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#'cops if your quick' applies in particular here
rafael-silva · 7 months ago
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always be mine (and I will always be yours): a tarlos fic
“Do you smell that?” Carlos freezes, sniffs a couple of times before his face, too, falls. “Smoke.” TK nods and begins looking around, Carlos following his lead. The store isn’t that crowded, but there are a few people around, some who haven’t noticed the smell, yet. “We need to get people out,” TK says, jumping into first responder mode. “Yeah.”
-
Carlos and TK’s first shared day off in what seemed like forever is turned upside down when a fire erupts in a store while they're shopping, threatening to tear them apart and prematurely end their future together.
for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + bleeding through the bandages
major character injury, hurt carlos reyes, worried tk strand, established relationship, angst, whump, blood, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, cuddles, kisses, angst with a happy ending
8.2k | on ao3
*****
“Hey, ‘Los. What do you think of these?”
Carlos turns to look in TK’s direction, his eyes studying the light grey plate the younger man is holding up to show him.
“I think it would look nice with the dark grey set we use,” TK continues. “It would be a good contrast using the same color.”
Carlos nods after a moment of consideration. “Yeah, I think so, too. I like it.”
It’s Carlos and TK’s first shared day off in the past few weeks. They had planned the entire day upon finding that out, starting with sleeping in later than usual, a late breakfast, some shopping for the condo and then having a meal with Carlos’s parents.
They are currently shopping for a few things at an open mall. Ever since TK had moved in with Carlos, they had put effort into making the condo theirs and for it to also reflect TK and his personality. The best way to go about doing that was to go out and see what caught TK’s attention and making a home for those items.
“There’s still a lot to see, though,” TK says, looking in further down the aisle he was standing at the beginning of. “I like these, but let’s keep looking. We might find something better.”
Carlos walks over and extends his arm towards TK, and TK wastes no time in linking their fingers together. They walk hand in hand through the aisle, then the next and the next. They didn't really have a to-buy list with them, they were scouting more than anything and seeing what they stumbled upon and caught their attention. They both agree that that is the best way to find exactly what they’re searching for.
Carlos was enjoying this, his favorite time is any time spent with TK, but in this setting, he adores how excited TK would get over something his eyes catches or if he finds something interesting. But Carlos himself was also very interested in and excited about a particular section of the store: the cooking and baking equipment.
He couldn’t wait to reach it, already eager to find out if there are any new models or new appliances he could use in the kitchen. And his mother’s birthday is coming up soon, too, and he’s been cataloging the appliances at his parents’ house to figure out if he could get her a new one, too, knowing she’ll love it.
Carlos is brought back from his thoughts by yet another excited squeal from TK as the paramedic rushes in the direction of the towels and linens section. Carlos chuckles and follows him, knowing how much TK loves and appreciates a good soft towel or silky smooth sheets.
“They’re so soft!” TK tells Carlos, running his hand over a displayed towel. “And these sheets!” He moves to the other side, admiring the bedsheets.
Carlos has to admit, they do feel pretty amazing. And the colors would fit right in with their bathroom and bedroom.
TK looks at Carlos. “I’ve made up my mind, new towels and sheets.”
“Okay, then,” Carlos nods.
If new towels and bedsheets will make the condo feel more like home for TK, then they will get all the towels and sheets TK’s heart desires.
Their conversation is cut short when TK frowns, turning around and narrowing his eyes.
“What is it?” Carlos asks, immediately noticing the change in TK’s posture.
“Do you smell that?”
Carlos freezes, sniffs a couple of times before his face, too, falls. “Smoke.”
TK nods and begins looking around, Carlos following his lead.
The store isn’t that crowded, but there are a few people around, some who haven’t noticed the smell, yet.
“We need to get people out,” TK says, jumping into first responder mode.
“Yeah.”
The alarm goes off just as they start grabbing people’s attentions. Together, they usher them out with the help of the green lit signs.
TK and Carlos share a concerned look when they both realize that the smoke is getting heavier and more evident as they make their way towards the exit.
And then TK spots it, the dancing red and orange flames coming from the corner of the store, getting bigger and bigger by each passing second, feeding on the oxygen in the closed space. He could also see a few silhouettes near the fire, who may need help.
“There’s still people near the fire,” TK yells over to Carlos, pointing in the direction of the flames. “Get everyone out, I’ll go for them and meet you outside.”
But Carlos is shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you.”
Carlos’s tone leaves no room for argument, and TK knows they don’t even have time for any arguments. TK turns to a young man in the crowd.
“Make sure everyone is out, don’t stop for anything,” he instructs him.
The man nods and continues helping people out.
“Here,” Carlos pushes something into TK’s hands.
He looks down to see one of the towels he was admiring earlier and finds Carlos covering his own mouth and nose with one himself.
The irony doesn’t escape him.
TK nods. “Thanks.” He lifts the towel to his face, the promise of softness and comfort that came hand in hand with this towel shifts and its purpose is now a shield for protection instead.
The heat gets worse the closer they get to the people in the fire vicinity, and Carlos can feel the sweat running down his neck and back. The thick smoke makes it almost impossible to see straight and the officer does his best to keep TK in his direct line of sight.
“Hey, we’re here to help!” TK yells when he’s in earshot.
“It’s so hard to see,” a woman’s voice speaks. “The smoke…”
“I know, just follow my voice,” TK guides her. He eventually gets to her and points her in the direction of the exit. “Is there anyone else here?”
She nods. “Two more.”
“TK, over here!”
Once he’s sure she’s moving in the right direction, TK turns his attention to where Carlos’s voice is coming from. He finds Carlos standing, supporting a man by carrying his weight with an arm draped over his shoulder.
“You alright?” Carlos asks.
“Yeah, thanks,” the man nods.
“There’s another person,” TK points out, looking around and trying to see through the smoke.
The fire is growing at an alarming rate, TK’s firefighter instincts scream that they need to get out of there right this moment.
“Can anyone hear me?” TK tries, hoping his voice carries over the fire.
A figure emerges near a door with a sign that reads Changing Rooms.
“Good, good!” TK says as the other man approaches them, covering his mouth and nose with a scarf. “We need to get out of here! This way!”
TK points the two men in the direction as they start moving, TK waits for Carlos so they’re close together, not risking losing him in all this smoke. With a final look around, TK gives him a nod and they start heading towards the exit.
An exploding sound originating near them sends Carlos and TK diving to the ground, covering their faces with their arms and curling their bodies where they landed. It’s over just as quickly as it started, it takes a moment for TK to shake it off, sitting up and wincing at the ringing in his ears. He takes a moment to refocus, eyes immediately searching for Carlos in the chaos.  
He finds Carlos a few feet away from him, lying on his back. TK glances around and sees the floor around them littered with broken glass. Mindful of the sharp pieces, TK quickly crawls over to Carlos.
“Hey, Carlos. Are you okay?” TK asks, taking a quick survey of the other man but stops short when his eyes land on Carlos’s stomach.
He freezes, he even stops breathing for a few seconds. The sight makes TK’s own stomach twist and turn. Because no, no, no, this can’t be happening.
“TK,” Carlos groans through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay, babe. You’re okay,” TK rushes to reassure Carlos, his voice shakier than he’d like.
“What…” Carlos begins but trails off, scrunching up his face in pain.
“A glass display exploded, and you have some glass embedded in your abdomen,” TK swallows. “I need you to stay calm and still. And stay awake, babe.”
TK looks up and not only is the fire much, much bigger but it’s getting closer to where Carlos is lying on the ground. He frantically looks around hoping to find help, but no one is in sight. And he doubts anyone can see them through the heavy grey cloud. They need to move, and Carlos is already losing a lot of blood. TK feels the panic start to bubble in his gut, but he pushes it down, willing his racing heart to calm down so he can help Carlos. So he can save him.
Taking a deep breath doesn’t really help, because it’s practically inhaling a handful of smoke but TK manages to regain some control anyway, his training kicking in. If anyone can get Carlos out, it’s him.
“I need to apply pressure, Carlos,” TK says over the raging fire, reaching for the towel Carlos was using before and pressing it hard against the officer’s stomach.
And once again, the towel is transformed from an item of indulgence to a lifeline for Carlos.
Carlos lets out a pained scream, rolling his head from side to side. TK watches in anguish as a tear rolls down the side of Carlos’s face.
“I know, I’m sorry, but we need to slow down this bleeding as much as we can until we get help.”
TK wraps his hand around Carlos’s wrist and guides the cop’s hand towards the wound, pushing it down there. “Keep holding it there.”
It’s hot, God, it’s so hot, TK feels the heat coursing through his body. His face feels so hot and his eyes are starting to burn. He zones out for a moment when his eyes land on the blood pooling beneath the love of his life. A crash behind them snaps him back to the moment.
“Can you stand up?” He asks Carlos.
“Don’t know.”
“It’s okay, I’m gonna help you. We need to get out of here. Trust me,” TK says and starts helping Carlos into a sitting position.
“I trust you with my life,” Carlos croaks.
“I got you. On three,” he takes hold of Carlos’s free arm and throws it over his shoulder. On the count of three, he get to his feet, helping Carlos up with him and supporting more of his weight.
“That’s it,” TK whispers. “One foot in front of the other.” He secures his hold on Carlos by wrapping his arm around Carlos’s waist and guiding them towards the exit.
He feels Carlos getting weaker in his grip, and notices his hold on the towel faltering, allowing for more blood to rush freely down his skin once more.
“Hey, Carlos, I need you to stay with me, baby,” TK tries, his voice wobbly and unsteady.
He can’t tell if Carlos heard that and he feels the fear begin to seize him. He feels helpless, momentarily at loss as he pretty much carries Carlos out of the burning store.
“Carlos, please…stay with me.”
Carlos manages to breathe out an mhm and TK tightens his hold on him, moving with purpose and precision as the fire continues roaring behind them.
After what feels like an eternity, TK sees the light.
“I need a first aid kit!” TK yells at the crowd gathered outside of the store. “Get me a first aid kit!”
The much-needed fresh air doesn’t do much in helping TK relax or calm down. He stops once they’re far enough from the entrance and with the help of another man, TK lowers Carlos to the ground.
“Hey, babe. You still with me?”
Carlos gives him a short nod.
TK discards the ruined piece of fabric and cotton to inspect the wound. He can see at least three shards of glass inside the wound, he can’t tell if they’ve hit any organs or nicked any veins, but the amount of blood Carlos has already lost is alarming. The officer’s entire left side is drenched in crimson, also staining the top of his jeans.
“You’re gonna be okay, ‘Los,” TK continues speaking, trying to keep Carlos awake. “Just stay with me. Focus on my voice.”
“Ty…” Carlos mumbles, his voice weak.
“I’m right here, baby.”
The first aid kit is opened when it lands next to TK and he doesn’t look in the direction of where it came. He grabs for a bandage, unwrapping it and hastily layering it in his palm before pressing it hard against Carlos’s abdomen.
Carlos gasps, his brown eyes opening wide and the rush of adrenaline seems to pump some energy through his body.
“Stay with me,” TK repeats.
“Guess…we won’t make dinner…with my parents,” Carlos pushes out.
TK lets out a wet chuckle. “Don’t worry about that, babe. We’ll have another dinner with them once you’re all fixed up and better.”
TK gulps, the bandage is filling up with blood way too quickly. There’s so much blood…Carlos’s blood. TK reaches for another bandage, holding it against Carlos’s stomach with his now-smeared fingers. His heart is hammering roughly against his ribcage and he attempts to draw in a few breaths but they come out in coughs.
“Ty, your chest,” Carlos stammers.
TK shakes his head. “I’m okay, it’s nothing serious.” And then the air around them is graced with the sound of incoming sirens.
“Do you hear that, babe? Help is almost here,” TK says, throwing the bloodied bandage aside and pressing yet another one to the wound.
He looks up from Carlos for the first time when he hears rapid footsteps approaching and a slight weight is lifted off his chest when he spots Marjan jogging towards them.
His team is here. It’s gonna be okay.
TK can pinpoint the moment Marjan’s eyes land on him and the split second it takes her to realize who she’s looking at. Her eyes go big very quickly and she breaks into a run towards them, already screaming for Tommy and Nancy.
“Captain Vega! Nancy! Over here!” She frantically waves the paramedics over.
“Hey, Marj,” TK breaths out, feeling a little deflated but his hands still applying pressure to Carlos’s stomach.
“Strand!” Tommy’s voice comes from behind as she and Nancy crouch next to them. “What happened?”
“A fire started, and then a glass display shattered and hit Carlos. There’s some glass shards lodged in his abdomen. He’s lost a lot of blood,” TK’s voice trembles as he explains.
Tommy nods, getting the equipment ready and Nancy works to take Carlos’s vitals.
“Hey, Carlos,” Tommy speaks in her calm and sweet tone. “How are you doing?”
“Okay…” Carlos whispers.
TK can feel the rest of the crew gather around them and he senses his dad standing right behind him. It’s confirmed when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he knows it’s his father’s touch.
He looks up and sees Judd standing near. “I think everyone is out.”
TK hears Owen give orders while turning his attention back to Carlos. And under all the soot and black ash smudged on Carlos’s face, the officer is looking a lot paler than he did a minute ago.
TK’s heart shatters a little more and some pieces drop into his knees when he feels Carlos’s blood seep through the bandage and stick to his skin.
“He’s bleeding through all of the bandages,” TK’s voice breaks.
“TK, I know it’s hard but I’m going to need you to let go for a moment,” Tommy says.
TK vigorously shakes his head. “I can’t, I can’t…he’ll bleed more. I can’t.”
“I need to see the damage. Here,” she hands TK a bigger and thicker piece of gauze. “To use the moment I’m done.”
Reluctantly, TK pulls back. He closes his eyes for a moment while Tommy inspects the wound and then he’s opening his eyes and pressing the gauze once she’s done.
“I don’t think the glass hit anything vital,” she reports.
“His sats are low, Cap,” Nancy speaks.
“TK, I need you to keep the pressure. We’re gonna move him now. Captain Strand, a hand.”
Together, Tommy, Nancy and Owen lift Carlos onto the stretcher while TK keeps his hold.
Owen gives TK’s shoulder a squeeze. “Keep us updated, son,” his voice is filled to the brim with worry and concern. “We’ll be by the hospital as soon as we can.”
TK nods and hops into the rig after they push Carlos inside. Tommy instantly gets to work, placing the oxygen mask over Carlos’s face and starts inserting an IV in Carlos’s arm. Nancy slams the doors and rushes to the driver’s seat, the siren blaring as the ambulance starts to move.
TK keeps the pressure with one hand and uses the other to hold one of Carlos’s, giving him a reassuring squeeze.
Carlos peels his eyelids open and finds TK’s face through the haze. TK’s very worried face.
“We…didn’t see the…kitchen appliances,” Carlos says, his voice partly muffled by the oxygen mask.
Another wet chuckle from TK. “I promise we’ll get all the new appliances you want.”
“My parents,” Carlos wheezes.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll handle it, save your energy,” TK replies.
“I love you, Ty,” Carlos whispers as his eyes begin to droop.
“I love you, too. You gotta stay awake for me, ‘Los.”
A gut-wrenching feeling takes over and TK refuses to believe that Carlos has just said goodbye, even as a lone tear slips out of his eye and rolls down his cheek.
The rest of the ride is stressful, with Carlos going in and out of consciousness.
The ambulance doors are yanked open when the rig comes to halt in front of the hospital. Tommy gives the doctors and nurses a rundown of Carlos’s injury and vitals as they quickly move. TK jogs by the gurney, only letting his hand drop when he knows one of the nurses took over keeping the pressure.
The other nurse stands in front of TK, but he’s looking over her shoulder to where Carlos is being wheeled into the elevator.
The nurse gently takes hold of TK’s hand and drops something into it.
He looks down and sees a ring sitting in his palm. The silver ring he slipped onto Carlos’s finger just a couple of months ago.
“Hold onto it for him,” the nurse says.
But her voice is so far away now, muffled and distant. And it feels like TK’s suddenly under water as he begins to heave, the rest of the world fading away. He’s visibly shaking now, clutching the ring tightly in his fist. He can’t stop the sob that tears through his throat and out of his dried lips.
He feels Tommy’s hand come to rest on the small of his back as she leads him towards the chairs.
“Come on, TK.”
He lets her guide him and he drops harshly onto the plastic, his knuckles going white from the force of his hold on Carlos’s ring.
“Easy, easy,” Tommy soothes, slowly coaxing his fingers from digging into his palm.
TK opens his palm and looks at the ring again, the one thing on repeat going through his head that’s Carlos’s blood, that’s Carlos’s blood and TK feels sick to his stomach. He slips the ring into his pocket without a word.
“I…should call his parents,” TK speaks after a few minutes of silence. “I should…” he drops his head to look at his still-bloody hands.
Tommy nods, watching as TK gets up on unsteady legs and makes his way towards the bathroom first.
After scrubbing his hands clean, he steps outside of the ER. It’s hot and the atmosphere is stiff around him.
TK had lost track of time, but the sun still hanging high in the sky tells him it can’t be more than thirty minutes since the fire started, though it feels like that was a lifetime or two ago.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and takes a deep breath, touching a contact and dragging the phone up to his ear.
“Tyler,” Andrea picks up after the third ring, her voice cheery and joyful. “I’m just about to start making the food. Are you and Carlitos almost done with your errands?”
“Andrea,” TK manages to push past the lump in his throat, his voice uneven.
She immediately picks up on TK’s broken tone. “What is it?”
“Something happened.”
TK finds the waiting room where Tommy and Nancy are sitting a few minutes after ending the phone call with Andrea. He doesn’t know how he got through telling her the hellish events of the past hour without completely breaking down.
Shock, his mind supplies.
“His parents are on their way,” TK announces.
He’s not sure his legs can carry him any longer, the adrenaline beginning to wear off, so he unceremoniously falls backwards into a chair facing the door.
“We’ll wait until they get here,” Tommy decides. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
TK musters his best grateful smile to give to Tommy, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
The silence is heavy around them, TK’s nervous energy visible through the rapid bouncing of his leg. He’s leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs with his face buried in his hands. He gently tugs on his hair strands, needing to keep his hands busy.
He only looks up from the carpeted floor when he hears fast footsteps nearing the door, spotting Andrea and Gabriel rushing towards the room through the glass window.
TK gets to his feet just as they enter the room, and his head immediately drops. In this moment, TK wants to curl up in the corner and be invisible. It’s been eating at him since they arrived at the hospital, how he feels like this is all his fault. He should have pressed harder for Carlos to get out of that burning store while he still could have, because it he had gone, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. And now, facing Carlos’s parents, with the guilt racking and building in his bones with each passing second, he can’t bring himself to meet their worried gazes.
Andrea can tell TK’s breath hitches because she’s moving across the room and closing the distance between them in two strides.
“Breathe, Tyler, breathe,” she speaks, her voice low but still soothing as she wraps her arms around TK’s quivering body.
TK falls against Andrea, returning the embrace and he can’t help the sob that escapes his lips.
Andrea gently shushes him, a hand traveling up his back and settles against the back of his head where she cards her fingers through TK’s short hair.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” TK hiccups, the tears now running freely down his face and wetting Andrea’s shirt. “I tried, I tried…”
Not only is his guilt weighing him down, but Carlos’s ring in his pocket suddenly feels very heavy.
“Está bien, amor,” she reassures him. It’s okay, love.
TK stays in her arms for a few more moments, in her warmth, gathering his own strength and maybe even borrowing some of Andrea’s so he can keep standing.
He eventually pulls back with a sniffle, straightening his back and wiping away the fallen tears.
“There’s no reason to be sorry,” Andrea gives TK a small smile, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know in my heart you did everything you could to help our Carlitos.”
More tears pool in TK’s eyes and one streaks down his cheek when Gabriel reaches out, placing a hand on TK’s shoulder and giving him a squeeze there.
“What she said, mijo.”
TK is taken aback by how different Gabriel sounds. The Texas Ranger’s usually strong and proud voice sounds like it’s been shrunk, small and low. Gabriel looks deflated, too.
TK draws in a deep breath, giving them a nod before clearing his throat.
He turns to face Tommy and Nancy, who were watching the encounter with their own teary eyes.
“Gabriel, Andrea, this is my team, Captain Vega and Nancy,” TK introduces. “Guys, these are Carlos’s parents.”
Tommy and Nancy get up to their feet, Tommy extended a hand, shaking Gabriel’s and then Andrea’s.
“I’m so sorry we had to officially meet under these circumstances,” the Paramedic Captain speaks. “Carlos is young, strong and healthy and he’s in the best of hands.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Gabriel replies with a grateful tone.
“And you were right,” Tommy faces Andrea. “TK did everything right. I would even say he’s the one who saved Carlos’s life.”
TK closes his eyes and lets the words sink in. He opens them when he feels a hand on his back.
It’s Nancy. “Call if you need anything, Strand. I mean it.”
TK nods, giving her a hug. “Thanks, Nance.”
“And keep us updated, we’re all thinking of you. Both of you,” Tommy adds.
“Thanks, Cap.”
With quick goodbyes, Tommy and Nancy leave.
Andrea takes TK’s hand and leads him back towards the chairs where she sits between him and her husband.
TK pulls out his phone, staring at his lock screen wallpaper for a second, a selfie of him and Carlos, both of them wearing big smiles. He keeps his gaze on Carlos for a few more moment before unlocking it.
TK: [4:09 PM] Andrea and Gabriel are here, Tommy and Nancy just left. We haven't heard anything yet.
Owen’s reply comes immediately.
Owen: [4:09 PM] Send them my love until I get there. Only a couple of hours left for shift, I’ll be by as soon as I can.
TK: [4:10 PM] Thanks, dad.
Owen: [4:11 PM] The crew send their love and support, too.
Doctors and nurses keep walking passed the waiting room but none of them enter or seek the worried trio out. TK’s heart beats a little faster every time a doctor or nurse approaches the waiting room, but disappointment quickly sets in when they disappear as quickly as they appeared.
“Have you eaten anything?” Andrea asks after ten minutes of silence.
TK shakes his head. “Not since breakfast. I’m not really hungry, though.”
And this topic brings back a memory from earlier in the day, and TK lets out a bitter chuckle.
Andrea and Gabriel give him puzzled looks, clearly confused.
“No, it’s just,” TK starts with a shake of his head. “When Carlos was hurt, you know what he was worried about the most? That we were gonna miss dinner with you guys,” he voice fractures. “I told him not worry, that we’ll have another one once he’s better. But…he was worried about dinner.”
Andrea closes her eyes, pushing a tear down her face. “Yeah, that’s our Carlitos. He never wants to let anyone down.”
TK nods. “Now just the idea of food or eating, it just…” he stops with another head shake and starts fumbling with his hands.
“I understand but still, you need to eat something,” Andrea interjects. “You need to keep your energy and strength up to take care of him. You’re no good to Carlos if you collapse.”
TK doesn’t fight it because he knows she’s right.
She gets up, picking up her purse and throwing it over her shoulder. “Let me go see what’s there to eat around here.” And then she’s gone, leaving TK and Gabriel alone with their thoughts.
A few minutes in and the silence is too much for TK to handle.
“This is all my fault,” his voice slices through the atmosphere.
Gabriel looks at TK, his eyebrows creased together in question.
“Carlos getting hurt,” TK clarifies. “I should have insisted he leave with everyone else, instead of going with me towards the fire.”
Gabriel’s eyes widen a little in surprise. “You…went towards the fire?”
TK nods, swallowing and looking away from Gabriel’s eyes. “Some people were having a hard time finding their way out. And I knew there wasn’t much time left, I knew I had to go and help them. I told Carlos to leave with everybody else but he said he won’t leave me. I let it go because there wasn’t enough time to argue. But now…I can’t help but wonder if I had just taken two seconds to insist that he get to safety. I’m trained for this, he isn’t. He came along, and he got hurt.”
Gabriel’s eyes soften and he moves one chair over, now sitting in Andrea’s place. “TK, you and I both know that with or without training, Carlos would have never left you alone in that store.”
TK shakes his head. “He should have. He should have gotten out of there.”
“Answer me this,” Gabriel says. “If it were a reversed situation, and let’s say instead of a fire it was a robbery, would you have left Carlos alone, even if he told you to leave to get to safety?”
TK meets Gabriel’s eyes once again. “No,” he sighs, rolling his own ring in circles where it sits on his finger. “I wouldn’t leave him.”
Gabriel nods. “Even without police training, you wouldn’t have left his side. This is the exact same thing.”
TK draws in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly.
“This wasn’t your fault, TK,” Gabriel expresses, a hand going to the back of TK’s neck and giving him a reassuring squeeze and pat there.
TK feels the slightest weight lifted off his chest. The rest will be removed once he knows with certainty that Carlos is okay.
*****
Andrea had returned with a take out paper bag from a nearby Tex Mex food truck she had spotted on her quest to find food. She knew that the last thing TK needs would be hospital food, and remembering Carlos mentioning that TK loved burritos, she ordered a filling one for him.
He had gratefully accepted the food and ate in silence, taking one small bite after the other until he was crunching up the foil wrap and throwing it away.
He had to admit, eating did help him feel a little better.
However, his anxiety and worry have been increasing because it’s been over two hours and they haven’t heard anything about Carlos yet.
“TK!”
TK hears Owen before he sees him, he gets up just in time to see his dad striding into the waiting room, Judd hot on his heels, both in their civvies.
“Hey, dad,” TK sags a little, accepting the embrace Owen wraps him in.
They hug for a few moments before pulling back, and then Judd is placing a comforting hand on TK’s shoulder.
“You doin’ alright, brother?”
TK nods. “Hanging in there.”
“Have you heard anything yet?”
TK shakes his head, his eyes flooding with tears again as they land on the opened doorway.
After quick exchanges between Andrea, Gabriel, Owen and Judd (they’ve all grown closer since Carlos and TK’s engagement) the four of them take their seats while TK opts to pace around the small room instead, going back to rolling his ring between his fingers, a gesture he does when he’s nervous.
Carlos would always notice, and he’d reach out and cover TK’s hand with his own, wordlessly reassuring TK that he’s here and that TK isn’t alone.
And TK misses that, he misses Carlos’s touch. Misses his voice, his smile, his eyes. He misses Carlos and he feels that ache echo from his head to his toe.
“Did you find out what started the fire?” TK asks, looking at Owen, part of him needing to know.
Owen nods. “Electrical fire. It started with a spark and then quickly spread.”
TK nods slowly. “Carlos is going to be fine,” he whispers, more to himself than anything else. “He has to be.”
*****
After what feels like a lifetime and then some, a very exhausted looking doctor makes his way into the waiting room. In one beat, everyone is on their feet and TK exchanges a fast look with his dad before turning his attention back to the doctor.
TK finds himself shifting his weight from one foot to the other, slightly bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Family of Carlos Reyes?”
“How’s our son?” Gabriel is the first to ask, clasping Andrea’s hand with his own.
“He made it through,” the doctor replies with a tired but genuine smile. “He’s going to be okay.”
A collective sigh rebounds off the walls and the tension in the room starts fading. But TK is still holding his breath, still cautious as he process the doctor’s words.
“The glass fragments didn’t hit anything vital and didn’t sever any veins or arteries. But the wound was deep and jagged, due to the irregular angle and high speed the pieces penetrated his abdomen, which made it a little complicated to repair. His blood pressure was lower than I liked for most of the surgery, because of how much blood he had already lost, but we got it under control and his numbers are now holding and stable,” the doctor explains.
“Gracias a Dios,” Andrea whispers, clutching her free hand over her heart. “When can we see him?”
“Shortly. He’s being settled into recovery right now. I have to limit visitors to two until he’s moved to a regular room.”
Gabriel extends his hand to shake the doctor’s. “Gracias, doctor.”
“You’re welcome,” the doctor smiles again. “He’s young and healthy, I expect him to make a full recovery. A nurse will come by to let you know once he’s ready for visitors.”
TK’s mind is still catching up with what the doctor had said, he sees him walk away but he doesn’t exactly register it.
“He’s okay?” TK turns to Owen, needing to hear it one more time to believe it.
Owen nods with a smile. “He’s okay, son.”
TK would have crashed to the ground if it weren’t for Owen’s fast reflexes in wrapping an arm around his son’s waist. Owen saw the second it happened, the second TK’s knees gave way and it was an instant later he was holding TK upright.
“Easy, TK, easy,” Owen guides him to sit. “Deep, even breaths.”
It takes a minute or two for TK to control his breathing and to steady his heart rate.
“That’s it, son, that’s it,” Owen runs a hand up and down TK’s back to help sooth him.
“Carlos is okay,” TK says out loud, finally believing it.
Carlos’s ring isn’t heavy in TK’s pocket anymore.
*****
Sitting by Carlos’s hospital bed is surreal.
There’s so much that doesn’t fit with the image TK has of Carlos in his mind, and his brain is working on processing the sight in front of him.
Yes, Carlos is calm, not nearly as fidgety as TK is, but still, the officer had little gestures here and there, little movements he would do that spoke volumes. It had taken TK a while to document them, but once he did, he would notice every time Carlos would scrunch up his nose or rub at his temple when he was focusing on something that was work related. How his eyes would move under closed lids when he was asleep. How he’d turn on his side, arm automatically reaching for TK and pulling him close. And there are more little things that spell Carlos so vividly and the absence of them in this moment breaks TK’s heart all that more.
He sighs, his red, swollen eyes moving to the heart monitor that tells him that Carlos’s heartbeat is strong and steady. TK is also glad to see that his fiancé had regained some color in his face, and that he was breathing on his own, all good and promising signs. But still, TK will only be fully satisfied when Carlos is awake and smiling at him.
It’s been nearly an hour since a nurse had informed them that Carlos was ready for visitors. TK had insisted that Andrea and Gabriel see Carlos first, and they stayed with their son for about thirty minutes before retreating back to the waiting room, eyes equally bloodshot.
Gabriel had patted TK’s back. Go be with your fiancé, he had told TK. And with a promise to visit the next day, he and Andrea left.
Owen and Judd had excused themselves, as well; Owen going to pack a bag for TK and Judd going home to Grace. Both men reminding TK to call or text if he needs anything or if a change happens.
“Hi, baby,” TK tightens his grasp on Carlos’s hand. “Your parents will be back tomorrow. Dad’s packing a bag for me for the night, and everyone sends their love and support. They all said they’ll visit in a couple of days, and I’m hoping you’ll be awake by then.”
The beeping monitor is all the response TK gets.
“I’m right here, ‘Los. Come back to me,” TK whispers as he runs his fingers through Carlos’s soft curls. The officer always did leave his curls a little loose on his days off, not applying much hair product to keep them in place. And TK adores Carlos’s curls.
He then gets up and plants a kiss to Carlos’s forehead.
It’s a restless night for TK. Between his worry and the nurses frequently checking on Carlos, he barely gets any sleep. He gives up right around dawn breaking, painting the sky in streaks of red, orange and yellow. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and sits up in the cot that was set for him. A quick survey tells him that nothing has changed, and that sadly means that Carlos still hasn’t woken up. He gets to his feet and stretches, expelling the exhaustion from his bones as much as he could. A trip to the bathroom would help, his mind supplies.
After freshening up, he returns to Carlos’s side, brushing a kiss to the officer’s cheek.
“Good morning, babe.”
He looks up as the door is pushed open and a young nurse walks in.
“Oh, good morning,” she smiles at TK.
“Morning,” he gives a small smile in return.
“He’s doing good,” she notes, jotting down Carlos’s vitals in the clipboard hanging on the end of his bed. “The doctor is hopeful he’ll wake up today.”
“That’s great to hear,” TK replies. “I…really need him to wake up.”
She nods. “There’s a coffee station down the hall, you look like you need it,” she adds with empathy in her voice.
“Thanks,” TK lightly chuckles. And boy does he really need it.
TK hasn’t really let the full gravity of the past day’s events sink in. He wasn’t exactly bottling it up or ignoring it or running from it, part of him was still trying to wrap his mind around it. It had all happened so fast, and then everything was so incredibly slow, it caused TK’s mind to lag. It all felt like a haze, like he was trying to see through a fog.
And even now, with a cup of coffee in hand, watching the steady rise and fall of Carlos’s chest, TK feels like it’s an out of body experience. It hasn’t sunk in yet, and TK is praying that Carlos will be awake when it eventually does. Because he doesn’t want to—a part of him even thinks he can’t—deal with this alone. Dealing with the aftermath with Carlos here, awake, will make it a little easier, TK supposes.
The minutes and hours tick by, with no change from Carlos’s side. TK had grown agitated a few times and opted to walk around the room for a bit, even taking a quick stroll up and down the hallway a couple of times, to burn off some energy.
He’s back in the chair situated next to the bed, scrolling through and replying to texts he’d received. He’s sending a message to the 126 crew group chat when a small movement catches his eye. TK looks up, locking his phone and placing it on the nightstand.
He holds his breath, momentarily thinking his brain was playing a cruel trick on him when the movement happens again.
His phone pings but TK doesn’t dare to look away from Carlos’s face.
“Carlos? Baby, can you hear me?” He speaks, his voice is a little husky from not being used.
And then TK can cry, because Carlos’s head is slowly moving to the side and his eyes are gradually met by Carlos’s beautiful brown eyes.
“Oh my god,” TK breathes. “Hi, babe. Hi.”
“Ty,” Carlos croaks out, his voice hoarse.
“I’m right here, right here,” TK smiles and for the first time since they smelled smoke, TK can finally breathe.
And he also does cry, a tear rolling down his cheek as brown and green gaze into each other. But Carlos’s eyes are also a little clouded.
With all the strength he could muster, Carlos lifts his arm and cups TK’s cheek, wiping away the fallen tear with his thumb.
TK chuckles wetly and leans into Carlos’s touch. Oh, how much he’s missed it.
“‘m okay,” Carlos mumbles.
“Yeah,” TK nods. “Yeah, you are, babe.”
Carlos’s tongue darts out to lick his dry lips.
“Do you want some water?”
Carlos responds with a small nod.
TK grabs the water pitcher and pours some into a cup, placing it in front of Carlos and guiding the straw between his lips.
“Easy, babe. Slow sips,” TK says, holding the cup.
Once Carlos is done, TK returns the cup. He can tell Carlos is already exhausted by the way the officer’s eyes are beginning to droop shut. He can also tell that Carlos is fighting it.
“It’s okay, ‘Los,” TK reassures him. “Go back to sleep, your body needs it to heal. I’ll be right here when you wake up again.”
“Love you,” Carlos whispers, already halfway asleep.
“And I love you,” TK replies, pressing a kiss to Carlos’s knuckles.
***** Carlos wakes up again a few hours later, more coherent and alert. Stronger, too.
TK’s watching him when he opens his eyes, blinks a few times and settles on the paramedic’s face, that quickly splits into a grin.
“Welcome back, again,” TK squeezes Carlos’s hand.
TK’s words take a moment to sink in for Carlos, and he’s frowning once they do. “Again?”
TK nods. “You woke up a few hours ago. You don’t remember?”
Carlos tries to focus, he remembers seeing TK, but…
“I remember seeing your face, but I thought I was dreaming,” Carlos eventually replies.
“No, baby, it wasn’t a dream. You woke up for a minute and then slept again,” he gives Carlos’s hand a squeeze. “The doctor said that was perfectly normal, that your body needed more time to heal, from the injury and the toll of the surgery.”
“How bad is it?” Carlos asks once he’s gathered enough strength again. He could still feel the ghost of the towel pressing into his side.
TK swallows, a hand going to cup Carlos’s cheek. “You lost a lot of blood, that was the biggest concern. But nothing vital was damaged, the wound itself was irregular because of the angle and speed of the glass shards, so it was a little complicated to fix but they did it. And you’re going to be just fine, with some time off work and a lot of love from me,” he ends with dropping a kiss to Carlos’s forehead.
“I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”
“Yeah,” TK nods. “I know.”
“I’m sorry I scared you, I really didn’t mean to,” Carlos says, knowing exactly what’s on TK’s mind. “It all happened so fast and…”
“I know, babe,” TK reassures him. “I just wish that—”
“No,” Carlos interrupts. “Don’t go there, babe. This wasn’t your fault.”
TK blows out a sigh, dropping his eyes to Carlos’s stomach, where he knows there’s a large piece of gauze covering his side under the blankets and hospital gown.
“Hey, Ty, look at me,” Carlos pleads.
Slowly, TK lifts his eyes to meet Carlos’s. TK can see specks of exhaustion at the corners of Carlos’s kind eyes, but in the middle sits steel determination.
“This wasn’t your fault,” Carlos repeats.
“Now you sound like your father,” TK says with a small smile.
Carlos chuckles weakly. “Well, he’s right.” Then a pause. “What if I had left you and then you were the one who got hurt? Who would have helped you and gotten you out? That wasn’t a chance I was willing to take. I never would have gone and left you in there, TK.”
Carlos extends an arm and places his palm on the nape of TK’s neck, gently pulling him closer until their foreheads are touching and resting against each other.
They both close their eyes, staying like that for a few moments as they take it all in. Breathing each other in. And even with the scent of antiseptic hanging in the air around them, TK can distinctly smell Carlos. And the heavy weight sitting on his chest starts evaporating.
They pull back, but not before Carlos brushes a tentative kiss to TK’s cheek.
“How are you doing?” Carlos asks his fiancé.
“I’m okay,” TK replies.
Carlos can see through it, though and raises an eyebrow at TK. “Really? Because I know I just woke up from surgery and all, but I have a feeling you look worse than I do.”
“I can get you a mirror if you’d like,” TK attempts at a comeback but it comes out flat and deflated. He sighs. He watches Carlos for a few moments before continuing. “I was just…really scared. It all seemed really bad for a moment there and…” he trails off with a shrug.
Tears start to gather in TK’s eyes as he slips his hand into his pocket and closes his fist around the ring, pulling it out but not opening his palm yet.
“And then the nurse placed this in my hand when you were being wheeled away from me,” TK opens his palm then, revealing the silver jewelry. “And looking at it, it felt like I had just said goodbye to you,” his voice breaks.
“Querido,” Carlos whispers, his own eyes now filled with tears. Darling.
“This ring symbolizes me giving you a piece of myself, because I am yours. And when the ring was given back to me…it felt like you were gone,” TK sniffs, letting the tears fall.
“No, baby, no,” Carlos’s own voice wavers. He clutches tightly at TK’s hands, covering his open palm. “You will always be mine, just as I will always be yours. I’m here, I’m here and I’m okay. We’re okay.”
“Always,” TK whispers.
He’s still feeling the pain and hurt, the almost-grief, but Carlos’s words ease them all and a glimmer of hope starts brewing in his chest instead. Hope born out of their love, out of their touch. They are each other’s always.
TK sits up straight and clears his throat. “Now, I believe this belongs to you.”
The smile at takes over Carlos’s face is blinding as TK takes his hand and slips the ring back on his finger where it belongs.
“From me to you,” TK says, looking into Carlos’s soft eyes.
“Always,” Carlos whispers into the space between them.
TK plants a kiss on the ring and then closes the distance between them with a chaste kiss to Carlos’s lips. The kiss is gentle, tender, but carries a river of emotions with it. It is comfort, it is reassurance, it is safety. It’s everything and more.
TK’s phone pings just as they separate and quick glance tells him who’s on the other side of the text.
“Your mom,” TK tells Carlos. “She’s already planning the make-up dinner.”
An amused look takes over Carlos’s face. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”
“She and your dad will be happy to know you’re fully awake now,” TK says as he types back. “Everyone will be.”
Carlos smiles, already looking forward to seeing his family.
“And don’t you think I forgot about the new cooking and baking equipment you want,” TK lifts an eyebrow with a smirk. “We can check them online and buy all the ones you want.”
“They’ll come in handy when I’m recovering, that’s for sure,” Carlos replies, a hint of excitement coating his voice.
“And I am looking forward to your cooking and baking spree. As long as you don’t overwork or strain yourself.” After a moment of consideration, TK adds, “and we can hold off on the towels and sheets for now.”
“Are you sure?” Carlos asks, eyebrow lightly knitting together.
TK nods. “Yeah. Besides, I’ve come to realize that it’s you who makes that condo…home. You’re my home, ‘Los.”
“And you’re my all, Ty,” Carlos returns, pulling TK in for a passionate kiss.
TK’s eyes roam over Carlos’s face when they come up for air. He can draw Carlos’s features with his eyes closed, but he finds himself documenting every single detail, every ridge, every speck of the man mere inches away from him.
TK’s heart soars when Carlos gives him the smile that’s reserved for only him.
And TK thinks, yeah, we’re gonna be just fine.
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regrettablewritings · a year ago
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Gives nose/forehead kisses, Gets jealous the most, Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive: DC character of choice?
I went with Arthur Curry since he’s the one I can most realistically interacting with any of these headcanon prompts. Hope that’s good with you
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Gives nose/forehead kisses: Neither. At least, not under the suggestion that it’s given often. The both of you are pretty lax in your relationship, and even though Arthur is far from being afraid to show you affection, kisses on the nose or forehead just aren’t his particular jam. Really, the closest it gets is when you give them teasingly — and not in the sexy way, but in the way that you’re poking fun. He could come back to your place, clomping in, soggy after a day out fighting at sea. Yes, his fight with King Shark might’ve been successful, but that didn’t make it any less vexing to deal with. You’ll take one look at the slightly huffy bulk sitting on your couch and, in part of an effort to keep from fussing at him from damaging the fabric, you’ll pitch your voice into a babyish tone, puckering your lips. “Aaawww . . .” you’ll coo. “Did the big, stwong Aquaman get splashed by the nasty, wasty shark? Did he now? Huh?” The response is a silent, bemused glower. You give him no time before you cup his damp face in your hands, placing a quick peck on the tip of his nose -- which was still far too much to allow the salty taste of water to sour your lips. “Poor, poor soggy baby. How’s about you hit the showers and I’ll whip you up a dwink?” “I ain’t drinkin’ no ‘dwink’, (Y/N),” Arthur would grunt, forcing you to drop all pretenses and baby-talking. “You know darn well what I meant, now get your soggy bottom off my couch before the ocean stink sets in, you big goon.” You make sure to sweeten your command with another peck, this time applied to his forehead. He grunts and gets up, thudding to the bathroom. His expression is far from gleeful the entire while, but you know better than to be deceived: They aren’t his favorite way of receiving affection, but really, any way after a long day is pretty good so long as it’s coming from you.
Gets jealous the most: As stated elsewhere previously, neither of you is particularly known for their jealousy. But it would be a complete falsehood to claim that between the both of you, you didn’t more openly display jealousy the most. You’d kind of have to be a little bit insane (or the most relaxed person on the planet) to not feel a little bit protective of your relationship with Arthur, after all: He’s tall, quite handsome, surprisingly smart yet outgoing, quite literally a king, and could be pretty sweet when he didn’t feel the need to be on the defensive. Plus, he has muscles for days. So of course, there’s going to be a fan or two or three or ten who want to cop a feel of one of those massive biceps. So long as Arthur’s okay with it, you try to be okay with it, too. But if it genuinely bothers you, you can always be assured that you can tell him.
Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive: You’d think it’d be you picking Arthur up from the bar, given how much of a party animal he is and how the bar in Amnesty Bay is like a second (or third) home to him. But in reality, it’s the other way around: Arthur may drink like a fish, but he filters it just fine and doesn’t really get drunk that easily; you, on the other hand, are a lightweight. Something which Arthur teases you about every time the two of you decide to go out to a bar. The biggest example of this would be from when the two of you had just started to date: You dropped in on his hometown to visit his mom and dad. Nothing crazy, it’s just nice to stop in on the folks and see how they were doing and to allow them vice-versa. Plus, he wanted to show you his favorite local watering hole. All had been going swimmingly, up until some of the local fishermen came fumbling in, soaking wet and gasping for breath between cries of a creature throttling their boats out on the water. And given that Arthur was the only metahuman capable of handling the situation for miles, it fell on him, as the Aquaman, to go and face the problem. “I’ll be back; gimme an hour, tops,” he told you. He felt bad for putting your date on hold. “Don’t do anything stupid or crazy, alright?” he added, trying to sound like a better boyfriend. You scoffed, “Arthur, please: I’m supposed to be the more reasonable one here.” You made a fair point. It was enough to assure him that you’d be okay. Besides, you knew how to read a room and when to leave it, and he trusted the bartender there to keep a good eye on you. Besides, it was only an hour, right? Wrong: It took a bit closer to two hours, much to Arthur’s absolute dismay and frustration. When he reentered the bar, he was half-expecting you to still be there, arms folded and expression bemused, half-expecting you to have left to rat out his shittiness to his parents. Instead, he found neither: He found you still there, surrounded by other patrons. “New friends!” you giggled, cheeks burning with cocktails and lagers you’d been treated to. As it turned out, your “new friends” were all fans of Aquaman and saw it fit to treat you to some drinks while he was gone as a sort of indirect thanks. “Any friend of Aquaman is a friend of ours!” proclaimed a beefy biker, his friends cheering as they raised their respective drinks. Okay, so you didn’t do anything stupid: You just made friends. Friends you were quite sad to say goodbye to as Arthur gently ushered you out of the bar, insisting that you needed to go home and get a good night’s rest. Within moments of buckling up, you were out cold, your phone occasionally glowing to alert you that you had a new IG follower -- a friend from the bar. And all Arthur could do was huff a small bit of laughter. You were going to fit in to his life just fine.
Thank you for asking and thank you for your patience!
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sunny-reys · 11 months ago
Text
Doctor
When your best friend, Katherine Pulitzer, forces you to come talk to the newsboys of Manhattan with her, you’re sure nothing good will come of it, especially since you’re busy with work from medical school. However, one particular blue-eyed newsie just might change your mind.
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You stare at your best friend suspiciously. “You want me to do what?”
You had known Katherine for a long time. You can barely remember how the two of you met, probably some boring luncheon or other that both of your fathers happened to attend. Your father was a wealthy banker, hers the publisher of the New York World. The two of you bonded over tiresome social assemblies and harshly biased fathers, and had quickly become good friends.
The two of you also helped each other by supporting your careers. With a strong bank behind you, you had been able to sway the editors of the New York Sun into allowing Katherine to work as a writer. In turn, she had used her father’s influence to help you into your dream job: becoming a doctor. You and Katherine were equal halves of a strong friendship, and so you suppose it doesn’t surprise you that she would be turning to you now.
“Look, it’s just the one time, okay? All I need you to do is walk with me to wherever the newsies are so I can ask them for some quotes. It’ll barely be ten minutes!” You squint at her. “If it’ll take such a short amount of time, why don’t you just go yourself? You know I have a lot of work to do- medical school isn’t exactly easy.”
Katherine sighs. “I want you there for emotional support. I already spoke with one or two of the newsies today and they’re impossible boys. I can do anything if I know I’ve got at least one other person who wants me there.” You raise an eyebrow. “They’re that bad?” Katherine looks at you pleadingly. “Please, Y/N?” You groan and look away from her. “Fine, but you owe me.” Katherine squeals happily and pulls you into a quick hug before dashing away to grab her notebook and pen. “You’re the best friend ever.” 
It takes a little while to find the newsboys- they’re not in the refuge, and by now it’s late in the afternoon and so most of them have stopped selling their newspapers and retreated indoors. Finally, you spot them crowded inside a deli and so the two of you take a moment to prepare yourselves before heading inside.
The second the two of you walk in the deli, all eyes turn to you. The newsboys of Manhattan are a motley bunch, most of them scruffy or scrawny or both. They all stare as you walk in, although that may have more to do with the fact that Katherine just called them out for being afraid to go to Brooklyn instead of the two of you by yourselves.
One of the newsboys, who appears to be the leader of the group, calls out a response to Katherine. It’s amazing- you can already sense the cocky attitude oozing from his every word. Now you can see why Katherine wanted you here for moral support. If there’s one thing you know about Katherine Pulitzer, though, it’s that she will never, ever, back down from an argument. You can’t help but grin as you watch the two of them banter, exchanging witty retorts back and forth just as quickly as a pair of trained debaters.
You’re distracted from your friend when a voice comes from behind you. “I get why she’s here, but what about you? You don’t seem to be much of a reporter.” You turn around to see a blond boy facing you, arms folded questioningly across his chest. The other thing that you see is that he is very good-looking, almost too good-looking for a cocky newsboy.
“I, uh, am Katherine’s friend. She wanted me here and so I came.” The boy grins. “You got a name, sweetheart?” You force yourself to answer normally, praying that no one can hear the slight skip of your heart. “Y/N. What about you?” “Race.”
Race fixes you with a teasing smirk. “You know, I think it’s nice that you came out all this way to see us. We must have a pretty good reputation if you wanted to come with your friend.” You glare at him. “I’m not here for you, I’m here for her. Trust me, if Katherine hadn’t asked I wouldn’t be here at all. I’d rather be at home, finishing my work, rather than having to spend time with a bunch of newsboys who think they’re the coolest things on the planet.”
Race raises his eyebrows, still retaining that cocky (yet somehow still attractive) smirk. “Oh, you’se got a job? I thought you just sat around all day, wishing you could talk to a bunch of newsboys who know they’re the coolest things on the planet.” You roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m in medical school. I’m almost done, and then I’ll have a job.” 
Race grins, interested. “Oh, a smart goil! You want to be a nurse?” You look at him coolly. “A doctor.” Race just laughs, shaking his head slightly. It’s funny- whenever he laughs, his sky blue eyes gain this shine that make them look like stained glass. You shake your head slightly, forcing yourself to focus once more on Race, who’s still talking to you.
“-sounds alright. You coming to our strike?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see that Katherine has finished gathering quotes from the newsboys and is ready to go. You turn back to Race. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it. I’m not a newsie or a reporter.” Race takes a step closer to you, and you feel heat forming in your cheeks. “I think it would be nice to see you there.” You grin at him. “Then maybe I’ll be there. See you later, Race.” You wave goodbye and quickly head out of the deli.
Once you’re down a street or two, Katherine turns to you with a grin. “Looks like you found a friend.” You laugh. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Katherine has this look on her face like a cat that ate a very pleasant canary. “I’m sure it wasn’t. You know, you should be careful around him. I’ve heard that boy flirts with everyone. And, it sounds like you’re coming to the strike. So much for this being a one time thing?” You roll your eyes, but can’t help but grin. “Maybe it’s a little more than that.”
As you walk, though, you keep turning over what Katherine had said in your head. I’ve heard that boy flirts with everybody. As much as you hate to admit it, she isn’t wrong. You yourself have seen Race exchange a wink for a paper on the streets of many Manhattan mornings. You groan inwardly. What were you thinking? Of course Race doesn’t like you- he does that with every girl he meets. It means nothing. 
Tomorrow is the strike, though. You’ve already told Katherine as well as the other newsies that you’ll be there, so you can’t back out now. As you walk back to your home, you form a plan in your head: show up to the strike, but don’t seek him out. He was just doing what he always does, and it doesn’t mean anything. No matter how much you wish it did.
Once the two girls have left the deli, the rest of the newsies turn to Race. “What was that all about, Racer? I haven’t seen you falling over a girl that much in months. You weren’t even trying to sell her any papes!” Albert laughs. Race fixes him with a glare, shoving his friend but only making his grin grow. “It’s nothing. How ‘bout you mind your own business, huh?” Jojo joins the fray. “You were practically drooling.” Race swats him too, and the rest of the newsies dissolve into gleeful chatter. The strike is tomorrow, and they’re all too excited to sleep.
By the time the next morning arrives, you’re feeling hopeful. You and Katherine make it to the square by the time the newsies’ strike has begun, and you watch as she rushes off to take a photo of the assembled newsboys with a friend of hers from the newspaper. After the photo is taken and the rest of the boys disperse throughout the square, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You smile despite yourself once you realize it’s Race.
“So, you made it.” You smile. “Of course I made it. I hear it’s a very big deal.” Race spread his hands. “Well, maybe. I guess it’s a big enough deal that our very own resident doctor showed up.” The two of you laugh, and break into conversation. So much for not spending time with him.
However, the happy morning is interrupted when the goons start to arrive. Once the strike turns violent, Race rushes you out of danger. He makes sure you’re safe, and then runs back into the scuffle. You and Katherine are forced to leave so you’re not caught, but you can’t help a glance backward to make sure Race is alright. You’re not entirely sure that he will be.
The strike ends quickly, in a clash of blood and fists. Once the cops showed up, it was basically over. Even worse, Crutchie was taken away to the refuge and Jack disappeared. When you hear about how badly the newsboys were hurt, you immediately grab your first aid kit and dash over to the deli to help the boys.
Your feet pound on the cobblestone streets on the way to the deli. You’re moving far too quickly for a lady of your position, which attracts more than a few stares, but you’re too worried to care. Finally, you make it to the deli, and stand in the open doorway for a moment, shocked.
The boys look awful. Every single one of them has been injured, from what looks like a broken arm on Les to black eyes and gashes covering the others. You break out of your trance and walk briskly over to the boy closest to you- Les. 
He looks up at you through eyes clouded in pain. You speak to him slowly, trying to assuage his worries. “Hello, Les. I’m Y/N, Katherine’s friend. I’m going to fix your arm, alright?” Les nods, and you quickly apply ice and a sling, fixing the break and also bandaging up a few other cuts decorating the boy’s arm. Luckily, the break wasn’t that bad- just a minor fracture.
When you’ve finished with Les, you turn to the next newsboy, and then the next. You slowly make your way around the deli, helping fix up every boy who needs it. Some weren’t injured as badly, and others help bandage cuts after watching you. There’s one boy you haven’t seen a whole lot of, though, and that’s Race.
You can see the blue-eyed boy out of the corner of your eyes. It’s strange- every time you start to turn his way he quickly heads the other direction. It finally dawns on you- he’s avoiding you. Of course. He doesn’t like you, and probably never did. This is for the best. You force yourself to concentrate on your work, hoping that pouring your soul into bandaging up gashes can will away the breaking of your heart. It doesn’t.
Finally, you think you’re done. You stand up, stretching, and look around the room, checking for anyone who still needs you. You don’t see anyone, and so you start to leave the room, until you feel a hand wrap around your wrist.
You stare at the fingers encircling yours, and then back at the boy in front of you. It’s Race, finally willing to let you notice him. He opens his mouth, and the voice that comes out is cracked and quiet. “You got one last patient, Doc.”
You smile slightly and reach for your bag, pulling out your last bandage. There’s a cut on his arm (not too deep but not exactly a paper cut either), and so you gently clean it before beginning to wrap the bandage around it. You don’t dare to look up at Race, too afraid you’ll make eye contact with him and see the indifference you’re sure is there.
Once you’re done, you take a step back, still not looking him in the eyes. “Well, that’s it. I should probably be going.” “Wait.” Race’s hand gently lifts your chin, forcing you to finally look at him. “You want to tell me why you’se been avoiding me?”
You laugh bitterly. “I’m not the one who’s been avoiding me since I first stepped foot in here. It’s alright, though, I know I’m not exactly your first priority right now.” Race looks confused. “What are you talking about, Y/N?” 
You can’t stay here, can’t keep looking at him, so you force the words out of your throat. “I know you flirt with everyone, and I’m some girl you just met, and you have no reason to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine, and-”
You’re cut off when Race kisses you. “I do like you, Y/N.” You can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “What?” Race grins. “I like you.” He kisses you again, and this time the newsboys around you take notice, whooping and hollering like they’ve never seen anything like it before. Race laughs against your lips, turning away to swat at the boys nearest him. You just stand there, a smile starting to spread across your face. He likes you. He honestly likes you. 
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etherrealoblivion · a year ago
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Chapter Twelve: We May Have A Problem
Table of Contents
Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Words: 1,810
MASTERLIST
~
When you woke up, Spencer was standing, fully dressed and talking on the phone.
“No, I didn’t hear anything. . . . Yes, it had been open but this morning it was closed and so was her bedroom door. . . . A new one? . . . What book? . . . Okay, I understand. . . . Yes, sir. . . . You too.”
He hung up, running a hand through his hair and turning towards you. Startled to see you awake, he came near and sat on the couch.
“Hey,” his voice was much gentler than it had just been on the phone. Presumably, he’d been talking to Hotch, his boss.
“You said ‘A new one’. Is there a new victim?”
“I really don’t think—“
“Spencer.” You didn’t have time to argue with him about whether or not you should know what was going on. “I need to know.”
He must’ve known it was no use putting up a fight. He sighed softly before he spoke, setting the tone for the conversation.
“Yes. There’s a new victim, pushing the total up to six. I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said, more to himself than you.
“I need to know,” you repeated, urging him to go on. “Please.”
Silent for a moment, he said, “Okay, but first get dressed and eat breakfast. Then we’ll sit down and talk.”
Right. You were still missing your pants. And your last shred of dignity.
So you stood, went to your bedroom, and dressed in jeans and a tank top. It would be a decidedly unremarkable outfit if not for the fact you never wore very exposing clothes, such as a tank top. This particular one happened to expose just the right amount of skin. You wondered if Spencer would notice. Not that that was important! Someone had been killed, for christ sakes.
“What time did you get up?”
He’d found a box of cereal and poured two bowls. The living room was much cleaner and you suspected he’d tidied up, ridding the room of evidence of last night.
“Six,” he said with a mouthful of cereal, not sparing you a look. “Y/N, there’s something I need to tell y—“
You had stepped into his line of sight and his jaw had dropped. It was like a moment out of a sitcom.
“What is it?”
Suddenly aware of the way he was gaping at you, he adjusted, looking at you in confusion.
“What’s what?”
You would have laughed at his shock if not for the pressing matter at hand.
“You said there’s something you need to tell me?” and you sat next to him, picking up the bowl of cereal and eating.
“Right. Yes, um. . . .” he hesitated for a moment, putting down his bowl and breathing deeply. When he looked at you, you understood that there was something more to what had happened.
“Just tell me,” you took his hand in yours and he let you. Strange how you were the one in danger but you frequently found yourself comforting him. Not that you were complaining! It actually felt nice to take care of someone else. Made you feel less useless.
“Last night . . .” you drew a quick breath in anticipation of the discussion to come. “Last night, someone snuck into the apartment.”
You released the breath you’d been holding. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You waited for him to go on.
“When I woke up, the window and door to your bedroom were closed even though last night they’d been open. Someone must have entered the apartment. Presumably the stalker. I’ve already called the team and they’re sending a unit over.”
He paused, giving you the opportunity to ask, “Why didn’t he . . . kill me?”
“We’re operating under the assumption that he doesn’t want to kill you. He wants to play out a fantasy with you but since he’s too scared to approach you, he has to substitute you with other women. However, we have to assume that he won’t stop killing until he finds some way to play out his fantasy with you.”
“What’s the fantasy?”
Spencer paused. 
“We aren’t quite sure. Each of the victims was killed in a unique manner based on certain books. A copy of each book was found at the crime scene. We’re still unsure as to why he’s choosing these specific books as there’s not a lot that connects them.”
“How did he kill them?” you didn’t want to know but you had to.
He seemed to understand this so he answered without too much protest.
“The first victim was found with a copy of The Handmaid's Tale. She’d had her eye scratched out and was hanged. The second book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, victim found stabbed next to a self-portrait. The Telltale Heart and The Great Gatsby pretty much speak for themselves. The most recent one was 1984. She, uh . . . had a cage strapped to her head and . . . well, you can picture the rest. Are you okay?”
Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, breath frozen in your throat, putting a pattern together.
“That’s only five. What book did the new one have? How was she killed?”
“Oh, um. A Clockwork Orange. It looked like he made her jump out of a window. What’s wrong?”
You stood and started to pace slowly, processing all this information. Absentmindedly, biting your nails, you thought hard if it was just a coincidence.
It can’t be. Is it? It must!
“Y/N!” Spencer was in front of you, crouching slightly with his hands on your shoulders. “What’s wrong? Should I not have told you?”
Rather than answer, you pulled him to your room, flicked on the light, and sat on the floor in front of your nightstand. Underneath it was a little cabinet, both doors closed, a little latch locking them.
You looked at Spencer. He looked so worried like it was his fault all this was happening. You wished you could kiss all worries away so that it was just him and you and nothing else. But you couldn’t. There was something far more pressing now.
With a flick of your wrist, you unlocked the cabinet and opened it. There were two little shelves, each holding an assortment of books.
“I keep my oldest classic books in here,” you said, watching his expression change to understanding as he saw the books.
The first six on the top shelf were the exact ones that had been found at each crime scene.
~
Spencer’s team had arrived two hours later, preceded by an entire Crime Scene Investigation unit. Your entire apartment was cordoned off, the only people in and out being the FBI personnel, so you were standing in the hallway, watching people help themselves to your apartment.
“Y/N?” it was the blonde woman. “I’m sorry we haven’t been formally introduced, I’m Jennifer Jareau, I’m the media liaison. We’ve decided to release this case to the press. It might help push the killer out of hiding, attract more attention.”
You nodded, understanding what that meant. They’d have to give all sorts of details that involved you. What the victims looked like: you. Why he was killing them: you. And who he was really after: . . . you.
“We also need to change your cover, move you to a safer spot.”
You looked at her, confused.
“Why?”
“He clearly knows where you live, who is with you, and how to get in. We’re going to relocate you to a secure location. Doctor Reid will take you as soon as your things are packed.”
“Wait, I don’t want to go somewhere else. I wanna stay here. Can’t you just put more cops nearby?”
You were being stubborn, you knew. But your apartment was the only place you felt comfortable anymore, anywhere else and there was the threat of being attacked. Only now, that threat applied here.
“We need to keep as many people working on catching the unsub as possible. The more people worrying about you, the less trying to catch this guy.”
It was blunt but she was right. They needed to be focusing on taking him down, not keeping you safe. They needed the best people on the case. Then why. . . ?
“Then why is Spence the one protecting me? He’s a literal genius, shouldn’t he be heading up the case?”
She looked at you quizzically, like she was trying to figure you out.
“What?” you spat harshly, having had enough of not getting answers.
Coolly, surely from years of experience dealing with impatient people, she replied, “Doctor Reid has expressed a . . . request to keep his assignment with you.”
You took a moment to process that information. He’d asked to stay with me. He’d requested it.
“Why?”
Jennifer was looking at you analytically; like she was deciding the right thing to say.
“I don’t know.” And you knew she was telling the truth. She honestly had no idea why Spencer would choose to stay with you rather than help catch the killer. 
You smiled politely at her, “Thank you, Jennifer.”
“My friends call me J.J.” she smiled back, lightly placing a hand on your arm comfortingly. Her phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me.”
And she left you in the hallway, surrounded by people yet feeling so alone, wondering when Spencer would be back.
~
J.J. had to work late, fixing the stupid paperwork error she’d made earlier. Hotch was the only one still there.
Deciding to check in with him before she left, she knocked on the door to his office, already stepping in.
“Hey, I’m gonna head out. You good?”
“Hmm,” he grunted, not looking up from the case file.
Debating whether or not to prod, she sat in the chair across from him. He glanced at her, realizing he’d been dismissive.
“Sorry,” he said, wiping a hand over his face and sighing. 
J.J. chuckled. “It’s ok. It’s been a rough week.”
“Tell me about it. This guy hasn’t been leaving any indicators of who he is, where he works, and why he’s targeting this girl.” Hotch slapped the file and sat back.
J.J. shuffled in her seat awkwardly.
“Has Reid ever . . .”
But she trailed off, prompting Hotch to look at her seriously.
“Has Reid ever what?”
“Has he ever asked to be assigned as a protector? Rather than be in on the case?”
Hotch looked at her suspiciously, trying to recall previous cases.
“Not that I can remember. Why? Wondering what makes this case different?”
J.J. shook her head. 
“It’s not the case.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiled sheepishly.
“We may have a problem. Earlier, outside her apartment, she was talking about how she didn’t want to move locations. And—”
“—Well, that’s normal. She feels comfortable where she is, wary of pushing her comfort zone.”
“Hotch,” J.J. said seriously, prompting Hotch to look at her again. “She called him ‘Spence’.”
After a moment Hotch sighed, face-palming.
“Shit.”
~
Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13​ @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @matthewreid @perverted-guardian-angel @boiled-onionrings @rainsong01 @the-lovely-emma-swan @andiebeaword @itsmoony
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marlasomething · 19 days ago
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Piles Of Nonsense Bingo: Defying Morality
Hi there! This is my third individual contribution the @pilesofnonsense 2021 Halloween Bingo. My idea? To fill the marked column (bellow) adding an extra one in each entry.
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"Boxes" filled: The Spiral and Leave a Comment.
For the Leave a Comment Tag I got playful. First, we ought to recommend another person’s work, so I am going to recommend this Jonah Magnus/Robert Smirke one-shot “A Love Letter In Stone” by Lua in AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ponbingo2021/works/34902205; https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lua/pseuds/Lua); it is a very interesting relationship/break-up study from Smirke’s point of view. But then I thought…leave a comment? So that’s the reason Sasha is “leaving comments” for Daisy and, finally, wanted to ask you for a particular comment to leave…What/About who else would you like to read in this AU of mine? What are your theories of what they are doing/what is going on?
Characters: Sasha James, Tim Stoker, tape recorders, Michael the Distortion, Gertrude Robinson, Original Characters, Original Statement Givers, Original Human Characters
Pairings: Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Background minor relationships, Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Additional tags: Original statement, Season 4 AU, Scottish Cabin Period, but it is Tim and Sasha, Lonely!Tim, Archivist!Sasha, Slaughter!Melanie, Hunt!Daisy, mental and physical healing, cops suck, PTSD everywhere, musical references bcs it is me, moral is pretty loose in here, I stand Michael ‘decision’ so hard though, special secret character(s) cameo, no beta we kayak like Tim
CW: murder, mentions of child abuse, Distortion typical content, revenge, mentions of past self-isolation and other unhealthy attitudes, mentions of police violence, swearing
Ranking: Teen and up (it is not really that harsh but maybe a bit thought for younger audiences)
Word count: 1962
Summary: We all know the story: the Archivist goes into the Lonely, saves their true love and both go to some well-deserved “holidays” on Daisy’s murder cabin. Only that, this time, it is Sasha and Tim. And instead of a Jonah Magnus centred statement, Sasha is going to find a text related to another old friend….
AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35007676
As always, kudos/likes (as this is going both to AO3 and Tumblr), feedback or any random comments are so greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy it and forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes,
Allons-y!
Marla
Mornings in Scotland were rather chilling. Why could being a full Avatar of a primordial fear also eliminate the ability to be cold?
That was what occupied most of Sasha’s mind as she wrote down some notes for Daisy to find when she came back to her…how did Tim called it? Yes, murder cabin.
Because she would be back; she had to believe she wasn’t lost forever, no matter what the odds were.
After all, they had managed to bring back Melanie. Or, at least, a more Slaughter-y version of her, but still the same Miss King in the core –soon to be Misses King-Barker (Sasha couldn’t help but find those two adorable).
She sighed, as much as cold bothered her, it was great to be there. It was great to have Tim back, it felt AMAZING to end up with Lucas’ existence (she had decided that pretending human morals still applied was a foolish exercise that might get them killed and the world ended).
Well, more precisely, to have Tim for the first time. Yes, they might or might have not kissed before she went to stop The Stranger’s ritual (after the Circus experience, Sasha didn’t trust her memories regarding those days completely, and The Lonely’s influence over the man was far too huge still and those kind of affectionate actions in the past were still a blur in his head), but that was it.
Before she…she sighed, she just guess that, even if she didn’t first come out as work-obsessed, world-alienated as Jon had…she kind of could be. Especially when relationships were concerned.
But that was the past. Now, they had time for themselves.
Time they were using the best they could.
Good thing their only close-by neighbours were cows and the corpses’ of the Section 31 victims (Sasha had made the effort of knowing who was buried there, and they weren’t exclusively Daisy’s victims; but from the whole Section, some of the people just victims of police usual practice, no supernatural elements to them or the events proceeding their deaths).
As she smile at the thought of finally let go of some of her tensions in a biblical sense that included someone apart from herself, a completely out-of-place odour came into her nose.
Smoke.
Timothy Stoker what the actual fuck?!
She followed the smell to the backyard, where she found Tim with a small pile of papers and a smirk on his face. Small drops of black ash were settling on his now white hair. She crossed her arms.
“Tim, explain.”
“Oh, hi, Archivist! Just burning a little present from Jonah Majorgnus Asslias. See, I was going to bring one of your snacks to you from the boxes Basira send and decided to, you know, take a pic of the spooky of it all. So if I run into you while you are at it, I am ready and you don’t scare the living shit out of me and…” he flinched for a second, maybe for dramatic effect, maybe because of the ash entering his eyes “…I think I prevented Armageddon” he sighed, full of himself.
Sasha smiled, there was still sadness to the man, a darkness he was now trying to downplay for her but about which, sooner rather than later, they were going to have to speak about.
There were so many things they had to talk about that weren’t going to be nice.
But not right now.
Her stomach made a weird sound and it wasn´t of human food this time (since they had arrived, Sasha had started eating like a regular person for the first time in…perhaps, years; and her body was thankful for it).
“I think it is creepy your Eldritch metabolism has decided to complain as your regular one” Tim said, handing her some papers put together with a clip. “Here you go, my lady.”
She just half-smiled at him, muttered a ‘see you later’ that made him blush (it was quite funny since, with his new paleness, even the slightest blush was far more noticeable than before. Good thing he wasn’t going to go around trying to flirt with every living thing again, it would have been a hiccup on his confidence).
Once inside, she sat, found (completely unsurprised) a tape recorder and started reading.
Statement of Abigail Harris, regarding the deaths that took place in a storey building near Victoria Station, London.
Statement written down by subject for Gertrude Robinson, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
A few years ago made a new friend. It insists on being call an it, so I will comply, as weird as it sounds (pun intended). It calls itself Michael and it has a round face that is also very sharp most of the time.
It wears very bright, colourful outfits that never seem to stay the same from the moment it comes into my real home (not my parents’ house, hate that place, though I ought to live there until I am eighteen…) to the one it leaves.
It brings me food, and sometimes even winter clothing, when the cold starts being a bit too much.
I knew it since I was eleven. Now, I am fifteen and it is likely my one true friend; though the first time we met it tried of kill me. I don’t blame it; I would have done the same if the tables had been turned.
I didn’t know how much fun it was back then!
You see? I had a pretty particular hobby: murder. But only boring, rude people. Those are my rules: boring, rude people. And they are soooo many of them that regular people had nothing to worry about. Even if I expanded my criteria, it would be a very long time until you are included in which I consider valid pray.
The thing is, the moment Michael realised that the reason I was covered in blood in that building right next to Wicked the Musical wasn’t that I happened to be in some bizarre accident, but that I had killed a man that had hit his son for being too wide-eyed while staring at the emerald green lighted facade of the theatre, calling him a few slurs I’ve chosen not to include in here, it was impressed.
After all, I was a short, chubby kid with red curls and a skin that would be burned in winter if I didn’t put on some sun lotion. Not exactly the potential serial killer type.
It understood and then pointed out that, maybe, in exchange of not telling anyone, we could reach an agreement.
IT WAS ALL SO EXCITING! I mean, imagine; I could do whatever I wanted and this person was going to make things easier for me.
The deal was simple: I had to left the people I chose to kill almostdead and get them into the building, where it would make a random-colour door appear (it was biased, and most times they were either purple or yellow, but I am not going to complain to it about that; I am not stupid, it is still a murderer! I might kill it if it said something about my, so called by some former people, tacky fashion style) and I would through the person inside…for them to reappear as if they had just passed away weeks after.
The cops go CRAZY when they received a notification of a body in that building; especially since pretty much at least half of my victims are rich people.
Again, so fun.
Once, Michael even allowed me to enter its corridors, though it told me like a quintillion times not to try to play maze on them, for it might not be able to resist the temptation of trapping me if I did so.
I was ok with that; letting myself being guided through them to further torture our shared victim of the moment (a little priest that had taken all sacraments a bit too extremely) was more than enough for me.
However, this is not the reason I am here now. Well, partially, I guess it is; after all, I wanted to brag with someone about all this. It isn’t as if I could tell my dull fake high school friends about all this stuff as if it was a real thing.
There is this girl called Freddie that is CERTAIN this Michael I kept talking about is my boyfriend. She is so stupid! I had told her over and over again: I don’t feel that way about people; and I am pretty sure that, if Michael feels attracted to someone, it is likely to be guys.
I might kill her too; she is too nosy. Maybe I will ask Michael if burning people is allowed in its domain…
Domain…uh, I never thought of its corridors that way before…
Sorry, digressing.
The reason I was here…yeah. Michael sent me.
It wanted to talk to you but, you know, you two have a history (it wouldn’t tell me more and I know better than to annoy the person-creature with the fingers that cut like razors).
It said that it was kind of happy for you for finally adopting a new cat; and a tabby cub nonetheless! Adorable.
However, you don’t deserve adorable. Actually, you don’t deserve.
Literally, that is the way it put it.
But don’t take it too literally, sometimes Michael can have problems expressing what it truly intends to (I bet you know that).
Not to worry, though, it might be a monster, but it is not a monster of your kind; the kitten is going to be just fine. Better than fine. Apparently, The Mother (whoever that is) has plans for the little guy before leaving it with a couple of uni students.
Michael laughed as it told me how excited it was to see how one of them went throw a path not so different form its own…
Well, I think that is all.
I just hope you don’t try anything funny when you finish reading this. I even used my real name! That is a sign of trust, Miss!
Bye bye!
Statement ends.
Additional notes by Gertrude Robinson: yes, the kitten I adopted has gone missing. However, as irrational as it might seem, I am prone to believe Michael not harming him in any way. Neither The Distortion in its pettiness nor Michael Shelley in his general personality were capable of doing so as separate beings, therefore I highly doubt they would do anything as the Thing they have become.
That I made them become.
In which respects Miss Harriss…she might still be too human to justify action against her.
Yet.
“Well, thanks for the meal Michael. I guess” she didn’t know whether there was something left of the thing that had come from the merging of original Michael Shelley and the Distortion itself, or if Helen had completely replaced it; but a nice thought for the evil entity was free.
“Wow; that was intense.”
Tim was at the door. She didn’t bother to ask how much he had heard.
Actually, she didn’t want to know; she didn’t want to have to accept that he was seeing her being…well, being what she had become.
“So…am I crazy if I state here and now that Abigail the potential-past-victim of Gertrude’s fight was speaking about Jon and Georgie’s little guy?” Tim said, breaking the temporary condensed ice.
“Seems so, why would anyone of us actually be normal?” Tim laughed at her complaint, between amused and saddened.
“However, I had another story in mind” he gave her his best witty smirk.
She returned it.
“Oh, yes? How does it start?”
“Well, quoting the undoubtable great classic of our time Mamma Mia! ‘dot dot dot’…”
Extra notes:
[I am really proud of “Jonah Majorgnus Asslias”]
YEES THE ADMIRAL WAS A WEIRD CAT ALL ALONG! (He needed to have more of a regular rational being conscience if I wanted to maintain my multiverse ship with Kohshekh after the latests WTNV eps; sorry not sorry)
Are the names of the statement kind of based on Hannibal? I mean…won’t lie, yeah.
Really hoping you give “A Love Letter In Stone” a go and answer y question(s),
Marla out (bis)!
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earbuds-and-hightops · a year ago
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An Open Letter to Supernatural
[ Spoiler warning for 15x20, obviously ]
I understand that a well-contemplated complaint about this ending cannot be made without first reading the original, pre-COVID, script of 15x20, but in the long run, the initial plan is not what will be remembered. 
What will be remembered is what this show created. What it became beyond two brothers driving around the country, hunting monsters. Characters were introduced and developed, and in that, Sam and Dean Winchester become so much more than two kids living on the road. In the past 15 years, the cast, and thus the family, grew to something that would be unimaginable to those who started this project back in 2005. Not only did the characters and their stories become meaningful, but the show itself grew into, well, a family. The fans who have kept this show alive since Day 1 have come together to form what I believe is the greatest community in pop culture. 
What hurts the most is that this finale did not do any of that development justice. 
The finale (and consequently the episodes leading up to it) reverts back to the story between only Sam and Dean. While some see this as an ode to who they are--their brotherhood and familial bond being the heart of their values and the root of their characters--I cannot help but see this as a rejection of their experiences this past decade and a half. 
What’s worse, episode 15x18 confirmed one of the most pure and powerful and goddamn beautiful romances that television will ever see. This story of an angel who abandoned his family and the only beings he’s known for thousands of years, all for one person. I knew from the instant the screen faded to black on November 5 that the story of Castiel will always be remembered, even if his feelings were unrequited. Castiel will always be remembered. 
And then there’s Destiel. I was genuinely impressed that this show would even grow to include a queer angel, more importantly, a queer character in a leading role. The queer-baiting and the “bury your gays” trope both make this confession and its lack of acknowledgement that much worse (and is worthy of an entirely separate open letter for another night). It matters less if Dean does or doesn’t reciprocate these feelings and more that it’s wrong that he completely ignores it. Cas’s love confession, this beautifully tragic and tragically beautiful emotion coming from a being who wasn’t supposed to feel emotions at all, is something that, unfortunately, will become a secret that dies with Dean Winchester. 
It’s truly a shame that the writers of this show let that happen. 
We haven’t even touched the fact that Castiel’s death was an act of sacrifice to save Dean. Dean’s limited reaction and lack of mourning* tears apart this phrase that has become pivotal to the entire show and fanbase: “Family don’t end in blood.” While it would be a lot to ask that Dean rescue Cas from the Empty and resume their cycle of rescue and resurrection, I think it’s only fair that Dean take the time to fully accept Castiel’s actions and words for what they mean instead of simply moving forward as if they never happened.
What’s more, Misha Collins is one of the greatest and kindest people in this world, and he’s poured his heart and soul into Supernatural, just like everybody else. He’s spent 12 years on this project, and the final two episodes hardly mentioned his character. He didn’t deserve this. It’s heartbreaking that his last credit on this show will be a prank call from someone trying to impersonate him, and not something that pays tribute to such an important character and important actor**
The most devastating part of this ending is what happened in 15x19. Pardon my French when I say that that episode, the ultimate climax of the season and latter half of the series, was a piece of dog shit. It’s incredibly frustrating to invest in 15 years worth of television and look forward to this ultimate battle between two average boys and God the Almighty Himself and to instead watch a 6-minute long fist fight on the beach with the only dialogue being variations of “seriously guys, stay down.” 
My issues with 15x19 lie less in the storyline that was chosen and more in how they were presented. I am completely on board with Jack taking God’s power and eventually becoming the new God, but the episode was far too quick to have any real meaning, and, as stated before, Castiel’s sacrifice, which allows Sam, Dean, and Jack to do what they do in 15x19, is hardly mentioned.
Most fans agree that 15x19 was far too quickly paced. The plot with Michael and Lucifer was questionable to begin with, but should have been an episode on its own if it were to be perused at all. Michael’s story in particular could have been fleshed out to reiterate this theme of overly loyal sons and their fathers, as well as their relationships with less loyal siblings, but was instead reduced to about 20 minutes of screen time. 
Though this is less important, Lucifer’s plan to make a new Death felt like a cheap cop-out just to close the storyline with Death’s book, but we can finish that discussion another day. 
The general fan reaction to this atrocity of an episode was that this was meta, and according to Becky, the ending was supposed to be dog shit. This, along with the untouched storyline started when Cas died, gave fans so much hope that the finale would be this amazing piece of art that puts Supernatural in the history books. 
While it’s obvious that an hour cannot perfectly tie up every single event and arc with a pretty little bow, it can at least...try. Any finale should, at minimum, pay tribute to what the show started as (which 15x20 did well) and what it became (which 15x20 failed to do miserably). 
In addition, a reference to character back in season 1 is incredibly frustrating when recurring characters with actual, well, character go unnoticed. I mostly reference Eileen here, but this also applies to Jody and Donna. Nobody even mentions the other wonderful friends who have helped Sam and Dean along their journey to Heaven. If family doesn’t end in blood, then why doesn’t it extend to include Castiel, Jack, Mary, Rowena, Charlie, Kevin, Jody and her girls, Donna, and so many others?
Dean’s death was sad, I’ll give them that (and honestly, I was expecting it). However, considering that this man has defeated apocalypses, killed Death, and taken down God, his death via nail in the wall was incredibly anticlimactic, and something that could literally have happened at any point over the 15 seasons. While Dean’s death was obviously not my ideal ending, I think it could have worked if it were done properly, and in this case, it was not. That said, I do appreciate that Sam did not try to bring Dean back, as that would indicate literally no growth at all.
Dean’s funeral was...pathetic, to say the least. Sam being the only person there was depressing considering that Dean had lots of other close friends (and you’d think that Jack would pay his respects, but apparently not), however, this is likely a scene that was impacted by COVID and the availability of some of the cast, so I will not dwell on that scene.
Dean’s time in Heaven complicates matters even more. Firstly, Bobby confirms that Castiel is no longer in the Empty and has been in contact with Jack. I would have loved to see this reunion; Cas is essentially Jack’s father, and I would have loved to see how their upgrading/remodeling of Heaven brought them closer together. I understand that the writers were trying to focus this finale story on the brothers, this goes back to my earlier point that you cannot simply ignore everything that that this show has grown to include. Bobby’s explanation also begs the question of why Dean had no intention of seeing Cas (or Jack, for that matter) again now that he has the opportunity.
Secondly, Dean’s instinct to go directly for the Impala was very in-character, however, the editing implied that driving was all Dean did until Sam died. As we know, Sam dies of old age, likely (completely guessing here) upwards of 40-50 years from Dean’s death, and that is a very, very long time for Dean to simply driving around the mountains. It would have been nice to see Dean reunite with other family and friends who are also in Heaven, however, again, COVID restraints.
Sam’s ending was similar to what I and a lot of other fans imagined (not necessarily wanted, but predicted) it to be: kids and a wife, living a normal, monster-free, life. I hate to believe that he doesn’t end up with Eileen (to my recollection, his wife was a blur in the background, and it is unclear if she was meant to be Eileen) however that might just be my bias and appreciation of Shoshannah Stern. While I’m glad that this storyline gave Sam the room to grow and develop without his brother, it also completely ignores everything that he’s been through this past decade and a half, and that is something that should not happen. Sam grew and changed so much since he left Stanford and leaving that life, the life of a hunter, behind feels very counterintuitive.
Let’s not even discuss the wig that Jared wore. It reminded me of the Cain wig that Rob wore in the Hillywood parody.
What shocked me the most at the beginning of this episode was the lack of a “The Road So Far” compilation. I hoped for the full song with a recap of all 15 seasons, or, at minimum, the typical single-season recap. “Carry On My Wayward Son” is such an important part of the show and the culture of the fan base, that it seems almost sacrilegious that the season finale not begin with this song and a memorial to the events in the past season (or series).*** I’m very happy that it was included at all, but I was shocked when Neoni’s cover took over.
No disrespect to Neoni; those girls are incredibly talented and I love their music, however, a series finale of a 15 season long show does not feel like the place for a cover when they already have the rights to the original, and the original is so iconic.
Lastly, I want to acknowledge Jensen Ackles’s reaction to this conclusion. At a con panel about a year ago, he said that he needed to be talked into agreeing to this script by Erik Kripke himself, because the ending just wasn’t sitting right with him. So many fans took this to believe that he was homophobic and afraid that of Destiel becoming fully canon, and he got so much more hate than he deserved, because ultimately, he was right in his first opinion. This isn’t the way this story should have ended. Jensen explained that he had been “too close” to the story, and that it took a more holistic view from a step backwards (the audience’s perspective, as he puts it) to agree on this ending, but honestly, nobody knows Dean Winchester better than Jensen, and he knows what’s best and what would be the best way to finish this character’s arc. I think fans and Jensen alike agree that this wasn’t it.
I sympathize with all of the cast and crew members who disagree with how this show ended but are bounded by contract to support this show no matter what. Especially Misha and Jensen.
Over all, I believe that Supernatural will go down in history (in internet communities, at least) as one of the greatest shows ever. While I do agree that the writing quality in terms of both dialogue and plot declined as years passed, the community, the family, that this show created cannot be ignored because of a poorly written/planned ending. I think that the fandom will collectively let go of this disaster of an ending that we were given and will, just like Sam and Dean, write our own stories. I have full faith and confidence that Supernatural will not be represented by this finale episode, but by the beautiful stories, amazing characters, and the family that this show created and what the fans have chosen to do with it.
Sincerely,
A Fiercely Frustrated but Fiercely Loyal Fan
* I do not count that last clip of Dean crying on the floor as mourning. In my mind, that was a reaction, not an emotional healing and overcoming, if that makes sense. I argue that if Dean were to fully mourn and process everything (like Sam did in 15x20) we would have seen at least a bit of that on screen. 
** This is where I would have loved to see some of the original scripts. I hope that the writers initial intentions were to have Misha more involved in these last two episodes than what was likely a voice memo created in 10 minutes tops at Misha’s house.
*** The strange montage at the end of 15x19 makes so much more sense. I still would have preferred that montage at the beginning of 15x20. This also shines light on the video that Misha posted. What would we do without him :)
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themummersfolly · 8 months ago
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So you’re getting the covid vaccine
You’ve finally gotten a hold of the health department, nailed down that elusive appointment, and the big day’s almost here. You may have a lot of questions: what will the site look like? Who else will be there? How will I feel afterwards? You may be excited; you may be nervous (and your conspiracy theorist family member hasn’t been helping).
I’m going to try to lay some of your concerns to rest. I’ve been working at my state’s vax sites for about a month at the time of writing; my information won’t apply to all states and it’s very unlikely to apply outside the US, but it may help you get your bearings and make the whole thing less alien and intimidating.
The site is likely to be run by state or county health departments, or by a local hospital, but it may not be located at a healthcare facility, depending on the number of patients they usually get. High-volume sites tend to be set up wherever they can find room for a thousand people and their cars; some of ours are hosted by sports stadiums and shopping malls. Pop-up sites are also a possibility, and will probably become more common as younger people are brought into phase. These are sent out to places like industrial sites and college campuses to get shots to people where they are. 
Most of the sites I’ve worked at are drive-thru, some take foot traffic. Almost all require you to make an appointment. (I can’t help you much with the appointment side of things; that differs significantly from state to state. Best to google it or call your local health department.) If you have an appointment but aren’t familiar with the site, drive by it ahead of time. See for yourself what you’re heading into. If they’re not too busy, stop and talk to some of the site personnel. Ask them if there’s a particular way they want you to enter from; many sites have a single flow of traffic with one entry and one exit, while others (like the one I’m at right now) are set back in a rabbit warren of back streets, half of which will be blocked off on a busy day. Scout ahead; we appreciate you being prepared. Ask questions; I guarantee I’ve answered much dumber ones.
A note on drive-thru sites: please be on your game when you’re driving. You’ll most likely be driving through tight spaces with pedestrians and other cars very close by. Know where the corners of your car are, and be able to tell your gas pedal from your brake. It sounds petty to harp on these things, but I spend my days dealing with people who straight up can’t. Keep your head on a swivel, as we say. Please don’t be that person who plows into a concrete barrier or, God forbid, one of my buddies. If you’re not comfortable driving in cramped, low speed conditions, please try to find someone to drive you. At the very least, have someone drop you off; even drive-thru sites will accommodate a walk-up if you have an appointment.
Now that you’re at the vax site, who can you expect to meet? A lot of other patients, obviously; you can’t receive the vaccine if you’re currently sick, so you shouldn’t be at an elevated risk of catching anything from the people around you. However, people will occasionally get in line thinking it’s a testing site (which they generally won’t seek out unless they’re sick) and you always have the risk of silent carriers, so it’s best to maintain a distance and mask up as applicable. 
Most sites are going to be staffed by employees of the hospital or health department running the event; depending on where you are, the National Guard may also have been deployed to assist. At my site, we have a mix of National Guard, State Guard, and Health Department staff working all positions: three of our medics are military, while on a busy day the Health Department's dentist will come out an help me direct traffic. Don’t be intimidated by the uniforms; we don’t have any authority beyond parking you in the right spot, and I don’t think any state arms their covid-response teams. And don’t thank us for our service; it’s awkward, annoying, and we’d much rather you just wear your mask and not hit us with your car. 
There may be cops onsite, depending on how bad traffic congestion is and/or how many belligerent boomers they’re expecting. (Seriously, that’s who causes the majority of our problems. If somebody’s going to start trouble, nine times out of ten it’ll be an old white person with a shit ton of money.) I wish I could say that none of them are the kind to go looking for trouble, but unfortunately I’ve known too many cops - it only takes one to ruin it for everybody. For the most part, though, this is going to be an easy-money type of assignment for them, and if they’re not in their patrol cars they’re probably gossiping with the National Guard.
 As you get up to the actual clinic, someone is going to approach you to take down your medical information. If you’re on foot, they may hand you the forms to fill out; if it’s a drive thru site, they’ll probably ask you the questions and write down your answers. This won’t take long; most sites streamlined their process while they were doing testing last year. To avoid clerical errors, a good practice is to hold up your ID and have them copy your name and address, especially if English isn’t your first language or you speak a noticeably different dialect of English.
Ok, so you’ve located the site, braved the traffic, made it past Corporal Snuffy with his clipboard, sat in The Line That Time Forgot, and now you’ve finally reached it: the Gleaming Needle of Destiny. What will the shot itself be like? Practically speaking, not all that different from the average flu shot. A quick poke in the arm, a bandaid that you don’t really need, and then you go wait 15-30 minutes to make sure you aren’t allergic to it. My buddy and I just finished our course of the Pfizer; neither the first nor the second shot gave me more than a sore arm, but my buddy got a mild fever after the second one and didn’t feel well for about 24 hours afterward. Both are normal reactions. It’s best to plan your second dose so you have some time to recover in case you do have an immune response; better to have it and not need it. However, if you break out in hives, get an itching throat, or show any other symptoms of an allergic reaction, this is not normal and you should flag one of us down immediately. Walk up to somebody, beep the horn - whatever you have to do to get our attention. You are surrounded not only by medical personnel, but by bored soldiers with a shit ton of first aid training and visions of lifesaving and glory. We will be more than willing to help you.
Once you’ve received the shot but before you’re sent off to Observation (Interminable Wait #2), you’ll receive a card with your vaccination info on it. If you do not receive one, go back and pester them until they give you one. This is your proof of vaccination; do not throw it out. If you want to get on a plane you may be required to present it as proof of not being a plague rat, and at any rate you’ll want it for your medical record. Some places may put a date on there for your second shot and use it as proof of appointment; others may require you to go make the second appointment on your own. Double check which the case is. You most likely will be getting the two-shot vaccine, either Pfizer or Moderna. I don’t know of any sites that are doing Johnson+Johnson; they seem to be encountering a bunch of PR problems already, so I don’t know how widespread that one will get. Just make sure if you are scheduling your own second appointment that you get the same vaccine type as you got for the first one; getting one Pfizer and one Moderna will result in neither being effective. The scheduling website should be set up so you can’t do that, but just double check; trust but verify. And by the way, the second shot isn't formulated any different frim the first one. It's the same exact thing in the syringe, your body just has to see it twice to be able to use it.
And that’s it! After about fifteen or thirty minutes we will have established that you aren’t going to swell up like a character from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and we’ll turn you loose upon the world. Go home, take a nap and/or some motrin for that sore arm, and then feel free to add your experiences to this post!
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pandamancer11 · 9 months ago
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Neo: Trouble Brewing - Chapter 1
Hey everybody! I write stuff, and I was told to put stuff up here sometimes. So here is one of my stuff. Here’s a chapter out of my cyberpunk mystery book, Neo: Trouble Brewing.
Missed the previous chapter? Find it here!
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Following a quick rinse in the locker room’s shower, Cybil donned her uniform. Black pants, white button-up dress shirt with the first couple of buttons left undone, and sleeves rolled down to the cuffs, but kept on her black combat boots. While not within regulation, the Captain never seemed to have an issue with a couple of exceptions from the standard dress in the rule book.
Tucking her wet hair behind her ears, she popped open the bottom compartment of her locker and withdrew her regulation forearm-mounted police computer off of its charging port. She snapped the white and chunky looking bracer over her left forearm arm and clicked the blinking digital screen to life.
She heard a ping in her head as her Internal Cerebral Processor’s, ICP’s, operating system of choice, Sae, successfully paired with the equipment. The cool blue screen affixed inside the bracer exploded with new information, which Sae read aloud within Cybil’s head. ‘Good morning, officer Lane’ Stated Sae. ‘You have: 524 unread emails, 54 missed calls, 50 unheard voicemails,-’
“Delete all messages from Operator Harper,” Cybil ordered
‘Deleted’ The AI responded, ‘You now have: 12 unread emails, 45 missed ca-’
“Delete all messages from Mother.”
‘Deleted. You now have 5 unread emails, 2 missed calls and 1 voicemail.’
“That sounds about right.” Reaching for the door to close her locker, Cybil caught the movement of her image in the full-length mirror mounted inside the flimsy metal door. Though she stood only slightly under typical height for a woman her age, she still felt like a little kid playing dress-up in her father’s clothes.
But it was abundantly clear the person looking back at her wasn’t that innocent girl anymore. Despite her generously applied eye shadow and mascara, the bags under her eyes were still plainly visible. Her nose and ear piercings hardly detracted from the superficial scars on her right cheek from smashing into that mirror. If she looked closely enough, she could still spot the place a shard of glass had pierced her lip.
Though the scars and worry lines were hardly the worst of it. The woman looking at her from the other side of the thin glass made her cringe. All she could see was regret and disdain. No one detail was the source of her shame, it was the whole thing.
She could remember how not that long ago, a bunch of random barflies would hit on her when she still frequented that sort of scene. How they would compliment her figure, and how several particularly drunk individuals would feel brave enough to cop a feel. Of course, Cybil was sure that her body was the last thing that particular hand would feel after she was done with them. Even still, she never saw what the creeps did.
She spotted her pod, 9B, float up behind her in the reflection. Its blank gray rectangular face stared back at her in the mirror and rattled off a series of monotone beeps and boops. Sae translated the mess in real-time, ‘Officer Lane to report for duty in five minutes’. Cursing her wandering mind under her breath, Cybil quickly snatched her sidearm from its compartment, slammed the locker door shut, and sprinted full speed up the stairs.
“Jesus, Lane.” A building of a man with brilliant ebony skin stood in the archway of the precinct’s bullpen. His tree trunk arms interlocked neatly behind him and his sharp elbows jetted out from under his rolled-up pinstripe shirt. The fluorescent light from above cast a shadow over the lines in his face and the sockets of his eyes. A bright glare gleamed off of his polished bald head.
“Another minute and your flawless attendance record would have been compromised.” His voice boomed off the hallowed hallway walls. “What the hell do you have to say for yourself?”
Cybil confidently crossed her arms and picked at her teeth with her pinky nail. “Let’s just say... you’re lucky I showed up at all, Cap.” She met his volcanic fury with an equally level, uninhibited, dismissive attitude.
He lowered himself to her level, his leathery face scrunched in anger just inches away from hers. “You’re a loose cannon, Lane. You know what I do to punks who don’t like to follow the rules?”
Cybil propped her hands on her hips and met his glare. “What might that be, Cap?” A little voice deep in her head prayed she hadn’t bet all her money on a lame horse with her casual attitude toward her superior.
The Captain leaned even closer - so close that she could feel his hot breath on her nose. “I give little piss-ants like you-” He suddenly leapt backward and produced, with a flourish, a serving tray filled with steaming donuts.
“A fresh donut from the bakery next door!” He shouted gleefully.
***
So I’m sure not to clog up any feeds, I have the rest of the chapter here!
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poppy-in-the-woods · 9 months ago
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ArkAngel Part 2 - Chapter 12
Tags: police corruption, mention of drugs, threats of sexual violence, not perfect grammar/ orthography.
Word Count: 1850
Tag list: ​@triplexdoublex​ @welcometohoteldiablo​ @rumoured-whispers​
Author’s note: we are slowly but surely approaching the end of this story. Will Wes be able to rescue Molly? Will Jake continue to be an asshole? This and other questions, answered in this and the next chapters. As always, look for the asterisks to skip the heavier stuff.
On with the show!
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Once, a long time ago, Nathan Castle had been an idealistic young cop, but by the time he made the mistake that led to him being under the fist of the Irishman, people were already calling him Cas for that character in that series that he had never seen. Of that young man willing to break the law to solve an injustice, little was left, so when O'Shea called him and asked for help, he didn't even ask questions. He could have refused, but he only said:
“As soon as I have it, I'll let you know.”
It didn't take long for him to get the warrant, because he wasn't the only one in O'Shea's pocket. He went to the bank right away, because, although it was closed to the public, there were employees inside working. He only had to show his badge to be opened, and once inside he went to the vice-director’s office and, placing the warrant on his table, he said:
“I want to see Molly Angela Rose Davenport's box, if you please.”
“Sure, come with me,” said the man, after reading the warrant.
Molly's box was the 303, and there wasn't much in it: a thousand dollars in cash, a box of baby teeth, and a pen drive.
“This is evidence, I have to take it with me,” he said, stuffing it into an evidence bag. “By the way, what the fuck is that, teeth? Who keeps their baby teeth in a safe?”
“Our clients can put whatever they want in our boxes, and they aren't always things of monetary value, Detective,” the vice-director pointed out. “My grandmother kept her late husband's pacemaker in a box like this.”
“It must have been quite a surprise when she kicked the bucket and they opened the box, huh?” Cas joked.
“Yes, it was a bit surprising, but totally understandable.”
“If you say so... Anyway, I'm done here.”
“Excuse me for asking, Detective, but is Miss Davenport in trouble with the law?”
“I can't give you details of an ongoing investigation,” he replied. “And I advise you not to discuss this with anyone, we cannot allow leaks to the press.”
“Sure. Anyway, it is an honour to have been of help to the police. Feel free to call if you need anything else.”
 Sitting in a car parked on the curb in front of the bank, Anthony and Chalky kept watch. They had seen Cas come in and they ducked again as soon as they saw him leave.
“Motherfucker!” Anthony muttered, straightening up as Cas got into his car and pulled away.
“Are you sure it's him?” Chalky asked.
“Yes. He's gotten here as fast as he can, and to my knowledge, there is no ongoing investigation that requires a warrant from KeyBank,” Anthony replied.
“Good.”
He took out his cell phone and texted his sister.
You (15:00):
We caught a mole in the castle.
Hardy (15:03):
👌.
And then he sent the same message to the others, but without writing it in code.
“‘Getting the mole out’ phase completed,” he said, smiling.
 As soon as Detective Castle brought the pen drive, Hardy began to work, although not in the way O'Shea thought. Aside from cracking the weak password for the files on the USB stick, she broke into the house systems, taking control of the alarms, the internet, and even the thermostat. As a hacker, she loved that more and more people had ‘smart homes’ with systems connected and controlled through the internet, and most importantly, hackable. If anyone had observed her work, they would have noticed, but no one did.
“You could make my life easier and tell me the password,” Hardy told Molly.
“I'm sorry, I forgot,” she replied.
“Well, never mind, I'll find out anyway.” Molly showed flipped her off. “Sir, I deciphered the first folder,” she said to O'Shea after a while.
“What's in it?”
“Photos. Lots of pictures of Wes in different stages of undress,” Hardy replied, grimacing. “Oh my God!”
“What?” Jake asked.
“Nothing. It's... a dick pic.” Hardy cocked her head, looking at the photo, then at Molly, and back at the photo. “How the hell does that fit into you?”
“With patience and lots of lube,” she replied.
“Hardy, please focus,” O'Shea asked, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
She fumbled for another half hour, making sure she was still in control of everything she needed, things like the lights of the house or the gates to the garden. At last she gave O'Shea what he wanted by printing the file.
“Is it the right formula?” He asked, looking at the paper.
“I don't know, sir, my brother does the chemistry,” said Hardy. “I can tell him to come if you want.
“Yes, do that.”
 The plan was going accordingly, but that did not reassure any of those who had to wait their turn; everyone was nervous, and the coffee Leonor had made was not helping. About fifteen minutes after Chalky got the call from her sister, Qweenie stopped looking out the window and sat down next to Wes.
“I've had an idea,” she whispered.
“What idea?”
“I'd better show you,” she replied.
Wes walked with her into her room. Qweenie closed the door and took a jar of green powder from her underwear drawer.
“Is that what I think it is?” He asked.
“Yes. The Chemist gave it to his daughter to hide, and this morning I removed it from the 7-Eleven safe, just in case,” she explained. “I thought we could dissolve it in water and put it in a syringe, just in case.”
“There must be enough to cause an overdose in there,” Wes said, eyeing the jar closely.
“Or at the very least, to leave someone very fucked up. I have some unused syringes from when the cat was operated.”
“Okay, do it.” They returned to the living room. “Where is Hannigan?”
“He said that he had errands to run and that we keep him informed,” Mei said.
“Don't worry, he's a legit guy. He'll be back in time,” CC assured.
“Since when do you trust the cops?” Qweenie asked him.
“I don't trust cop, but I'm not saying it because he's a cop. He is just as interested as we are that this goes well. Even more interested.”
 Chalky arrived at O'Shea's house around the same time that Qweenie and Wes were debating whether or not one shot of that amount of fairy dust would kill someone. He was immediately ushered into the dining room, where his sister, Molly, O'Shea, and his son were waiting. Without saying anything, Hardy handed him a couple of printed sheets.
“And well?” Asked the Irishman.
“Hey, I don't do miracles,” Chalky said after looking at the recipe. “I need a laboratory to cook it.”
“But can you do it?” Jake asked.
“I never said I couldn't,” he replied. “It's going to take a while though.”
“Obviously. We don't have a lab in this house, but I can order my men bring what is necessary,” O'Shea said. “Make a list and you will have it all in a couple of hours.”
“No problem. But we will need Wes to test it,” he replied.
“Why Wes?” O'Shea wanted to know, confused.
“Because he's like her. I will only know if it worked if the two of them take it and the connection is formed.”
“Connection?” Jake repeated.
“They're both children of fairy dust addicts. That creates a connection between them when they take the drug. It's pretty easy to see when it happens because they can't keep their hands off... well, more than usual.”
“Is that true, girl?”
“Wes and I are always connected,” Molly replied, shrugging, “but it's true the drug intensifies it.”
“Okay, let's get Wes here,” O'Shea said. “Tessa!”
“Yes sir?” Asked the woman.
“Molly's cell phone, please.” She handed it to him with the application already open. “To record a video...?”
“You have to push there, sir.”
“Here?”
“Yes, and now that other button.”
*
“Thank you.” The Irishman focused the camera on Molly. “Hi Wes. Your girl is very quarrelsome, huh? And she is not afraid of getting hit. But now that doesn't matter anymore, because I have what I wanted, so if you're not here in twenty minutes, I'll give her to Jake to have fun; she sure is a lot tamer after a couple of sleeping pills.”
“Don’t come!” She exclaimed. “It’s a trap, don’t...!”
But she couldn't keep talking, because Jake gagged her again.
“And… sent. I really hope your boyfriend is here on time, because I'm a man of my word,” O'Shea told her.
*
But Jake had to leave her alone, because Wes was on time. He was not happy at all, it could be seen in the way he clenched his jaw as he entered the dining room, but he did not comment, nor did he protest while Berlin searched him.
“Are you going to behave, or do I have to tie you to a chair like your bitch?” O'Shea asked him.
“I'll behave, but please untie her.”
“No way!” Jake chimed in; his father ignored him.
“Please,” Wes pleaded again. “I'll make sure she behaves, but you have to let me take care of her.”
“Okay, untie her. But if either of you does something foolish, the other will suffer, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Berlin untied Molly and Wes carried her into the living room, where they sat on the couch, she on his lap.
“Wes…” she began.
“Don't worry, gorgeous, everything will be fine,” he assured her.
“If my face didn't hurt so much, I'd kiss you,” she replied.
“Could someone get me some ice, please?” He asked no one in particular, “What have you done to have them hit you like that?” he asked her.
“I broke Jake's arm."
“You're a bad girl, Mol,” he said, smiling. From across the room, Jake flipped Wes off.
She laughed, but she immediately had to stop, because laughing was painful. Sedona gave Wes a cloth-wrapped bag of ice, who was quick to apply it to her face, alternating between the most affected places in an attempt to lower the swelling. She hissed every time, but she didn't complain in any other way.
“Better?” he asked her after a while.
“Yes, thanks. I bet I look horrible,” she said.
“No worse than I looked back then,” he replied. And you will heal.
“After this I want a tattoo like yours, and I don't want any complaints about it,” she said.
“No complaints.”
Wes kissed her carefully; Jake grimaced, as if he was contemplating the dissecting of a frog or something equally disgusting. However, he was the only one who paid special attention to them: Hardy and Chalky were on their own (she on her laptop, him on his cell phone), and Sedona, Phoenix, and Berlin had positioned themselves around the room so that they covered all possible exists, but without being too noticeable. They didn't really need it: Wes had no desire to escape, he was exactly where he needed to be.
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ballumbigbang · a year ago
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ARTIST CHOICES
Hello Ballum Big Bang Artists! Today is the day you get to see *anonymous* summaries of the fics that are being written for the Big Bang, and you get to choose which you’d like to work with. Due to the quantity of fics that have been submitted, we will need you to double up where possible, however if you are firmly against this, please tell your mod - they should have contacted you by now! 
This post applies to our Big Bang Artists:
@lucres @eastendies @that-crazy-shark-lady @totallyradioactive15@callumgayway @smalltalkmp3 @laurenkmyers @bernietaylors @weloveweird @bisexualalienblast @ballym @fanartformyself @fireangel5683
How it works:
Below are the summaries, each numbered. When you have read through them, please choose five, and send a message to your mod with these choices, the one you want to work with most first. Our mods will be working over the next few days to pair everyone up, so it will be first come first served, so get your choices in quick! Don’t forget to state how many fics you are willing to create for. You will be contacted by the end of the week, with a post announcing the groups - betas will be assigned during this time also - posted following this. Please send us any questions you have, and happy choosing!
1. Walking on Sunshine AU: It’s love at first sight when Ben and Callum meet on holiday, but Ben returns to real life, leaving Callum behind. Three years later he returns to the holiday destination to find that his best friend Whitney is getting married. Ben thinks this is a massive joke - the punchline being that she’s marrying Callum. Ben has to do everything to make sure she won’t find out about the past, whilst hiding his true feelings. *bisexual!Callum*
2. Three Moments Fic: One time Ben fucks up, one time Callum fucks up, and one time they get it right. *includes smut*
3. Mob Boss/Cop AU: The Mitchell’s are renowned mobsters in the East End, but one is of particular interest to newcomer policeman Callum Highway.
4. Demon/Hunter AU: Notorious demon hunter Lieutenant Highway returns home on a mission. Saving the tattooed, bad-boy Ben Mitchell was not part of the agenda, especially when he doesn’t realise who or what he is. How will he cope when it’s already too late to turn back? *includes violence, mature rating*
5. Anonymous Forum AU: Ben and Callum join Flames, an anonymous messaging forum for gay men, and secretly fancy each other. When they decide to meet up, everything changes for them.
6. Canon Divergence: Post boat-crash. War isn’t kind to those who survive. Callum was fine, right until he wasn’t. *includes PTSD*
7. Private School AU: After taking the blame for something his brother did, Callum is sent away to an institution for troublesome teenagers. His roommate, Ben, is strange, but Callum thinks he likes him anyway. *includes mature content, homophobia, referenced child abuse*
8. Persuasion AU: Years ago, Ben and Callum were in love until Callum was persuaded to break up with him. Now Ben is back in town and courting one of Callum’s best friends. They say karma is a bitch. 
9. Zombie Apocalypse AU: The world is overrun with zombies, and yet Ben and Callum still manage to find each other. *includes angst*
11. Spy AU: Callum is assigned the task of getting close to Ben in order to take the Mitchell’s down. It works, until it doesn’t. *includes mature content*
12. Wedding AU: In the future, Ben and Callum get married, surrounded by all the family who has come and gone through the years. It’s not a perfect, fairy-tale day, but it’s theirs.
13. PTSD AU: Callum feels so safe around Ben that his PTSD hardly comes up. Still, Ben finds out and does his best to help, and they realise how much they both need each other. *includes PTSD*
14. Fake Dating AU: It’s Jay and Lola’s wedding day, Kathy wants to set Ben up so he panics and says that he’s already bringing his boyfriend, Callum. Callum is his friend, but agrees to pretend for the day.
15. Shipwreck AU: After their cruise ship sinks, Callum finds himself responsible for a little blonde girl who can’t find her daddy. On a nearby beach, Ben’s only company is a slightly scary bald giant who is searching for his brother.
16. Assassin AU: Ben’s on a job to kill Callum, but he can’t understand why the people he works for (Grant) would want him dead! And of course, they fall in love but it’ll be pretty angsty. *includes violence, mature rating*
17. Summer AU: After abruptly leaving the army, and being kicked out by his father, Callum, and his best friend Lola, spend their summer away from the city. Ben, and his best friend, jay, live down by the coast. the tiny town has never been for Ben, he’s never really felt like be belonged here, or anywhere. but maybe, just maybe the arrival of a curious stranger could change all that. or, an AU in which Ben and Callum are from different places, different worlds, but one summer is enough to challenge everything they once believed.
18. Cannon Divergence: Callum wasn’t kidnapped by Keanu, and Ben and Callum join the punters for the boat trip - but Ben is cornered by Keanu on the boat along with Callum. Essentially this is what I think would have happened if Keanu had went peacefully with Sharon. - Keanu shows up, Dennis goes to the boat in retaliation. - The Dennis and Ian thing still happens. - Ben and Callum had went off to have some time alone, but they hear what’s going on with Ian and Dennis and help out - Keanu comes down in the search for Dennis. - Keanu basically sees red and begins to attack Ben - leading to him hitting his head on the interior of the boat and still resulting in him going deaf at the end. There are still one or two more things to work out - but the warnings are: - drowning - blood/fighting - strangling - drinking But Dennis survives here, resulting in no death of a minor. *includes violence, mature rating*
19. Cannon Divergence: Ben and Callum have finally moved in to their own place. With their lives on track, they’ve been enjoying the cheesy domestic bliss of a rom-com, but their happiness comes to an abrupt end when a stranger takes an uncomfortable interest in Callum. *includes stalking, violence*
20. Reality TV Show AU: The story is based on a reality TV show. Ben is taking part and Callum works as basically a handler for the contestants. They hate each other to start so enemies to lovers.
21. Gangster/Cop AU: Some things are different and some things are not where Callum is a police officer and Ben is the local gangster’s son. *includes some violence, cheating*
22. Therapy AU: Callum, an injured veteran, wanted to come to Walford to start over. A new place where he could leave it all behind him – the secrets, the lies, the trauma, everything. Where he could rebuild his life and start to help others like he always knew he wanted to do. But in group therapy, he meets Ben – a broody, sarcastic troublemaker that seemingly everyone in town warns him to stay away from. Before he knows it, Ben’s crash-landed his way into Callum’s life, bringing secrets of his own. *includes army trauma*
23. HP Fake Dating AU: Callum gets caught up in fake dating Ben while he’s tutoring him for exams. *may move to mature rating*
24. Amnesia AU: Callum has memory loss after leaving the army, forgetting about Ben when he comes home, and Ben has to win his love back. Eventually Callum will end up finding out about Ben (he’s written a few letters while he was away) when they start dating, so seeing pictures of them in his house stacked away when he’s trying to find something in the kitchen drawer. *includes army trauma*
25. Childhood Friends AU: As young kids, Ben and Callum used to be best of friends. With less-than-ideal home lives, they found family and love with each other. When Phil’s dodgy dealings lands him in hot water, Ben is hauled off to America and the boys lose touch. Now, ten years later, Ben is back in Walford. A lot has changed, and their relationship has strained. Can they find their way back to each other again? And now that they’re grown up, have their feelings changed into something else; something deeper? *includes some sexual scenes*
26. Mystery/Adventure AU: The plan that had been laid out for them was beyond what they had imagined. This was never Callum Highway’s scene, or could it be what he was looking for in Walford all along? *includes some violence, swearing*
29 notes · View notes
waveridden · a year ago
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FIC: to be in a moment with you
“Adaire Ducarte,” Hella says, keeping her voice as neutral as possible until she closes the door behind her. She leans on it for a second, putting her weight behind it to make sure that it’s fully closed and sealed, before glaring at Adaire. “What the hell are you doing here?”
(Or: the one where they're all criminals and Hella is undercover as a cop. 1.7k, Hella/Adaire. No content warnings apply, but the police are there, and they’re the worst.)
AUcember || read on ao3
#
“We found her skulking around the museum,” Carlay explains, voice low. They lead Hella through the precinct halls, ignoring the curt nods that both of them receive. Perks of being local legends: they get all the respect, but nobody actually wants to deal with them. “So we brought her in - covertly as possible, of course.”
Hella makes a frustrated noise low in the back of her throat. “You arrested her just for skulking?”
“I made up some reason about loitering, or criminal records, or-” Carlay waves a hand in the air. “I don’t remember what I said, that’s not important.”
“It’s a little important!”
“She has enough of a record that it’s not suspicious for us to bring her in.”
Hella sighs. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.” Carlay stops in front of an interrogation room. “Nobody’s going to come looking for a bit. There’s going to be a problem with the paperwork, and Chief Malle won’t hear about it for at least fifteen minutes.”
“And at most?”
“I can’t give you at most, Varal, you know that.”
“I know,” Hella mutters. “I just- ugh, you know?”
“No,” Carlay says, but there’s something pulling at the corner of their mouth that makes Hella think that they know exactly. “Fifteen minutes.” They bump their shoulder against Hella’s as they turn and walk away, down through the labyrinthine halls.
Hella takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. Fifteen minutes isn’t much time, but it has to be enough to get what she needs out of this conversation.
Adaire looks up as soon as the door opens, and her mouth quirks into a smile. “Well, well, Officer Varal, we meet again.”
“Adaire Ducarte,” Hella says, keeping her voice as neutral as possible until she closes the door behind her. She leans on it for a second, putting her weight behind it to make sure that it’s fully closed and sealed, before glaring at Adaire. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Whoa, whoa.” Adaire lifts her hands in a universal don’t-shoot gesture, empty handcuffs clattering on the table as she does. Hella makes a mental note to ask Carlay if they actually handcuffed Adaire and she got out; it seems like the kind of thing she should know. “We hadn’t heard from you in a while, and the boys were starting to get antsy.”
“I’m undercover,” Hella says exasperatedly. She drops into the chair across from Adaire, trying to still look intimidating. There’s a security camera by the door, behind Hella’s right shoulder. The odds are slim that anyone is watching, but if this goes how she’s expecting it to go, people are going to want to review this footage. “You can tell Hadrian to calm down.”
“I’m sure that’ll go over great,” Adaire says, with the silky kind of deadpan sarcasm that she uses when she’s particularly annoyed. “I know you’re undercover, but that doesn’t mean we can’t worry.”
“Carlay and I are still gathering information for the university.”
“I’m not here to extract you.”
“Then why are you here?” Adaire opens her mouth, but Hella lifts a hand. “Really, Adaire, why are you here?”
Adaire lets out a breath of frustration. “Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to see you?”
“Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it,” Hella says. “I miss you too. They didn’t hurt you when they brought you in, did they?”
“What, Carlay?” Adaire snorts. “They know better than to let that happen.”
“Things still happen in Ordennan prisons, Adaire.”
“Yeah, but I’m fine, see?” Adaire lifts her hands - not wearing gloves, Hella notices with some surprise - and waves them in the air. “Ten fingers, all intact. And I warned Ephrim and Fero before I came here, so they’ll be here pretty soon.”
“You picked Ephrim and Fero? ”
“Fero’s good at causing chaos, but I don’t trust him to get me out in one piece.”
“But you trust Ephrim,” Hella says skeptically. “I know he’s leading the University group right now, but trust is a strong word.”
“I don’t trust many people,” Adaire says, and arches an eyebrow at Hella, like this isn’t Hella’s entire point. “I just know that he thinks I’m an asset.”
“You are an asset.”
“You like my assets.”
“It’s good to see you,” Hella says. Her hands are aching with how badly she wants to reach out and touch Adaire, to take her hands and to check her wrists for bruises from the cuffs, to feel the solid warmth of her under Hella’s hands.
Adaire’s eyes flick to the camera for a second before she leans in conspiratorially. “You too,” she admits, and Hella feels a wave of warmth. “Your hair looks ridiculous, by the way.”
Hella automatically lifts her hand to her hair, which is wound into the tightest, most headache-inducing bun in the world. Ordennan police are very particular about custom, and unfortunately, Hella still knows most of the customs. “This sucks,” she mutters. “I’ll stay here as long as I need, but-”
“We’re hoping not to need you here for much longer.”
“And why’s that?”
“We’ve got…” Adaire waves a hand absently. “Plans, and things. Don’t worry about it. It’s mostly me and Ephrim right now, but we’ll be checking in with you a little more as it gets closer.”
“As what gets closer?”
She sighs. “Okay, it’s mostly Ephrim’s plan, I’m not completely sure yet. But he keeps saying that we’re getting close to being able to pull you out and get you back home.”
“I didn’t realize how awful Ordenna was until I was back in it.” Hella grimaces, despite not completely meaning to. “The University might be a crime syndicate-”
“According to Ordenna, maybe.”
“A vigilante group?”
“An organized crime group.”
“A mob,” Hella says dryly, and Adaire grins. “Anyways, at least we care about people’s lives, you know?”
“I know,” Adaire says, with that gentle tone to her voice that always makes Hella weak in the knees. It’s a side of Adaire that rarely comes out. So often they have to be the public-facing versions of themselves, a master thief and a master fighter, two people who have trained themselves out of caring for anyone and anything. But sometimes Adaire looks at Hella like this, talks to Hella like this, in ways that remind Hella about exactly how much she cares. It’s overwhelming in the warmest way.
Hella sighs. “Do you know when your pickup is?”
“Should be in a couple minutes, actually.”
“Really? Fero must be really bored.”
“So bored,” Adaire says. “I think once you’re back you’re gonna have to take him to, like, rob a rich person’s secret vault or something. Ephrim keeps putting him on normal jobs.”
“Classic university bonding,” Hella says. She can hear yelling in the hallway behind her, and she has to repress a sigh. “Your ride’s here.”
“Sounds like it.” Adaire glances at the camera. “You see the blind spot, right?”
“I do.” Hella stands up, trying to look like a cop and not like… like herself. “We’ll have to be quick.”
Adaire raises her eyebrows. “Then you’d better get a move on, right?”
The yelling is getting louder. Hella moves to be in the camera’s blind spot, a narrow corner behind the camera but in front of the door. Adaire follows suit, picking her way across the room cautiously.
But she ends up standing in the blind spot. It’s barely big enough for both of them to stand in it at the same time, but luckily it’s small enough that Adaire has to press her body close against Hella’s, backing her against the door. “I wish I had a good reason to take your hair down,” she mutters, glaring balefully at Hella’s bun.
Hella laughs, grinning down at Adaire. “Believe me, me too.”
Adaire hums, and then leans up. Hella meets her eagerly, relaxing into the kiss right away. She’s been undercover for three months, and she and Adaire have only been able to steal moments like this, between moments of chaos, in camera blindspots.
But it’s still a moment where Hella can shut her eyes and rest her hands on Adaire’s waist and hold her close. Where things get to be blessedly normal.
There’s another shout that sounds remarkably like Ephrim. Adaire lifts the back of her hand to Hella’s cheek, just barely caressing it. “Come home soon.”
“I’m trying,” Hella says, breathless and frustrated. Adaire grins at her, genuine and incredibly bright, and it makes Hella’s heart sing.
She reaches behind her and opens the door, careful not to stumble backwards into where she’s sure Ephrim will be waiting. Hopefully not directly behind the door this time; he’s probably smart enough not to do that twice.
“No, please, take your time,” Ephrim says flatly. He’s pointing a gun at Hella, because he’s just as mindful of cameras as Adaire is, but his grip on it is slack. “It’s not like Fero will be arrested if we’re here for too long.”
“I don’t think they can arrest Fero, he doesn’t exist in most legal systems,” Adaire says. Hella steps back, and Adaire goes to join Ephrim. “Thanks for the pickup.”
“Of course.” Ephrim looks at Hella. “You okay?”
“Doing great,” Hella says. “I heard a rumor you’re cooking something up.”
“Working on it. We’ll be in touch.”
“Good.”
“I’ll see you home soon,” Adaire says abruptly. It’s barely sentimental, but it’s the most blatantly hopeful thing Hella has ever heard her say.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Home soon.”
Adaire doesn’t quite smile at her as she and Ephrim turn to run down the hall, but Hella ends up grinning at her back as she runs away. She only has a couple of minutes before someone figures out that Adaire was here and escaped, and until she starts getting questioned about it. But she can take that minute to catch her breath and come up with a cover story, and most importantly to remember the feeling of Adaire pressed up against her, of the spark in Adaire’s eyes.
“Home soon,” she whispers again. It’s a nice thought.
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ashiemochi · 2 years ago
Text
his honey essence - xi
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~~ His Honey Essence
↳ Stardust never seemed so deadly.
~~ pairing: So Ah and Nathan. ~~ genre: fluff, angst, smut, fantasy, ancient egypt au ~~ update times: every other day
!!This story is purely fictional and none of it alters or changes the actual ancient egypt era.It is not historically accurate at all!!
!!The first few chapters are heavily inspired by Endearkim/joonrise. I’ve asked for her permission to use her universe before she deactivated!!
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prev > -
Her eyes snapped open and found her ceiling fan. She gasped sharply as her body bounced on her bed. Her heart was thumping hard against her ribs as she sat up. The comfort of her room was almost overwhelming. She jumped onto her feet and ran to her window then she slid it open. The dusk sky was soothing as the cool breeze made her feel like home.
The city lights were off, indicating that no one was awake to get to work just yet. She let out a sigh as she slumped onto her chair. Her bag began vibrating like crazy and she jumped at the feeling. Pulling her bag to her lap, she opened it and poured all the contents onto her coffee table.
Her phone was still vibrating.  
Getting concerned, she picked it up and pressed the home button. Her jaw went slack and her eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as the screen lit up.  
204 messages from Savannah.
20 missed calls from Savannah.  
She guessed that her phone got connected to the Wi-Fi now. Upon reading the messages, she realized how worried her friend must have been. The first hundred was Savannah keeping her updated about the party and she was kind enough to send pictures and videos. She was also drunk while she was doing the whole charade.
The second hundred was Savannah worried sick about her and how she wouldn’t pick up any of her calls. She had even came over to check up on her with food but the door was unanswered. She even considered calling the cops. The last four texts was her wishing her luck on her assignment and sweet dreams.  
So Ah rubbed the bridge of her nose as she closed her phone, feeling guilty as she glanced at the date. She had to take a double look to realize that today’s due. Jumping onto her feet, she looked at the time.
4:03 AM  
Fuck! My class is at 8!  
Needless to say, her laptop would’ve complained with how hard and fast she was pressing on the keyboard. She let her autocorrect to its job as she continued typing nonstop while sometimes linking a picture or two in the file. She would kill Sanghyuk if she’d let him use her camera ever again as 90% of the pictures he took were blurry.
Her body was powered by coffee and energy drink as she was getting desperate to finish. Her mind trailed away as she stumbled upon a picture. It was Nathan standing by the unglazed window, letting the golden hour of the Sun hit him in all the right places. He looked like a true masterpiece.  
Trying to ignore the ache in her heart, she saved most of the pictures into her computer. Thinking she wrote a good amount of sheets, she plugged her USB to move the document and went off to wash up.  
7:10 AM.
Her shower was quick and she almost tripped and broke her head if she wasn’t too careful. She stumbled as she slipped on her socks while pouncing on one foot then her phone began vibrating. Almost tripping for the second time this morning, she took her phone and answered it.  
“Hello?”  
“Holy fuck! Finally?!”
 Savannah’s tone was dripping with relief but the profanities were pouring.
“Where were you?! I texted you the whole night and you never returned any of my calls! What happened?!”  
“Ahh... It’s a very long story. How about I treat you out for lunch and I’ll explain everything?”  
“...Congdu?”  
She chuckled at her need to go to her favourite restaurant at least once a day.
“Yes, lunch at Congdu.”  
“... Fine, the reason better be good or else I’ll whoop your ass.”  
She felt a bit better talking to her best friend once again and grabbed her other bag. As she put in her things, not really having a particular thing in mind. The laptop dinged in approval as the document was successfully moved to her USB. Putting on her shoes, she applied a little bit of make up to cover up the wounds on her skin, her phone began vibrating again. This time it was an alarm followed by a text.
7:45 AM  
From: Savannah To: So Ah
7:45 AM – The class is about to start! Where are you?  
Oh, fuck!
Grabbing her USB and bag, she ran out of her apartment. Her mind was going haywire and for a moment, she thought she would faint at the adrenalin.
-- 
Savannah smiled and waved as her friend walked into his classroom before she stood by her classroom. Her eyes were darting around for a sight of her short but artistic friend. Her hangover was getting on her nerves and she grumbled, “Why did I have to get so drunk last night?”
Feeling impatient and mostly nervous about her best friend’s absence, her foot began tapping on the ground as of habit. Giving a look at her watch, she hated the anxiety that rose at the fact the class starts any second now.  
“Please, for god’s sake, where are you?”  
Muttering, her hand gripped tightly on her bag’s strap. The sound of the bell echoed throughout the campus. Students began piling in, making it a bit hard for her to look around for her friend. It might’ve been just seconds but to her felt like minutes before the hallway was empty.
“Ms. Choi, why aren’t you in class yet?”  
She tensed up at the sound of her teacher’s gruff voice and looked at him. “Uhm, I was waiting for a friend, Mr. Park.” She answered with a nervous smile on her face and he pressed his lips into a thin line and scanned the hallway. “Are you going to be waiting for long?” He asked, raising an eyebrow; irritated.  
Mr. Park was the only professor in the whole campus who didn’t have a stick up his ass, but a whole tree. He wouldn’t take any excuse for absence unless there was a doctor’s report. He even kicked a student out of his class for taking notes when he didn’t say so. The last thing that Savannah wanted was to get on his last nerve.
“Ah, no, Mr. Park. I... I’ll be going in now.”  
She walked past him and into her classroom, heading up the stairs to take her seat. Her fingers tugged and pulled on her bag’s straps out of nervousness once she set her assignment on her table. Her eyes darted to the door to see Mr. Park walking in and closing the door behind him.  
“Okay, good morning, class. We all know what day it is, is it not?”
She ignored him as the students grumbled their agreements.  
Where are you, So Ah...?  
Twenty minutes had passed and the professor was still going through the name list of the class. She had long submitted her assignment and was more anxious than ever. Mr. Park’s eyes scanned the list before seeing a particular name which made him sigh in annoyance.
“Han So Ah?”  
The students in the class looked around and at each other, seemingly looking for So Ah. Savannah bit on her bottom lip as Mr. Park clicked his tongue, “Guess she’ll never learn...” She grew more nervous once he reached for the red pen; the one he uses oh-so-specifically for failing students.
The door slammed open.
“I’m here!”  
So Ah busted into the room, her cheeks red and her eyes wide. Her chest was heaving for air as her hand clutched her assignment. The class went silent as Mr. Park turned his body towards her, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, God...” She sighed out, trying to gather in air before gulping heavily.
“Miss Han, why are you so late?”  
“I’m so... So sorry! I missed the train... And I had to run here...” She managed to say through her breath and few mutters reached her ears from her classmates.  
“Isn’t it like a 15 minute walk from her place?”
Mr. Park didn’t even spare a glance at the student before nodding at So Ah. “Fine, you are excused only this time... That is if you did your assignment.” He ended his sentence like a little threat and ice ran down her back. “It’s here. I... Did it...” She nodded eagerly with a small relieved smile on her face as she walked up to him and handed him the piles of stapled paper.  
Mr. Park skimmed through them before nodded, “Alright, you may go to your seat.” He spoke and set the assignment with the others. She kept her eyes on the ground, barely glancing up as she made her way to sit beside Savannah who looked like she had just won the lottery.
“You have no idea how intense it was just waiting for you!” Savannah whisper-yelled once So Ah sat down, setting her back on the ground. She giggled nervously at this before slumping onto the desk, completely drowsy.
“You should’ve seen it from my point-of-view... I felt like I was in an action movie.”  
Savannah chuckled at this before resting her chin on her friend’s shoulder. Opening her mouth to speak, her eyes caught the golden ring around So Ah’s finger and let out a sharp gasp, which alerted unwanted attention.  
“You’re engaged!?”  
So Ah shot up and shushed her before feeling eyes on her. Feeling anxious at the attention, she tried to nervously chuckle it off. “Savannah... Haha... She likes to joke around...”
“Miss Choi and Miss Han, if I hear even a sniffle from both of you, you can then forget about passing your assignments.”  
So Ah wished the floor would swallow her as her cheeks burned up in embarrassment. “Yes, Mr. Park.” Savannah quietly said.  
“Savannah Choi, you’re one step closer to being dead to me.” So Ah muttered quietly before sinking onto her desk and Savannah only smiled at her before hugging her, whispering quietly as Mr. Park began his lecture, “I’m so glad you’re okay...”
~~  
“Are you sure we will head to Congdu later or you’ll cancel our plans again?”  
“If you ask me that one more time, then I’ll shove this brush up you know where.”   
Savannah chuckled at So Ah’s grumpy tone as So Ah held her sketch book on her arm, her bag hanging from her shoulder.
“Why can’t you just tell me now about why you disappeared?”  
So Ah sighed at this as she started slowly walking to her classroom, Savannah following close by. “I really want to explain everything and the ring, Savs. But I just need you to come over after lunch and I’ll explain everything. I really want to get a good nap after this.” She spoke quietly, causing Savannah to frown a bit at the sight of her friend’s fatigue.  
“Okay, honey. You stay home after your class and rest, and then I’ll bring some take out from Congdu.”
So Ah looked up at her friend with a small smile as they stopped in front of her classroom, “Thank you, Savs. You’re really the best.” Savannah smiled widely then hugged her, “Rest well.” So Ah nodded as she pulled away. Savannah gave her a soft smile before turning around to walk away.  
So Ah’s smile dropped before letting out a tired sigh, letting her tiredness catch up to her for a split second. Her thoughts trailed away as she entered her class. The art class starts in 5 minutes, meaning that her classmates aren’t all here yet. Besides the fact that her teacher is always 10 minutes late, something about getting his keys locked in his car, a 5 minutes of shut eye seems good enough to her.
Not bothering to glance at the guy at his chair, painting lazily on his sketchbook, she slumped onto her chair then not sparing a second before letting her head fall onto her desk. The thud was a little too loud and she visibly winced but didn’t move.
She could faintly hear the brush gently stroking the paper, followed by deep humming. A feeling of familiarity hit her but her mind was too burned out to focus. Her thoughts went to her pharaoh, reminding her of all the times she had spent with him. His boxy smile, his icy eyes, his gentle touches... His everything.
Fighting back her tears, her hand clenched tightly and she felt the coldness of his ring. It reminded her of his presence. Before her mentality broke down, a rich voice gently brought her back to reality.  
“Excuse me, but do you have a spare pencil? I’m almost done with my piece.”
Her heart thumped against her chest in the familiar voice and she hesitantly pulled her head up to look at her classmate.  
His almond coloured hair was long enough to partially cover his eyes and give him a little mullet. His sun kissed skin reminded her of honey. His broad shoulders were a little slumped but it still intimidated her. His fingers were decorated with silver coated rings that matched the thin bracelet around his wrist and the dangling earrings from his ears.  
The pale blue button up shirt hang loosely from his body as his gray wide pants didn’t even try to hug his legs. His eyelashes barely brushed against his cheek bones when his chocolate orbs blinked behind his round specs. Her eyes caught fades splotches of blues and greens on his hands, indicating that he was painting last night.  
It’s him...
“U-uhm... Yeah... I d-do...” She wanted to disappear into the fifth dimension as her hands were beginning to shake. His own presence was overwhelming, especially his honey and milk scent. Her eyes widened a bit as her pencil pouch tumbled onto the ground, causing a small gasp to leave her lips.  
“Oh God... I’m so sorry...”  
The entire time she felt his stare as she knelt on the ground to pick up her pencils and pens. At that moment, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her to Hell.  
“Ah, you don’t have to apologize.”
His soothing voice was heard as he knelt down in front of her, picking up the stray erasers and sharpeners. Hesitating a bit, her eyes looked up at him. He was putting her items into her pouch, staying quiet but she could’ve swore she saw a small smile on his face.  
“Here you go.” He looked up at her with a kind smile as he held her pencil pouch in front of her. Cheeks blazing, she took the pouch and stood up, him following the suit. Keeping her eyes on her pouch, slightly dusting off any eraser remains that didn’t even exist.
“Uhm...”  
His voice caught her attention and she looked up at him immediately. Lightly rubbing the back of his neck, he apologized, “I’m sorry that I bothered you. You seem stressed. I can just ask someone else.” He nodded slightly as he spoke.  
Perking up a bit about this, she shook her head while opening her pencil pouch, “Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to apologize.” She spoke instantly as she took out her pencil. “It’s just... You reminded me of someone...” Getting shy, she held her pencil out for him and he looked down at it.
Smiling as he took it, he lightly tapped it against his palm as a habit, “Oh, I thought I intimidated you or something.” He chuckled a bit and surprisingly, she let out a small giggle. “Ah, no. Not at all.” She said exasperatedly and he laughed at this. Her heart fluttered at his honey happy sound.  
His eyes shimmered behind his specs before putting his hand out, “I’m Nathan, though I think we both know who we are since we’ve been in his classroom for over a year now.” He joshed a bit and she chuckled, feeling her cheeks blazing up more. For a moment, she felt like she was with the modern version of the pharaoh.  
Hesitantly grabbing his hand, she gently shook it, “I’m So Ah.” He nodded with a smile on his face before letting go of her hand. The bell rang, causing her to cringe a bit at the loud annoying noise. Nathan looked at the door to see students beginning to pile in.
“You want to sit next to me? I would love to have the top student teach me a few tips.” He wiggled his perfect brows teasingly at her and her voice got caught up in her throat. “Uhm...” She cleared her throat, trying to calm her flushed face. “Says the one who gets the highest grade in his monthly assignments.” She muttered and he grinned sheepishly. Nonetheless, she gathered her things to walk to his desk.
She could feel her own happiness radiating massively but she hid it as she sat down next to him and set her notebook on the table. Beginning to feel whipped for him, her feelings for him seemed to be only growing and that’s only because of her pharaoh.
Then he spoke, snapping her out of her pink clouds instantly.
“Did you know that some people say that I look like an Egyptian pharaoh?”
“... You don’t say...”
God... His honey essence was just intoxicating and so homey.
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mimzy-writing-online · 2 years ago
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Writing Clumsy Characters
This post includes tips on properly using clumsy characters as comic relief or as tension inducers, how to avoid clumsy character tropes, why people are clumsy and how the causes of that clumsiness might make them act, and includes tips on characters with ADHD, autism, and disabilities.
How To Write Clumsy Characters 
Do Not: substitute a genuine character flaw with clumsiness. Clumsiness is not a character flaw, it is not something that is wrong with a person or needs to be improved through honest character development. You cannot use clumsiness to cop out of giving your characters real human flaws. Emphasis on human flaws, because flawless characters are just the cardboard cut-outs of people, they’re there but are they really interesting.
Try Not: to make your character feel ashamed of being clumsy. It feels terrible to see clumsiness being shamed as something bad or embarrassing. People who are clumsy themselves will want to see clumsy characters treated nicely. So make your clumsy characters embrace their clumsiness and don’t let all your other characters bully them for it, but rather love them all the more for it.
What kind of characters should you attach the trait of clumsiness to?
Literally anyone. Boys, girls, main characters, secondary characters, background characters, villains, villain’s helpers, children, teens, adults, old people.
Clumsiness has many causes, many of them biological and non person specific, so literally anyone could be clumsy.
What causes clumsiness/People are clumsy in their own way
There are a lot of biological reasons for clumsiness and they all cause people to be clumsy in different ways.
People with poor situational awareness are not good at remembering everything in their environment and will often knock over things in their immediate area because they didn’t know or forgot something was there.
People with poor hand-eye coordination will not be good at catching things and will probably freak out when things are thrown at them because past experience has taught them that they are bad at catching things. They might even be bad at sports because of this.
People with inner ear imbalances will be unsteady on their feet, they may sway or knock into people. These are “tripping on air” type of people. They’re probably not great at sports either.
Children or teens who have had recent growth spurts and aren’t use to their new height, limb length, and strength. It takes a while to get used to a changed body. So maybe they’ll trip over their long legs or knock their head into something they use to be short enough not to worry about, like a low hanging door or banner or hanging house plant. This can (and probably should) apply to characters who had some massive body change, whether through science or magic. (Steve Rogers grew a foot in two minutes, and I know he’s a super soldier, but realistically he should have had a month or two where he wasn’t use to his new height and strength)
People with degenerative disorders that cause tremors will probably spill drinks or have trouble writing or have trouble doing small motor skill tasks. This is definitely something you should tread carefully with, and definitely do not make any other characters mock them for this. Chronic health issues, disabilities, and degenerative disorders are hard enough to live with without your family members and friends treating you like shit.
There are lots of reasons to be clumsy and it will make people act clumsy in their own manner.
If you want to use your characters clumsiness as some form of comic relief, here is how I recommend doing it
If you’re having a light-hearted moment between characters where friends and family are gathered round and joking and relaxed, it’s good to maybe have your clumsy character knock something over. Think a stack of papers or maybe spilling their drink or knocking into someone. Go back to what I said about a character not being shamed for being clumsy. This should be something your characters are used to. Your clumsy character laughs it off and their loved ones tease them lovingly about it but nobody is EVER made to feel bad about being clumsy.
In tense moments where a serious conversation is happening or someone is sneaking around trying not to get caught It’s fine to have your characters knock something over in this moment or to cause a little accidental and inconvenient mayhem. You can use it to increase tension because your character is afraid their tripping may lead to them getting caught. It may cause the serious, life or death, conversation to be halted for a moment as the conversationalists look at the character who knocked over a stack of books or broke a vase.
Your clumsy character is secretly dangerous and has some special fighting ability but outside of that special fighting ability they are a clumsy idiot. This particular example comes to mind because I’ve been rewatching Merlin, in which Merlin is a powerful wizard who must keep his magic a secret. He comes across as a clumsy idiot to all who know him but don’t know about his magic. In a way the clumsiness seems to hide just how dangerous Merlin actually is, and how lethal he can be (you don’t realize it at first, but Merlin kills quite a few people with his magic as the show goes on) I am of the belief that Merlin is still genuinely clumsy but maybe enhances it to appear especially harmless. Feel free to make your character dangerous and an excellent fighter of some kind, but clumsy outside of fighting. Or maybe they’re just pretending to be clumsy to seem harmless (but if we’re being honest here, it’s more fun if they’re genuinely clumsy anyway)
Clumsiness can be used to create inconvenient moments (a character getting caught or breaking something) but it can also be used to create convenient moments (they accidentally uncovered a clue or distracted someone who would have stopped the protagonist). These are great ways to include clumsiness into a character’s daily life, but there should be balance that for as many moments as clumsiness is convenient it is also inconvenient (and vice versa)
Disclaimer: the show Merlin refers to the character Merlin as a w*rlock but I’ve heard that word is offensive to some people of pagen or magic beliefs and out of respect to them I try to avoid using that word whenever possible. I usually stick to witch in my writing, since that is gender neutral.
Tired Tropes of Clumsy Characters
The clumsy female protagonist being saved from falling on her butt by the male love interest who catches her at just the right moment, usually with his arm around her waist or something. It’s very overdone in YA and because it’s over done it is now considered a no-no. It’s also not particularly realistic that someone would catch them at just the right moment unless they were super fast and had quick reflexes (in which case I guess it’s possible in Twilight, which is super guilty of it, but we’re not rewriting Twilight).
If you want, you can subvert this trope.
Step One: Alter the Gender Factor: maybe it’s not a clumsy girl protagonist and a fast, strong guy love interest. Maybe the guy is clumsy and not the girl. Maybe they’re both clumsy.  Maybe it’s just very gay with two guys, or two girls, or any mixture of gender identities from trans to non-binary to cis people. (I am a very clumsy non-binary person, and I’m very pan, it’s possible your character can be too)
Maybe the love interest does not catch your protagonist, but is very sweet and comforting when your character falls. Maybe the love interest is the clumsy one and the protagonist wants to help them when they fall. Maybe one does try to catch the other and they both fall. 
Maybe it’s not the love interest at all that comforts or tries to help the protagonist. Maybe it’s their best friend or their put upon sibling or a parent who lovingly teases them or a teacher who’s just being helpful because they just happened to be there.
Get creative with your circumstances.
Clumsiness in people who are not neuro-typical
In some cases, people who are not neuro-typical and have ADHD or are autistic might be clumsy. I’m not an expert on why that is, but I know it’s a common sign and I experience this myself and see this in friends. People with ADHD or who are autistic sometimes move in unique ways. They sway, balance on tip toes or on their heels, walk with their arms waving around. This is usually because that particular type of movement is enjoyable for them (stimming). There’s something calming or soothing about that type of movement. (or at least there is for me, I have ADHD). Because of this, their unique way of moving might appear to be clumsiness. But they are sometimes genuinely clumsy because they are not neuro-typical and maybe they lack the spacial or situational awareness or have poor eye hand coordination, which makes them clumsy.
Tread carefully here. This is not something you should turn into comic relief. Autistic people and people with ADHD are not here for your characters and readers to laugh at, they’re here to be people who are loved and respected just as much as able bodied and neuro typical people.
Disclaimer: this is not a guide for writing an autistic character or a character with ADHD. If you want to write a character like that, be my guest but please do your research. The best research you’ll ever get on writing a character with a specific condition is by reading stories from people who live with that specific condition themselves. There are lots of blogs run by people who live with ADHD, anxiety, depression, bipolar, and other mental disorders. There are lots of blogs run by people who are autistic. Read their stories and their experiences and always value their experiences over what articles written by neuro-typical and able bodied writers tell you. Those neuro-typical and able bodied people can’t tell you anything of value compared to someone who experiences what you’re writing about.
People with mental health disorders are not Web MD symptom lists.
People who are autistic are not Web MD symptom lists.
They’re people.
Clumsiness in people with disabilities or chronic health problems.
I’m going to tell you to tread carefully here again.
People who live with mobility and sensory disabilities may be more prone to clumsiness. That may be because of their disability, but it may also be because they were clumsy before they had this disability. 
This writer is visually impaired and I can tell you that I was clumsy before vision loss and continue to be the same level of clumsy, my vision loss didn’t chance that much.
People with degenerative disorders will lose muscle strength and coordination over time. This may result in spilling drinks or bad hand writing or not being able to fully lift something and dropping it.
People who have leg/arm injuries, chronic pain, muscle weakness, or nerve damage might struggle with walking or lifting things and sometimes they might fall, trip, or drop something.
This is not comic relief. Your disabled characters should never be laughed at, not by the narrator, the other characters, you, or your readers. They are not here for your characters and readers to laugh at. They deserve to be loved and respected the same as any able bodied or neuro-typical character.
I think that’s all I have for you on writing clumsy characters. If you have more to add, please feel free to add. If any of you want to reblog with links to other posts on how to write characters with ADHD, autism, or disabilities, please do. I’m sure someone who stumbled across this post is looking for most posts about writing characters who aren’t neuro-typical or able bodied. 
Follow this blog for more writing advice.
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diego-hargreeve2 · 2 years ago
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light in the dark
Part Sixteen
Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)
Ship: Diego Hargreeves x Original Character
Warnings: Language, abuse (emotional and physical), mental illness, violence and, in later chapters, smut.
It felt odd to hand over bills to Al at the door - every time Eudora has visited the gym on these fight nights before she’d been Diego’s guest. Often, she’d been in the gym before it even began, in the room he called home in a post-coital haze before heading out to meet his friends and watch the glorification of violence. To have come in from the cold and pulled cash out to hand over for the privilege of watching two men punch one another - a sight she had seen more times than she cared for, and normally intervened to stop - was a strange situation for her. But of course, she hadn’t really come to watch.
Hands sliding into her jacket pockets she scanned the room, searching for a familiar face - and finding it. She wove through the crowd to Diego, studying him curiously with an eye experienced both in assessing people and understanding him specifically. 
He looked happy. These were the nights Diego seemed the most himself, Patch had always thought that. The bitter edge and old anger that tainted his soul when he was on the streets was gone. Surrounded by friends in a setting where he excelled those hard edges fell, and you could see who he might have been in a different life - somebody with a ready smile and quick tongue, who laughed easily and made others laugh too, a wide, almost sloppy grin crossing his face frequently. Without realising it she was smiling, her own expression nostalgic. 
Whilst Diego was tall, six foot in his bare feet, she’d guess his new girlfriend was maybe five foot five and she had to get closer to spot her tucked under his muscled arm. Patch remembered how...almost clingy Diego could be, eager for touch and bodily contact in a way that she had found frustrating at times, but Eve looked content. She was leaned against him, one hand lifted, and fingers entwined with his that dangled from her shoulder. Her hair was pulled up today in a ponytail, away from her face, and the fear that had kept her expression taut last time they met was gone. She still looked nervous, her own smile close lipped and her body tucked close into him as though seeking shelter, but it seemed more like somebody not used to crowds than somebody outright scared.
It was the others that spotted her first, his friends who’d grown used to her presence in the past, and they greeted her by calling out her name, a clamour of attention enveloping her and drawing her into their circle of conversation. Diego flashed a grin, only Eve’s expression was neutral at the sight of the detective even though she offered a polite, mumbled greeting. 
“What brings you down to this part of town - slumming it, Eudora? Or just missing me?” Diego asked, throwing her a wink - but Patch watched Eve more closely than her ex, the way she tilted her head up to study Diego’s face as though to determine how she should react, a flicker of confusion crossing her features.
“No chance Hargreeves. I just came to see how you’re treating Eve - thought I’d see if she needed rescuing from your brand of trouble”. It was phrased as a joke, and drew laughter from the rest of the group, but she had some serious intent behind the words. 
She didn’t miss that as the excitement of her arrival settled and the group fell into several conversations, his friends taking the opportunity to catch up on her life over the past couple of years since the end of her relationship with Diego, Eve remained silent. Because of Patch’s presence? She thought not, nobody seemed surprised at the fact she listened rather than interjected. 
When Al began to announce the first fight Diego stepped back, the others wishing him luck, as he took Evie’s hand in his and headed for the changing rooms to get completely ready.
“She doesn’t watch the fight with you guys?” Patch said, nodding to Eve’s retreating back and Nigel’s girlfriend Zoe shook her head.
“Evie doesn’t like the fighting. First time she came here she ran off. She waits out back and when Diego returns, she’ll be with him”. The comment contained clear judgement, the redhead rolling her eyes, but to Patch it fitted with what she had guessed about the blonde. 
She bided her time waiting - and during the second round of Diego’s match Patch excused herself, muttering something about the bathroom, but once she was away from the group, she headed down the stairs out the back of the gym to the boiler room. Nothing out here had changed, except to get shabbier, as she approached the old door. Rapping her knuckles against her she didn’t wait for a response before easing the handle down and opening it up. 
At the noise Eve had tensed - it couldn’t be either Diego or Al on a night this busy - but she didn’t have time to wonder or worry before Detective Patch appeared. Nothing about her relaxed at the sight, the visitor unexpected even if recognised. 
“Hey Eve” she said, not crossing the room to where the blonde sat cross legged in a chair. Patch stayed near the door even as she closed it behind her, leaning on the railing, her elbows on the crossbar and her hands clasped loosely in the air. “Zoe mentioned you don’t like the fighting; figured I’d come keep you company”. It was intended to sound friendly, but it clearly was less than effective. 
Evie watched the other woman nervously, offering a hesitant smile before realising that it was her turn to speak. Her mind churned rapidly, attempting to find a suitable response.
“Okay” she managed after a moment, inwardly cursing herself.
Patch tipped her head slightly, considering, and even though she had thought the comment Zoe offered which was so clearly judgemental and unimpressed with Eve was harsh…she now wondered what Diego saw in the girl. He’d never shown a preference, or any particular interest, in quiet girls before.
“So, you’re not a fan of boxing then?” For a moment Evie looked at the other woman, pulling her sleeves slightly to tug the tight sleeves down and cover her palms and fingers, lest they glow and betray her, while she considered a response before shaking her head.
Revealing that she’d seen more than her fair share of violence in her life – and been the subject of most of it – was more than she cared to admit. Patch was Diego’s friend, she accepted that. But she was a cop as well. The same people that hurried her along as though she were an inconvenience and an eyesore, instead of a young woman just trying to get some rest and who might be in need help. Police turned a blind eye to the abuses the Elder inflicted on the church; when she left, she and Sarah had tried to raise it at the local station and the sheriff just brushed them off. Trusting somebody who was part of that institution felt unsafe, and Eve didn’t dare share her history.
“How’d you meet Diego?” Eudora asked for a moment, hoping an outright question would be easier for the blonde to respond to than a statement or leading remarks.
“He saved me” she offered after a pause, figuring from the first time she met Patch that the police officer knew exactly what Diego spent his nights doing. “Some guys were harassing me. He stopped them”.
“That didn’t seem strange to you? Didn’t ring alarm bells?” Eve shrugged again.
“I’ve read Vanya’s book. And I can put two and two together. I figured out who he was” she admitted. Patch nodded, considering that. So – quiet, young, scared of people and fond of men with a superhero complex. It still raised many questions. She nodded toward the chair facing Evie, wondering if the physical distance between them was adding to the difficulties and the blonde shrugged and then nodded. She would have preferred Patch left in truth – but she wasn’t going to outright insult Diego’s friends. Or, in truth, make an honest statement which could lead to confrontation. Patch moved, coming to sit in the other seat, one leg draped over the other.
“How long ago was this? How long have you been together?”
Eve calculated, clearly counting on her fingers from the way they folded and unfolded themselves. Her education had been limited, and even these days math was not her strongest suit.
“We met…about five and a half months ago? And we’ve been together…just over three months…I think”. Dates were not of huge importance in her world, she didn’t have to sit at a desk and ensure she accurately recorded things, didn’t think about payday or when bills were due. But she was reasonably sure in her estimates.
“Still early days then” Eudora said with a smile.
“How long have you known him?” Eve asked. If she was being questioned, she supposed it was fair game to turn it out, and even though Diego had told her she was interested to know Patch’s side. Relaxing against the chair back the brunette exhaled slowly as she cast her mind back.
“Eight years now? Yeah, it must be eight” she said, remembering police academy. Eve caught the look on the other’s face that seemed nostalgic, reminiscing, and decided to pursue the matter – even if only so that she wouldn’t have to come up with answers to questions herself.
“What was he like back then?”
There was a chuckle before words as Patch remembered.
“Even spikier than he is now” she admitted. “Fresh out of his family home – he was all sharp edges and anger, and everyone rubbed him up the wrong way.  He was always picking fights” Patch said, turning her gaze back to Eve and noting how the blonde’s expression had lost some of the guarded look. More stories about Diego then. She could manage that.
“I mean – if you think he can be bad with people and bitter now – seriously, this is the new improved Diego” Patch said, deliberately trying to turn it into a joke and feeling mollified at the way Eve smiled. So, there was a human in there.
“If you’ve read the book…I mean, all those rules? It’s no way to raise kids. And Diego’s response to rules is to decide they don’t apply to him. At the academy, there are a lot of rules and he spent a lot – I mean, a lot – of time running laps and doing press ups as punishment for testing all those rules”.
“Did you all know who he was? That he’d been one of the Hargreeves children?” Eve asked, warming up despite herself.
“Yeah. It came up early on. Back then…now, the idea of the Umbrella Academy…it’s been gone for years. But it was still recent news – and so local – that yeah, we knew. There were a group of guys who seemed to think they had to teach him he wasn’t a hero anymore. Called him the Kraken all the time and winding him up. They ended up getting beaten up by him. Four on one and he still won” Patch told him, watching Eve’s face, the way her eyes had lit up at these stories Diego hadn’t shared. The way she was actually very pretty when she lost that wary, watchful gaze.
“For that, he had to run laps for two hours. That’s how I met him”.
“Were you in trouble too?”
“Me?” She laughed briefly. “I was just training. Unlike Diego, I believe in rules”. Taking advantage of Eve relaxing slightly she tried to turn the conversation back to them. “So how many guys did he take on to save you?”
“Three. I didn’t make him run any laps though” she said, deadpan. That made Patch laugh properly.
She had hoped Diego’s fight would go the full twelve rounds and give her a chance to learn more about Eve. Unfortunately for her Diego’s opponent tonight was not aware of his part in her plan.
He was light enough on his feet they hadn’t heard him on the stairs, the first realisation that the match was over was him bursting through the door, shirtless and dripping with sweat, his lip split, and raised his fists over his head in victory. Both women smiled at the sight of them; it was hard not to be touched by how genuinely pleased he looked with his triumph.
Spotting Eudora stopped him in his tracks, and he dropped his arms, confused. He had intended to come and tell Eve about his victory, but the sight of Patch threw all that off.
“What’re you doing down here?”
“Nice to see you too Hargreeves” she responded dryly. Diego grabbed a towel, rubbing the fabric along his arms as he walked down the steps, coming to stand beside Eve’s chair. She stood up, one hand on his arm as she guided him to sit down and he threw her a brief grateful smile as she perched on the furniture’s arm and he took her vacated seat.
“Not an answer to my question” he pointed out, draping the towel around his neck, one hand moving to settle on the curve of Eve’s hip. His gaze briefly hovered on her ass, so close to him, but he shook that thought away. Later. When they were alone and could properly celebrate his victory.
“I came to check on Eve. I hear she’s not fond of boxing and thought I’d keep her company”.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, suspicious of her intentions still and her intense interest in his new girlfriend, his fingers hooking onto Eve a little tighter as though to protect her. Diego knew Patch wouldn’t be out to hurt anyone intentionally, but it was still a strange situation – a first for them both though, they hadn’t had to deal with either one having a new partner since their relationship ended. She always said she was too busy for dating, and he’d been too hung up.
“You’re not a big fan either” he pointed out and Eudora shrugged, standing up with a suppressed smile. Her goal had been to speak to Eve alone, with Diego here that was no longer possible. Alternatively, she’d have settled for getting the chance with talk with him properly but discussing Eve in front of her face wasn’t going to look good, not when he was clearly so protective. Patch had manners, even if he didn’t.
“All the more reason for me to come down here and chat with her” Patch said, her voice tired. There was something here that she hadn’t figured out yet, she was sure of that. It concerned her on Diego’s behalf, but he was so unused to anyone looking out for him he would get prickly if she tried to explain that. If she’d had more time…she shook her head very slightly to get the thought out.
“I’ll go catch up with the others. See you in a minute” she said, offering Eve a smile before leaving the basement. No sooner had she gone, and Diego’s was turning Eve to face him, pulling her legs onto his lap.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine” she insisted.
“What did she want?” he asked, frowning very slightly.
“Like she said – she came to keep me company. Asked how long we’d been together, how we met, just stuff like that” Eve assured him. “So – you won?”
“Knock out in the third round” he bragged. “What’s my prize?”
Leaning down she kissed him.
“That’s all you get for now. You’ve got friends waiting”.  
@lovinglydiego @klausbutgayer @reblogserpent @me125 @fatbottomedcurls @mrsdiegohargreeves @carryon-doctor-lock @rhymesmenagerie
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ontherockswithsalt · 2 years ago
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The Fortunate Fall
aka I Don’t Know Why I Wrote This.
A/N: Hey, was a highschool!Joble AU missing from your life? No? Well here’s one anyway lol. This is the first part of a two-part short story (a two-shot?) that I felt like writing. 
This one’s in Noble’s POV and I appreciate that his ass needs saving no matter the universe. Language warning applies. Word count: 1,821
“It's just fucking stupid, that's all,” I complain.
Jamie glances up at me from the spiral notebook on his lap as I pace his room.
“What, you think I'm an idiot? You think I'm not gonna graduate just because of some paper?”
“I didn't say that,” he maintains. “Mr. Craig said that.”
“Yeah well Greg Craig can suck my dick,” I mutter, glancing up the tower of Jamie's CDs sitting next to his stereo.
I hear his mumbled “Nice” from the floor behind me. “What do you normally do?” He wonders. “Bullshit your way through your assignments, or do you actually read?”
“There's something to be said for the art of bullshitting,” I argue. “It'll probably get me farther in life than understanding Paradise Lost. You like Radiohead?” I turn and hold up the jewel case for OK Computer.
He lifts his gaze once more. “Yeah.”
I look at him and consider it for a moment. Not what I would have guessed.
Jamie only turns his gaze back down for a second before it self consciously finds mine again. “What?” He exhales a soft laugh.
“Can I put this on?” I propose, feeling the curve of a persuasive smile at the corner of my lips.
His cheek twitches a little before he returns a faint shake of his head. “Sure. And then this draft is back on you, alright? I'm almost done.”
“What do you think so far?” I question as I eject the disc and switch it with my pick. “You're awfully quiet.”
“... A flawed contradiction of a villainous hero,” Jamie recites. “--The Devil glorifies freedom but remains the prisoner of his own ego.”
His voice with my words makes some kind of heat flicker in the pit of my chest that I tell myself to ignore while I concentrate on finding the track I want.
“Did you write that?” He asks. “Or was that Amy?”
“What do you mean was that Amy?”
“Isn’t she your girlfriend?” He murmurs. “Thought she wrote all your papers for you.”
I swallow hard, reaching up to scratch the back of my head while I turn around. “She's not my girlfriend. We broke up a long time ago.”
“Oh.”
I shrug. “I wrote it. Is that so hard to believe?”
He lets a moment -- filled only with the mellow hum of the dreamy song -- hang there before he shifts back against the side of his bed. “It's pretty good.”
Breathing out a quiet laugh, I lower my weight to join him on the floor. “Pretty good.”
“I mean compared to some of your horseshit I had to read earlier in the semester.”
My brows pull together, half offended, half amused that Jamie would attempt an insult when we hardly know each other. Outside of forced tutoring sessions at the library, and this particular time, at his house, we run in completely different circles.
I scoff but a smile surfaces on my face anyway. “Look, I know this shit. I just have better things to do.”
“He knows it, but he had better things to do,” Jamie echoes. “Cool, maybe they'll print that on your diploma.” He glances down as he crosses out a line on the notebook, then writes something in the margin. “You know it doesn't make a difference when it comes to your transcript, don't you? Whether you don't understand and can't do the work, or you do know and just choose not to work, either way, you fail. So if you can do the work, why let yourself fail?”
“Believe it or not, not everybody cares about their fucking transcript.”
“Then what's the point, Noble?” He shrugs, tossing my notebook to the floor before he stretches back. “I mean why even show up to school at all? Why are you here wasting my time?”
“Your time?” My eyebrows raise.
“You think I don't have better things to do? You have one AP class, I have six. And varsity track. And I work. And somehow I've been in charge of making sure your ass graduates.”
“It's a heavy burden, huh?” I quip. “What, am I supposed to have sympathy for you?”
“I don't want sympathy.”
“You think any of that matters ten years from now?” I narrow my gaze at him. “AP classes and your transcript and how far up your teachers’ asses you got in high school?”
“I don't know. Look me up in ten years and we'll see.”
Adjusting, I scoot down to rest on my side, propping my head up on my hand and I have to laugh. “I will. I'll call you when I get out of rehab and see how you're doing.”
A reluctant grin grazes his face, pulling at his cheek and it amuses me. He shakes his head. “Good to know you have a plan.”
I study his face for a moment, the way it changes with his smile as he glances away. I reach out for the pen that he dropped and tap the end on the notebook. “So what's the verdict? Good enough?” Then I slide the pen behind my ear.
Jamie glances over at me and tilts his head. “I made some corrections. I think you need to expand on your argument in a couple of the paragraphs.”
“But overall--” Then I blink up at him from where I lay across the floor, my eyebrows jumping with a convincing grin. “Thumbs up?”
Another huff of amusement blows out from him. “You need an A on this paper to bring your grade up.”
“Yeah.”
“It's not there yet.”
A frustrated grunt escapes me and I turn to roll into my back. Reaching over, I undo the top button on my rumpled white uniform shirt that I'm still wearing before I manage to sit up.
“I know you have better things to do,” He reminds me. “But--” Then he picks up the notebook and tosses it in my lap. “Don't just drop it. Because it's good. Get it done, alright?” 
With a bored nod, I grasp the notebook and slowly get to my feet. “Awesome.”
Jamie shifts to stand up and without a thought, my arm reaches out. His hand clasps mine and with a flexed tension in my forearm that he matches, I tug him upright. From his own momentum, his chest collides with mine before he works his way a step back.
I swing my hand out to smack the side of his arm but somehow, damn that got my heart all hot. 
“Ah… I'm gonna take off,” I announce before I bend over to retrieve the beat up paperback.
We make our way downstairs, through his big, quiet house. His kitchen glows, warm and dim from a single lamp on a far counter and I glance around for signs of anyone else. I know Jamie has a few brothers or sisters or a few of each, I can’t remember. But I know they’re all older and out of the house.
I hear shifting and movement from a room across the way and figure his parents are still up.  
“Jamie?”
“Yeah mom.”
“You wanna come in here?”
I glance over at Jamie and point a thumb to the door, shooting him a hopeful look that I can just slip out.
He wordlessly reads it and shakes his head before tipping it toward the adjacent room, giving me a murmured, “Come on.”
Leading me to a study, he stretches into the doorway and I peer in from behind him to see his mom and dad sharing sections from the newspaper between two arm chairs.
“This is Noble Sanfino.” Jamie introduces with a quick gesture over his shoulder.
“Hi, Noble,” his mother smiles.
I see his dad lift his chin over the paper before he folds it closed. “Sanfino,” he echoes with this contemplative note that I definitely don’t miss.
My mouth is suddenly parched and I swallow hard standing just opposite this imposing man who everyone knows is some big deal police captain or Marine or both. I don’t know, but I’ll pass on divulging any more information. Instead I silently summon some kind of will that he isn't able to figure out the joint I smoked on my way over here… And the other one in my pocket.
“Uh, yes,” I confirm. “Noble. Nice to meet you.”
“He's in my English Lit class,” Jamie explains. “We were working on a paper.”
“Is that your Nine-Eleven outside?” His father questions.
I clear my throat. “Yes, sir.”
Blinking hard, he merely responds with a nod. “Quite a car.”
“What's the paper on?” His mom cuts in.
“Um, Paradise Lost,” Jamie pipes up. “John Milton.”
“Oh boy,” she retorts and reaches out to take the section from Mr. Reagan.
“Felix Culpa,” his father muses.
His wife hums a soft little laugh as she folds the paper. “The fortunate fall, huh?”
The fuck?
Jamie drops a hand hard on my shoulder and starts to turn me out of the room. “Exactly,” he mutters. “It’s pretty brutal. Come on.”
I manage a some semblance of a goodbye before I head to the door in the kitchen. With a simple see ya later, take it easy exchange, Jamie sees me out, closes the door between us and I blow out a heavy breath as my hand dips for my car keys.
Out on the driveway, I tug open my black Porsche and sink inside. There’s a heat along the back of my neck, in my throat that I can’t get to go away. Cops make me tense in general, so it’s no surprise that Jamie’s dad gets me all uptight, just sitting there. But it’s something else.
Something about Jamie’s quiet confidence in class. He has this way of making everybody feel like an asshole. But when I’m alone with him, he elicits some kind of… calming honesty from me and it’s like he doesn’t even try.
I struggle with what that means for a moment. Why I go home and wish I could keep talking to him when up until this year, I’d never bothered.  Like maybe there’s some other tie I have to him that I can’t remember.
With a shake of my head, I push my key in the ignition and twist my wrist to start it. But I’m only met with a gritty, unpleasant rattle and I let go. A brief wave of dread dips through me and my brow furrows at the unfamiliar noise. I stretch my fingers and take hold of the key once more, turn it and the engine fails to come alive, stuttering a hopeless scratch once more until I release it.
“Goddammit,” I whisper and sink back against the leather seat.
My gaze flicks over to the book on my passenger seat, then the brick house in front of me. Drawing a deep inhale to my chest, I push open the driver’s side door and sigh, “Quite a fucking car indeed.”
...part 2 for another day...
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pens-swords-stuff · 2 years ago
Note
20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in ours 25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? 33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? 36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?
I’ll answer these for fae!Callisto since I think she’s the only one who #20 applies to! my fantasy WIPs don’t have characters yet because they’re still in the early stages of worldbuilding,,, hrg
I don’t talk about fae!Callisto a whole lot, so here’s a quick explanation. This is for an urban fantasy WIP called For Queen and Country I have going with McHaggis (@decantae) that takes place in London. It’s recently been revealed to the world and general public that supernatural creatures like vampires, werewolves, ghosts, etc., exist, and the story follows how both humans and supernatural creatures alike deal with this reveal. Callisto in FQAC is a winter fae who has been sent to the human world as a result of this reveal.
20) If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do?
So this is actually a decent part of Callisto’s story in FQAC; she’s a winter fae who has never been to the human world, but she has to pretend to be a human for a little while. She’s super fascinated by the ingenuity of humans and what they can do without magic, but also pretty overwhelmed at how different everything is. Coming to the human world is Callisto’s first real taste of freedom, so she’s going to spend a lot of time exploring and following every whim she has. There’s going to be a lot of wandering around at nighttime.
25) What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them?
Callisto was originally made for Morsmordre, a Harry Potter fanfiction. I go more into detail about how she was created here. I’ll be talking more about how fae!Callisto was created in particular for this.
So FQAC was a setting that McHaggis had created a while ago, and had returned to recently at that point — it predates Morsmordre, I believe. Now that it was being brought back, and now that we had our Morsmordre characters, it was only natural for us to start discussing a FQAC AU for them because we put our characters in literally everything. It was extremely obvious to me that Callisto would be a winter fae because she already had a lot of cold imagery and symbolism. 
Although fae!Callisto is arguably deadlier and more manipulative that her HP counterpart, I think that as a character she is much mellower. Being sent to the human world allows her a chance to breathe and figure out who she is outside of the dangerous fae politics — and she likes that person very much. There’s a certain innocence that fae!Callisto has that Morsmordre!Callisto doesn’t, and that just kind of developed naturally when I started writing for her.
33) Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why?
Yes. In fact, it’s not a matter of would she ever kill anyone — she already has. The Unseelie court is extremely dangerous, and with an aptitude for death magic, murder is a thing. She doesn’t like it, but sometimes murder is the most efficient way to get rid of a problem. However, she usually tries other methods before resorting to killing someone.
In FQAC there is a lot at stake for her — notably, the reputation of the unseelie fae, so she is much more reluctant to kill anyone. The Seelie fae have already began tarnishing the image of the Unseelie, and killing someone will make it much harder to remedy that. Also she lives with a cop in the human world, and she doesn’t want to set off any warning bells.
Even in the human world though, she’ll kill someone if it means that she’ll survive. So for example, if she gets attacked and can’t get away, she would kill someone. If someone stands in the way of her mission and refuses to budge, she’ll cut them down.
36) What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?
Callisto wants freedom and companionship the most. Her entire life — she’s a fae so she’s several hundred years old at this point — she’s had no freedom because she’s been forced to take part in fae politics to further her parents’ status. She also never had anyone that she could trust and be friends with because everyone around her was a potential enemy — she had to be distrustful since any of them might stab her in the back.
She would give up anything and everything for those two things. She would leave behind the fae world, all of the riches, influences and titles she has there. And in a way… She does sacrifice everything.
Thanks so much for asking, it was fun! :) Sorry for the late reply, it took some time before I could get to this.
Send me OC asks!
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catlya · 3 years ago
Text
Waging My Wars
Requested by @werewitchling
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TimXReader
The reader is training to become a hero Dick and the reader go out on a sort of trial run, one night When suddenly a past fear rises in the reader that no one was aware of, Causing immense panic.
I hope you enjoy this and I'm sorry for the very long wait!
********
”Are you ready yet Y/N?” Dick sad exasperated all the while banging his head against the bathroom door. You yelled back telling him to be patient. Causing him to huff and leaning his weight on his head against the door.
You swung the door open suddenly causing him to fall. You junked out of the way quickly but there was no need. Dick easily shifted his weight and did a front flip to catch himself.
You rolled your eyes ”Show off.” then you walked out leaving Dick to follow you. As you reached to middle of the Bat Cave close to Dick and your bike you saw two familiar people leaning against two other bikes near by.
”Tim!” you yelled running towards him, ”I thought you had plans tonight?” you said as you ran throwing yourself into his arms when you got close. He laughed and wrapped his arms around you.
”I wouldn't miss my favorite girls first night patrol. I'm only here to see you off though, I promise. I know how much you want to do this alone it's bad enough Dick is insisting to go.” you laughed at his words and nodded but a defensive Dick spoke up.
”I need to make sure she's ready for this Tim. She needs to be closely monitored at first for protection.” you turned and glared at him as much as you could while being squished in Tims arms.
Tim shook his head then told Dick to ’shove it’ but not those words exactly.
”Anyway Y/N, I hope you enjoy your time out. You can do it I know you can.”
You smiled a but teary at Tims words and nodded ”Thank you, Tim.” you lifted your head and kissed him slowly.
You heard a cough to your left and you broke apart. ”Hi nice to see you too YN, I'm good, haven't died in a while at least.” you laughed at Jason's rant. He was only messing around something he did quite often.
You pecked Tim again and the turned to Dick and walked past him heading for your bike. Tim waved and yelled to you both ”Be safe!” you waved back and pulled your helmet on and started your bike. You revved it and then raced forward towards the cave exit.
Dick followed close behind. He tried to pass you a few times but you only laughed and pushed the bike further. You had Tim work on yours and modify it there was no way Dick could pass it.
Once outside the cave you swereved left and headed to Gotham’s Port the agreed place to start that night of patrol. Eventually you lost sight of Dick and you couldn’t help but imagine his frustration.
As you raced through town you watched the people walking about around you. Some were out for a night on the town while others were grocery shopping.
It was always fun to see that not all of Gotham was corrupt. At least not always.
You countinued on stopping your people watching. Finally you reached the port. You tucked your bike away in a shopping container. Then sat down waiting for Dicks slow a** to arrive.
A few minutes later you heard the roar of his bike as he turned the corner. The made a quick stop jumping off. He glared at you to which you responded with a laugh.
“Are you mad I left you in the dust?” You said with fake sympathy. “Poor Dicky Poo!” You busted out laughing at his annoyance. He shook his head then placed his bike beside yours.
“Not funny Y/N what if you’d gotten lost? Or in an accident? Do you want me murdered by Bruce or worse Tim?” You sobered up at his words and sighed.
“You take the fun out of everything.” You mumbled. “I’ll have you know many lady’s say I bring the fun all-“ you waved your hands interrupting his speech.
“Dick! I don’t need to hear that about my brother!” You groaned not being able to shake the image out of your head. Dick went quiet as you grossed out for a second.
When you noticed his silence you looked up to see him smiling at you widely obviously overjoyed. Then you remembered what you had said. It was the first time you’d called him your brother.
You smiled back at him then turned around towards the incoming board of the ports. “Alright so where should we start? Im thinking maybe on the-“ suddenly you were lifted up and you struggled for a moment before looking down and realizing Dick was hugging you.
You rolled your eyes then patted his head. “Yeah, yeah I get it you lug head.”
You set you down still holding you close and you giggled slightly at his overjoyed behavior. “As I was saying I think we should start from section 3 making our way up to one.” He nodded and quickly you were off I work.
Well after you convinced him to stop hugging you....
*****
After an hour you’d finished the port and began to work your way back into the city. You were on the ground scouting out around a local hardware store with a small bank next to it.
“Anything?” You heard over the com
“No, I think it’s clear.” Dick jumped down off the roof where he’d stationed himself.
“Alright then right here’s where we’re going to hold your first hands on session.” He put his hands behind him and the pulled around a grappling gun. Immediately you looked at it with distaste.
“I know you’ve had a bad experience with one before but it’s definitely a necessary tool. So you have to get over it.” He said firmly in a no nonsense tone.
What he was wanting was easier said then done. You remembered your trauma quite clearly. You’d only been 8 when your idiocy scared you forever.
Just to add to the embarrassment it was even the first time you met Tim. You had just moved in with Bruce not too long before and you’d already found out about his nightly activities.
Mostly because even back then you were extremely nosy and had a knack for figuring things out. Plus you stalked him, that helped.
You’d watched him disappear behind the grandfather clock one night and decided to follow him. You sat on the stairs down to the cave until he’d left in the BatMobile.
“Whoah!” You said joyously at the large cave that for some reason looked like a play place to you.
You ran around giggling until you found an area set up specifically for all of Batman’s gadgets. Your eyes zoned in on one in particular that looked like a toy gun. You’d had one before and remembered how fun it was to play cops and robbers.
So, of course, you wanted it.
Only problem was it was against the wall and you were incredibly small for your age so the large table holding other gadgets was in your way.
You huffed then looked around for something to stand on. You saw two spare tires and quickly moved towards them to grab them. However they were too heavy so you had to find something else.
You glanced around and finally you saw a slidey chair in front of a big computer. You giggled then ran and grabbed it. You punched it to the table and climbed onto it carefully.
Finally you’d gained access to your new treasure as you pulled it off the wall. You jumped down off the chair then started running around making “pew, pew.” Noises with your mouth.
Getting bored of that after a bit you started to look at the gun and smiled widely when you remembered the trigger. You looked around for something to be the bad guy in your game.
You suddenly saw a giant dinasour and wondered how you hadn’t seen it before.
Oh well it was the bad guy now.
You aimed your new gun at it and then...you fired.
The gun shot out a string something you definitely didn’t expect. You jumped causing the string to shoot higher it then wrapped around a metal beam holding the ceiling. You groaned then began piling on it but it wasn’t comeing back.
Then you did the dumbest thing you’d ever thought of. You jumped up grabbing hold of the rope pulling your feet off the ground applying all your weight to the rope.
Then suddenly it began to pull you up. At first it was slow then it slung you up making you scream as it moved so fast. I’m a split second you were against the bean dangling from the rope.
You looked down at the suddenly very far away floor then up at the, what looked like, very small fragile rope. Even if now you know it’s actually a very strong material at the time it looked very unreliable.
You looked back down at the floor and tears began streaming down your face. Then you screamed Bloody Murder. It echoed around the cave amplifying the fear in your voice.
You did that for a while when suddenly you heard the clank of the grandfather clock opening. In ran a bewildered Alfred. “Miss Y/N!” Close behind him ran in a boy about your age.
“Whoah how’d you do that, stupid.”
His words only managed to make you cry harder. He rolled his eyes then walked away leaving a frantic Alfred running under you. Then you fell, the rope began to descend dropping you very quickly from the ceiling.
Luckily the frantic Alfred managed to catch you. From that night on you were terrified of not only heights but grappling hooks as well. You’d also began to make fun of Tim quite a lot just as he had if you that night.
However that’s a story for another time.
“Hey!” You blinked and shook our head to see a very angry/worried Dick.
“Are you done spaceing off? It’s time to get to work.” You nodded and he sighed then walked behind you placeing the gun in your hand.
“Aim it at the top of that community building.” I did then you shot it and it hooked successfully the first time.
Of course.
He then walked back around you a proud smile on his face. “Good job now all ou have to pull the rope and it’ll lift you up. As you know already I’m sure.” You glared at his teasing then took a huge breath and pulled.
It launched you up as it had the last time. Only as it almost was completely back in the gun you swung yourself up onto the building and pulled the gun with you.
You executed it perfectly and you were so happy. You looked down and your happy expression dropped from your face....it was so far away.
You tried to calm down, tried to focus on something, anything else. It didn’t work though and you felt your chest constricting and you fall down. You pull yourself into a fetal position trying to focus but you weren’t able to at all.
Unknown to you Dick had also grappled his way to the top beside you. Once he noticed your position he panicked and kneeled down beside you. “Y/N? Y/N!” He screamed trying to check you over. You didn’t appear hurt in anyway.
He tried to pick you up but you began to scream so he quickly let you go. He sat down on the ground beside your curled up and sobbing body. He stroked your hair and then pulled out his phone.
“Dick, what’s wrong?” Answered Tim.
“Tim it’s Y/N!”
“I’m tracking you now.” With that he hung up and Dick was left alone yet again with your broken form.
He pulled you as close as he could then put his head on yours whispering to you that Tim was on his way.
****
“Y/N?” You heard.
You peeked out and saw Tim with a sympathetic smile. You leaped out of your position into his arms burying your head in his neck.
”Tim...” you whispered trying your best to hold it together.
”Shut up, stupid.” you smiled slightly at the name.
He did nothing but hold you for a while. One thing was for sure you were so happy to have someone help you. To have someone there for you.
Once you'd calmed down you lifted your head and began apologizing.
”I'm sorry for interrupting your work.” you sniffled a bit trying to wipe your tears.
Tim grabbed your hands and pulled them to his lips. ”Y/N it wasn't important, darling. Don't feel bad.” you nodded and pulled him close. He laid his head on your chest and closed his eyes.
”I love you.” he whispered, you smiled and looked down at him ”I love you too.”
You heard a cough behind you and turned. There stood Dick a small smile on his face.
“I’m glad you feel better Y/N. Time to get back to work!”
You groaned and Tim laughed
“Save me.” You whispered to him
He laughed and put his head against yours.
“You have to do something for me first.” He whispered back you smiled then asked what and he replied.
“Admit that your just slightly stupid.” You glared at him you didn’t expect that but really you should have.
Dick bust out laughing with Tim and you stared at him as he did so. No matter what you new Tim would be there if you needed him to help wage your wars. Just as you would be there for his.
And that alone made you feel damn good.
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