the shadows under the boy’s eyes, either - he’s far more subdued, seemingly removed from the stammering, gagging ball of pen-clicking anxiety that had first greeted him after he’d set foot back in this world.

Either way, they’re certainly a far cry from himself and Stan.

Belatedly, Ford realises that his eyes are stinging a little, and he awkwardly clears his throat. Dipper doesn’t say anything. Beneath his fringe, his eyes are distant, and Ford can only wonder what he’s thinking.

“Is…” he winces at how his own voice breaks the silence, but they’ve already crossed this line. He doesn’t even know what it means to be an uncle, but if something’s bothering the kid, he wants to help. “Is there... another reason you can’t sleep, Dipper?”

This town’s fascinating, but it’s also dangerous, and in those six years he lived here Ford had more than his fair share of close shaves. Dipper’s thin arms are covered by his blanket right now, but during the day, the thin lines and dots of scars and scrapes that traverse his skin haven’t escaped Ford’s attention.

Ford can only wonder what he’s seen, and he hopes to God it’s not the same thing that sparked his own suffocating paranoia.

He can feel Dipper’s shoulders stiffen beneath his forearm, and for a few long moments, another silence descends.

When Dipper does answer, his voice is quiet, partially muffled by his comforter. “S-sometimes it’s just…” he trails off, shifting slightly against Ford’s chest. “Difficult.”

It doesn’t exactly provide much of an explanation, and Ford sighs. It was probably a step too far to expect Dipper to open up right away - if anything, he’s grateful for the way he’s here with him now, even if it’s explicitly against Stan’s wishes.

Dipper’s voice breaks the quiet once again. “Anyway… I wanna know more about you. Like…” he trails off, searching. “What were you and Grunkle Stan like when you were twelve?”

A laugh bubbles up in Ford’s chest at the innocence of the question. It’s a lifetime ago now, like Stan had said. Before they thought anything could ever break them apart, when they were just two identical best friends - brothers, even - with a dream of sailing away from their shitty little town.

“Didn’t Stan already tell you? He was a troublemaker and I was… well, a nerd, I suppose.”

Dipper leans against his side, relaxing once again - and it’s a relief. If they have to do this on his terms, that’s fine. Hopefully the kid might open up to him when he’s ready, whenever that may be. “I mean… we heard Stan’s side of the story. I guess I wanted to hear yours.”

Ford casts his mind back. “Well, Stan wasn’t wrong - he was a troublemaker.” A chuckle. “But then again, I suppose I wasn’t entirely innocent either…”

The stories flow from him more easily than he would expect them to - for some reason, it doesn’t hurt as much to tell Dipper, who listens, giggles here and there, occasionally interjects with some quip or aside that shows Ford that for all that’s happened in the last forty or fifty years, there are parts of his brother that haven’t necessarily changed. With each story he recalls, hazy days gone by that leave his lips as a shared memory, Dipper slumps a little further into his lap - and in some complete paradox, the heavier the kid rests against him, the lighter his heart feels.

Somewhere in the back of his mind as he’s regaling Dipper with the tale of Fiddleford’s disastrous attempt at a college open mic night - guest starring that godforsaken banjo - he wonders if it might be worth revising the entry he wrote about the kid in the third journal.

It’s still painful to think about Fiddleford, though, and Ford hopes that one day he’ll get the chance to apologise.

Even so, it still comes back to Stan. It often does. And for some reason, it’s easier to separate them in his mind - Stanley, the goofy, scrappy little smartass with half his front teeth missing who always pulled Ford up by his armpits when bullies knocked him down and tried to pin most of his mishaps on Shanklin the possum, and Stan, the exhausted, hollow-eyed stranger in a hooded jacket who showed up on his doorstep on that fateful day in 1982… who’s evidently reinvented himself as the man they now know as Stanford Pines, with a fez perched atop his now-grey hair and lies and blatant falsehoods falling from his lips.

“It’s kind of crazy imagining Grunkle Stan as a kid,” Dipper murmurs. He looks like he’s having a progressively harder time trying to keep his eyes open. “Like… Mabel and I only ever knew him as this weird old scam artist guy.”

Ford can feel the smile tug at his lips. Dipper and Mabel are going to grow up one day, too, and he hopes he’ll be able to witness it. “Well, we were all children once.”

It’s like he’s taking a back seat to himself as he tells Dipper these stories from another life. If he thinks about Stan and what they’ve become, it hurts - even if it’s dulled into a detached ache over the years, the occasional wave comes, raw and fresh, and it’s sharp like a knife. If he thinks about Stanley, it still hurts - but the edges are softened by the miasma that nostalgia casts over everything, and that’s not quite as painful. At least back then, he knew some sort of happiness, and at least he can vaguely recall what it felt like.

He can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him at the memory of Stan trying to convince their mother that the person who set off the whole school’s sprinklers and took off into the distance shouting ‘that’s how Stan Pines does it, suckers!’ was someone trying to frame him, and the way she’d absolutely eviscerated him in response.

“...and that was the last time Stanley ever lied to our mom.”

There’s no response from Dipper this time - no giggle, or eye-roll, or dry quip - and he looks down to see that the kid’s drifted off in his lap, head pillowed against Ford’s thigh as he breathes, slow and soft.

Well. In fairness, that was pretty much what he came down here for. Objective achieved… more or less.

Tentatively, he runs his hand over Dipper’s hair. It’s a complete bird’s nest - he obviously doesn’t brush it that often - but it’s thick and fluffy, just like David’s had been as a child. The heavy curtain of Mabel’s long tresses that had hit him in the face when she’d hugged him had been more or less the same.

Twins run in the family, he’d written in the journal. It’s a comforting thought - if anything, knowing that they hopefully won’t turn out like him and Stan.

He hadn’t wanted to throw it away - neither of them had, but Stan had no idea what he was dealing with, and if he had any inkling of just how dangerous the forces he was messing with were, most likely didn’t care. Irresponsible and knuckleheaded to a fault, from childhood to now - and honestly, probably to eternity.

As a scientist, Ford is used to determining things by probability and likelihood. Each situation has a predetermined number of potential outcomes… but sometimes, something greater - fate, the universe - has a hand in things. And maybe this time, she’s granted Ford a second chance of sorts. There’s a second generation of Pines twins, and they might have the potential to be better than he and Stan ever were.

“Alright, my boy,” he mutters to the one currently sleeping in his lap. “Let’s get you back into your own bed before Stan notices.”

#own writing #dipper pines #stanford pines #ford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction

69 notes · View notes

goatbi · 4 years

Text

Deep Dark Sea Chapter Seven

Coomer and Tommy disappeared under the water, Gordon flicked his head towards Bubby. Bubby stared back him, feeling a bit more than a little nervous, the dark glare on Gordon’s face scaring him a bit. He hadn’t even done anything. He wanted to run from that, but knew that he couldn’t, not down here, and instead stared back, keeping his face flat. He wasn’t going to let Gordon know he was scared.

Darnold’s eyes flicked between them for a moment, before he slowly sunk down in the water, leaving Benrey, who had yet to fully surface, just his eyes above the water, watching them quietly. It did nothing to ease his nerves, as his eyes began to flick between the two of them, trying to figure out if they were purposefully trying to threaten him or not.

“I don’t trust you.” Gordon said, and Bubby looked away from Benrey, raising an eyebrow.

“You think I trust you?” He answered, almost cursing his smart mouth. Now was not the time for this. Gordon shifted forwards in the water, eyes narrowed at him. Benrey disappeared under the water for a second, before reappearing next to Gordon, grabbing onto his arm and yanking it downwards. Gordon resisted it at first, but only long enough to send another glare at Bubby before disappearing under the water.

For a moment, Bubby wondered if he was losing his mind. Then Coomer resurfaced, and Bubby didn’t actually care that much. “Sorry about... them. They’re a bit protective.”

“Understandable. I don’t think the ocean is the safest place to live for anything.” Coomer smiled, pulling himself up on his human arms to hang on the edge of the bay like he had done the last few times, and Bubby smiled, shifting closer towards him slightly. “Still. Don’t appreciate Gordon glaring at me like that. I haven’t done anything.”

“The people before you almost did... I think he’s worried, but I’ve been around longer than him, and humans aren’t usually jerks. They just... tend not to understand us.” He smiled sheepishly up at Bubby, who almost looked sad.

“Yeah... Anything different from the norm and they don’t get it, huh?” Bubby said softly, before shaking his head, slouching down a bit and leaning his elbows on his knees, head in his hands to look down at him again. Coomer smiled up at him. “Is it rude of me to ask what happened to his arm?”

To his surprise, Coomer laughed, and Bubby found himself distracted by it for a moment, eyes going wide. Coomer shifted, then ducked under the water, just barely, Bubby could still see him, and almost hear him calling something to Gordon. He resurfaced, grinning at him. “So. Gordon-”

“Don’t listen to a word he says!” Gordon resurfaced, too fast for his hair again, which plastered itself all over his face. He growled, ducking under to surface right.

“He got into a fight with a great white. Just a normal one, and when he came back, he tried to hide it from us.” Gordon surfaced again, almost pouting behind Coomer. “As if we don’t have Darnold who can smell his blood. He was obviously in pain, but the fact that he tried to hide it from us cause he was embarrassed about fighting a great white...”

“Coomer, you are the worst type of person.” Gordon muttered, as Bubby snickered softly, looking back at him. For a second he watched, as Gordon tugged a lose piece of hair off of his face, then hummed, trying to think of a way to get him to trust him a bit more. Bubby stood suddenly.

“I’ll be right back.”

Why in the world they had given Bubby hair ties would elude him for as long as he was down here, but they were still there, in the pack they came in, and he slipped one onto his wrist, pausing for a moment, before grabbing a soda from the fridge, popping it open as he walked into the pool again, to find they had been joined by the others once more. Tommy had shifted himself up, and Bubby could see more of his form, but not all of it. How big was he, exactly, Bubby wondered idly, taking a sip of the soda and setting it next to Coomer, before circling around to Gordon. “Here. This’ll help.”

Gordon pushed away from the edge of the pool to stare up at him suspiciously, and Bubby sighed, sitting there, motioning him back. “It’ll keep your hair out of your eyes, and I’m the only one who knows how that works.” Gordon seemed at least slightly swayed by that, and drifted closer, turning to let Bubby put his hair up. Once down, Bubby stood, circling back around to see Coomer holding the can of soda, staring at it with his head tilted. As Gordon disappeared under the water, obviously to see if Bubby was lying to him or not, Bubby settled back into his spot in front of Coomer, carefully taking the can from him to take another sip.

Coomer watched this, before Bubby offered the can back to him. Coomer took it again, mimicking what he had seen Bubby do, before pulling back, blinking a few times. Bubby laughed, taking the can back from him, glancing up at the others watching him. “It’s soda.” He debated it a moment, before setting the can down again. “I’ll go grab some more.”

He grabbed a few cans, and came back in just as Gordon surfaced, grinning. “It works!” Gordon spun around, having surface with his head down just to see, and Bubby nodded, setting down a soda can near him, opening it.

“Told you.” He grinned, passing them around carefully, making sure to open each one for them, unsure if they could do so with the claws some of them had. When he passed one to Benrey, who surfaced enough for that, Benrey didn’t even go to drink it, just dug his teeth into the top of the metal. Bubby could respect that, settling back in front of Coomer, who had stolen his can for his own, grinning.

Bubby watched on, not warning any of them of the carbonation, which brought mixed results, to his great pleasure. Still, they all seemed to go back to it, enjoying it at the very least, and Bubby hummed, looking down at Coomer. “You stole mine.”

Coomer just grinned up at him, taking another sip. “So I did.” Bubby huffed in fake annoyance, but after a moment, grinned, snatching it back suddenly.

“I don’t want to get up again. Guess we just have to share.” Coomer blinked, before grinning at him, eyes shining. It was strange, to get such a reaction from stealing his own soda back, but didn’t think much of it.

“How long does this thing last?” Gordon spoke up, and Bubby looked up from him, saw him pointing at the hair tie.

“I have no clue, but I do have more if that one breaks. Why they gave it to me when.” He gestured up at his own head, partially bald as he was. “I have no clue. But I have them.” He glanced around the others, wondering if they would need it, but Gordon seemed to be the only one having a major problem with it.

Gordon nodded slowly, sending him a look that made him feel like Gordon still didn’t trust him. That was fine. A single hair tie shouldn’t make him trust... but it still made him uneasy. Gordon could kill him easily. Well... They all could, but that was besides the point. Gordon seemed to be the protector of the group, though he couldn’t tell if the others had injuries similar they were hiding in the dark water. He really couldn't’ tell much.

“Will you sing again?” Coomer spoke up suddenly, and Bubby looked down at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I can, though I’m still not sure why you like it that much...” He looked around for his IPod, seeing it across the bay on one of the tables. He shifted back to stand and grab it, but yawned as he stood, shaking his head.

“I just like your voice... are you tired?” Coomer followed along the edge of the pool as Bubby walked.

“Well, I was getting close to bed when I saw you two float past.” He grabbed the IPod, going to turn it on, only to find the battery dead. He frowned at it, and Coomer sighed.

“You should sleep. Sleep is important for a healthy mind, Bubby!” Bubby looked over at him, then around at the others for a moment, as they slowly sipped at their sodas, getting used to the carbonation.

He didn’t want to leave, but... well, now that they knew he knew about them, they would come back, right? At the very least, Coomer would, if only to hear him singing again. He nodded slightly lifting the IPod up a bit. “It’s dead anyways. Need to charge it. I’ll come back when I wake up. Just leave the cans around and I can get rid of them.” He yawned again, waving a hand back at them, watching Coomer for a moment, as he stared back, before slipping through the door and down the hall to his room.

Laying there in the dark, hearing the faint sounds of them talking, since he hadn’t fully shut the door, Bubby realized something.

He was completely, and utterly, fucked.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #bubby #dr. coomer #gordon freeman hlvrai #benrey #tommy coolatta #darnold #hlvrai mermaid au #Feelings In Various Ways #bubby means that last line in the 'oh fuck im in love with a fish' way

29 notes · View notes

medeafive · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Nick Fury, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Sharon Carter (Marvel) Additional Tags: Vampires, I only write AUs now don't ask, Vampire Hunters, Going for dark and gritty here, Set in Prague because I love it, Suicide mentions, Late 90s Summary:

She's good. Really good. She's done this longer than almost anyone else and no one tracks vampires down better than her. That's the only thing that matters. Hunt and kill. He has white eyes and a black cloak. He's either an impostor or, judging by the color of his eyes, the most dangerous vampire she's ever met. And he's not going to leave her alone.

"Are you hurt?" he asks.

She blushes. "No, no. Cut healed cleanly. It's just- that time of the month. I may be sterilized but I still get my period."

They are walking alongside the Vltava in Holešovice. Not a pretty neighborhood if you don't want to get into the parks leading to the Castle. He sniffs. "Wow. I really smell that."

She snorts. "Come on. That's creepy."

"Sorry," he replies. "Can't change it, though. So we should probably get somewhere indoors."

"Don't wanna take on a hunting party?" she asks. "That would be fun. Haven't been in a fight in a while."

"They're allies," he remarks. "I shouldn't bother them more than I have to."

"You're boring," she accuses. "Let's cross over. I know a place."

She always liked Karlín, the old townhouses, streets lined with trees, art nouveau architecture. It would be even prettier without vampires, if the cafés and bars could open longer, people would sit outside more, all that. If everyone didn't look scared.

The apartment is on the highest floor, including a balcony and all. Not very useful now. The couple who lived here moved out quite orderly, leaving the big pieces of furniture behind. It seems a little like they're just on a very long holiday.

"You know, I've been wondering," she remarks, casually placing her guns and knives on the table. "Does Schmidt actually have red skin?"

"Oh yeah." He looks around, the empty nails where photos must have hung, maybe even art. "He does."

"Creepy," she finds. "What about Zola?"

"No." He walks to the window. "It was just the very first version, I think. I don't know."

"Why did they even send you to recruit me?" she asks. "No offense, but you're not exactly convincing."

He snorts. "I'm reliable. I do as I'm told. The- what did you call it- the mind control works better on some than on others. Don't ask me why."

"So they're worried this might go off the rails?" she asks. "Why?"

"Someone else might have already drunk you," he replies. "Everything that's not just murdering people is a delicate mission. Some have less control over their urges."

She snorts. "Oh, great. You were the most boring, controlled, sophisticated vampire they could find."

"I was told not to hurt you," he says, turning around. "And I don't want to. I like you, actually."

"You don't want to drink my blood?" she asks, walking over. "Honestly. Come on, you smell it."

"Wouldn't mind a little sip, to be perfectly honest," he admits. "But I really don't want to hurt you. I promised."

"That wouldn't turn me," she clarifies. "Really? You could stop after just a little?"

He grins, fangs shining golden. "Is that an offer?"

"Fuck off," she returns. "No."

He shrugs, unimpressed. "That's too risky for you suddenly? But injecting vampire blood was totally okay?"

"I stopped," she points out. "And I didn't grow fangs or claws, so what. Though I… I felt like I could smell better. Maybe I was getting some vampire senses."

"Possible," he admits. "After all, nobody knows all of the effects."

"It didn't heal the scars, though," she tells him. "Wounds were gone quickly but the scars stayed."

"The virus doesn't care about scars," he explains. "No impact on function. So no, those never go away."

"You have a lot?" she asks.

He snorts. "Come on. Don't make me take off my shirt."

She steps back and reaches for the biteguard around her neck. "I can go first."

He looks intrigued. "Sure you wanna take off the armor?"

"I won't smell more of blood," she points out, unclasping the biteguard and reaching for the zipper that was underneath. "Deal?"

"Okay," he breathes. "Deal."

She pulls the zipper unceremoniously down to the belt with the red hourglass, pulling the arms from the plated sleeves. She's pale, too. Not like she spends her days lying on the beach. She shows him her forearms, with all the scars. "We didn't have the carbon fibre and the kevlar at the beginning. Got scratched a lot."

"You went out there to fight vampires without proper protection?" he asks, staring at the pale skin and the even paler scars. "You could've died ."

"Yeah, no shit," she returns. "Wasn't fun, bleeding and then having to deal with vampires in a blood frenzy. Yeah, I've really been doing this for a long time. Uh, that one's from when they cut open my belly to take out the ovaries. That one, I actually got shot. Accident."

He unties the black cloak. "You're insane."

"Fuck off," she repeats, uncomfortable feeling broiling in her belly. "Not my fault."

"You could've stopped," he suggests, opening straps on his leather jacket. "Not like you owed anyone anything."

"While the world was going to shit?" she questions. "Hell no."

He pulls the jacket open. She's not prepared for how bad his left arm really looks, the metal forced in, red red lines on white skin. And the red bite. It looks worse than just a scar, somehow alive. He pulls the black shirt over his head, too.

His entire chest is covered in scars, both faint and strong. She takes a deep breath. "What happened to you?"

He doesn't put the shirt down, sort of self-consciously hiding behind it. "We train. Fight. It's brutal."

"I can see that," she mutters, fingers darting forward carefully. "Can I- mind if I-"

"Please," he blurts out, fisting the shirt. "It's- he says he only wants the strong ones to survive. The others are useless."

"Kill or be killed," she mutters, finger tracing over the white cold hard line that gives in under her touch. "I'm sorry. That- he really is a monster."

He snorts softly, pushing the shirt off his wrists. "Thanks. Uh- that kinda tickles."

"Seriously?" she questions, pressing her entire palm to his scarred abs. "You're ticklish?"

"What about it," he replies. "I'm not dead, for the umpteenth time."

"You're cold like it, though," she remarks, pressing her other palm to his cold hard chest. "How does that feel, other than warm?"

"Honestly," he says. "Pretty nice."

His chest has warmed up to her by now. She takes the hand away, then touches again. Still warm. The scars look really fucking bad, though. "So you're one of the strong ones."

"For now," he whispers. "Yeah."

"And the…" She kicks the black cloak on the floor. "That one. That doesn't help?"

"It's just a cloak," he says. "He's trying to develop better vampires, stronger, faster. If I can't keep up, if I'm no longer useful… I guess that would be it."

"He's using you," she whispers, leaning in. "You're just a disposable tool to him."

He doesn't reply before her lips touch his, cold for just a second, she feels the fangs pressing through but it doesn't really bother her, weirdly enough, he kisses her back and she grips his chest, fingers digging in. He's warm now, alive. She opens her mouth, swiping her tongue over his beautiful lips, over the fang, cold and smooth gold, carefully over the tip, his hands come to her hips, very careful. His tongue comes out and tangles with hers. Her fingers dig in even harder, soft skin, but then she pulls back to catch a breath. His eyes flutter open. "What are you doing?" he rasps out.

"Shut up," she whispers, leaning back in and kissing him again. Now he's really warm and soft, she might be mistaken but he smells differently, no more old book, his fingers dig into her hips, release and dig in again, more carefully. She strokes the scars on his chest, finds the warmth has spread out, even where she didn't touch him before. She touches his cheek, warm-

Something buzzes, loud, they both startle, jumping apart, it buzzes again, at her belt, her phone, fucking phone-

"Well," she remarks. "This is awkward."

He clears his throat, lips swollen. "Maybe- maybe you should pick up."

She fumbles around, the top of the suit is hanging over the belt. Buzzes. She gets it out finally, flips it open. "Yes? What the fuck is it?"

"Are you okay?" Bruce's voice asks. "Your pulse literally disappeared."

"My-" The fucking tracker. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Just- just rolled the sleeve up, I guess."

"You what?" Tony asks loudly. "Why? What about the one in the collar?"

She groans quietly, closing her eyes, pinching her nose. "I'm fine. Really."

"What are you doing ," Tony inquires. "Your vitals are doing some weird shit. Are you running?"

The- still no name- he has picked up his shirt and put it on again, though not the jacket. "Get out of my fucking business," she demands. "Okay? Everything's alright. I'll hang up now."

"Okay," Bruce says. "Just get home safely. Stay safe."

She hangs up, rolling her eyes. "Oh man."

"They're monitoring you?" he asks.

"They thought tracking me would make me safer or something," she remarks, fumbling with the sleeves. "Guess I should put that back on."

"Yeah, probably," he agrees. "Uh, not to be awkward, but what was that all about?"

"No, no, no," she interrupts, fiddling into the rigid sleeve. "Don't make me- My pulse will go up again and then I'll get another fucking call."

He grins, picking up the jacket. "Okay. Whatever."

"What do I call you, though?" she asks, zipping the suit up. "Got a name for me?"

He shrugs. "Don't really care. Whatever you want."

"Someone suggested Steve," she offers.

He snorts. "That sounds wrong."

"Well, what doesn't?" she asks.

He studies her, jacket in hand. "James," he offers finally.

"James, then," she decides, fixing her ponytail up again. Why is she so dishevelled? "I guess you already know everything about me, right?"

"Yeah, sure," he replies sarcastically, peeling himself back into the leather jacket. "That you're a really horrible person and all."

"Are you fucking with me?" She snorts, gathering up her guns. "Come on. I've done some shit."

"Not disputing that," he states. "You're leaving?"

"Guess I should," she replies. "Before they get all worked up again."

"Sounds annoying," he remarks. "Yeah, I guess- I don't know what to say. Guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah," she agrees, sheathing her knives as well. "If you keep following me around, sure."

"I still find it creepy," Clint remarks. "I mean, I trust you and I don't think you're dumb or gullible or anything, but it's just… weird."

They're sitting on a roof again, looking out over the city and the river. "I get that," she replies. "I don't like that he helped start a global vampire outbreak either."

Clint snorts. "Putting it mildly. And then you're just gone, I really thought, when I heard…"

"Not my fault if the suit malfunctions," she returns. "I was safe, really."

"Because of the extension?" Clint asks.

"More than that," she replies. "It's… Fury wants to get him on our side. Don't say Stockholm but… I really think I'm getting somewhere."

He opens his mouth but closes it again carefully. "Are you… sure?"

"He literally said mind control," she tells him. "He told me about Schmidt and the horrible structure, the torture and the experiments. Not in detail but… It really scarred him. I can work with that."

"I mean," Clint acknowledges. "I understand if he wants to get away from the evil vampire overlord. I wouldn't trust him, though."

She snorts. "Why do you trust me, then? Because I kill vampires? He kills vampires too. The ones he's told to kill, but maybe we could get him to kill others, too. Like the ones in the Castle."

Clint grins. "You're insane. That's why I trust you."

"Just imagine," she suggests. "Wiping out the Castle. Battling back the black cloaks and Schmidt's forces. Taking out Schmidt."

"Seems a little too ambitious," Clint remarks. "But alright, your call. It's still creepy to think he might be around right now."

"I don't know how close he is," she says. "Should test that sometime. I mean, I don't like it either but it's helpful."

"Are you sure you don't like it?" Clint asks slowly.

"Yes," she replies perplexed. "Of course. Why?"

"Doesn't always seem like it," he says carefully. "With all your running around alone at night. You kinda like him, don't you."

"Liking him makes it easier," she whispers. "But I don't like everything he does . I don't have to, either."

"Your business," Clint states. "You should just be honest to yourself about what you're doing and why."

"Fair," she acknowledges. "Something else, what do you think about the new girl? I didn't get to go on patrol with her yet, so I don't really know."

"She's good," he admits. "She has a different approach, with a lot of research and all, while you seem to do everything on instinct. Maybe you'd complement each other. Fury just doesn't want to send you out together yet because she doesn't know the city and you're kinda distracted sometimes."

"I've really been doing this forever," she repeats. "There was no research back then. Just a bunch of vets with Kalashnikovs."

"Didn't you have a sword?" Clint asks.

"Yeah," she confirms. "Helped with the beheading part. Knife just isn't heavy enough. That was cool, actually, maybe I should get one again."

"You're really insane," Clint repeats. "God help us all."

"So," Sharon asks. "What's he like ?"

Natasha almost cuts into her finger. Damn carrots. "I don't know. Normal."

"Normal?" Sharon repeats. "In what way?"

This is why she doesn't have friends. She can't cook either. Sam can cook and everyone likes him. "I don't know. I can talk to him normally, I guess. Not like I have to be careful or anything."

"You have weird standards," Sam remarks. "Uh, could you cut them a little smaller?"

"Is he funny?" Sharon inquires.

Weird question. "Annoying, mostly. Kinda smug? I don't know. He's okay."

"Could you wash the coleslaw, Sharon?" Sam asks. "Thanks."

The kitchen is a little small for three people but alright. "Yeah, sure," Sharon agrees. "Sorry. I'm just really curious. Nobody ever had longer encounters with a black cloak and lived to tell the tale."

"He's-" She hesitates but says it anyway. "He's more human than the fresh vampires. More in control. He doesn't just drop into a blood frenzy at the drop of a pin."

"I would certainly hope so," Sam remarks. "Drop of a hat, by the way."

The water is turned on. "Does he like you?" Sharon asks with curiosity.

Natasha snorts. "Guess so. Which is good, I guess."

"If it keeps him from murdering you and us all," Sam states. "Then yeah, definitely."

"I feel like I'm discussing with a teenager," Tony says. "No. Come on, you're breaking Brucey's heart."

"I'm not wearing that thing again," she repeats, arms crossed. "You have no right to stalk me. Also, it clearly gives false alarms all the fucking time."

" Once ," Tony emphasizes. "And I still think that was on you somehow. You always pretend you're that mysterious and interesting but really, you're not. So no need to get on such a high horse about your privacy."

"The tracker would be really helpful," Bruce interjects uncomfortably. "In case… you know. We could put it somewhere else, I guess. If it bothers you in the suit."

"Not going down that road," Tony protests. "No way."

"No more vitals?" she asks. "Just the GPS?"

"Yes," Bruce confirms. "If that's what you want."

She drops her arms. "Okay. Put it in the phone. Can you do that, Stark, or do I have to do it myself?"

"I'll get the suit," Bruce announces, leaving the room.

Tony takes her phone but not his eyes off her. "You're up to something. And I don't like it."

"Fuck off," she returns. "You can't even do the vampire cure."

"Yeah, can you?" he challenges. "Didn't think so. But oh, I forget, you're the Black Widow."

"Do not go there," she hisses. "You don't know shit about that."

"I would never," Tony states provocatively calmly. "Your judgment is clearly impeccable. Undoubtable."

Bruce returns, thankfully, as always completely unaware of the atmosphere in the room. "There's the tracker. I'll take out all the measuring devices now."

"Thanks, boys," she says with a sneering undertone. "I'll grab a beer in the meantime."

"You wanted a fight," he- James states. "I got you a fight."

"Oh, so now we're taking on the hunting party?" she asks. "Where?"

He snorts. "Still no. A nest moved in from South. If we're quick, we'll get them before the Castle does."

"I like that," she admits. "You're gonna jump around like crazy again? I'm in. I saw you on my last patrol, by the way. Don't think I didn't just because I didn't say anything."

"It's quicker," he offers. "If you wanna, you know."

She steps up to him. "Cuddle up to you?"

"I'll literally never get you to do anything, will I," he remarks.

"Hey." She pulls a face. "I stopped taking vampire blood. Not for you, though, I admit."

He rolls his eyes, putting his left hand on her shoulder. "Okay. Hold on. Really hold on, I can't catch you."

She grabs one of the straps of his jacket, wrapping the other arm around his torso. "Okay. Ready."

He jumps and suddenly they're on the roof of the building, just briefly before taking off again, cutting through the cold night air, cloak flaring behind them. She's starting to feel nauseous when another building approaches and they're going down down down, but he barely lands before he drags her up in the air again. It's heady. She turns her head and stares up at the night sky, the moon, the clouds, the few stars.

They land in a more suburban part of the city, rows of houses, big squares, lots of green. Everyone has a garden. Her legs almost give out and she giggles. "Oh. You know, I kinda like that. Flying."

"It's exhausting," he says. "Makes me hungry."

Maybe she could give him a little today. Just a little. "So, how many? Where?"

"Two," he replies. "I don't know. We'll have to track them down. Careful, though, they have UV lights around here."

"I can do that," she says. "Just a second to get used to gravity again."

"Take your time," he states. "Do you have the tracker still? Will they think you're dying again?"

"Got rid of it," she replies. "GPS in my phone, but I can get rid of that if necessary. Oh, I'll put it on silent."

"Okay," he says. "Then we should be good."

"Yeah," she agrees. "Okay, I'm ready. I'll go first."

There's lots of shadows around here, some moving. It's actually less quiet than in the city center, people talking indoors, laughing loudly. Not every window locked with wood. Seems to be a good place for young families. If they stay in at night.

She catches their trail around a park, following it the hill down past a church. Nice place to live. Turn right. Where would vampires hide around here? Turn left. No, that seems wrong. Up the hill again. She almost startles when she notices the black cloak behind her, but she really shouldn't be surprised. She's on edge. Somewhere around-

She takes out the knife, waiting. Here. Somewhere here. She just has to place-

Rustling leaves.

She slips into the abandoned garden, holding her breath. They must smell her. Tries to make out in the dark-

Flashing teeth. She jumps back, barely escaping the woman's claws. Cuts after her with her knife. The vampiress hisses. They clash, knife dropping to the ground.

She's not a young vampire, already in control of her strength, her body. She kicks and claws, bites and hits. Natasha knocks her back, scanning her surroundings. Two. Must be two. The woman grabs her, throwing her against a tree. Natasha twists her hand before she can claw at her, making her howl. Kicks her knee. The woman staggers back, fleeing over the fence.

Knife. She jumps over the fence as well, following, another fence, she can hear her moving- She ducks and the vampire misses her, elbows him, grunt, slashes across his face, arm, bleeding slows them, he catches her arm but she snaps her knee up. The vampiress returns and Natasha shoots at her, missing the heart. The vampire throws her to the ground, kicking, she catches his foot and uses his force to twist him down. She's back up and hits the woman, knife, sinks it into her shoulder. Whips around and kicks the guy in the face. The woman tries to push her away but she gets the garotte around her neck, pulling hard. She struggles to break free, but Natasha's stronger than she looks. When she lets go suddenly, she plunges the silver knife into her heart through until it hits the breastplate of her suit.

The other vampire is gone, fleeing down even more gardens. Natasha runs after him. Fence. Tree. Hedge. Fence. He's too fast. She takes the left, crossing the street, left again, she's faster on pavement, catches sight of him between the houses, little faster, sweeps right-

He's too slow. She knocks him down, takes the gun and shoots him in the head.

She's alone. Wait. Lost. She runs back.

There's a light that went on, movement sensor, he's rolled in on the pavement-

Shit. She skids to a stop, grabbing the black cloak and throwing it over him. His skin is red, blistered, fucking UV light. He groans. "Are you okay? Do you hear me?"

"It burns," he whispers weakly.

"I'll get you out," she promises, pulling him up a little, always making sure she blocks out the light. "Fuck these guys. Let's get you up."

He sits up, barely, another ray of light hits his face and she curses, dragging him up all the way. "Sorry. Just- quick."

It seems forever until they're out of the light. She's not even sure covering him with the black cloak is enough. His face looks really bad. "I'll take care of you," she promises. "Do you- do you have a place? Around here?"

He groans. "Spořilov."

That's not too far. They can walk that, long before the sun goes up. "I'll get you there. Just tell me where exactly. I'll get you to safety."

He really looks bad, though, and she has to steady him. And then he stops replying.

#buckynat #full chapter 6 #because I really like this one #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #black widow #winter soldier #fanfic #my writing #vampires

8 notes · View notes

joonyverse · 5 years

Text

The President - Baekhyun (EXO) (Part 4)

Summary: Being the youngest Minister is not easy, especially when it seems like the whole world is trying to go against you. Proving yourself is proven to be a difficult thing. But things had to get even more tangled when dark pasts are coming out, and truths are being unveiled

A/N: OHYMYGOD! IM SO SO SO SORRY FOR THE VERY LONG DUE UPDATE! I’ve seen your messages too, and THANK YOU for the loves and support! I just finished my exam early this month and I admit that perhaps I’ve been procrastinate a lot hjjh, this chapter doesn’t really involve lots of bh x reader moments, but i hope you guys enjoy it? ;-; im so sorry i havent write in so long, so im in the process of getting use to it all over again...

Genre: Drama, romance, fluff, angst

Warning: Age-gap (10 years), some curses, bad english, grammar error, unedited

notes: yln = your last name, yfn = your full name

masterlist

Byun Baekhyun x Female Readers

If you’re uncomfortable with age-gap relationship, please just scroll through it

Flashes of images went through your vision. Sounds of children crying and screaming filling your head. The heat from the fire, it feels like it’s gonna burn your skin. All of those feels so close yet so far. It goes so slow yet so fast. The images and sensation overwhelm you to no end.

And suddenly, it’s all stopped. The images of bus on fire, the children screaming, it’s like everything is just in the background and a white noise.

Instead, you saw a little girl looking around feeling helpless and devastated. You can see her screaming weakly for help. Tears were streaming down her face. Her little arms keep shaking the man beside her, trying to wake him up. She keeps asking for the man to wake up yet the man shows no sign of it. Every once in a while, she weakly screams for help to people around her, and really you tried. You tried to reach for her, yet you can’t. It’s like you weren’t even there. Desperately, you tried to reach for other people to help the poor little girl to no avail. Everyone were busy. With everything in you, you run to her. Run to her despite no moves were being made.

Until finally, you saw two hands reaching for her. Holding her and taking her away. You see her trying hard to get out of the grasp, reaching for the man that still laying still. She cried even harder. And suddenly, it’s like you were being picked up from underwater, her voice sounds clear to you. “Please help my dad! Dad! Dad!” she screams.

And suddenly, something exploded, right before your eyes. You want to scream, screaming for help. But you can’t It’s like something is blocking your voice cord from doing so. Until your visions went white and it turns to black.

A faint sound of beeping in certain type of rhythm caught your hearings. Sounds of people in rush too. And suddenly, you can feel the stiffness of your body.

You tried to move your fingers, a simple move that seems very difficult at the moment. Slowly, you opened your eyes. Blinding light of the room immediately greeting you, making you frown and closed your eyes again, trying to get used to the bright light.

The smell of some kind of chemical hit your smelling bud. You stare at your surrounding, taking it all in, trying to remember what had happened.

Suddenly the door to your room opened. Your eyes shoot at the intruder.

“Oh? You’ve wake up” Mina said to you as she entered the room.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes slowly. “What happened?” You asked, your voice hoarse and your throat feels dry.

Mina hands you a glass of water, that you gladly accept.

“You don’t remember?” Mina asked as she took a seat beside you.

“Only fragments? I can only remember the smell of gasoline and fire and the heat” you said.

“You and your impulsiveness... you were face to face with an almost death situation” Mina said while shaking her head. “You helped those kids in the bus” she added.

Slowly, the memories start coming back. Your eyes widened in realization.

“Those kids, they’re all saved right?” You said, panic starts to kicking in.

Mina held your arms, trying to calm you down. But the stare she gave you, it held so many meanings that you know so well.

“8 casualties...” Mina said, her voice getting quieter.

You froze in your bed. Despite knowing you can’t do anything about them, guilts till eating you alive, making you feel somehow responsible about it.

“Nothing you can do y/n, you tried your best, nothing you can do,” Mina explained in the most comforting way she could.

“What about the others? And the man?” You asked.

“Fortunately, they survived, some got serious burn, but most are just light wounds, the man is also alright” Mina explained. “Listen, I’m gonna tell the doctor you woke up okay?” She asked which earned a light nod from you.

The doctor came into your room with two nurses by his side. Checking up on you. Fortunately, nothing serious happened, you just inhale too much carbon monoxide and other chemicals that you don’t bother to remember. Even more fortunate, he said they can discharge you in three days if your health keep improving like the estimation.

You are just glad that you can escape this place and dive more into the job.

Suddenly you got reminded of the vision, or dream, that you saw. Something about it makes you feel distraught. Something about it makes you feel a missing part in you. Trying to ignore them, you decide to turn on your phone, diving into the internet to see what’s up and what have you missed.

As soon as the phone turned on, so many notifications came up, most of them are friends, plenty from family. Your mom missed called you once, and honestly speaking, it’s not surprising.

One message though, particularly caught your eyes. It’s the most recent one. From your mom.

“I knew there’ll always be something to be disappointed for from you” was written across the screen.

Your heart can’t help but clench. It shouldn’t bother you, it shouldn’t bother you when it had happen for so many times that you should have get used to it by now but you don’t.

You immediately come up to the internet though, wondering what makes your mom send you such message.

“Minister of Transportation and Communication is Faking Her Heroic Action?”

Was written on big sized fonts. An article that finally beat the ‘President and Minister are dating’ article.

“It was found that maybe the Minister is faking her heroic action for publicity purpose, and even, staged the whole scenario”

You can’t even believe what you’re reading with your own two eyes. Who was in their right mind and heart to write such things? 8 people died and they said it’s all a scheme?

“We hope sincerely the President will give thoughts on replacing his Minister, or perhaps, Lover”

You scoffed. You can feel the anger is one step away from crossing your limit. You felt tears are building in your eyes. You felt thankful at Mina for leaving the room at that time. You felt so ridiculed. You haven’t even work properly, yet people are already accusing you of such things. They just… haven’t seen what you capable of.

You see that the rest of article are just sub-writing that article. The comments are mostly curses and death wishes. This is one hell of a tough start for you, you’ve realized.

Mina who was just entering the room can’t help but notice the frown on your face. Gently, she took the phone from your hold. Your hands instinctively reach up for it.

“I’m not finished!” You whined at her.

“Rest, we don’t need this kind of negativity while on recovery” Mina said as she put your phone on the bedside table, a little bit further than your reach.

The knock on the door stole both of your attentions. Both of your heads shot up at it.

“A guest?” You asked.

“No one really saying anything about visiting except your family” Mina said, as she gave you a slight shrug.

Mina walked towards the door and opened it. Her eyes are furrowed in confusion. “Mr. Lee?” She called out.

“There’s a card and a basket of fruits from the President” Mr Lee said with his monotonous tone before he handed said things to Mina.

Mina muttered a small thank you before she closed the door and walked back towards you.

She handed you the card and left the basket on your bedside table.

“Who was that?” You asked while slowly opening the card.

“Oh? He was Mr. Byun’s chauffeur” Mina answered despite the lack attention from you since your eyes were already on the card.

A simple “Get well soon” was written on the card. You can’t help but scoffed and rolled your eyes. You appreciate the effort he gave though. But still, it’s a classic and textbook kind of kindness, and for some reason, it kind of annoyed you.

“I’m his minister for goddamn sake...” you muttered under your breath. Of course that was heard by Mina, which earned a chuckle from her.

You felt unfairly treated. You are still his minister no matter how many things had happened between you both in a matter of days. You should be treated with respect, and yet... he doesn’t even bother. Not that you care.

Reaching for the TV remote, you turn it on. Continuously changing the channel, nothing in particular caught your eyes. When suddenly you came across a headline.

“Minister’s Fake Heroic Action”

You scoffed. Feeling absolutely ridiculed. But you can’t lie that it’s actually caught your attention. And so you turn up the volume, curiosity picking in on what those people had to say.

What caught your attention more was the statement the president himself about to make.

“So far, we’ve been informed by the medical team that Minister y/l/n got minor injuries but thankfully nothing serious” Baekhyun said into the mic, his voice and expression was stern. “I can assure you that we will get to the bottom of this incident, together with Miss Y/l/n, we will solve this case” he added.

For some reason Baekhyun mentioning your name bring a slight smile to your day. It feels good in some way having someone to be on your side, trusting you, when it feels like the whole world doesn’t.

People was crowding the hospital’s entrance as it was the day you got discharged. Questions were asked here and there, of course all asking about what had happened in the incident. It was difficult to walk to enter your car when people keep pushing towards you to get closer, despite the securities surrounding you. After successfully entering the car, Mina kindly handled the situation, and you can’t be more thankful to her.

“Where to, Ma’am?” Your chauffeur asked.

“The president’s residence please”

His house was… well he’s a president, his house is just what you expect. A grand scale you could say, especially for someone who lives alone. Black, white, and grey are the colors that seem to decorate the house that feels more like a castle you would say. The smell of teakwood hit the smelling sense as soon as you stepped in. His housekeepers greeting whoever the guests that came to his house. A hint smell of some dishes entering your nose too, probably came from the dining room that’s not very far from the entrance. The man probably get hungry as soon as he finished work and enter the comfort of his house you thought.

“Ah, Miss y/l/n” Baekhyun said as he greeted you. “My cooks made us some foods to talk over with, would you like to eat?” He offered.

You gave him a small smile, alas not genuine. “Sure thing, Mr. Byun” you said, accepting his offer. Truth be told, you were hungry for some real food, not some bland hospital food.

You stepped into his dining room. As expected, his cook was there, greeting you with a smile. “Nice meeting you, Ma’am” his cook said. Your eyebrow raised in wonder. The image of warm homemade food come into your vision. You can’t help but gulping. You really can’t wait to devour them all. The smell of cream soup, truffle, and some other herbs filling your smelling sense.

Baekhyun who seems to notice your hunger state can’t help but chuckle. He might has some rivalry going on with you, but staring at the woman who usually keep her emotions covered and buried inside, and always seem to be calm, suddenly looking like a starve woman who hasn’t ate for years, it was an amusing sight.

“Please sit down, you can eat” Baekhyun said, with a slight tease in his tone.

You got embarrassed at the fact you can’t hide your hunger. Slight blush creeping up your cheeks. You chuckled. “I’m sorry, hospital foods were terrible” you said.

“Oh, I know very well, Miss y/l/n” Baekhyun said, his voice sounded a little bit solemn, hinting at something that you can’t pinpoint.

“So, why did you ask me to come sir?” You asked as you sit down, with Baekhyun following afterwards.

“I have something to discuss with you miss Y/l/n” He answered as he picked up his spoon. “It’s about the incident” he added.

You swallowed your food, which by the way tastes amazing, you almost moan from the taste itself, before answering him. “Don’t worry, I’ll get into it sir” you reassured.

“It’s not about that” he said as soon as you finished your sentences. Your head instantly shot up at him. He looked somewhat distressed, and you can see him trying to hide it. “I’m going to form a special team for it” he added.

His voice somewhat have this very serious tone. You knew this was a serious situation, but something in his voice, it’s like there’s something that he’s hiding from you. “With all due respect sir, I think my team back at my office can handle this well” you said carefully, tip-toeing around eggshells.

You can see his frown from your seat despite him still having his head down at his food. “Y/n, listen to me for this one and obey me, I don’t want to argue about this, we’re going to make a special team, that’s it” he said. The wrinkles on his forehead showed the distress he’s going through.

Honestly, you wanted to go against his order, knowing very well that this is something that you and your team can handle, and the fact this might be your chance to prove yourself, you won’t miss that chance. But you knew very well that he has something to hide, and honestly, for some reason you kind of pitied him.

“Right” you said simply. “So, what do you want me to do about it? Do you want me to gather people or?”

“Come here again tomorrow, 8pm”

80 notes · View notes

skunky2 · 5 years

Text

Top 11 Worst Cartoons of the 2010′s!!

We had so many great cartoons introduced in this decade and while I haven't seen every last one I can say this decade was one of the best for animation in general! Sadly for every good animated show produced in this era there are also some bad apples in the bunch the following cartoons are some of the worst I have seen but please remember this is only my opinion if you like any of these shows then that's great continue to enjoy them don't let me stop you!!!

Now let's get this list started!!!

11. Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs the series (2017-2018)

Ok before we talk about the show I want to make one thing clear I don't hate the films in fact I actually find them enjoyable even going as far as calling them guilty pleasures the show on the other hand is a huge flop compared to the movies were the films had creativity and fun humor the show lacks that in fact this is by far the most boring show to be based on a freaking film about an invention that makes it rain food!! The other problem I have with this show is it's set before the events of the films so Flint hasn't even become an inventor yet but instead it's about him in high school and apparently him and Sam knew each other already did they even watch their first film!? Also the mayor is the principle because why not seriously this has got to be the worst show based on a hit animated film it's so painfully unfunny that I question how kids found it entertaining to begin with!!!! Not every movie needs a tv series and this one proves it!

10. Total Dramarama (2018-ongoing)

Oh the pain to see the Total Drama series downgraded to this especially since the original Total Drama Island took a ton of risk for a show aimed at kids also how did we go from a series that spoofed reality shows to a bad Muppet Babies rip-off!! What's really sad is that creators have no desire to produce a new Total Drama series they just want to work on this. On the plus side it's still not as bad as other shows your going to see later on the list.

9. Super Noobs (2015-ongoing)

Other then the "how do you do fellow kids" title I wasn't expecting this show to wow me considering it was brought to you by the same dude that brought us Johnny Test aka the original most hated cartoon of all time I got the DA pics to back me up! The worst part is this show has a very interesting concept but it's ruined due to the bad humor and characters. The show is about a group of outcast middle schoolers who receive super powers in the form of power balls from aliens who then become their mentors and how they must save the world from an evil virus that threatens the world sounds like an awesome plot too bad it's not pushed further.

8. Almost Naked Animals (2011-2013)

Yes this is a children's cartoon not a title for an X rated film. All I can say about this show is why? Why would anyone greenlight a show about an animal nudist hotel not only is it disgusting but those character designs yikes!!!! They look so ugly looking no one wants to see something that looks this hideous!! Not to mention the humor is just as terrible as the art design.

7. Breadwinners (2014-2016)

You know when you feature twerking in your show you automatically fail. The best way I can describe this cartoon is it's just awful first off the two idiot main characters who I'm not going to refer by name since they are some of the most stupidest names for characters seriously SwaySway and Buhdeuce!? Anyway the show is about these two "ducks" I say ducks like that since they look nothing like ducks they look like frogs or aliens or something. Try to make your character if they are an animal try to look as close as possible as the species they're supposed to be so it will make it easier for you audience to identify them. Well they fly around in a rocket car or something I really don't care and deliver bread to stock-image ducks which brings me to another problem they can't even draw background characters they just go on Google find a duck photo and photoshop cartoon eyes and whatever on it how lazy a can you be!! Also I found out a long time ago your actually not supposed to give ducks bread yeah it can use malnutrition and illness to them so this cartoon is spreading the wrong message to kids.

6. Brickleberry (2012-2015)

You know why I despise most adult cartoons because most of them are either trying way to hard to be quote on quote "adult" with overuse of swearing, gore, shock humor, and sex jokes and guess what this show is full of this!! Not only is the animation similar to that to Family Guy it's just as disgusting and offensive!!! The show revolves around these park rangers and their everyday lives at their jobs and the characters aren't very good either they are pretty much all assholes, stereotypes of usual characters you see in adult animation, and your typical characters that are just there to offend you! In fact the little bear cub character is pretty much the shows answer to Brain from Family Guy with the personality of Cartman from South Park. Now I haven't seen this show in a long time but I just remember it wasn't a pleasant experience if you want to check it out just be warned it's not for the faint of heart. Also the creators of this show produced another show for Netflix that is just a carbon copy with cops instead of rangers and I though that Seth McFarlane was lazy when it came to plots!! It's called Paradise P.D. btw

5. Teen Titians Go! (2013-Ongoing)

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah you've heard it all before this show is garbage, a disgrace to DC comics, stupid etc. The animation community has tore this show apart so there really isn't much to say that already hasn't been said but I will say this I never intended to hate this show as much as I do in fact I was fine with it when it fist came out I mean the original Teen Titians cartoon from 2003 will always be better then this show in every possible way but I wasn't one of the fans to jump on the hate wagon when this was announced I mean I had nothing wrong with it just focusing on comedy if you remember correctly the original had eps that were just as silly and bizarre. The main reasons why this show is so high up on this list is for the following reasons the first is I've never seen a show like this disrespect a fan base this much it's like the creators have it out for the original fans and they get joy out of mocking them with all these pathetic critic call out eps they do it also shows that they can't take criticism at all!!!! Second is how the creators view their show and animation in general they literally came out in an interview and said the reason why they made the show so stupid is because it's for children you do know kids aren't stupid right guys they deserve shows that don't try to talk down to them!!!! But the main reason for my anger towards this show is how they made an episode awhile were the moral literally was that cartoons are only for kids and told the original fans to grow up!! Mainly the creators themselves have this warped mindset that I honestly wish would just die out that only children should be allowed to watch cartoons and that their show should be immune to all the hate since it's for kids so they use the "just for kids" excuse for their show being like it is. It's hard to believe they would even have a mindset like that when they are adults themselves making an animated cartoon show. I didn't mean to rant this long but I mainly hate everything this show stands for and sadly it's going onto to get 300+ eps. Personality I really think it's time for this show to officially Go not because I don't like it's mainly because it's showing signs it's on it's last legs and with that Sixth Titian thing they pulled this summer and repeating episode plots is starting to show that the writers are becoming burned out this show was never good but I think it's time it ended. There are tons of other reasons this show is bad but I rather not go into them this has gone on long enough already.

4. PPG 2016 (2016-Ongoing)

Well TTG isn't the worst reboot/spinoff Cartoon Network produced in this decade the honor has to go to this piece of trash Powerpuff Girls 2016!! Why was this made simple CN wanted more money so they made this show to sell toys yes that was the only purpose of this reboot to sell merchandise too bad the show sucked so hard that the target demo along with the fans of the original Powerpuff Girls hated it! There are tons of problems with this reboot that have already been explained such as god awful animation errors, bad writing, and let's not forget the memes those outdated memes. Not to mention they removed the character Ms. Bellum since the creator thought that having a beautiful, warm-hearted, motherly, intelligent and strong-willed woman on the show was offensive to the new generation! Not to mention they got rid of breast but they did allow the girls to twerk tho!!! Yes because having an intelligent good-looking woman with boobs is bad but kindergarteners doing a sexually explicate dance is fine!! Seriously I feel so bad for Craig McCracken it was bad enough he was screwed over by Disney but to have his show turned into this!!

3. The Problem Solverz (2011-2013)

If you want to know my opinion for the worst animated show Cartoon Network has ever made it would be this one! Not only is the show ugly to look at but it uses enough bright colors to make your eyes bleed. The show is about these detectives who solve problems in their home town too bad they cause 90% of the problems they need to solve. These characters are so nasty to look out we got this ugly fish-like man, some robot, and a big nosed hideous lipped Domo wannabe. It was cancelled from tv but ran it's final season on Netflix. I still feel pain for any child that had to sit though this.

2. Pickle and Peanut (2015-2018)

Ugh this show!!!! If you've never seen it you may guess this would be something on Adult Swims line up since they're more known for wired shows like this but no it's not from Adult Swim in fact you'll never believe who made this Disney!!! Yes Disney Television Animation produced this the very same company that bought us shows like Gravity Falls, Phineas and Ferb, Star Vs. and so on made this garbage. There are several problems with this show first off the animation remember when I said that Breadwinners was lazy for using stock-images as background characters well this is the same damn thing but in reverse they couldn't even animate a pickle and a gosh darn peanut this is a peeve I have with most modern cartoons if it's not for a joke then why use stock-images it just makes your show look lazy! Second the humor it sucks it's mainly is "trying" to be Regular Show since both characters are slackers and get into bizarre adventures. Also this show loves to show gross-out shots like the ones in Spongebob for example but unlike Spongebob these are not funny and just plain disgusting like how is this show fun for kids to watch I mean I can understand why kids love cartoons like TTG but I can't see any child liking a show like this!!! Finally we have to talk about the god awful theme song it's not even a theme song but a random robot voice listing off things adults think that children are into so pretty much they're trying way too hard to appeal to kids just like with PPG 2016. There really isn't much more to say about this show it's just awful and it's still hard to believe Disney had a part in making this.

Now it's time for the cartoon from the 2010's that I believe disserves the crown as the worst show from this decade. Out of all the shows I've seen this year none of them of completely disgusted me more then this one it pretty much has everything I despise in modern adult animation it makes Brickleberry look tame in comparison!!! It comes to us from our friends at Adult Swim may I present to you the cartoon that I consider the worst!

1. Mr. Pickles (2013-Ungoing)

I honestly don't know where to start on this one it's just god awful!! First it's got all the things I despise in adult animation shock humor, sex jokes, violence for the sake of it, and ugly character designs!! The show is about a family who owns a dog who is either the devil himself or one of his loyal followers and the dog does extremely messed up things to people stuff I rather not try to remember let's just say this show is MA for reason. If you have a faint heart please stay away from this show at all cost!!!

So there it is my opinions for the worst shows from this decade I hope you all enjoy it since I worked really hard on it.

I didn’t include Big Mouth or Paradise P.D. because I’ve never seen them but yeah I know they’re bad.

#top list #cartoons #my stuff #just my opinion #I'm going to make a best list soon #worst cartoons #ttg #cartoon network #nickolodeon #adult swim

6 notes · View notes

fightevilandthengetblownup · 4 years

Text

CANONFIC: ...ladies dancing...

—

27th of December

This time of year made the endless parade of Office Christmas and New Year Parties that would flood clubs and bars alike like going to a candy store for tipsy and emotionally frayed secretaries and personal assistants for the shadow. Most tried hard not to get too drunk, a bonus for him, around their work colleagues but as the clock neared one in the morning every weekend, their inhibitions would slowly burn down from some uninterested lawyer or accountant that couldn’t appreciate a nubile and pretty woman. And that would be when he could swoop in, take advantage of their own working up to the idea of a night of fucking and sneaking out in the morning, and find his way back to either a hotel room or some carbon copy bedroom with Pottery Barn sheets and a fiddle leaf fern in the corner.

Tonight it was a very gorgeous brunette, all leggy and rounded at the hips and breasts in the tight gold, sequin dress she had worn, and attention grabbing enough that Gray knew he would not be leaving her lifeless on the bed afterwards as every single bartender and bouncer would remember her figure and seductive eyes; but when she had been rejected by a very reluctant married Executive two barstools down from him, the shadow just couldn’t help himself from taking a run at her. He hadn’t expected it to really be quite as easy as it was, but a quick smirk and a finger down her back with some negging compliment had the woman leaning into him and a whispered suggestion to go back to her place in no time.

As the shadow guided them backwards, lips on hers and smudging the dark lipstick on her mouth as he pushed her down onto the bed with a wicked grin; the prospects of the night seemed to be so high for him.

And then the shrill phone tone started ringing from the pocket of his jacket, discarded on the ‘laundry chair’ in the corner cut through over the ever so pretty sound of the girl’s moans.

“Is..is that your phone?” “Ignore it, Melissa-” “Melanie.” “Yeah yeah, just ignore it. It’s going to go to voicemail.”

The brunette nodded, slipping back higher on the bed before unzipping the dress along her side and sliding out of the sequined cocktail dress with a girlish giggle. Gray fought down the desire to glare, gigglers were so annoying but she was completely naked under it which helped to distract from the sound of it as he lent over her, biting a row of hickeys along her neck and collarbone.

The girl had her hand tugging his tie off from around his neck as the ringtone started up again - shrill and oh so annoying - and dropped the black fabric with a confused look. “Are you sure-”

“It’s fine. I know who it is, and they can wait an hour or ten.” Gray growled the words out, biting a little sharper on the other’s shoulder as he thought over just who it had to be that was calling him. She was the only one with the number, and he really didn’t feel like being distracted by having to go back to faking his way through a conversation with her as his faked-persona. It had been fun when he’d started it, but now it just made his stomach twist each time they talked in that way since fences had been mended with them. The sound of the ring tone died down again, and the shadow stood back up and shrugged off his shirt with a sigh as the brunette rolled about onto her stomach in front of him, letting out a quiet whistle to himself.

And then the ring tone started again.

“Oh for fucks sake.” The shadow snarled the words out, and lent down to the girl, gripping her head by the back of the hair as the girl let out a frustrated whine about his ‘stupid phone’. “Stay right where you are. Be absolutely silent. And wait until I tell you to move.” Gray Whispered harshly into the brunette’s ear, watching as her eyes widened and then she froze and made not a single move or noise as he moved away towards his jacket, fishing out the phone and not at all surprised to see ‘Sweetie’ flashing up on the screen.

Clearing his throat for a moment, Gray ran a hand across his face, before sinking his voice into the borrowed voice of the hunter he’d once used as a taunt for the woman on the other end of the phone and answering with a gruff, “Hello?”

“Hey, William, bad time?” The chirpy, upbeat voice down the line made him frown to himself, not even needing to imagine exactly why the blonde would be in one of her annoying perky moods. Gray knew that his sappy, romantic of a brother was sure to have been doing something ridiculous for her that time of year - probably spent the whole month on his knees with his mouth between her legs or something, the shadow thought with a sneer. “Oh! Happy holidays, by the way.”

“You too, Jo. What’s up?” Gray responded sharply, already feeling that nauseous feeling he had started to a little while after he’d last seen her in the face that matched the voice he was using, and rubbing at his scars awkwardly on his shoulder as he frowned to himself.

“Not much - just family holidays.” “Family?” “Yeah, my friends Sam’n’Dean and that old hunter Bobby - the one who helps set up most of our hunts-” “Oh, him.” “That’s the one! And of course Grey, my boyfriend, and his sister too-”

“His sister?” Gray found himself blinking in surprise at that as he sat down on the bed heavily, not sure if he was amused at the idea of the runt being surrounded by hunters, irritated by how easily the hunter talked about him, or frustrated at the idea of Shada and Jo befriending one another with the potential trouble they could cause him. “Sounds busy. What you need my help with?”

“I’ve got a case - plannin’ to head there just after New Year if you were free.”

“I’d love to but-” Gray found himself replying immediately, not at all prepared to go back into playing in person the hunter-persona all over again.

“Oh please say you’re available, William. It looks like it might be a siren and I could definitely use the backup of someone I trust.” The open and cheerful, pleading words from the other would have been music to his ears back when he first started this game of Faces, but now it made his skin crawl. Gray scratched again at his scars unconsciously, leaning back on the bed and bouncing the stationery brunette for a moment at the weight shift. “I haven’t gone after one of those in years and I could really use the help. Pretty, pretty pl-”

Gray actually let out a growl of annoyance, cutting her off sharply as he ran a hand over his face tiredly. One more please from her and he’d have probably said yes, and the shadow was nothing like the push over his brother was. Letting out a sharp cough to cover the end of the growl at the curious sound from the other end of the line. “Look, I’d love to help you Jo-”

“Oh say you will, I’m not sure if Garth’d be available-” “Jo, who you talking to?” “Just seeein’ if William is available to help on that case next week.” “The siren? If you can’t get him then please get someone else to go too.” “Sure thin’. William, you there? I’m sorry for the interruption, but were you able-?”

Gray felt his teeth go on edge immediately as he could hear the faint voice of his brother cutting over Jo’s words and interrupting his attempt to deny the hunter the support. It set him on edge as well to hear the obvious concern, the spineless worry in his book, from the other - as if the other shadow couldn’t just tag along and help the blonde out if he was so worried about her. Always leaving watching her back to others. Grumbling quietly to himself, Gray rolled his head to the side to see the wide eyed and slightly frightened look in the pretty brunette’s eyes, and felt that dark amusement at generating such fear growing inside of him - running his free hand over the woman’s soft skin instead of scratching at his scars or running them through his hair again. Her ass kneaded and fitted nicely in his palm, giving it a little swat before he replied in that same stolen voice down the phone.

“Jo, you know I love working with you - but I’ve already got my hands full on a.. uh... werewolf case in Louisiana and I’ve got to spend the rest of next week working out who they are before the moon turns the following week.” He thought he was almost talking out of his ass if it weren’t for the appreciative and understanding noises coming through the phone from the hunter.

“I totally get that, full moons definitely can be rough- I’ll, uh, call around instead then.” The almost hesitant sound to the blonde’s voice as she seemed to babble and find her train of thought and then lose it again just made the twisting feeling in his stomach feel worse again. Gray closed his eyes and let out a soundless sigh as he realised exactly what that tone probably meant - familiar from the number of times Jo had lied to his face when they were at each other’s throats, and the way she would babble rather than give a straight answer since they’d...stopped hating one another rather than her lie. “Not a problem though, I’ll be all good. You have a good werewolf hunt and a happy new year, okay? Okay bye!”

“Jo wait-” Gray found himself growling all over again, louder and harsher, as the blonde’s voice disappeared to only have the beeping dial tone greet him. Clenching his fist, tightly grasping probably even painfully on the woman next to him’s backside rather than into a fist itself, the shadow snarled to himself a little. “Fucking dammit, sweetie.” He tossed the phone back towards his jacket behind him as he sat upright and bit down on the angry, unspeakable feeling he wouldn’t put a name to that he felt thinking of the other going off after something like that alone from the feel of her. “Mother fucking dammit.”

Snarling again, the shadow moved upright and grabbed a hold of the girl’s ankles tightly, flipping her over as she flopped back unmovingly, and eyes staring in almost horror up at him at his aggressive motion, before he reached out and tugged the once bubbly and giggling brunette up towards him by the throat.

“You are going to make this fun for me. You are going to remember you’re scared but you are going to enjoy yourself. You are not going to be a quiet complacent dolly.” He Whispered harshly, leaning in to bite rather than kiss at her bottom lip sharply, tugging backwards when he felt the tiniest whimper come out from beneath his hand. Gray used his other hand to stroke the girl’s hair back from her face, a bloodthirsty, angry sneer crossing over his face as he looked down at her. She was going to get to live before, but now he wasn’t too sure as the need to work out both his angry, frustration and the sexual desire from before bubbled underneath his surface. “You are going to make me happy, and you are only going to scream in pleasure, regardless of what I do to you.”

The girl’s head nodded as much as it could, her eyes softening a little but still holding the fear and exhilaration from before in equal measures as the shadow pushed her back onto the bed, before the brunette let out a breathy moan as he went back to her neck. It would be a long night, but Mother help him, he was going to forget all about that phone call by the end of it - one way or another.

—

29th of December

It wasn’t the first time she had found him there.

The park was a beautiful spot - large amounts of green space, private pathways and benches that had views over the city that during the summer months was a lovely place to relax - and even with the thin layer of mud on the ground, it was just as nice as usual. It was a close location to the little house, with a very easy walk away for the dog to make in order to run around like the happy pup that she was - and Shada made her way towards the park bench near the exuberant dog running about in the mud, sitting down beside the other with a quiet sigh.

“Hey, thought I might find you here.” The girl said as she sank into the spot beside her brother. “You taking a breather from Cupcake’s family?”

“Thought you liked them,” The other replied as Grey turned slightly in his seat with a smile towards her, his closest arm going up across the back of the bench near her. “I know at least two of them made a good impression.”

Shada felt herself flushing a little at that comment from the other, shifting a little to slide across closer to him as the wind picked up. “Perhaps they did. I didn’t know that-”

“Hunters could actually be alright?” The other cut over, and as the brunette looked out the corner she knew that there was a very faint smile on his face that Shada found herself mimicking all the same as she tugged her scarf tighter around her at the bite of the wind, careful not to dislodge the silver chain around her neck. The words weren’t quite what she would have said, the shadow thought as she felt her cheeks growing redder from not just the wind chill, but not ready to admit to the words being not inaccurate at all.

The oldest hunter - Bobby - had seemed off-putting and gruff when she had first arrived, and over lunch she had picked up several concerning thoughts about both the shadows and the blonde hunter alike. At one point her brother had gotten up to get some more apple sauce, and touched Joanna’s hair on his way past - and Shada had picked up a disapproving rush from the hunter about it along a thought of ‘careful, be careful, don’t trust it’ which had set her teeth on edge. There were thoughts about protecting the blonde or that her brother was too close or other times when a flood of concern would wash off of the hunter over some small comment here or there from any of the three hunters - towards all three humans equally. She hadn’t liked him off of he bat, and as the afternoon had dragged until the hunter had apologized to her for something as simple and insignificant and out of his control as not having a gift for her. That he’d thought to even say it had smoothed down some of the rough edges she saw in him. And then he’d given her brother the photos - and as soon as Grey whispered quietly to her who it was - she had felt any ill-givings towards the older man disappear, the void filling up with affection for him instead.

The youngest but tallest (something Shada had found endlessly amusing watching the older brother attempt to boss the other about while the tall one rolled his eyes a lot), Sam had felt very similar to her brother’s cupcake almost immediately upon her meeting him. He had a nice smile, and he seemed very sweet from the moment he first opened a dialogue and greeted her with a Merry Christmas and then was genuinely complimentary to her brother throughout the whole meal. He was so very very quiet though, much like the blonde, and Shada had had more trouble gleaning his thoughts from him compared to the other two hunters. What she could feel though was no judgement or concerns about being around her or her brother, and his genuine interest in asking about herself made her feel so sad he wasn’t anywhere near as cute as his brother.

The very very cute hunter however was a whole different kettle of fish to the other two though - his thoughts practically screamed out from him throughout the whole lunch, and Shada could barely contain herself from snapping at him regularly throughout the meal. He was so rude to her brother and his cupcake - a dozen and a half thoughts about Grey had flooded out from him throughout the meal that had made Shada grit her teeth and wonder just how her brother managed to sit nearby that amount of antagonistic thoughts that just bled out of the hunter; and then he had the gall to check out the blonde, and it had taken Grey’s hand coming down and squeezing her knee under the table to keep her from making a comment aloud about it. But gosh he was so cute - and even if he had some negative thoughts, Shada had felt herself sighing at him giving her brother a gift right alongside the other hunters. So cute and so flawed.

“They aren’t all bad, I’ll give you that.” She replied with a small smile, tilting her head in to rest on the other’s shoulder as he gave a shout out to the dog about not chasing the birds that it paid no heed to, with a happy dog lollop. “I mean, Cupcake’s family is pretty nice over all.”

“Yeah, they... Sam is fantastic-” “He is very tall. And nice.” “Of course that’s what you noticed.” “He’s not the only thing I noticed.” “Shada...”

“What?!” Shada let out a sharp objection, frowning up at her brother playfully as she twirled on the ends of a strand of her hair. “Sam was nice and very sweet, and Bobby - it was Bobby, right? - he just..” The girl let out a sigh, not sure exactly the best words to describe how quickly the older man had weaved his way into her affection. “He’s lovely too.”

“Mhmm. He definitely has improved since I first met him.” Grey replied, one hand reaching up to rub at his shoulder thoughtfully but with nothing but appreciation on his face talking about the other. “And he’s practically a dad for Jo, so, his worry is absolutely understandable-”

“Why does he worry so much?” “Well, because I’m a monster, Shada.” “What does that matter to him if Cupcake doesn’t care?” “He’s like her dad-” “But he was seemingly with our Alpha-” “Eleanor.”

“Yes, Eleanor.” Shada practically sighed the name out, cuddling into the other’s side as she thought about what a pretty name their Alpha had chosen to utelise, and watching as the big, fluffy dog ran about and came near them again - calmer with her now over the last year - with a happy bark. The name felt so right for the older shadow to have chosen, and that she had gotten to see just how pretty and sweet the face she had taken made her stomach twist weirdly. “He was... connected to her, so why does it matter what you and Cupcake get up to to him?”

“He cares, Shada. And also Jo has.. Jo’s been hurt because of what I am bfore.” Her brother replied shakily, his arm shifting from around her shoulders as he talked to lean over his knees and keep his eyes from meeting her own curious gaze. “I’ve caused her pain from me being me, so he worries. But enough about that-” The other shadow let out a breath before slapping his fist down on his knee and turning back to look at her, now that his face was under control and he had a curious yet pleased look on his face forcefully. “What are you doing for the rest of the holidays, sister? Any plans for New Years?”

Shada frowned to herself slightly, brows creased for a moment as she tried to decide if she was going to drop the topic or not, before letting out a quiet laugh. “Oh absolutely! I’m going to be having a New Year in every time zone!”

“What?” “Humans use time zones, right? So I am going to every single celebration all over the world I can.” “Wh...why would you do that?” “Why not? Plus! They kiss as the hour changes, right?” “Oh Shada, no-”

“So! I’m going to have a kiss for every midnight and have the best luck all year round!” The brunette finished chirpily, smiling widely as she looked at the somewhat pained or frustrated expression on the other’s face - a smirk growing in her smiles place as she fluttered her lashes at him teasingly. “Why? You think I couldn’t get a kiss in every place?”

“I... Don’t think that will be a problem at all for you.” Grey replied with an exasperated sounding laugh, rubbing a hand over his face a bit before letting out a normal sounding laugh as the dog came bounding over with the pink dog toy from their sister in her jowls. “I wish you luck on it then, Shada. But you know, you could just hang out with some people you like instead-”

“Oh like you and cupcake aren’t going to be doing the horizontal tango when the clock strikes midnight - doesn’t really sound like my jam, brother.” The girl replied with a laugh of her own as her brother’s cheeks flushed a little bit, hands reaching out and grabbing the dog’s collar and clipping on the pink lead as well. Shada found herself smiling softly noticing how quickly their sister’s gifts had been introduced to her brother’s life - and as he stood, Shada followed his movements with a teasing grin. “And if you’re not, then perhaps I’ll drop by for my good luck kiss from you for this time zone, hmm? Think Cupcake would be okay with that, or should I choose her instead?”

“You can ask Jo which she’d prefer.” Grey replied with a laugh, wrapping his arm around her shoulders which the shadow felt was the best kind of feeling being so close and at ease with him like they always used to be. “Speaking of Jo - did you want to come around? I know she’d be happy to see you again.”

“Sure thing! I still need to thank her again for the shoes!” Shada said with a smile, tucking her hands into her coat’s pockets as they started on their way along towards the others home - a warm feeling as the dog lolled about them that she was being led towards what might always be a warm welcome for her, no matter how far she traveled.

---

#fic #cc #ca #graypov #shadapov

1 note · View note

kilyra · 5 years

Text

Missed That

Shades Alvarez (Luke Cage) One-Shot from prompt list

A/N: I received a request from the darling @natsukitakama from List B: Angst/fluff Prompt List 1 - “I love you, please don’t go”, 5 - “Don’t you love me?”, 9 - “You mean too much to me”, and 10 - "I won’t let you” along with some scenario ideas we’ve chatted about.

This takes place after “Part of This”,“Still Won’t Answer”, and “Your Choice”. It’s not quite as directly tied into that arc though, it’s more like all the other Shades One-shots where it’s the same reader insert, but this is after the big blow-up. (Links to these are in the Masterlist posted in my bio, I can’t post with links or this won’t show up in search)

Warning: A PG13 heated moment. Otherwise, some S2 spoilers but this is all spring boarding off my own ideas after the end of S2.

The meeting had been going well. So well, in fact, it was already wrapping up before your dinner arrived. Not that you minded, Rosalie seemed to be nice enough company and moving onto casual small talk would probably give you the most relaxed evening you’ve had in a good, long while.

As you shifted in the booth, a piercing laugh drew your attention. Your eyes darted to the table of a cozy-looking couple just in time to see the laughing lady lightly batting at the man’s hand. His beaming grin was so infectious, you could almost feel yourself smiling. They seemed so happy. So carefree. Soon, they were leaning in towards each other, carrying on with their quiet conversation, both looking utterly enthralled. The light feeling faded, replaced by an aching void in your chest.

You missed that. Not that you and Hernan had ever been quite so bubbly, but you missed being carefree with him and just enjoying each other. It was something you didn’t see getting back. Softly, you sighed.

Following your gaze, Rosalie hummed. “Ah yeah, the Agnelli’s. They can get a bit annoying, but they always seem happy. It’s sweet.”

Smiling, you turned back to your potential client but before you could reply, there was a flurry of motion by the door.

“Hel-lo?” Rosalie’s eyebrows furrowed as she turned towards the group of men standing near the entrance. Raising her hand, she flicked her fingers, motioning for them to come forward.

They approached the table and it took no time to spot Hernan standing behind two of the men. Wearing his shades, he looked polished in his three-piece suit as he tugged at the cuffs to smooth his jacket back into place. Had there already been some shoving? It wouldn’t be a surprise.

The man in front nodded apologetically. “We’re sorry, Ms. Carbone he-”

“I wouldn’t have called you over if it was a problem,” she briskly cut him off.

The shock of seeing Hernan quickly turned to ice as a sick feeling formed in your stomach. Was he seriously going to ruin this for you? You were so stunned, you couldn’t even find the words.

Standing up, Rosalie firmly pushed on the shoulders of the two men blocking Hernan until they stepped to the side. “Shades. Did you come here to shoot me or something?”

Above his frames, his eyebrows creased as he tilted his head. “Did I…what? No, definitely not.”

With a slight eye roll, she looked over at her bodyguards. “In that case, you can go, boys. We’ll be fine.”

There was hesitation with each step her men took, but soon they afforded them some breathing room. Your heart was pounding so hard it was tough to hear anything over the rushing in your ears.

Leading with a slight sway to her hips, Rosalie stepped up to Hernan, running her hand down his tie and catching it between her fingers. There was a slight purr to her tone when she spoke. “And to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Swallowing back the secondary rush of emotion, you clenched your jaw. Jealousy didn’t quell your initial anger, and you didn’t want to mess anything up with Rosalie.

Glancing down at his tie, Hernan ran his hand over it, dragging it from her grip and smoothing it against his chest. “No disrespect Ms. Carbone, but I’m actually here for Ms. L/n.”

With her eyebrow arching high, Rosalie turned to give you an appraising look. “Is that so? Tell me, are you one of Cage’s people, Ms. L/n?”

Still trying to come back from being floored, you blinked, struggling to focus. “No, I’m not.”

Stepping past her, Hernan stood beside you with his hands clasped in front of him. “But she is under his protection.”

“I’m n-” You stuttered to a stop when Hernan, still looking at Rosalie, stuck his hand in front of you, protectively resting it against the front of your shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, gauging your reaction.

As much as him silencing you was irritating, he was right. Why would you argue that?

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Rosalie looked between you and Hernan. When she spoke, her tone was flat. “And Cage thinks she needs protecting from me? Do we have some kind of problem here?”

Not moving his hand, Hernan’s throat worked as he swallowed. It was the only hint at nervousness as he gave a relaxed shake of his head. “No. I’m not here on behalf of Cage.”

“Then what…” Rosalie’s voice drifted as she followed his arm down to his hand still protectively blocking you. Your pulse continued to race, but you had no idea what you were feeling – it was a rush with a little bit of everything.

Her eyes darted up to meet yours before a slow smile spread over her face like a cat who finally caught the canary. “I see. Well, you can relax, champ. Not only do I have no interest in crossing Cage, but she’s safe here on her own merit.”

Shifting his weight, Hernan stayed quiet. The scent of warm spice drifted over to you and you realized it had been weeks since you’d been close enough to him to catch a hint of that smell. You missed it.

Just then, one of her men appeared behind her, leaning forward to speak quietly in her ear and she replied with a subtle nod. While she effortlessly slid into the long fur coat he held out, her focus was entirely on you. Her team knew her so well, they could step in with no direction at all. It was interesting and a little intimidating.

Without missing a beat, she turned towards Hernan and shrugged. “It actually works out well that you came when you did, Shades. As it turns out, I’ve double booked myself and have to take my leave now. But I promised this esteemed professional the best Italian food of her life, so now you can step in and…entertain her for me.”

Hernan’s grip tightened as Rosalie stepped closer to your side of the booth. Pulling a card from her coat pocket, she held it between her two fingers before setting it on the table with a snap. “In the meantime, once you have an update leave a message at this number and I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, of course,” you said, returning her smile.

When you tried to stand, Hernan kept a firm grip on your shoulder, essentially keeping you in your chair. You glanced up at him, but he continued to look ahead at Rosalie as he let go. After you got to your feet, he shifted his weight just enough to give you room to say goodbye.

Despite her assurances, he was nervous.

Leaning forward, she lightly held your arm and moved in to kiss your cheek. “He’s not bad, but if you ever decide you want to upgrade, come talk to me.”

She said it so quietly that you weren’t entirely sure if Hernan heard. As she straightened, she tried to subdue a grin before she nodded and turned on her heels. In a practised formation, her men followed her as she left.

Turning on Hernan, you jabbed your finger against his chest. “What the hell was that?”

Tilting his head down, he looked at your hand before suddenly covering it with his. His cool fingers wrapped around yours as he held your hand against him. Smoothly, he pulled off his shades and set them on the table behind you, while keeping his eyes trained on you.

It took effort, but you kept your breath steady, not letting it match your racing heart. That look always got to you. His fingers tightened and absently, you squeezed back.

Moving in, his eyes skimmed over your face, pausing on your lips before looking back into your eyes. “You should have called me to come with you tonight.”

“Why? We’re not exactly good right now and I was just meeting a client. Letting you know where I was meeting her was a courtesy.”

“You know this place is a front right? And a lot of these people are hers? Even if you’re in Carbone’s good books, and it looks like you are, it’s still not safe to be in a crime family’s restaurant.”

As he spoke, he brought his free hand up to brush your hair out of your face. His fingers lightly danced over your skin and goosebumps rose all down your arm.

“I-I’m leaving.” You tried not to stammer, but it was hard to pull yourself together.

“I was worried because I love you, please don’t go,” he said as his fingers trailed along the back of your neck.

You could feel his heartbeat under your hand. It was starting to beat faster. “Didn’t you just say this place was dangerous? And now you want me to stay?”

“You don’t want to insult her, and leaving without eating will definitely do that.”

“And what does that matter to you?”

His flinch was faint, but you still caught it. And your stomach knotted. As angry as you were that he had put you in Cage’s orbit without your knowledge, you knew on some level he was trying to help. The situation forced many readjustments for both of you, and it wasn’t easy. But that flinch cut you deep.

“Because it matters to you. I don’t get what she’s playing at since she’s already in with Cage, but-”

“It’s not for…“ You sighed as you cut him off. "Her nephew has a serious condition that her local hospital is helping him manage. They’re shockingly underfunded and she just wants to help. My name has gotten around so she was asking for a starting point. As far as I know, it has nothing to do with Cage.”

And with how uncomfortable Hernan was over the whole arrangement, you felt fairly confident he wasn’t hiding anything from you. This time.

His heart was racing as he sharply nodded. “Good. Look, you and I, we’re on the same side. I…mishandled a lot of things, and I’m sorry. But I’ll never forget whose side I’m on. And I won’t let you forget that either, you mean too much to me.”

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on yours and your flare of irritation eased away. He rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand and when he continued, his raspy voice was low and husky. “Don’t you love me? Or at least trust me still?”

Your heart was racing as fast as his. It had been weeks since you’d been in his embrace. Weeks since you felt him against you, since you felt his lips on yours. Finally, you nodded against his forehead. “Yes. To both.”

A smile flashed across his face before his hand slid up your neck to cup your cheek. Lifting his forehead, his mouth found its way to yours. The soft flesh of his lips moved gently as he let go of your hand to slide his around your waist and pull you in closer. As his kiss grew more insistent, his tongue dipped into your mouth, eagerly met by your own. With your freed hand, you clutched the fabric of his jacket to steady yourself as you pressed against him. Sliding his hand further from your cheek, he gently twisted his fingers with your hair and a soft moan escaped your throat.

You wanted to leave. Now.

Pulling away, you both took shallow, shaky breaths as his eyes bore into yours. Lovingly, his thumb traced along your jawline as he regained his composure. Slowly, you remembered you were in the middle of a rather busy restaurant. The restaurant of the potential donor that you didn’t want to insult.

As if reading your thoughts, a slow smirk grew on Hernan’s lips. “We’ll eat quickly.”

#shades alvarez x reader #hernan alvarez x reader #luke cage #shades alvarez #hernan alvarez

65 notes · View notes

genesisarclite · 6 years

Text

Wanderlust

This started as a joke and ended up as 5,400 words of fluffy nonsense. In which Aria is trying to de-stress at the range, Adam briefly joins her, she can’t stop staring, and Adam becomes flustered. Like, badly flustered.

This is also your fault, @trulycertain. Again.

It was eighteen hundred hours, or somewhere around there, and Aria was alone in the shooting range. There were more people on the day shift than the night shift in Prague’s TF29 office, so most of them were working on leaving. The doors kept clunking open and closed, barely audible through the reinforced plate glass at her back. It was a repetitive, obnoxious sound that grated on her nerves if she paid too much attention.

In the week following the return from London, Director Miller was still on sick leave – much to his chagrin – and all of those involved couldn’t find as much to do as they were used to. The night shift now consisted of a few staff who couldn’t do much more than look over reports and check on random leads. Everyone had been uneasy at first, but after two days of it, the tension was beginning to dissipate.

Aria had come here to help relieve some of that tension by reminding herself that her artificial arm could still grip a combat rifle like her natural one, that she could still level a target, that she could squeeze off shots from a hand far steadier than her old one and hit her target almost every time. For her, and MacReady’s team altogether, the London op had been an exercise in frustration, without much happening. Instead, Adam had been the one to get himself in trouble and nearly killed, along with Miller. He had been the one to stop all this.

She rested the rifle on its side on the counter in front of her, leaving her hands on it and looking at the floor.

She was on MacReady’s team now, what she had been pushing for since day one, and now, she was Adam’s teammate, yet she barely saw him anymore. Even in the field, he got sent off on his own. Upstairs, when he was at his desk, he paid no one else any mind and disappeared at a moment’s notice.

Chewing the inside of her lip, she chastised herself. She liked him, as a friend and teammate, and not having been able to see him much really frustrated her.

With some effort, she managed to grab all her giddy thoughts and stuff them in a box before they could get away from her. The only reason she wanted to see him was because he was nicer than his appearance let on, and beyond that, because she needed to know her teammates. The others weren't so nice, and MacReady was... well, Mac, so it made sense to start with the nicest person, didn’t it? And besides, didn’t she already kind of know him?

Her mind spilled out of the box again, and she felt far too exhausted to fix it. Right now, she didn’t have good control over her thoughts, and she feared that if she tried to talk, nothing would go right. As it was, only the bit of caffeine she’d had in the form of an energy drink around ten kept her awake, but it was wearing off, leaving her body spent and mind tangled in knots of confusion.

Grunting, she picked up the rifle, then tried an experimental squeeze of the trigger while aiming at a target at the far end of the range. The shot went slightly wild and pinged the rim.

As she sighed and checked the remaining rounds, she heard the door to the range slide open, followed by the sound of footsteps. She looked up and felt her heart leap into her throat. Oh, of course it was the one person she actually wanted to see, catching her off guard when she was tired and wouldn’t be able to think straight. Over the past six months, she could count on two hands the number of times he’d actually stopped to talk to her, but didn’t have enough fingers and toes for the number of times she had slyly watched him go by.

“Oh, hey, Adam,” she said, and smiled. “What brings you here?”

Without the coat, it was obvious how long, lean, and strong his body was, the form-fitting shirt and breastplate seeming to just emphasize every line and curve in ways that encouraged her eyes to wander. The soft, blue-white evening lighting of the range shone on the carbon-black shell of his augs, casting a long, soft shadow in several points around him. Knowing her eyes were visible to him, she made a valiant effort to keep them on his face.

“Saw you here. Figured maybe you could use a partner.” The corner of his lips quirked in the semblance of a smile. “Mind if I join in?”

“Oh... sure! Of course you can.” She waved at an empty spot. “Be my guest.” As he moved to do so and his face turned away, her eyes immediately dropped, following the long lines of his body all the way down and back up. What was he doing here? Was he doing it on purpose? How was she supposed to–

She took a quick breath. Calm down.

“You okay, Aria?”

The way he pronounced her name was endearing. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.��

Above one of the gold-tinted shields, a shapely dark eyebrow raised enough to make her look away, feeling suddenly shy. Quite unlike her, really – even when she had met him, she’d refused to be shy, instead boldly looking him in the eye and accepting his handshake with only a little stumbling over her words. She had always found him to be a bit of a looker, really, but this was the first time he’d hung around long enough for her to realize how much so.

As he aimed a Zenith pistol at the far end of the range and took a few moments to settle into a marksman’s stance, she let her gaze wander from the gleaming metal at his shoulder down to the curve of his hand. It was beautiful work, all tarnished gold joints and shining metal, and despite the faint pitting and scarring visible beneath the lights, she found the curves and lines uncannily handsome. The thickness was wrong, the structure of his wrist less human than her cybernetic arm, but it was still so... elegant. Graceful.

He squeezed the trigger. The silencer made a soft pop as the bullet struck the target. It didn’t hit in the middle, instead landing off to the side, eliciting a slight frown from him.

“You have the advantage of two cybernetic arms,” she said with a grin, “and you missed?”

“That was... me warming up,” he muttered.

She smirked when he glanced at her and gave a slight shake of the head, then watched as he again aimed and squeezed the trigger. This time, the bullet hit home, very close to the bullseye.

The lights shifted across the shell when he lowered his arms before separating his hands, letting the pistol hang at his side near his hip. The curve of his spine drew her eye again, noting the density of the shirt fabric and the way it left very little of his torso to her imagination. Beneath his waist, the dark, canvas pants continued to be just as form-fitting, laced with zippers and open pockets and held up by a utility belt hung with small pouches. It was good for stealth work, being that it wouldn’t creak or rustle, while the colors were good for the shadows and could blur his outline. The shininess probably didn’t help, but that could be fixed by overlaying them with something temporarily. Maybe the grease used on the face, or spraying them down with some sort of matte finish that could buff off.

Only then did she realize he was looking steadily at her, and she snapped her gaze back up. “Sorry?”

A pause, then, “Are you sure you’re okay, Aria?”

She blinked, feeling the early tinges of an exhaustion headache. Honestly, she shouldn’t be here, but crawling onto her bed at home with a book for a bit before going to sleep. All her limbs felt too heavy, and she didn’t feel totally steady on her feet. If she went much longer, her brain would more or less stop running in “socially acceptable” mode and slip into “whatever come to mind first” mode.

At the same time, Adam was here, for the first time in far too long. Alone. With her. Within an arm’s length, and dressed in tight, flattering clothes she couldn’t complain about. She had him all to herself and, exhaustion or no, she was going to take advantage of that, and she would just have to sleep later.

“Completely fine,” she assured him. “Energy drink’s just wearing off a bit. I’m good.”

It was hard to tell how he really felt with those shields up, so she waited until he turned away before going back to staring at his arm. During his tenure here, she’d overheard a number of people say his augs were frightening or too inhuman, and they of course were all nervous because he was a militarized Aug, allowed to wander freely in their branch, never smiling or hanging around very long, talking little, sent constantly on missions, seen rarely.

The augs didn’t frighten her, though. They were sleek, strange, and beautiful in a way she had trouble pinpointing. The twitch of artificial muscle, the glint of light off the shell–

“Aria, hey, you okay?”

“Huh?” she said without thinking, and looked back at his face. “What?”

Another pause, then, “I said, how long you been here tonight? Did you come here for a reason, or just because?”

“Just because,” she said with a shrug. “Got to get rid of a little stress and all.”

“Yeah, okay.” He tipped his head. “Should I go?”

The possibility made her stomach drop through the floor. “No! No, no, you’re fine, you’re completely fine, not bothering me at all, don’t worry, okay? It’s fine.” Her cheeks warmed, but she kept her eyes on the shields and a friendly smile on her lips, refusing to let her eyes wander again. Good job, girl. Filter, last a little longer.

The pause lasted so long this time, and he stood so very still, that she momentarily wondered if she had somehow wandered into a pocket of frozen time. “I... okay.” With visible hesitation, he looked away, glanced at her, then refocused on the target and leveled the pistol again.

Her eyes trailed back down to his shoulder, then up to his lips. They were very nice, she thought, fullish and the color of a pale rose, standing out against the well-groomed dark hair of his beard and working while he aimed. Without his eyes to look at, she had to study the rest of his face, and she found so many small details in her wanderings – the hard muscle below the collar of the shirt, the twitch of natural and unnatural tendons in his neck, the way his brow wrinkled when his eyebrows drew together in slight, rapid twitches.

Pop came the silencer, followed by three more in quick succession. When the pistol fired, his arms suppressed the kickback to make it the barest of twitches, allowing him to draw a bead again with ease. Each shot landed in the center of the target, or very close to it, and a faint smile played across his lips.

His beard was so thick that she couldn’t see the pale skin beneath, and she wondered if the hair was black or just a very dark brown, so she looked up at where his hair stood up against the lights. They shone a dark golden-brown through the well-manicured spikes that flowed back from his forehead and down across his skull, tapering at the back of the neck in a textured flair that emphasized the pleasant line that continued down to his shoulders.

“Aria, what do you keep looking at?”

The suddenness of his voice in the quiet made her flinch; eyes widening, she looked at him, mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of a response. The microseconds ticked by slow as hours as his head whipped around to face her, one (very fine and very shapely) eyebrow raised inquisitively.

He hadn’t even spoken that loudly, but he really didn’t have to.

“There’s– I’m just look– I’m staring at the– thousand-yard stare, Adam, sorry, I blanked out a little.” She grinned.

He shifted his weight, looked slightly away from her, then back. Again, his mouth worked, briefly distracting her as she fought the instinct to look again. “You sound kind of tired. Sure you don’t wanna cut this short and head–”

“No, Adam, really, I’m fine. No issues here. Please, continue.”

“Are you even paying attention?”

Oh, she was paying plenty of attention. “Yeah, ‘course I am. It’s fine, go on.”

“You haven’t said much of anything since I got here, and you keep spacing out. Look, if you can’t focus, maybe you should just go home before you, you know, hurt yourself or... or something.” The pistol landed on the counter; he leaned on it with one hand and rested the other on the opposite hip, resulting in a stance that she found suddenly very distracting.

“N... no, don’t worry, I’m perfectly...” Breathe. “...fine.”

His lips parted again, and coupled with the sharp intake of breath, she knew he was about to start in on her again. Bracing herself, she folded her arms and looked defiantly back at him. No way was she cutting this short. Even if all she did was stand here and be a useless prop that stared blankly at her illegally attractive teammate, no way was she going to lose this opportunity. Just taking him in was enough to melt more stress away.

But then, his mouth closed, and he seemed to be staring at her, lips twitching again. On the counter, his fingers tapped out a rhythm, while on the other, they squeezed his hip. Though she kept her eyes on his face, her focus drifted to her peripheral vision. The line from shoulder to hip made her bite the inside of her lip. Wow. She’d already been aware of how attractive he really was, but here, here, all alone... it wasn’t fair.

“...I’ll take your... word for it, then,” he muttered, and turned away.

She blinked in surprise as his skin darkened slightly, though still very pale against the inky lines of his hair, then felt both eyebrows shoot up when he briefly fumbled his grip on the pistol and barely caught it before it fell into the range itself, the edge glancing off a fingertip before he hurriedly wrapped his fingers around it. The whole thing took maybe the space of two heartbeats, but it might as well have been drenched in neon.

Grab the rifle and start hitting that target. Pretend you’re here actually doing something. Stop staring. It’s rude. Don’t you think he gets stared at enough? He probably thinks you think he’s a freak. He’s probably blushing out of shame, so stop that staring and focus on doing something else, you useless piece of–

Another thought sauntered up to her rational one, grinned, and kicked it out of the way. Now free for a moment, it turned to her, clasped its hands behind its back, and whispered loudly, isn’t he beautiful?

The shot crashed into the wall.

Adam cleared his throat and fired four times. All four didn’t go near the target; she noticed a tremor in his arms that hadn’t been there a moment ago, so faint that she wouldn’t have noticed if...

She sighed. If she hadn’t been gawking.

“Huh,” he muttered, and pulled the now-empty clip. The new one didn’t go in right the first time, cracking against the pistol really loudly in the silence; he froze, then tried again, bumping the clip a second time before it finally slid in, and he gave it a slap to lock it in place. He racked the pistol, aimed, and fired again, six times now, four of them hitting the target, one hitting the outer edge, and another striking the wall.

“Looks like those stabilizing augs can get tired too, huh?” She spoke cheerfully, but inside, she knew she’d somehow upset him, and he wasn’t able to focus anymore because of it. What if he was angry? Maybe he was. Maybe he was just too polite to kick her out, what with this being her old territory and all.

“Yeah, that’s, uh, probably what happened. Sounds about right.” He glanced at her, then back at the targets. More shots, and this time, all but one hit the mark dead on.

She steadied her grip on the rifle and began firing in three-round bursts, mostly hitting the center of the target. When the clip was spent, she ejected it and slapped in a new one, then continued on, the silencer affixed to the barrel turning each shot into a dull popping sound. The bullets spattered the target with soft tinks, and through each strike, she took out her frustration at what she had said and done. Of course she’d managed to bungle this already. First time having any time alone with him, and she had already hurt him and embarrassed herself.

The spent clip ended up tossed to the floor; as she locked in a new one, she looked over at him as he smoothly slid the clip of his pistol out and, in a single graceful movement, put a new one in.

Maybe it was time to leave, but as she studied him, she again found it difficult to walk away. After all, she did need to get used to his presence, and besides, he was a work of living art, all interesting angles and curves. He was a person, her teammate, and he was also so... so striking, so elegant, so graceful, each move so calculated and expression so controlled. She couldn’t tell how upset she’d made him. She could only guess.

He stopped firing, stood in place for a moment, and lowered his arms. Lips twitching, he looked at her. “Aria, hey, eyes up here. Or... or is there something... that’s not... supposed to be there?”

She squeaked, “No?”

Again, his lips twitched, and he looked away, then back at her. He turned his body toward her, lowering the pistol to the counter again, and looked right at her, the blank, gold-tinted shields giving no hint to his real thoughts. Mortified, she couldn’t hold what she assumed was his gaze and looked down, shyly following the long, sturdy lines of his legs to the floor as she did. Oh, this wasn’t fair at all.

“Can I...” Another pause, very short. “Can– can I get that rifle?”

A little surprised by the faint stutter – or maybe it wasn’t a stutter; maybe he was just suppressing his anger – she looked at him, then nodded and picked up the rifle, offering it to him stock-first. His hand brushed hers when he reached for it; she felt her skin flush hot and looked down again. A moment later, he took the rifle, then turned away from her, giving her space to look up at him again.

“Um...” She shifted anxiously. “...did I say something wrong?”

Both eyebrows went up when he looked at her. “Aria, what makes you think you did?”

“No reason,” was her hasty response, but she looked away as she spoke. On the one hand, she worried she might have upset him by staring, probably reminding him of the citizens, cops, and Aug fetishists giving him sidelong looks as he did something as normal as walk down the street. On the other hand, he was impossibly beautiful, had been from the moment she’d met him, and reconciling that attraction with his status as a teammate was difficult.

“Well, you didn’t,” he said firmly. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Good,” she told him, injecting a note of cheer into her voice. “Well, let me get back to resolving the tension.”

Adam looked at her and lifted one eyebrow.

She blinked. “With the... guns, and the targets, Adam, don’t look at me like that.”

Now the other eyebrow went up. “I meant– what else could I have meant? You already told me you were–”

“Sorry, sorry, of course you didn’t mean–” Stupid. Idiot. Moron. “Never mind. I’m going to shoot things, and you’re going to shoot things, and everything’s going to be fine, right?”

“I didn’t mean anything else by it,” he added quickly. “So I didn’t... I wasn’t trying–”

“It’s okay, Adam, really, please stop talking.” Pause. “I mean... don’t stop talking, I’m fine with you talking. Just don’t go talking about that. But it’s fine if you want to talk, I like when you talk to me.” Another pause. “You know, when... you want to. Talk to me. Don’t feel like you have to– you know what, you don’t have to talk. I don’t mind if you talk, but if you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to talk. So don’t feel... you have... to?”

She watched his lower lip move in the sort of thoughtful fashion that made her think he was... biting it? “I’ve done most of the talking tonight. Sure there’s not something on your mind? If you you came here to blow off steam, and I’m... am I intruding?”

“No, no, I don’t mind. I like having you around!”

In the silence that followed, all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart in her ears. It was bad enough that everyone whispered around her that “did you see the way she looks at him” or “someone’s got a crush” or “she always has an excuse to talk to him”. What if that got back to him? Would they still be friends, or whatever they were? What if he decided she was an Aug fetishist and gave her a wide berth? Nothing was going to come of it, of course. She respected him far too much, and besides–

He continued gazing at her, and she focused on breathing. Besides, he was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, and he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. She was just a friendly ear and occasional smile, certainly not worthy of such a skilled individual who was expected to save the world every day. It would be like a superhero being drawn to the girl who chatted him up at the supermarket. Things like that just didn’t happen.

She had, once or twice, let a shameful thought cross her mind – the fine fabric of his coat under her fingers, sitting quietly with him in his apartment, the brush of his lips against hers – but she knew they were all fantasies. He would never want her like that. He was just too polite to tell her–

“Well, good,” he said, in a quieter voice and a barely-there sort of hesitation that made her search those blank shades again, “because I like having you around, too. So, I guess we’re even.”

Her heart clambered up into her throat and tried to strangle her, making what she wanted to say risk coming out in a most undignified manner. After swallowing against that knot (and quickly kicking down the bubble of insane hope that rose into her chest), she managed to smile. “Okay. Back to shooting things.”

Adam gave her a quick half-smile that immediately crushed any hope she had of walking away before turning back to the range, shouldering the rifle, and firing off several burst shots. She kept staring at him, trying desperately to gather all her thoughts and again stomping on the hope welling up inside her.

He likes having you around because you’re a good teammate, the rational side of her brain shouted.

The other side whispered, But what if he likes you?

She picked up the Zenith pistol from under his elbow, racked it, and changed it to full-auto before aiming. As her mind went back over what was said, a blanket of anxiety settled over her. He doesn’t like me, not like that. If this went on much longer, the tension radiating off her body would be palpable to him, and wouldn’t be able to look at him for the rest of the week. As it was, he probably already thought she was crazy.

Glancing at him again, she tried to think of what to say.... only to find him looking back at her. For an instant, they just stared at each other, then he looked away again, and she fiddled with the pistol.

Making a fool out of herself: already done.

It was too quiet, and the rattling of the weapons felt like nails on a chalkboard. If she didn’t talk about something, it was going to be too much. She would go to bed, then lay there for hours, going over all of this in her head, over and over, trying desperately to figure out what she could've done better and could do in the future. Bad enough everyone already thought she was in love with him, because she wasn’t. He was just very, very pretty, and so far out of her league that she didn’t know why she even bothered trying to find anything in common with him.

Suddenly, he sighed, and she heard a faint snick before he straightened. In her peripheral vision, she saw him lower the rifle to the counter, but keep his hand on it. “This about London?”

Lowering the pistol, she looked at him, only to find the shields gone and dark, deep-set eyes studying her from under those well-arched eyebrows. The change was so startling that she forgot to speak at all, staring at eyes she’d never seen before and quickly drifting away from her surroundings. They were incredibly dark, with a thin ring of gold around the pupil, strange, but beautiful, and exposed, they completely changed his face.

All the harshness vanished, the hard angles softened, and he looked so human.

When he tilted his head, upsetting her gaze, she felt herself blush again. “Wha– London? Um, no, it’s not– well, kind of, I guess. It’s kind of about London. It’s just frustrating that I finally got on CT, and then the first op I go on, nothing happens. You had all the fun.” Pause. “Not ‘fun’, I guess. You know what I mean.”

“You’ll get more chances,” he told her. “That being said, I get where you’re coming from. All those months of prodding, and the first op’s kind of a letdown. I get that.”

She nodded, hesitated, and gestured at her eyes with one hand. “Why do you hide these?”

Only when he blinked did she truly notice the thick rim of inky black lashes that surrounded those eyes. “Hide... what, hide my eyes? It’s just to protect them, you know. Delicate equipment.”

“But, even off-duty, like when you’re here?”

He opened and closed his mouth before just blinking at her again, and that steady gaze from those intense eyes made her feel oddly vulnerable. There was no hint of anger there that she could see, only a sort of softness around his eyes she would never have expected to find there. Why take the shields down now, and why hide his eyes to begin with?

“Too bad,” she said with a shrug. “They’re very pretty.”

The response was that of a slightly slower blink, followed by a series of rapid ones, before his gaze shifted away from hers, along with a slight turn of the head and working of the lips. As she studied that body language, she felt her mouth fall open a little as she suddenly realized what it actually meant.

“Thanks,” he said, still not looking at her.

With some effort, she managed to close her mouth and turn away, hefting the pistol again. Feeling like she’d said far too much, she looked at her pistol, then back at him. Something about his stance and grip felt off. “Adam, when was the last time you actually held a rifle?”

He looked at her. “It’s, uh, been a while. Why do you ask?”

“You’re holding it kind of wrong.” Gathering her courage and holstering the pistol, she stepped over to him, leaned in, and adjusted his grip without a word, then shifted the rifle further into his shoulder and slapped the top. “There. That probably feels better, right? What do you think?”

Adam looked at her in complete silence, and as it stretched on, she grew painfully aware of their proximity. There was really only enough space at each counter for one person and some change, so cramming two people in meant things became very intimate, very quickly. When she looked up, she found his face maybe two hands’ breadth from hers, and her shoulder had come to rest nonchalantly against his upper arm.

“Uh...” The uncharacteristic response made her blush harder, but also made her pulse jump a notch. With a few more quick blinks and a bit of his tongue twitching behind his lips, he opened his mouth, closed it, looked at her shoulder, then back at her with another, slower blink.

No way was she moving. “Well?” Oh, good, now her voice betrayed her.

“Eh... yeah, it’s... it’s much better. Thanks.” Another pause, shorter than the last one. “You can... Thanks.”

For good measure, she offered him a smirk as she backed out of his area, but when she turned her back, her face fell, and her hands landed on her cheeks. They felt far too warm, creeping up to her ears; she gritted her teeth. He was beautiful, but she didn’t have any actual feelings, just a crush she knew would never go anywhere. Those weren't unusual for anyone, and for her, well, what good would it do to think otherwise? All it would end up doing was leave her pining when she should be focusing instead. Or sleeping. Also something she should be doing.

More suppressed shots; she looked in time to see him empty to clip, then shift the rifle into the crook of his right arm to seize the clip with his left.

He pulled too hard, the clip flew out of his grip, and the rifle bumped the counter with a loud crack.

The clip bounced once and skidded across the floor; she stopped it with one foot, picked it up, and turned it over in both hands while looking at him from under her lashes. She felt a tad too shy to do much else, and beneath his bewildered gaze, his lips faintly pursed, she couldn’t think as clear she would have liked.

“Are you tired, too?” she murmured.

Adam studied her for a long time before lowering the rifle to the counter and sliding his hand from the grip. He took a slow step toward her, hesitated, and took a few more, all of them at a painfully deliberate pace. When he reached out to touch the clip, his fingers drifted close to hers. The other hand followed after a few moments to take the clip from underneath, but this time, those fingers did brush hers. The shell felt slightly porous and pitted, but surprised her with its warmth, flooding her body with echoes of his own and making her heart skip a beat.

Maybe this wasn’t just a crush. Maybe it was something a lot more persistent.

“Yeah, a little,” he murmured. “I’m probably gonna cut out for the night.” With obnoxious suddenness, he plucked the clip from her grip and looked away at an angle, brow furrowing, then he looked the other way, as if searching for a way out of whatever he had gotten himself into. The way he turned away spoke volumes in a language she didn’t understand, and she suddenly felt like, maybe, she didn’t belong here.

“I should probably go, too,” she said, and picked her bag off the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. For a long moment, she just gazed at him again, feeling something settle inside her.

There were worse people to crush on.

But as she headed for the door, trying not to dwell on her embarrassment, she heard at her back, “Hey, Aria? Thanks for letting me stick around for a while tonight.”

The door slid open, but she stopped halfway through, looked back at him, and smiled.

#deus ex #adam x aria #adam jensen #aria argento #fluffy nonsense #my writing #i am a serious writer #sometimes

14 notes · View notes

cupidmarwani-archive · 6 years

Text

Ink Stains (8/25)

WC: 1606

Barely an hour into the workday, and Benson is already calling him. It’s hard to keep the annoyance out of his town when he answers it. “Is this an emergency, Lieutenant? I have a lot of work to do.” He doesn’t explain that it’s because he wants to go home in time to visit Pam before dinner.

“Sonny’s en route to Bellevue with Rollins and Amaro, thought you might want to know.”

In less than a second, Peter’s out of his seat and pulling his coat on as he leaves his office, just barely pausing to scribble a note to hand to Carmen to make sure that no one bothers him while he’s there. He hears the panic in his own voice as he asks why, how, if he’s going to be okay.

“Rollins was questioning him. She got called out by Amaro for an interrogation, and when he walked by a few minutes later Sonny was on the floor, having a full-blown panic attack. Hit his head pretty hard while he was freaking out, and hyperventilated his way out of consciousness.”

He thanks her before he hangs up to call an Uber to the hospital, hoping to get there before Sonny wakes up surrounded by strangers and potentially restrained. That’s just asking for disaster. If he were in that position, waking up in a sterile white room with his arms belted down and with unfamiliar faces in his personal space, he knows he’d lose it. Pile that on top of the trauma of whatever Sonny’s been through, and in the aftermath of a panic attack, and Peter knows he has to be there.

It seems to take an eternity to get to the hospital, but the clock on his phone says that it’s only thirteen minutes between the time he slides into the backseat of the Subaru and when he tumbles out to run into the ER demanding to know where Dominick Carisi is. The nurses just tell him to get in line, which he does dutifully despite his urge to argue. Actual people in need of medical treatment should come before his desire to see Sonny, but at the same time, he has this need to find him and stand by his side and tell him that everything is going to be okay even if he’s not so sure that that’s true. The line crawls by as people are sent through triage with their bleeding arms and their clammy faces. All of them need help, but Peter can’t bring himself to care when Sonny’s somewhere here, needing his help.

“I need to get back to see a patient immediately.”

“What’s their name?”

This is too slow, far too slow. Peter has to repeat Sonny’s name twice to be understood.

“Relationship?”

Now’s not the time, but he wonders what their relationship is. Back in college, it had been weird. They were best friends, but there were these moments where it seemed like they had more. Late night studying where Sonny would lay in between Peter’s legs against his chest so that they could read at the same time. Peter would feed them both, bites of shitty takeout and 99 cent ramen between pages. Sometimes they’d share clothes, even if Peter was always a size bigger than Sonny. Many nights passed in the same bed when they were too tired or too cold to part ways. Things were questionable then, but now? It’s a different wheelhouse. Peter always hoped he’d come back. Explain himself, or say he was sorry, but he didn’t want them to cross paths again like this.

“I’m the Manhattan ADA and my detectives have reason to suspect that he’s a victim,” he says, which isn’t technically a lie. “He should be with Detectives Rollins and Amaro from Manhattan SVU, they’ll vouch for me.”

She does, in fact, have Amaro come to the front counter to wave him in before he can go to Sonny’s room. As they walk, he learns that Sonny isn’t awake yet and the doctors are going to do a more thorough exam to document the abuse that ‘Vinnie’ put him through once he’s conscious to provide consent. He asks for more specifics on why Sonny freaked out, and Nick shakes his head.

“He was fine when I pulled Rollins. Few minutes later, I walk by and he’s on the floor losin’ it.”

“Did you approach him?”

“Yeah,” Amaro says, stopping in front of a bay and pulling the curtains to let Peter in. “I grabbed his arms to get his attention and he slammed his head into the floor. Opened his eyes… the second he saw me, he got all… he went limp. Like a ragdoll. Just stared at me and kept hyperventilating until he passed out. Bus got there a few minutes later.”

Sonny’s lying in the bed, eyes shut and hooked up to a heart rate monitor that beeps slowly to the tune of his heartbeat. According to Rollins’ voice that Peter barely manages not to tune out, he’ll be up soon. He fainted from the high concentration of carbon dioxide due to his hyperventilating. It could have gone on for several minutes before Amaro even noticed that something was wrong.

“When you called out Rollins, how did you do it? Did Sonny see you? Hear you?”

With a strange expression, Amaro tilts his head to the side. “I leaned into the room, told her to come help. She said to wait, I said we needed her now.”

“Your tone?”

“It may have been aggressive.”

That’s when Peter’s brain helpfully supplies how much Amaro and Reyes look alike, and that ‘Vinnie’ could be short for Vincent. It would make sense; Sonny’s fear of cops, why he would be triggered by Amaro’s apparent anger, the fact that he seemed paralyzed when he saw Amaro up close while he was in a fit of panic. All of it is completely circumstantial, but Peter gets the feeling he isn’t far off the mark.

He pushes it all aside for later and comes to Sonny’s bedside to hold his hand. It’s cold like always, but completely limp. The veins under the skin of his wrist run purple and blue, fragile and thin. Under the white clinical sheets, Sonny looks more like a cadaver than a breathing person. Without his usual layers, he looks so much more sickly. Bruises under his eyes from not enough sleep, hollowed cheeks. A thin pink scar runs across Sonny’s neck that Peter doesn’t remember from when they were younger. It must be from Vinnie. He can’t help thinking that Sonny’s a victim right now.

“Did you get anything, Rollins?”

“Uh, yeah. Vinnie abducted him, and he lived in an old house the entire time, no clue where. Before he got away, he only left once to sign a marriage certificate. Legally, he’s married to Vinnie. He didn’t get to telling me what was done to him before Amaro pulled me, but he said it was a lot.”

Standing there, she keeps her arms crossed over her chest. Peter knows that this has to be killing her almost as much as it is him. As long as he’s known her, she’s been an emotional detective, one who takes things personally. Today’s episode wasn’t her fault, but seeing Sonny panic twice in as many days has to be devastating for her, too. Before they can continue, Sonny’s eyes start to open with pinprick pupils and a lost look.

“Sonny?”

He squeezes Peter’s hand and looks up at him like he’s someone worthy of love. They don’t need to say anything to understand that neither of them are going anywhere anytime soon. Rollins says she’ll get the doctor, letting Amaro in on her way out. As soon as Sonny catches sight of him, he tightens his hold on Peter so much that it hurts and his heart rate starts to skyrocket again.

“Hey, shh, look at me,” Peter says, smoothing Sonny’s hair off his forehead and gently turning his face to meet his eyes again. “You’re safe. That’s Nick Amaro, he’s not gonna hurt you. He’s here to help.”

The look on Sonny’s face, accusatory and disbelieving, breaks Peter’s heart. If his hunch is right and Reyes is Vinnie, then Sonny probably thinks that Amaro is him and he’s going to have to go back home with him. More torture, more abuse.

“I promise that he won’t hurt you. No one will, I’ll keep you safe.”

Amaro shakes his head and raises his hands with clear frustration on his face. Sonny flinches and Peter fights the urge to snap at Amaro for not keeping his face neutral, for acting like it’s a personal vendetta. “I’ll be in the hallway, Rollins will be back soon,” he says bitterly, and leaves the room.

Once he’s gone, Sonny shuts his eyes and as Peter watches, he starts to silently cry. If there was something, anything he could do to make this all better, he would. In the span of a month, the world has gotten so small around him. First, Sonny shows up a mess in need of help. Then things are going downhill with Pam and he definitely won’t have time to visit her today. And on top of it, he just caught the biggest case of his career and it’s a mess of Brooklyn officers who’ve done things that could make corpses shiver. Everything is overwhelming right now, and it looks like it’s not going to slow down anytime soon. He brushes the tears from Sonny’s face and makes a silent promise to protect him and keep him safe.

#starisi #fic #mine #angst #inkstains

23 notes · View notes

chaos-societies · 6 years

Text

Episode 3, The Journey to Cap

Sonic Tails Amy and Rouge sat around the outside of the tavern just as they had earlier the day before. Weariness from the craic of Tails’ Induction being all spent, each had a glass in hand – even Tails though being nearly two ages too young. Mina was able to sneak him one as she waited the tables that evening.

“I’m telling you all,” Sonic said to close the conversation they were having, “it was the strangest thing I had ever felt.” He left it at that but in thought went into more detail. Into detail about how the moment he saw those bones arranged so, he was chilled to the core but his flesh burned with instinct to run. How he exhaled what seemed like for a moment his last breath. How he felt like three worlds, past present and future imploded into a moment that left him frozen in time and space.

Tails swirled his drink around a bit, staring at the small bubbles of foam that clung to the glass at the wakes of the alcoholic ripples he was making. He took another nervous sip all the while looking around to ensure no one but his friends saw him do so. “Same thing for me; I don’t think I had ever felt such a cold loneliness.”

The group fell to a sorrowful silence. There was not really any way to follow up the conversation without being abrasive about it. Luckily and with convenient timing, Chuck had walked down the main road of the village. As soon as Sonic and Tails returned from the Stark Ruins and informed him of their findings he decided to set out himself to take a look. However it being so late the previous day he waited until morn. His grim and pale face upon his return did not comfort the two but they were anxious to hear what he had to say.

“Come on Tails,” Sonic said just before downing the rest of his drink. He continued with a small bubble of carbonation in the back of his throat, “let’s go see what he’s got to say!” He put his mouth in the pit of his elbow to conceal the small burp that was forming before speeding off. Tails followed in his wake with the same actions but coughed and gagged a bit after chugging the remaining contents of his glass as he was still not as used to it. He slammed down the cup and with his fluttering tails spinning up dirt behind him he zoomed to Chuck’s hut behind his friend.

“Well I guess that’s that. Surely they’ll fill us in.” Rouge said raising her drink to her lips.

“Yeah.” Amy sounded a tad down. “Call it a gut feeling but,” she paused momentarily, “I don’t like what may come of this.”

“What do you mean?” Rouge asked.

…

Tails and Sonic sat quietly as Chuck paced back and forth in his hut. There was a strange tension in the air as they anxiously waited for the old hedgehog to speak as not yet had he done so in the few minutes since they arrived.

“Chaos.”

Sonic and Tails’ ears perked at the breach of silence. “Chaos?” They stated close to simultaneously.

“That’s what is spelt out by the arrangement of bones you saw.” Chuck peered down at a little paper with the design from the ruins etched onto it. “It’s Ogham. An ancient alphabet not used in at least a millennium and by much older civilizations than what was around back then. As for the seven marks surrounding it I can only assume it means for the Seven Societies. But–” He scratched behind his quills. “–there is no reason for anyone to do this. It is pointless. And yet,” he paused again, “not sure I am if anyone actually did this.” Chuck looked back at the two as they lingered in curiosity on every word that dripped from his mouth. “I felt the same eeriness when I went to investigate after you told me what you saw. There is evil at work here.” He turned to the kitchen sink and washed his hands.

“Come on Uncle Chuck,” Sonic broke from his enthralled attention to a more down to earth stance and continued, “you saying some ‘evil magic forces’ are playing pranks on us? How do we know those damn desert Reds didn’t just want to spook us?” He didn’t believe his own words – but still wished them to be true.

Chuck didn’t verbalize the answer he had to Sonic’s inquiry but yet spoke only what he knew needed to be done. He turned to them. “There is a library in Cap, just north of the Greater Area. There’s a book there about the ancient legends and myths of the Lords of Seven. It is old and frail and not to be borrowed by the public but I have read it. I know the librarian well and she will surely heed my request for it. I want you two to retrieve it.”

“Wait…” Sonic stood up, a thrilled expression on his face. “You’re asking us to venture past the Greater Area?!”

Chuck took off his specs and cleaned the lenses on the worn vest he was wearing. He sighed, “The short answer is yes.”

Sonic jumped up enthusiastically with a fist tossed in the air. He turned to Tails who by now was also on his feet showing a bit of excitement, though not near as much as Sonic. They high fived before Chuck spoke loud and stern, stopping their celebration and bringing them back to attention. “But listen still to the long answer!” He put the glasses back on his face and turned to them. His mustache furled up then back down as he drew in and out a heavy breath. “You both know damn well why I normally forbid you to go far out of the village. You kids wandering out in the Greater Area is something I am still nervous about and it took me a year before allowing you all to do even that. Both your parents were victims of this world’s hatred and I will not let you to fall victim to it as well.

“Cap is just outside of the Greater Area and some would even argue that. The only reason you are going is because there is less dangers on the path north and I have great concern for the reason behind the vandalism at Stark Ruins. You will go to Cap, you will talk to no one, you will go straight to the library and get that book. If you leave before first light the trip up can be made in a day,” he shot a slight glare at Sonic, “at a normal pace. Eiméar the bandicoot is the librarian there. She will house you for the nights. I will prepare a letter for her and adjoin it with the sketches I made from the ruins. Same rules apply for your return. Stay in Cap only one day mostly to rest between the journeys to and fro. If you do not make it back eve of the third day, I will know you either hit trouble,” he tossed a finger at the two of them, “or you didn’t listen and found yourselves detoured.” He paused and stared to ensure the notion sank in. “Either way, I will send out a group if you do not return on time.”

“We won’t let you down Chuck!” Sonic proclaimed still with a bout of enthusiasm.

“I don’t suspect you will. But it won’t be just you two either. Amy and Rouge will be joining you.” Chuck stated. Both Sonic and Tails did not mind the declaration and half intended to bring them along anyway – with or without his knowledge. “They too are strong and if you hit any trouble out there you can use all the help you should muster. You all are close enough to watch out for each other and that includes making sure no one makes any stupid decisions.”

“Geez Chuck you really are serious about us going out there aren’t you.” Sonic said with the intent to relieve some of the tension in the air.

“You’re damn right I am.” He said flatly. “And I wouldn’t even risk it if I didn’t feel the need to. Bring me that book. You leave tomorrow; see you dark and early.”

With that, the two brothers felt the need to take their leave. They left Chuck’s hut and walked back over to the tavern to inform the other half of their new venture party.

…

[x]

It was early morn the next day and Rouge was accompanying Amy as they prepped and packed for their venture. Amy was currently in front of the mirror fixing some of her quills while Rouge was packing some of Amy’ outfits she put out for the trip. Sonic was over with Tails, likely conversing in the same fashion, which gave the two gals their own time. “OH!” the bat exclaimed as she clutched one of Amy’s outfits before properly folding it and rolling it in her pack. “I can’t believe the old man is actually letting us journey out of this place!”

“Calm down Rouge, he wouldn’t let it happen if there wasn’t some need for it and you know that. We have to be serious with all this.” Amy spoke, always the voice of reason; committed to the task at hand.

“I know, I know. But think about it, we get to see some place outside of this place – something new. This town turns like a wheel stuck in a rut and sooner or later you can’t argue that all the spokes end up looking the same. I can’t wait to see what another village will be like. And not just a village, a city! Shops, peoples, fashion!” She couldn’t contain her excitement.

At that, Amy came into the same room as Rouge. She stared blankly at her friend before breaking down with a similar thrill. “It is pretty exciting isn’t it!” She hopped a little in her words. She ushered Rouge to relax and sit as she took charge in the continuation of packing her own things. The deed was almost done as not much was needed for just three days so she rolled the last garment and tucked it away.

They walked together to meet with the rest of their party. It was not quite dawn but the faint hue of a warm sun far beyond the horizon was proof of it soon to come. To no surprise of their own, Sonic and Tails were already and waiting by the village center. The two were talking with Chuck and from Amy and Rouge’s standpoint his finger pointing were notion enough that he was drilling a few more holes in their head on what to do and most importantly, what not to do on this trip. Vanilla was also there to see them off. Being the innkeeper, she was usually up early to tend to any guests she may have. She also a small food pack for each of them as they would be on foot until late evening.

“Good morning Sir Charles!” Amy stated so formally as was her tendency. “Hello Miss Vanilla!”

“Ah, Amy. Rouge.” Chuck answered, “I want you two lasses to make sure these knuckle heads don’t get into trouble. It’s not yet dawn and they are giving me a headache!” Behind Chuck’s frizzled mustache a playful and joking smile was noticeable. He looked at Sonic and Tails as they both chuckled. Chuck couldn’t help but give a lighthearted laugh back at the banter he tends to receive from them.

“Oh I’m sure we can keep them in line.” Rouge confirmed.

“Good. Now, I told you all yesterday what you are doing so I don’t feel the need to cover that again.” He paused, “I hope this journey is but a precaution, but in all sense take it seriously.” He looked at the youngins before him and smiled. “I’m not too sure why I had any reservations about sending the lot of you off. You’re all strong brave and beautiful and those three things alone can get you far. But do keep your wits about you. Cap is not an untrustworthy place but you know well enough from your small treks into the Greater Area that there are friends and foes and they are hard to discern. Best keep to yourselves.”

“Don’t worry Uncle Chuck, you can count on us!” Sonic said as enthusiastic as ever.

“I know I can.” He admitted and brought Sonic in for an embrace. He gave a few stern pats on the back and Sonic returned with good squeeze as well before they broke off. “Now you best be off. Get there soon enough and you might be able to enjoy some of the sightseeing.” He stated with the knowledge that that would get them on their way even the slightest bit sooner. But as they waved and turned to walk on their way, Chuck snagged Rouge’s arm. “Rouge.” He stated firmly. “I need you to take this parcel to Eiméar. Don’t,” he emphasized, “open it. It is from some long unresolved business.” Rouge took it and tucked it into her pack. “I would have trusted me sonny boy with it but he seems to be the epitome of a Cyan and I can’t let his curiosity get the best of him. She shall see its contents and no one else.”

Rouge was taken back a bit but soon composed herself and nodded in agreement before turning and joining the others.

“I know you are worried Charles. But they are good kids with gifts and good minds.” Vanilla said to Chuck to comfort him.

“That they are. As you likely know, I just like to be a bit cautious. I am forever haunted by the fate of their parents.”

“I do understand. I feel the same way with my young Cream. It is hard raising young ones alone but you have done these kids right. Some of the older Greens here are up and stirring and we will be having some morning tea soon. Please join us and ease your nerves.”

The four departing turned back one last time and waved as they turned down the road toward the main bridge. Chuck and Vanilla waved back and with that, the four were on their way to Cap – the first place they’ve never been.

…

The distant sun was bleeding into the ocean far off the rocky cliffs of the Greater Area’s edge. Soon it would rise high enough to scab and the light that poured into the ocean would gather in the sun’s reflection. They had not made it far and the main bridge to South Island was faintly visible beyond the early morning dust at this moment. They did nothing much beyond talk as besides walking, that was all they could do.

“Hey Ames,” Sonic began, “why do you keep calling Chuck by his honorable name?”

“Because it seems I have a greater capacity for respect than you.” She toyed with him. He stuck out his tongue in a response of similar humor. “But in all honesty, I do have a lot of respect for him. He made sure my grandmother got the care she needed when we first came to South Island. Never knowing my parents, Nani was the closest I had to a mother. Ch–… Sir Charles made sure in her trailing years that, along my side, she was tended to and cared for and I can’t thank him enough for that. I still remember how much more joy was in Nani’s eyes in those last years that she found a place so peaceful and void of the hatred between Societies that we hear is so common in the rest of the world. And when I told her I wished to be a Cyan instead of a Blue like her and apparently my relatives, she even said that just a few years prior to coming to South Island her own discord with a certain Cyan Chapter would have caused her to fret. But after living here and seeing the world in a new light, she was happy for me. It meant a lot that the love from one tiny little island could do that and help an outsider like herself in such a way. And I give that credit to your uncle.” Sonic immediately felt a little somber as he knew how much Amy’s grandmother meant to her. But he was also humbled with her words.

There was a lot more talking, and even more walking, done on their journey to Cap. Thankfully for them their company kept time fast and the day enjoyable. Tails occasionally brought out his whistle and blew a tune. Some new, some quite familiar and of those the gang even joined their voices in.

Seven seas and seven skies, I've seen them all with these wanderin' eyes. But n'or better sight did I did see than that sweet island by the sea!

Cast our lot to leave or stay To find a home we hoped we prayed. Of our rove, in our last mile we found the haven at South Isle.

To this, our new found home we made, and sent away dangers each day. By Chaos if it ever fell, It'd be a sorry day in hell!

Cast our lot to leave or stay To find a home we hoped we prayed. Of our rove, in our last mile we found the haven at South Isle.

It was no hotter than it normally is in the Greater Area, which was still stifling, and they both packed and wore garments they knew would be suitable for the journey. Sonic, knowing he was not likely going to do any running as per his uncle’s request, brought along his jacket to keep the sandy wind from pelting his chest. Tails too had a light hooded shirt he liked to wear on occasion for the same reason. Anything else might disrupt his tail-propelled flight. They might have retained heat more than comfortable out in the pseudo-wasteland but a bit of sweat was always better than a lot of chafing and rashes. Rouge tossed a scarf around her head to make a headdress to keep any sand from embedding itself in her hair. Amy had no need for any head garments as her quills were not has thick or as hard to maintain as Rouge’s hair but went with her normal garment which protected her same as the others.

They stopped at a large rocky settlement a few hours after mid-day and they were overjoyed with the rest and relief. The sun was pelting their fur at this time and they camped under the shade of the towering stones to eat their packs that Vanilla had prepped for them. It was no other than Tails that was in charge of their navigation and unraveled the map he had packed to see their progress and location.

“Hmm,” he mindlessly sounded as he pondered at the parchment, “So it seems we’ve made it here, labeled clúdach.” He pointed at the labeled point on the map. He was mostly speaking to himself as the others were enjoying their meals. In most senses of land navigation, the landmarks were not always so far and in between or so specific. The Greater Area’s barren sands made the exception. So when Tails would shoot an azimuth in juncture with his map, they had to make sure they did not deviate from that direction. Fortunately they succeeded pretty well. The continued trek was much further though than what they had made through the first half of the day. It was, however, not as sparse and instead of soft sands that rolled into endless waves of dunes, it was rockier in certain areas and then opened into a small plain of as close to marshes as could be found in the Greater Area. They would likely make much more ground over the next half of the day traversing over terrain of that kind.

It was the furthest north they had ever gone as not much interested them this way. Their local exploring was confined typically to The Lookout, Stark Ruins, and some of the further edges of the Jagged Browns that bordered and ran southeast. Though they were far out of the territory for the desert Reds that resided in Rockbase there was the constant danger of running into them as their buggies made travelling through the sand much more efficient than on foot and they enjoyed harassing the South Islanders. They did not know the four were travelling though so they had no need to head their way.

They finished their meals and continued on despite their deep desire to continue to rest. They were hot and tired but Chuck gave them a timeframe to abide to in order to make it to their destination. It wasn’t an hour later and they could feel their feet landing on more sturdy surfaces. Their calves ached in their release of lactic acids through the strenuous actions of walking on sand for over half a day and though solid ground was a godsend, it was still tough work for how much they were travelling. Close to two hours later they came across a bizarre sight for anything outside of the lively island they resided; greenery. A third of a day of marching through their corner of Mobius and they had seen nothing but the tan brown and red sand and rock that was native to this part of the world. And though it was not any jungle, one or two thin green bushes per square yard stretched for miles over the plain before them. Amy even admitted that she would have never expected something like that out in the Greater Area. Rouge agreed but commented that it still was not much. They continued and found that every once in a while their foot would sink into soft and wet patches of sand and dirt showing another miraculous feat for the region.

The sky held strong an evening glow that even without the obvious orb that was descending over the far off mountain peaks of the Sléibhte Scáthaigh, the travelers could tell dusk was near. Tails had let them know that they were close but maybe still an hour’s trudge off. The land beneath them steadily got greener and denser and soon they found themselves in a wetland. The terrain seemed oddly similar to when they first entered the bushy patches – flat and smooth – but now it was covered in moss and weed that with each cushioning step was much needed relief upon their soles. Small divots and basins in the area harbored an inch or two of stagnant water which brought a fresh, clean scent to their dry nostrils. The air was denser and by it alone they almost could have been fooled into thinking they made a large circle in the span of their travels and had arrived again back at South Island. But alas they had never seen parts of the world as this.

For the first time since they waved goodbye to Chuck and Vanilla, they saw other persons. Some far off some closer, but Mobians were out in these areas crouched low, bending down and plucking some of the mossy weeds that rest below their feet. They each took some, quickly inspected it and put their gatherings into a sack they had fastened to their hip.

Sonic Tails Amy and Rouge came upon a small hill and as they did, they saw the city of Cap. They stood on the top of the hill that descended down to a tiny stream with a bridge off to the west and a port or two that sat in artificial channels to the east that caused the stream to open to a small river that fed into the ocean many miles off. The same flora that surrounded them also was on the other bank of the stream but they were surprised to see that it stopped a few yards past before the ground had a sudden change in coloration from the thick, dark green back to desert tan and red. Tails being ever the knowledge seeker and Sonic being curious enough, made note to ask this friend of Chuck’s why that was. The sun must have found a low window in the peaks of the Sléibhte Scáthaigh as the city was gleaming in the light of evening dusk.

The city seemed to have been forged up from the ground out of heavy red clay, likely from upriver of the stream. Even with the lush green wetland they traversed through over the past hour or so, Cap was still a desert city and the land north to it seemed quite similar to the rocky expanse they encountered just after their lunch stop. But a city nonetheless and the sounds they could hear even from the hill and the constant movement in its streets were enough to invigorate the gang for a bit more until they finished their task. They continued on over the bridge and into the city.

[x]

It was no doubt a much livelier place than the village at South Island. Shops and stands were lined different alleyways making some places a tight squeeze with the crowds that surrounded them. Rouge was weaving excitedly in and out from the shops, not with the intent to purchase anything, but just to see what kind of things were around. Each merchant had a cloth either lined or hung from the stand they were selling from and it did not take long for the gang to realize it was to associate them with a Society. The buyers of these merchants too wore clothes that were or close to what was likely their Society as there seemed to be a lot of yellow adorned persons buying from the stand with a yellow cloth and green adorned persons buying from green stands and so forth. Some people were not wearing any one color in particular however. Maybe it was coincidence or for some other reason they thought. But when they went up to a stand, it was obvious as to which Society they belonged. Sonic even caught a glance of an exchange of the secret Cyan greeting between a merchant and customer. It always amazed him how each Society surely had their own secret greeting and it was so subtle that it could be done in front of anyone and no one would even know.

It seemed that they had entered right into the market district of this town. Passersby were calling to them to look at their merchandise and they often tried to appeal to whatever Society the sellers were from. It was a good tactic as they couldn’t upright tell which Society people from the crowd belonged to so their shouts of ‘the best cabbage a Green could buy!’ or ‘finest clothes for all your Yellow needs!’ would bring the attention of their respective company.

One of the hustlers took a gander at Rouge and how she was browsing the products being offered and stepped in front of her path. “Excuse myself miss, I see that you are looking a bit out of place without some of the finest jewelry a White in Cap could find.” He traced his eyes up and down her figure and she immediately felt both assaulted and annoyed. “Such a fine young lass,” his brow rolled and his eyes softened, “the shame it would be if one could not know her name.”

“The shame is all mine then.” Rouge answered with a laugh. She brushed past him and gave a nudge on his shoulder as she did so.

The catcaller fumed red. “Hey, what kind of lady are you!” At this time, Amy noticed Rouge had fallen behind the group and she stopped Sonic and Tails to go back for her.

Rouge stepped back and bumped her hip into him, accidentally brushing her hand into his side. “One of a kind.” She said and walked off, ignoring whatever words he continued to spit. She joined back up with the others as she fastened a brand new necklace to her collar. It gleamed in the fading sun and the diamond or two inside the pendant glistened beautifully and bright.

“Was that really necessary?” Amy asked pointing to Rouge’s new piece of jewelry.

“Hey now, I had no intentions of robbing the poor fellow. But that silver tongue of his just sweet talked me into it.” She answered behind a proud grin.

“Guy deserves it though. The jerk!” Sonic exclaimed with a disgusted glare at the man as he faded back into the crowd.

They soon passed the hustle and bustle and entered into a less populated area. They were so caught up in the energy and awe of this new spectacle they forgot to ask where to find the library.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Sonic stepped aside to ask a woman who was sweeping the stoop of what was suspected to be her home. She turned and glared at him as he continued, “Do you mind telling us where the library is?”

“What’re ya?” She spat with skepticism in her eyes.

Sonic was taken back a bit. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked ye, what’re ya?! Get the twigs out yer ears and speak! White? Green? Blue like yer fur?”

“Oh,” Sonic took a step back, not liking how this was developing. He glanced up above the door she stood in front of and saw a white swap of paint over it. The other doors around all too had white above them. Not wanting to risk making false identities he answered truthfully. “I’m a Cyan. We all are. We–” He tried to explain that they were not from there but she cut him off quickly.

“Ack!” She spat at his feet. “Ya awkward folk’re out far from yer ghetto aren’t ye? Leave!” She thrust her broom in Sonic’s direction and he instantly bolted off back alongside the others. They continued walking but were now extra weary.

They no longer felt a desire to ask for directions, instead just hoped they found either another market or any Cyans where more friendly folk could be of help.

They continued through the streets and though they did not find any market, they found a square with signs posted. A White chapel in one direction, a Yellow one in another, cemeteries of the likes, and finally ‘leabharlann’. They headed to it with haste as the sun had already descended behind the mountains.

[x]

They came up to it and it was grand. The structure seemed much older than the rest around. It was tan like much of the desert city but it lacked the red clay that many of the residential housings possessed. It was made of large rock that was sculpted and carved away in the style of an era long passed. Maybe three or four stories tall but there was a large spire in front of a copula that likely had a view of the far ends of the city. They climbed up the worn steps up to large wooden doors which had to have been imported as they have yet to see a tree of any kind since they left South Island. They entered.

The sight inside was almost as impressive as it was outside. The building was longer than it appeared to be and stretched off opposite to the entrance. There were spiral stairs rising from each floor to the next and the center remained open with a glass ceiling overhead, alternating in all seven colors of Chaos, which brought in the sun’s light to the interior. Sand was seen built up on the outside of the glass but it did nothing to hinder the rays that shone through. Hallways of bookshelves branched out from the center on each floor and persons were walking through with the noses deep in texts.

They each were awestruck at the sight but it was Amy and Tails who found it most impressive; inspired by how much knowledge must be housed in these great halls.

For Mobians, it was much easier to find someone they had never met if they knew their species. They walked through the great halls, Sonic and Rouge pulling back Tails and Amy respectively as they tried to wander off, until they found a bandicoot hunched over a cart unloading books into a shelf.

“Excuse me, are you a Miss Eiméar?” Sonic asked, reaching into his pack to retrieve the letter that was prepared.

The woman’s ears flicked as she turned around. “Yes? Yes I am.”

Sonic extended the letter to her and she took it. “I’m Sonic the hedgehog from South Island. My uncle Charles, sent us to–”

“Oh bloody no! I tought your voice sounded familiar.” She quickly stood up. Her snout scrunched in annoyance and she crushed the letter in hand, and pushed her cart away. “I don’t want nothing to do with dat man’s business no more!” Her accent was strong but nothing they hadn’t heard before.

“But wait! He said you’d help us!” Sonic called back.

“Did he now?” She stopped and turned to them. “If I do recall it t’was him that made a fuss like no other when I asked him ta help with me brother’s dealings in Bastard’s Bay but did he help any? No! He tell you anything about dat did he? Eh?”

Sonic didn’t know what to say. Not only did he have no idea what she was rambling about, he was also surprised there was a person in this world that did not find his uncle in a good light. “He…hasn’t.” He finally stated.

She puffed. “Of course he hadn’t.” She turned back around and pushed her cart way. “If ye no more business in this library then I kindly ask you to leave.” The gang stood in disbelief, unsure of what just transpired. They stepped back not knowing what to do as they had not expected anything but cooperation.

They walked back and sat down at one of the many tables situated in the center area of the first floor. “Well?” Sonic asked. “Any ideas guys?”

Amy and Tails looked at each other and knew exactly what the other was thinking. “Nope.” Amy said as she stood up. “But I think while we are here, Tails and I are going to see what some of these dusty old books have to offer!” Tails’ face gleamed at her statement and the two vanished in the maze of shelves that held more information than one mind could hold.

Sonic and Rouge sat for a short while, but not too long before Rouge stood up. “Well I for one won’t sit here and mope after an entire day of walking through a desert to take ‘no’ for an answer.” She began to walk away. “I know you were hoping for a positive and simple outcome here, but I don’t like to sit around when I could get things done myself.”

Sonic was getting a bit restless as he sat by himself at that table. The sun had set and the illumination of the library had switched from natural light to candlelight. It gave a new feel to the place but the feeling was still that of history and solitude.

“Alright you lost pup!” Rouge called out after a couple minutes of being away. Eiméar is taking us in. I already found Amy and Tails and they are with her in her residence quarters in the back. Come on.”

Sonic jumped up with excitement both at the change of pace and the fact that progress was made. “Wait, how did you convince her to hear us out?” He asked.

“I asked her nicely.” She said inconspicuously. Sonic was awfully curious on what that meant but received the explanation nonetheless. He followed Rouge back to meet with the woman. He wondered though how successful they may be in retrieving a book that was ‘old and frail and not to be borrowed by the public’ as were his uncle’s words, if she was so reluctant to take them in in the first place.

Start | Previous | Next | End

#sth #sonic au #chaos societies #episode 3 #the journey to cap #geez that took too long to post #had it done nearly a week ago #uncle chuck #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #amy rose #rouge the bat

3 notes · View notes

one-deranged-son · 4 years

Photo

(This is Not) The Way of God

Written by Gossamere as John and Froggy as Ian Nashton.

Warning:

This plot is rated explicit for language, description of violence, thoughts of suicide, torture, and a lot of things. Read at your own risk.

Honestly, I don’t really care about the grammar anymore because it’s been months since I write this so whatever.

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

John

"Fucking hell."

The Revelator tighten the belt strapped in his thigh even more; pressing the open wound to prevent it from dripping another single drop of blood again. He had lost a lot of them today, yesterday, and the other days. He can't afford that again.

His vision started to get blurry and, god-fucking-dammit, even now he can't help but to curse out loud as he felt himself trembling like mad. He can't even hear the guttural noises in the background as the crowds screeched, screamed, and shouted for their dear life. Yet, the distinct smell of smoke—of burnt blood—of the remaining ashes—were pungent in his nose.

The Revelator pulled his feet close to his chest, biting his inner cheeks as he tried to handle the pain. It was really a suicide plan, to actually ambush his target in an open space when his shot wound hasn't healed just yet, and now he has to bear with another one which, unfortunately, was placed on his vital part of escaping plan.

Standing up hurts like a bitch.

"Motherfucker..."

He should've seen it on the first hand, his plan was somehow lacking of intel and as soon as he executes it, it was already going southward. Now he's stuck like a lost (feral) kitten inside a dark alley, far away from his home, with a burning building just outside his spot, and losing blood.

He's fucked, that's for sure.

John struggled to keep himself awake, but really, it's hard. And without even realizing it, everything turned black.

Motherfucker, indeed.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Ian Nashton stepped foot in New York City.

But he wasn't there on a vacation—far from it, actually.

He was visiting his goddamned baby brother in a hospital.

Rewind to couple of days ago.

The younger Nashton mentioned that he had a convention in New York to attend to.

All was well until the second night of his stay.

Ever heard of the saying "caught in the wrong place at the wrong time"? That's precisely what happened with Jansen. During the middle of the night, there was an explosion that originated a couple of rooms adjacent to Jansen's.

That side of the building almost immediately caught fire, and of course, the younger Nashton and many others were injured. But many more lost their lives because they were (somehow) asleep during the fire or they have been rendered unconscious by carbon monoxide.

Jansen was no stranger to things blowing up. Explosions often happen in his lab; whether done deliberately as a demonstration, or an accident.

Miraculously, he's never gotten seriously injured from from those explosions, nor have they ever claimed anyone's lives. Perhaps because they tend to be smaller in scale than the hotel explosion. It also helps that Jansen had his lab built some distance away from residential areas.

Jansen's injuries weren't too extreme (compared to some other survivors), there were some minor burns on his limbs, some cuts from splintered wood, a sprained ankle and a broken arm—which he got because he tripped down the emergency stairs.

However, in the eyes of Ian Nashton, it wasn't just the injuries hat got him worried. What got him worried was the attack. More specifically, WHO was behind it.

Without a shadow of a doubt, the detective knew who was behind the attack. It was glaringly obvious. Unfortunately, New York wasn't his area, so he could only leave it to NYPD.

At the very most, he could leave an anonymous tip.

As soon as the news dropped, Ian immediately packed and booked an express ticket to New York—he had dropped Monty by Jeffrey's place because he wasn't exactly sure how long he'd stay in New York.

Back to the present, now.

The doctor told the brothers that Jansen could leave within two weeks.

"Oi. I'm gonna go out and look for food, okay? Do you want anything?" Ian asked.

"Borax." Jansen said in a groggy tone. Obviously, he was joking. That man sometimes say the stupidest of things. Such irony for a mind so brilliant. Maybe he's gotten a little loopy from his meds.

Ian sighed loudly and grabbed his hat. "What the fuck. I'll get you a burger, then."

Jansen responded with a tired hum. By now, the detective was out of the room already.

Once outside, Ian took out his phone and dialed a number—hoping that the person would pick up immediately.

After a few seconds, the call was picked up. Thank the stars.

"Hello, detective! Did you hear about—"

"—the explosion at Roosevelt Hotel? Yeah. I did. My brother was caught in that damn explosion. It's him, it's glaringly obvious. I'm in New York right now, but I need a favor. Tell me everything you know so far about the attack."

As he walked and talked, Ian had a faint scowl on his face—he was sure agent Moore could hear it through the call.

"Well, our victim is Anton Pavlov. He's a small time politician from Russia—known for his love of gambling and infidelity. Now also known for getting burnt to a crisp." There were some quick rustling of paper on the other side, agent Moore was probably reviewing his notes. "Often frequents the United States on so called business trips, when in actuality, he was taking part in high stakes gambling."

Ian groaned loudly and massaged one side of his temple with his free hand. "As if relations between these two countries weren't bad enough, right? God damn it. He's getting balls-y."

"I'm sure that thanks to the publicity he's gotten, the Russian government would have known who he is by now. This could mean trouble."

Agent Moore was right. It could.

"Also. One more thing. A couple of days before this, Jimmy Carter—not the former president, obviously—was murdered and his mansion burnt down. And get this, Carter had similar vices to Pavlov."

"Um… thank you. Listen, I'll call you back later, okay? Keep me updated… if you can." With that, Ian ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket.

The detective wasn't actually sure where he was headed. He said he wanted to get food, but his main intention was to take some fresh air and talk to the agent. Ian didn't want his younger brother to know because he'd probably worry about Ian instead of himself.

(To be fair, Ian had only recovered from his own injuries recently)

Now, the detective walked through the streets aimlessly. He was deep in thought, indicated by the frown on his face.

A couple of days back, Jimmy Carter was crucified, and his mansion was burnt down. Then, after that, Anton Pavlov was burnt alive—like Dick Foster—and his hotel room exploded.

The fact that these attacks occurred within a short time frame made it seem as if the Revelator already had everything planned—as if he had a list. Ian thought that he wouldn't be surprised if by tomorrow, someone else would become deranged Jesus' next victim.

Just his luck.

Ian didn't need to wait until tomorrow—because he heard the faint but familiar sound of sirens. Police, ambulance and firefighters all combined together in that all too familiar cacophony. When the detective looked up, he could see a glow of blue, red, white and orange—as he walked closer, he could hear people screaming and he could smell it.

Smoke, burnt flesh, ashes—you name it.

Sure enough, there was a burning building a few blocks away. What building it was, Ian wasn't even sure, the flames had consumed the sign, and Ian wasn't a New Yorker, so he didn't know for sure. If he had to guess, he'd guess that it was an apartment complex.

Even in the midst of all the chaos, the detective's senses were sharp as ever.

He noticed something moving in a dark alleyway. Too big to be an animal. It must be a person. At first, he thought it must have been a homeless person, but as he walked closer, he could hear a faint grunting and… cursing?

Someone's hurt.

Instinctively, Ian rushed into the alley. He used his phone's flashlight to make it easier for himself to see. "Hello? Are you—"

Oh.

F U C K.

It's the goddamned Revelator himself. Curled up in a dark alley with some sort of wound on his thigh. Ian nearly dropped his (new) phone, but the detective quickly regained his composure and for a brief moment, he only saw red.

The thought of his younger brother in hospital crossed his mind. His younger brother who had absolutely NOTHING to do with the Revelator was now hurt.

He thought of Sam. How the poor man had to rely on a cane as he recovers from his leg injury, also caused by the Revelator.

He thought of poor Jeffrey. His dominant hand just happened to be the one that got broken. The poor man's productivity was greatly affected because of it.

He thought of Thomas and his family—how they could have lost him that day.

He thought of himself. And what the Revelator has done to him.

Can you blame Ian for wanting revenge?

Ian lowered his hat so it concealed his face, just in case the Revelator wakes up.

For a brief moment, the detective felt nothing but pure hatred and anger. He considered taking one of the arsonist's weapons and just… end the poor bastard's life then and there.

It seemed so easy.

There were no cameras, and there were some bins they could hide behind. NYPD would probably shrug off the case, anyway. The Revelator had been a thorn in their side lately, no?

Actually…

Forget murder and revenge, Ian could even just leave him there to bleed out.

Fortunately, his conscience finally came through.

What he was going to do instead isn't ideal either. But at least (hopefully) the Revelator would still be alive.

Ian sent his current address to agent Moore's number, along with a text which read:

'I found him. Please send someone here ASAP. He's injured, by the way, so bring a medic along.'

The detective left the dark alley and blended in with some of the bystanders. He only had to wait a measly half an hour before a black sedan parked near the alley. Out came a short man with ginger hair and freckled face.

That must be agent Lewis. Agent Moore wasn't in New York at that moment, but he said he'd drop by as soon as possible.

Ian watched as the ginger man discreetly walked into and out—with the Revelator—of the alley. The two men were now in that sedan, and before Ian knew it, the car had driven off to who knows where.

Perhaps now would be a good time to get that burger for his brother.

That night, Ian had returned to Jansen's room, and he brought a burger along, just like he promised. When he got back, he found Jansen sitting up in his bed and playing on his phone, the younger man was probably updating his followers about his current situation.

"Got your burger." Ian dropped the paper bag on his brother's lap.

"Took you long enough. There was a McDonald's just down this street! Where the hell were you, man? I was starving here!"

How ungrateful he was, but Ian only rolled his eyes in response.

"Actually, I went the long way. I... uh... I saw the Revelator."

"YOU WHAT?!" Jansen screamed, it looked as if he was ready to jump out of his bed.

"Hey, relax. I'm not hurt. He was, though. I found him in some alley. Unconscious." A part of Ian didn't want to tell this story to Jansen, but they've always shared things with each other, so Ian grabbed a chair and sat next to the younger's bed.

"He was so vulnerable, J. I... I wanted to... you know... kill him. Right there." There was a slight look of shame on the detective's face.

"But you didn't, because you don't like the idea of taking someone else's life." Even if it was Ian's own. Jansen always found it a little puzzling, but who was he to judge?

"No, I uh... I gave him up to the authorities. But... still. The thought crossed my mind. Even if he's a notorious fugitive, I'm pretty sure in that circumstance, it would count as murder. So..."

"Yeah, well... terrible thoughts cross everyone's minds from time to time. But if you don't act on it, that doesn't make you a bad person."

Ian had began to smile, his brother can be so wise sometimes, and the detective was damn proud of that.

"What DOES make you a bad person, however... is the fact that you forgot to ask for extra pickles on my burger, you blithering idiot!" Jansen finished his whining by throwing a pillow to Ian's face.

The elder Nashton retaliated by groaning and throwing the pillow back.

How he missed these banters.

John

"Wake up."

Truth be told, John couldn't even understand those words. He just felt like it was the word being said in front of his fucking salad when a cold water splash his face.

Hey, this pattern is familiar.

He actually jerked up straight, mind blaring sirens and drove his whole mind on full alert mode. His eyes were still blurry out of the blood loss, and his limbs hurt like shit, but it wasn't just his feet now who feels as if it was refusing to move. It was his arms too.

"Hello, John."

Oh. Oh, not again.

John groaned, low and guttural as the realization hit him. He was still high from the pain, the tranquilizer (maybe), and from, basically, everything. He could barely see anything clearly, but, although John ain't an observer, he could understand what kind of shit he is in to.

The room was every shade of gray, from the cold concrete to the bland ceilings. Every corner was sharp and straight, and there was a bulb hanging just on top of his head, threatening to fall down as it dangles left and right without the actual consent of his worrisome heart towards the future impact.

At this point of time, someone had began to speak. And, holy fuck, John couldn't even understand what he means as his hearing only caught some faint "Hello", "Interrogation", and "Do you understand?"

No, he doesn't understand at all.

He knew that the room was jammed and somehow... crowded. He recognized the man behind the prior questions, and he was sitting in front of him. John couldn't make up his face as his eyes were still hazy and the room was poorly lit. Then there were two more people beside him on a tactical gears and were heavily armed. He can obviously see where this shit is going.

And with how this goddamn stranger keeps asking question, things just doesn't better.

So now all John did was groan softly as he tried to gain his composure back, because everything was too quick for him, but not enough for them. And he knew that because while John is sitting still, barely budging and saying any coherent word, he could feel the strand of his hair getting yanked behind and some loud "answer me!" before some blows were landed in his face.

Repeatedly. Over and over again.

At least take off your ring, goddamit.

"What's your name?"

"Who's on your list?"

"Is there anyone involved besides you?"

At one time there were fingers around his throat, at one time he was forced to stare right into that face full of wrinkle, and at another time he realized that maybe he should cut his hair soon because they're enjoying this shit too much. Kinky.

But he refused to answer. Even as he regained his full focus, he didn't answer. He wouldn't even give them the satisfaction of seeing him whimper or react.

So the Revelator sat still, letting the man fuck the shit outta him as he bit down his inner cheeks. 'Cause even though he didn't say anything, it didn't mean he didn't feel any pain.

It hurt like a goddamn bitch.

Ian Nashton

The next morning, Ian told Jansen that he had to go somewhere, something about seeing an old a friend.

He wasn't completely lying, but the full truth was that during the middle of the night, Ian Nashton received a text from agent Moore. The latter invited the former to meet in a certain location.

It was regarding the Revelator, who was now in their custody.

Ian was THRILLED to be invited. So, like going out to see an old friend, Ian dressed in his best suit, complete with a matching hat.

It may be a little extra, but hey, if you're going to see someone who (probably) thought you were dead, you might as well go all out.

When the detective reached the building, he was greeted by agents Moore and Lewis. Seeing them side by side was always a treat, because agent Moore was (freakishly) tall, whilst agent Lewis was short.

"We have provided the things that you asked for. Although... I'm still confused as to why you want them." Agent Moore explained as he led the detective down a flight of stairs.

"It's a Chicago thing."

It took some convincing, but Ian was allowed to be in the room alone with the Revelator.

When he entered, the room was pitch black, just the way he wanted it to be.

Ian can be such a theatrical bastard sometimes.

He felt around for the chair and sat down. Then the light flickered on.

"Hello, John."

And there he was.

The Revelator.

Restrained securely in his chair. He was all battered and bruised, looking so pale and tired. Confused and dazed.

Ian feigned a look of pity as he observed the other man's injuries.

"You don't look so good. I guess my friend's men really roughed you up, huh?"

Ian glanced to the left of the room and smiled thinly when he saw a telephone book and a baton.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not quite dead, John. As a matter of fact, I'm very much alive." Ian finished his sentence by patting John on the cheeks, purposefully hitting the latter's bruises.

ㅤㅤ

John

God knows how many hours had he passed out in the most painful position ever existed. When those bastards decided to leave the room and switched the lights off, John knew that he won't meet whomever they told him anywhere soon. So after a moment of short whining and groaning, John decided to sleep.

He deserved that good nap.

Wrong.

John could barely register the very fact that the jammed door had started to budge and gave this annoying, heavy creak. It took him a moment to regain his consciousness, until there come a flash of light and, really, it didn't do any good but to blind his eyes out.

His breath hitched when the heard the anonymous steps closer to him, and well, although John knew he's probably going to die in this miserable room, nothing had managed to cause his heart to beat so furiously except for a cheery voice.

That cheery voice.

"Detective," he whispered, unable to contain the soft chuckle or the slight tremble in his voice. He didn't know if it was because of pain or something else. But at this point of time, John knew that he's not going to die.

It's going to be ten times worsen with Ian fucking Nashton and his fancy hat.

"You look nice."

John glanced towards the man who had purposely hit the bruise on his cheek. ‘What an asshole,’ he thought, as he flashed a playful smirk towards the nosy detective. He was about to say something that might annoy him, again, but John figured out that by sealing his lips as secure as possible might be his best option—for now.

Especially after his eyes caught the slight glint of a baton and... a phone book

Seems like he ain't the only one losing his mind.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"You don't." Ian shot back almost immediately, his voice was laced with venom and hatred, yet his face remained neutral.

The detective removed his hat and placed it on the table.

"Tsk, you're getting reckless, John. Going after foreign politicians, now? You could've started a war, you know?"

The detective held back his smile. He wanted to play his cards right, because he's gotten a couple of things he could use against John.

Physical methods wouldn't work on John, Ian already knew that, but he knew things no other interrogators do.

But for now, he'll just get his revenge, physically.

"You've hurt my brother, John." Ian stated coldly. The detective stood up and walked towards the baton and telephone book. He never condoned using physical beatings during an interrogation, but after what John has put him and his friends through, he would make an exception.

"I can hold this book to the side of your head and use the baton at full swing, it'd hurt like hell, but it won't leave a mark. Would you like a demonstration?"

He didn't even wait for an answer. The detective did as he described, he held the phone book to the side of John's head and hits the arsonist with the baton at full swing. The resulting impact sound was loud, and it echoed through the room.

Ian was in disbelief for a moment, but truth be told, he's always wanted to do that.

"Work with me, John. Tell me who's your next target." Another hit, harder than the last one.

The detective's voice had gone lower, angrier, and more aggressive.

The detective has been penting up his frustrations and anger ever since he got out of the hospital.

He felt small then, but now? Now he wanted John to feel small.

ㅤㅤ

John

Russian and brother. It didn't take a long time for John to realize that Ian's hatred wasn't exactly directed to the fact he literally almost started a war. And it was true that he was very reckless 'bout that, but John knew damn well that wasn't the reason.

Detective Ian fucking Nashton just wanted a revenge because of his brother.

So much for just.

John knew what's coming at him, and he wasn't entirely surprised when a full land blew across his face. His face closed in a grimace, its skin pale, clammy, and goddamn bruised. Every few minutes his mind begged so he could scream, like those guys in any Tarantino movie that was being tortured, but he can't. And this shit is worse.

So much worse.

John ain't letting the bastard get the satisfaction to see him scream, groan, or even hear a single fucking whine.

The detective didn't even let him answer as another hard blow hits his already bruised cheeks. Searing pain pulsated around the wound, intensifying the cut like a goddamn bitch. With every hit, his muscle quivered, twitched, making him jolt in surprise. The black mists swirled at the edges of his eyes, but John ain't going to answer.

He just tilted his head, and smiled.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

It's true. This was mostly revenge, though having other reasons helped his conscience.

Blow after blow, the detective hadn't stopped. Perhaps after John did the same thing to him, something dark in him might have awakened, and it showed its ugly face now.

So much hatred, so much anger.

It was consuming him.

And then there's that smile again. Ian dropped the baton and used the phone book to hit John directly on the face—he wanted to wipe the smile off of that bastard's face.

If the chair wasn't so sturdy, John would probably have been knocked backwards by the blow.

The detective slammed the phone book on the table, and he sat on the edge of it.

He'll take a break and change tactics now.

"Playing this game again, are you, Mr. Monsoon? That's your name, isn't it? Or at least, it's the name that you took. You're not the real John Monsoon, he died in the late nineties. Agent Moore was there. You remember him, don't you?"

The detective was so, /so/ kind to brush John's hair away from his face.

"After all, you were the fourth shooter on that day, weren't you? John Monsoon—the real one, Cole Hedlund, Paul MacCullagh… and… you."

Ian wasn't a hundred percent sure yet, but the trick was to appear confident. And he was confident.

"I'll ask for your real name, but you're probably just going to smile at me. You know, I admire your strength. I really do. We're alike in that respect. But I can see it—your body's beginning to tremble. How long will it be until you finally crack?"

ㅤㅤ

John

Another blow landed on his face, another pain in the goddamn ass.

John was stumbling now, and he thanked the God for the fucking chair because everything was fading. And it hurts. Holy fucking shit, it hurt like a goddamn bitch but John sat quietly. Nothing can ever fucking wipe the smug on his face.

That, until, the goddamn detective stopped his movement, stared intently at him, and said the word, ‘Monsoon’. But it's nothing new. After all, he literal crave those words on the detective's skin.

And John was about to flash that goddamn grin again when it finally hits him.

"John Monsoon."

"Cole Hedlund."

"Paul MacCullagh."

Something new. Not his name.

His foster parents' name.

John eyes blown wide.

Ian fucking Nashton should've been dead, but he's alive. Ian fucking Nashton should've been dead and not ask a shit to the goddamn CIA, or the FBI, or any other shit, but he's alive. Ian fucking Nashton should've been dead and not know about John Monsoon, Cole Hedlund, or Paul MacCullagh, but he's alive.

And he knows.

He's fucked.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Now it was Ian's turn to smile.

It was genuine, you could even call it sweet.

His deduction was right. The man in front of him /was/ the fourth shooter.

John didn't even need to say anything—his reaction said it all.

"Gerard, old friend! He really was your fourth shooter."

The detective wasn't sure where it was, but he knew there's a device somewhere in this room that'd allow others on the outside to listen in.

The detective turned his attention back to John. He grabbed the man's chin oh so gently and tilted his head up.

"Are you ready to talk now, or do I have to spill all your secrets first, hmm?"

Ian leaned in closer, until his lips were mere centimeters away from John's ear. He whispered, so only the two of them can hear what was being said.

"Trust me, John. They're better off between me and you than with them."

ㅤㅤ

John

John can't even get himself to be disgusted or anything by the sudden contact. He was far too distracted with multiple set of ‘what’ and ‘how’ and just, ‘why?’

Even now calling himself as John feels so wrong. It felt so weird in his own mind because deep down he know that name wasn't his. The Revelator wasn't ‘his’. It was never his and it should have never been his, but, fucking hell, what are the odds

When the detective lifted his head ever so slowly so now that bastard could clearly see how John's pupils had shrunk so badly, he wished he could just back away and lift that usual smug grin of his, but he froze. Heavens, he froze.

That fucking grin had faltered away and now it's planted on Ian fucking Nashton's annoying face.

That son of a bitch.

John would rather bite his motherfucking tongue off and be a mute than having to talk. 'Cause no matter what the fucking detective said, no matter how good and relishing that goddamn offer sounded in his ears, nothing—for fuck's sake—nothing will actually get better.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Perhaps something had changed in the detective ever since that incident at the barn—but Ian hadn't realized yet.

The detective landed a sudden, full-blown slap across John's face and exhaled forcefully.

"That was for trying to burn me alive. Nice try, though."

Beating with a baton and telephone book for what John did to his brother, and a slap for what he did to the detective himself.

"Anyway. John, Paul, and Cole. Most people would wonder what your connection to them is, but by process of elimination, /I/ know that they'd have to be a parental figure of some kind. Why else would a teenager be with three grown men?"

There could be other reasons, but Ian had crossed those out already.

"I also know that John Monsoon—the one that died—must be the one you were closest to. Because you took HIS name. Not Paul's, not Cole's. But John's."

The detective had backed away by now, and he was idly flipping through the pages of the telephone book. Occasionally, he did glance at John, just to see if the latter had changed expressions.

"He must be the one you considered a father. I mean, you took his identity, not just as John, but also as the Revelator. He taught you. And you hold him in high regards, I'm sure."

ㅤㅤ

John

The fact that detective Ian fucking Nashton known about the holy trinity shocked him, but it didn't leave that much of an impression. After all, they were long gone. What does that have to do with John? It might shake him a little, but it ain't gonna make him tremble forever.

At this point of time, it wasn't even surprising to him anymore that all of the deductions were right, yet of course, he won't ever, ever, ever say that in front of his face.

Despite having beaten up like a pulp, John still managed to reply. Not directly, though, fuck that silent treatment. Now he's rolling his eyes 'cause he's really irritated and, gosh, if only John ain't having his arms and legs tied up, he might have smacked the detective's head so hard, just to make him shut his mouth.

But neither sentence nor a single word slipped from his mouth. John has been kind enough to his own self for letting him whine or groan or just sorta respond to the surprising slap. Yet he still didn't speak a thing. Even without having him to talk, the detective just keeps talking and John figured out that he might as well let him do that rather than spilling all the tea.

Instead, John giggled. A quiet and short one, just to see if it could taunt the detective even more.

My, oh, my. It might hurt him like a bitch, but seeing how desperate someone could look even if it was hidden beneath a triumphant smile surely bring some pride to blossom in his chest.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

There's that giggle again. That brief yet fucked up giggle he couldn't shake off ever since the barn incident.

He hated it.

But Ian kept his attention to the phone book, as if he was looking for something.

"You're giggling now, but I know something that they don't. Something very precious to you."

The detective's finger stopped at an address in the phone book. He tapped it a couple of times before showing it to John.

"You recognize this address?" Ian asked, that smile was back on his face.

A sweet but knowing smile.

Of course John would recognize it.

It was the address of Peter's school.

"I know who they are." The detective suddenly closed the telephone book shut, it made a loud thud which echoed through the room.

"Peter's a bright kid, you know? I was helping him solve the murder of his classmate whilst you were wreaking havoc in my town. Has he ever mentioned that?"

The detective flicked John's forehead with his fingers and chuckled to himself.

"He probably already knows, if not from his own investigations, then the news. He probably doesn't know the full truth, though, hm? I wonder what he would say if he knew more than what he knows now? If he knew that you kidnapped me and tried to burn me alive? If he knew that you've hurt Jansen?"

The detective got off from the table and returned to his seat across from John.

"What would he say if he knew that you might have just started a war because you were so reckless? I know about them, John. Your family."

The detective adjusted the position of his glasses. His smile was now gone, and instead, there was a cold expression on his face.

He actually only knew about Peter, but part of it all is to let the enemy think you know more—to keep a poker face. Just as he was doing now.

"Now they know, too."

Ian gestured at the door, referring to the agents that may be outside.

"So, John. Are you still keen on playing the silent game?"

ㅤㅤ

John

John was leaning away, whatever the bastard is showing him, he doesn't really care.

Hell, he thought as if it was easy to actually read without a proper lighting. But when the book echoes around the room and the detective said "I know who they are", John's heart skipped a beat.

"Peter's a bright kid, you know?"

And that's what it takes for John to still, again. Eyes blowing wide, but his mouth isn't shut. John's jaw was slack. His face fell faster than Humpty Dumpty with a cement boots.

He could feel his brain stutters for a moment and every part of him went on pause while his thoughts were struggling to catch up. And when the detective pointed at the door, the notorious Revelator feels as if his blood were drained to the last bit.

It was hard to breathe.

"Shut up," he whispered, his voice sounded as if there were ropes coiled around his neck.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

That look of terror on the Revelator's face somehow brought positive feelings to the detective, and he laughed.

He was amused, though still in disbelief that he managed to shake they infamous Revelator.

Him, a four eyed detective with good connections and observation skills.

"What was that, John? I can't hear you."

As a matter of fact, he did hear it, but he wanted to hear it again. After minutes of silent treatments, John finally began to crack. Even if it wasn't anything useful.

He cracked.

"You had your chance, you know. I really didn't want it to come to this, but you were so stubborn." The detective slammed his hand on the table—as if about to begin an outburst, but he inhaled slowly.

"You were priding yourself on being able to keep quiet, but… look what it has come down to. That's selfishness, John. Even /I'm/ not like that."

ㅤㅤ

John

"Shut up," he whispered again, lower, quieter, and it was even barely inaudible 'cause he knew that the goddamn detective could hear himself crystal clear.

And John was about to keep it like that, but as time went by, the laughter just makes his blood boil and his skin scorching and the piercing headache just made him want to rip himself apart, 'cause after all this time, after facing into countless of a problem either caused by himself or by some other useless fuckstains, this is the first time John felt so hopelessly useless.

"Shut up, shut up, shut the HELL up!"

He barked, eyes glaring as if he was trying to drill a hole into the other's face, and teeth gritted as if he had been staring at the devil himself. There was no softness in that gaze. It was a look that conveyed a bubbling hatred. Disgust perhaps.

The chain rattled as he jolted his body forward, perhaps almost stumbling but the urge to bite the latter's neck off was so fucking irresistible. He doesn't give a damn fuck if those things are going to leave a mark, he doesn't give a damn fuck about anything.

Except for his kids.

And it's a real flaw,

Now he's failing 'cause of it.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Finally, there's that reaction he's been waiting for. The Revelator was no longer the one smiling—the detective was.

Ian leaned away when John tried to lunge forward, though there's still a (smug) smile on the detective's face.

The Revelator may have broken people with his fists, his guns and his knives. But Ian Nashton has broken plenty of other criminals through his words and wits alone.

The pen is truly mightier than the sword.

"Peter mentioned the name Andre a lot—that's his friend, no?" The detective closed his eyes and visualized the Revelator's living room again, he visualized the socks scattered in the room.

"A son and a daughter. You took them in, they might have been dropped by your doorstep, but you began to care more and more for them. Somehow balancing a suburban life and being the Revelator. Until… I came around. Now, history has its eyes on you."

The detective crossed one leg over on top the other.

"Piece by piece, bit by bit. I unraveled you, John. You once told me that I should be afraid of you—but I think it should be you who's afraid."

And he knew, deep down, John was afraid. If not for himself, then for his kids.

"Let me ask you a riddle: I cannot be bought, but I can be stolen with one glance. I'm worthless to one but priceless to two. What am I?"

The detective has never really felt like this before. He felt so… powerful.

And he didn't wait for an answer.

"Love. For some, it can be their strength. But for others, it can be their weakness. What is it for you, John?"

ㅤㅤ

John

John's nose flared. He could barely breath due to the immense sensation on his lungs. His mind was clouded, his chest heaving heavily with every breath he took, and now his heart beating furiously against his ribcage, threatening to jump out and breaking away all his bones.

In another situation, John would shrug at the question, but now he's just furious. The once soft panic had grown into a turmoil inside his mind, swirling against his thoughts into a vortex of impulsiveness and stupidity. He found himself gnawing the inside of his cheeks until the taste of blood filled his mouth, and yet, John can't help but to stare intently at his captor and bark some more.

"Compared to the probability of me getting outta here alive, there's a bigger chance I would die on this shit hole," he begins, never for once his eyes left the other's sinister gleam. Just by letting the hatred slip into his brain already makes his breathing rapid and shallow. John can feel his pulse pounding in his temples.

"But lemme tell you what, detective. If I do manage to get the fuck out of here, I will let you know, 'cause that would be the day when no aid will come at you. Hell will be naked before you and destruction has no covering upon your fucking, pretty face. And just when you thought you were safe behind those closed walls with your fucking FBI dogs, I will proof you wrong, sweetheart. You know who I am, baby, you know who the Revelator is. With a donkey's jawbone I have made donkeys of them. With a donkey's jawbone I have killed a thousand men. But I ain't gonna start by killing you first, oh no, I will fill your mountains with the dead. Your hills, your valleys, and your streams will be filled with people slaughtered by the sword. I will make you desolate forever, sweetheart. And when the last light burns out in your dense skull, I’ll be there to inhale the smoke that comes from your fucking burnt bones."

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

To any normal person, those threats alone would send shivers down their spine.

But detective Ian Nashton wasn't a normal person by any means. He always smiled and kept his head up in the face of danger.

So he smiled. As if John had just told him the sweetest of words instead of threats.

It helped that he knows that he has some sort of leverage over John. With his knowledge and connections, Ian was certain he'd have more.

"My dearest John," he began, "I know exactly who you are. Maybe better than you know yourself. But you don't know me—not as well as I know you—or what /I/ am capable of. With what I know about you, and your family… are you really willing to risk that?"

The detective's eyes darted towards one corner of the room, where he assumed the microphone would be.

He knows that there was at least one agent on the other side.

"One of his kids' name's Peter Brown. I've talked to him. Nice kid—you wouldn't believe the Revelator's his father. Anyway, I'm sure he won't mind to have a little chat."

The detective returned his gaze to the man sitting in front of him. The expression on the detective's face was cold and unfeeling—perhaps John could even see the darkness behind those spectacles.

It was unlike himself.

"Are you just going to continue making threats, John?"

ㅤㅤ

John

Any normal person would just back off, but John has always known that Ian Nashton wasn't a normal person. If any way, John is most likely to be digging his own grave for blabbering too much, but there's no pain in trying, right?

Seems like he was wrong.

When the words started to roll from the latter's lips, John had anticipated for the words outcome. But he didn't anticipate... this.

When the goddamn detective flicked his eyes towards the corner of the room, John's bowel dropped. And not just that, when he starts mentioning Peter's full name, he felt the world shatter around him. He wasn't even sure if his heart had skipped another one or two beats or whether it was thumping so fast to the point it feels like nothing at all.

"Y—you're a monster."

He choked, biting his lips so hard as he struggled to keep himself from stammering too much. God forbids him from trembling, but as the gut-wrenching sobs tore through his chest, he just couldn't help himself. John could feel his head spinning around when the realization finally hit him; those cold eyes are giving it away.

He had just reached the end of his fall.

"You're worse than the devil himself."

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"That's rich, coming from the man who has a tendency to burn people alive. That's not even the worst of your crimes, is it? You're the one that has tortured and murdered people. You're the one that caused needless deaths and destruction. You're the one that has raped that poor woman," Ian scoffed, disgusted.

"And yet, /I'm/ the monster? For what? All I said was that I'm sure Peter would LOVE to have a chat to us about his dear old dad. Fine, maybe today I've used more extreme methods with the telephone book and baton. But it pales in comparison to what you have done. Aside from that… our time together here has been perfectly legal."

Truth be told, Ian felt a slight guilt when John began to sob. But he's built himself up to this moment now, and the detective kept that cold expression.

"Maybe in your twisted little world, I am worse than the devil. And so what? Do you see yourself as a saint? I doubt it, but it'll be laughable if you did."

Somehow, this was no longer really an interrogation anymore, but more of a 'break The Revelator' session.

"I'm an agnostic man, if you haven't noticed. So go on, threaten me with hell all you want. Because I don't believe in it."

The detective wasn't done yet. Oh no.

"I would have left you in that alley to bleed out that night. I don't know if you remember. But I helped you—I WANTED to help ou. For Peter's sake, anyway. He loves you very much, surely he'd be devastated if he saw that you've been found dead in some dark alley."

The detective stood up and leaned over the table, and he pointed to the other man accusingly.

"YOU were so stubborn, though. Even more stubborn than I had been. We tried so hard to work with you, but you were just so arrogant and prideful, weren't you? Like I said, I REALLY didn't want to pull this card, but you brought this upon yourself, John."

The detective crossed his arms and scoffed once more.

"This. Is. YOUR. Fault."

ㅤㅤ

John

John wasn't the type to deny the truth. Hell, how could he? All of his shit has been exposed to the rest of the world. Even recently, he saw a blog dedicated to him, the Revelator himself.

And although John could actually manage to say that he's doing it for the people's own good, although he could actually say that everyone he had ever slaughtered like a lamb had given one chance to change, although John could actually tell the detective that the police sucked bad so he decided to do anything by himself, John didn't. Not that it mattes now.

What matters now is now the official knows about his kids, and that was due to the courtesy of Ian Nashton.

John didn't even bother to contain the choked out sobs as he feels his eyes starting to burn, surely he had brought this all to himself, but who knows that the detective could be this petty?

Using his kids to blackmail him, heh, so must for just.

He started chewing on his lower lip and his eyes welled up with tears. Pitiful as it sounds, John was on the edge. He knows he had failed one thing he desperately try to do.

"Yet you haven't seen me punishing a son for his father's crime," he whispered.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

The detective sat on the table again, and he grabbed John's chin to lift the man's head. Just with one glance, he could see that there were tears in the other man's eyes.

He did this.

He reduced the Revelator to tears.

He wasn't proud of it, though. He knows it isn't the most clean of methods, but the detective doesn't consider this to be straight up blackmail. He'd call it… persuasion.

Blackmail is the act of demanding money or another benefit from someone in return for not revealing compromising information about them.

Ian hasn't actually done that—but he wanted John to think that he did.

(He had to do what he had to do)

And it seemed to work. He reduced the fearsome Revelator to tears by mere words.

The detective actually felt genuine pity for John.

John looked so pathetic.

The detective took out his pocket square and gently patted John's eyes dry. For a moment, that cold gaze was gone, replaced by something more affable. Caring, even.

He lowered his voice, so only the two of them could hear it. The detective made an effort to sound kinder, too—it was as if he had become a different person.

"Tsk, tsk. /I/ never said anything about punishing him. You see, I'm not in charge here. But those guys out there? Who knows what they'll do? Agent Moore is one of the best men here that I've ever met. But as for the rest of them, I can't say the same thing." Ian placed the fabric on his lap and once again brushed John's hair away from his face. "It's your fault, yes, but you have a chance to fix it. To make it right. Cooperate and answer the questions you have been asked. It's simple, isn't it?"

The detective folded the fabric neatly and placed it back where it was. He took his hat and idly brushed his thumb across the fabric.

"Then we can get you help. Professional help. Think about it, John. You could live normally amongst society. With your kids—you don't have to do any of this anymore."

Ian let out yet another sigh, "I'm sure your children would like that too. Not having to deal with you being absent, or in jail. Think about it, John. Because once I'm out of here, I don't think I can help you anymore."

ㅤㅤ

John

At some point of time, John knew he has to say something. He highly doubted that the detective will let him slide that easily without getting any answer, especially since he had thrown all the cards at him. He had come this far, why would he stop?

But it still leaves a huge question mark on his head. Some people might be able to pull some strings for him, but it won't ever cleanse him from all the crimes he did. If not in front of the law, then maybe God will, but who fucking knows?

Hence John stayed still, lips sealed tight. He refused to meet the man's eyes and decided to stare right into the cold, gray concrete.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"Depends. Some of us can pull some strings. Not me, though. I don't have that kind of power." The detective shrugged and placed the hat back on his head.

"Would you rather stay here with uncertainty, or would you rather have the chance to be able to see your kids again? I hate the insanity plea as much as the next person but I'm just saying that there's a chance you could be put in an asylum."

The detective now stood behind John and gave him a few pats on the shoulder.

"Now it's up to you. Just answer a few questions, it's not that hard, is it? If not for me, do it for your kids."

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"It's fine. Take your time to think—but I really don't have much. So I'll ask you again. What's your real name? Who's your next target?" Those two questions were the main things that they wanted—especially Ian.

"What made you like this, John? Do you even remember?"

Ian honestly wanted this to be over just as much as John did—though he's played all his cards, the detective wasn't proud that he had to stoop so low. Now that the anger had left him.

The children were perfectly safe.

But John needed to think otherwise.

The detective had to do what he had to do.

ㅤㅤ

John

John had it seen coming at him. Everyone and their curious mind and their oh-so-important questions. Have they heard about curiosity killed the cat? He doesn't think so.

So when the detective begins with his questions, John takes a deep breath, hoping it would stop himself from trembling. It didn't work, but at least he tried.

What's your name?

"John."

Who's your next target?

"Haven't decided yet."

What made you like this?

"I don’t know."

Do you even remember?

He stayed quiet.

"No."

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Ian was familiar to the saying. Curiosity killed the cat. Who isn't? After all, it is a well known saying—warning people of the dangers of unnecessary investigation.

But how many people are familiar with the later half of the saying? The rejoinder?

But satisfaction brought it back.

Finding the answer would be a reward in itself. That's why the detective pressed on.

"I asked for your REAL name. Not the one you took from your parental figure!" The detective slammed his hand on the table again. "Don't lie to me, you bastard."

Ian narrowed his eyes and spoke in a warning tone. "Don't make me do something you'd regret."

ㅤㅤ

John

John was never a good liar and he wasn't even planning to hide it this time. Instead, he stared down at his feet, again, struggling to keep himself on hold 'cause now the slightest pitch of tone from the detective had managed to bring himself into a full alert mode. He can feel himself trembling again.

So he didn't respond.

Not a single word, not a single huff of breath.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Being observant as he was, it's no surprise that Ian would be like a living lie detector.

The detective crossed his arms and sighed in disappointment.

"Fine. Have it your way. But let me just remind you, that you brought this upon yourself."

Ian Nashton glanced at the corner of the room again.

"Bring the kids in."

ㅤㅤ

John

Eyes widening in surprise, John weren't expecting any of that to come from the detective's foul mouth. But he shit you not that the very first response he gave was not a defiant look, but it was a smile full of disbelief. Half frowning, half quirking his brows, John said, “You're mad.”

But when he saw the cold look across the man's visage, John felt himself getting light-headed again. Everything was spinning and falling and he could feel his arms struggling to free himself from the chair. And when it should hurt a lot, John could barely register it as he feels the dam of his eyes breaking away, again.

"You can't do that," he said, and even though he was still smiling—chuckling, even—the glints of his eyes were filled with nothing but a full terror.

"You're fucking mad, they're only seventeen, you can't do anything to innocent kids, they don't have anything to do with this, you bastard!"

And that was supposed to be a threat, but with the way his voice stammering, eyes reddening, and streams of tears flowing faster than his own heartbeat, it sounded more of a plead.

"Jesus Christ!" John barked, his body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears.

"You're absolutely mad, please, oh my god, kill me already, just kill me, but don't do anything to them, please, please, please, please, please don't."

He wasn't even trying to free himself anymore, all the frantic movement was just an attempt to get himself closer to the detective because he can feel his voice breaking away, and he's afraid he couldn't hear him in between the choked sobs.

"I'll tell you anything, just don't do anything, please, it's Monsoon, it's Monsoon. My name is Monsoon, please."

John stared at the man, his voice breaking away every second which passed them.

"It's Isaiah Monsoon."

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Ian would be lying if he said he didn't feel his stomach drop when he saw those terror stricken eyes. Yes, at the beginning he'd laughed and smiled at John, but now? Now the detective's conscience was starting to get to him.

But he kept that cold and unfeeling expression as best as he could. He has gotten this far. He can feel the guilt later, after this is all done.

"What about the innocent lives lost because of your actions, huh?! They also had nothing to do with it, yet they suffered! Innocent people have lost their lives too because of you, John!" Ian raised his voice again. "And what of my brother? He was just a man going to a video convention, caught in your explosion that night. Besides, I never said anything about hurting them. You just assumed that that would happen."

The detective inhaled sharply and cleared his throat. He hadn't anticipated how John was begging and pleading. Not for his life, but for death.

He was in tears.

And it didn't happen because he was beaten to a pulp. Not by agent Moore's men, not even by the detective himself.

But because of Ian's words.

And finally, there's that name he has been after this entire time. Said in between sobs and pleads, the detective almost didn't hear it.

"Isaiah. Of course. It makes perfect sense. See, I expected it to have been a Biblical name. Kind of odd to be addressing you in this way, though. Huh. And I'm sure it must be odd to hear it roll off my tongue."

That information satisfied his own curiosity (and probably agent Moore's as well), but technically speaking, it wasn't of much use.

"You still have other unanswered questions. But I believe you were telling the truth. At least... about your next target. There is no list, is there? You just go after whoever you can, correct?"

Despite the horrible feeling he had in his stomach, the detective still managed to force a thin smile. John's statement about the detective being mad had amused him.

How ironic that the deranged Revelator accused the detective of madness.

"By the way, I'm not mad, /Isaiah/. Just a well connected man who happens to notice everything. Although... I wouldn't blame you for thinking otherwise. There's a quote often thought to have been said by Aristotle, "No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness". What do you think?"

When Ian looked into the other's eyes, he no longer saw the fierceness he was so familiar with, he just saw desperation and hopelessness. He saw /fear/. The once fearsome Revelator was now a mess, covered in bruises and dried up blood; his cheeks dampened with tears and his voice breaking with each word he tried to say.

Ian felt pity for the man, but a tiny part of him in the back of the detective's mind wanted to laugh at John.

Like it was a sickness.

Was this how John had felt at the barn?

The detective leaned against the doorway, he was ready to leave, but he kept his gaze locked on the other man.

"Anything? Well, go on then. You better have something good, otherwise I will go. For starters, tell me. Do you work alone? Or do you have some sort of a team, just like the previous Revelator?"

ㅤㅤ

John

John can't—Isaiah can't even think straight as the only thing in his mind was, "the detective is right".

All of the things happened, all of the innocent life he had taken away, and all of the things that might happen to his kids, everything were all his fault. He knew he'd done something awful when he had to work so hard to justify it. The more demanding the reparations his subconscious required, the worse he knew it was.

He couldn't even hear whatever the detective had been blabbering because now the guilt did not only sit on his chest, but also deep inside his brain. All the things he had done could never be un-done. Even if he tried to make amends, Isaiah knows that it was still out of the questions.

Even confessing to Father Brown won't erase the guilt nor lift any single weight from it. Even if he speaks his heart to God and beg for his mercy, nothing would make him feel better.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds passed. No words came out of his lips except for restless murmurs of pleading, choked out sobs and a loud sniff. He could only shake his head when the detective asked him something. The guild that had been eating himself, pestering him, and burning the end of his throat had prevented him on speaking anything.

Four second. Five seconds. Six seconds passed. He wonders if his tears would drain out in a night because he couldn't stop himself from bawling. He had clung his faith in the love of Christ and hung the remains of his sanity on it. Every night he prayed that one day all of his pain would be let unfurl and his sin will be washed clean. But now he had to face the truth.

He had done this to himself, he had done this to his kids.

And if something happens to them, how could he forgive himself?

He shook his head.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

The detective wasn't sure what he was feeling. He felt guilt, but somewhere inside him, he also felt satisfaction.

He had a principle that sometimes, surely the right way is the ugly way. But was this the right way, or is it just ugly? Ian wasn't sure.

Would this be worth it in the long run? Perhaps.

He let out a deep sigh. He wanted to give John—no, Isaiah—some pats on the back out of pity, (and perhaps subtly apologize) but he was certain that that may ruin the illusion he has built this far. So he only cleared his throat to get the other man's attention.

"Well, I'm afraid I must go now. As long as you cooperate and behave, your children will be safe." That sentence alone was hard for him to say, because it was a lie—his children are perfectly safe regardless of what he'll do.

But it's all an act. He had to keep it up.

"I really didn't want it to be like this, but you left me no choice. I suppose it's been kind of nice meeting you again. See you never, J—I mean, Isaiah."

The detective immediately stumbled out of the room and slammed the door behind him. There wasn't a single soul outside except for agent Moore.

Still, Ian Nashton leaned against the door and slumped to the ground, he let his head hang low as he massaged his temples with both of his hands.

"Fucking hell, I can't believe I did that. That was cruel, even for someone like him. Tell me everyone else was gone when I mentioned his family."

The ridiculously tall agent Moore crouched in front of Ian and gave a reassuring nod, though he wasn't sure if the detective had seen it. "Yes. I ordered them to leave as soon as you had stopped hitting him."

Ian removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a groan. "I feel sick—it was my idea but somehow I feel sick. I feel conflicted. Damn it, Gerard, I feel sick."

The agent placed a comforting hand on the detective's shoulder, "I'm sure… even I was a little… surprised, Ian. But… hey. The ends will justify the means, wouldn't it?"

"I guess—I hope so. I know his kids are perfectly safe. But still, seeing him like that? I feel kind of… pitiful. Underneath that Revelator exterior he seem like he could be a good father." Ian sighed deeply and held his head in his hands.

"Trust me, detective. I've seen worse methods. What you've done today pales in comparison to what I've witnessed first hand. Now, come on. I think you should go home." The taller man stood up and held out his hand for Ian.

The detective took it and pulled himself up. He casted a hesitant glance at the door and an image of a broken down Isaiah crossed his mind, though he immediately shook it off.

"R-right. I should probably go—clear my head. Thank you, for the opportunity and for arranging all of this. And, um. Yeah. Do no harm." Ian wasn't sure what came over him, but he pulled the older man into a brief hug before he made his way out of the building.

He trusted agent Moore, Ian knew he wouldn't do anything to John's kids because he has a nephew of his own.

ㅤㅤ

John

When the door shut close, Isaiah didn't even stop himself from tearing out. It hurts, everything hurts. His muscles, his head, his heart. It could be a hundred degrees out and he'd still be frozen on the inside. Everything feels cold and he can't stop shivering, trembling.

There is static in his head once more; the side effect of this constant fear, the constant stress he lives with. The pain came out like an uproar from his throat in the form of a silent scream, then a heart wrenching wail.

The detective was right.

He had done this to himself.

He had done this to them.

Now he could only beg.

"Just kill me already."

#deus det nobis suam pacem #9

0 notes