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sardonic-sprite · 1 year

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Home Alone

Some days, Tim was really fucking glad to have Batman for a next-door neighbor.

He couldn't exactly remember a time when he was quite this glad or relieved, though. He'd never been on the verge of being kidnapped before.

But that was ok. He wasn't going to be kidnapped.

He had a plan.

Call the police would probably have been more rational, but the power was all still dead from the snowstorm, and Tim figured the roads to Bristol were blocked up, too. At the very least, his driveway was, and it was long enough to be considered its own short road.

Stupid fucking snowstorm. It was its fault that Tim's parents couldn't get back in town, and that he was alone and trying not to end up kidnapped on Christmas.

But it was ok. Because he wouldn't. Because he had a plan. And about two hours to set it into motion. And if it failed, the kidnappers were probably just going to be so pissed they'd kill Tim, so technically his goal of don't get kidnapped would still be met.

Technicalities were usually much more fun.

Tim ran around the house in a frenzy, darting glances out the window every few minutes to make sure the creepy men hadn't gotten any closer. But no, they were still huddled around their fires out in the yard, waiting for him to surrender.

Big fat nope to that one. Tim didn't know who they were working for, or why that guy wanted an eleven-year-old kid, but he knew it was most definitely for something very bad, and he wasn't interested in the particulars.

He paused, shuddering at the thought that entered his head, then scattered a few more Lego pieces on the floor.

The thing was, Tim could neither call for help nor run away while the power was out and the bad guys were surrounding the house. But if he got them inside the house, and made sure they couldn't follow, then he could race across the half-mile stretch to the property line. Crossing that would trigger Batman's security, and he'd come and investigate and bring Tim somewhere safe and beat up the bad guys, and maybe even be impressed at how clever and resourceful Tim had been.

Of course, even getting outside hinged on how many bad guys actually did come inside, and how many got caught in Tim's traps long enough to give him a head start. The traps had never been tested, after all, and Tim only had time for so many math calculations to determine their effectiveness. Drake Manor was also so large that he couldn't sufficiently cover it. He'd have to guide the bad guys where he wanted them to go.

Which meant he was using himself as live bait.

... It was gonna be fine.

The clock began striking nine as Tim finished his second-floor traps and double-checked the wiring. His heartbeat was going crazy in his chest, and he took deep, slow breaths in time with the chimes to steady himself. If he hyperventilated and passed out, he was worse than dead.

"TIMOTHY DRAKE," boomed the voice that had called out before, somehow magnified so that each word was perfectly clear, "THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED. REFUSE, AND WE WILL USE ALL FORCE TO APPREHEND YOU."

Tim threw open the nearest window and stuck his head out, squinting against the snow to see the nearest fire. He didn't know if the man was at that one or not, but it didn't matter. He was sure his cry of "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE! EAT SHIT!" was heard by all.

He slammed the window shut as the voice yelled furiously and sprinted down the stairs, skipping over the wires and traps. He wasn't sure how many were going to enter in each direction, but the first landing was the best place to bring them all closer.

Tim had to wait there for several minutes, anxiety building, before he heard the first cry of pain. It sounded like it came from the front door, and Tim smirked, thinking of the heavy vase that had just gotten shattered over the bad guy's head.

Strangled swearing erupted from the kitchen where superglue had stolen shoes to bare feet to a sea of Legos. A howl rose from the living room where a hot plate had been set under the window.

"DRAKE!"

"Last chance to surrender!" Tim hollered mockingly, wiping sweaty hands on his pants.

Screams and a terribly loud bang meant that his flashbomb had successfully blinded someone, and the most creative swear Tim had ever heard in his life confirmed that sticking his mother's sewing needles into the grey carpet had been a stroke of genius.

"You will pay for this, you insolent whelp!"

"You want it in cash or credit?" Tim needed them closer. Besides, it was just a little bit fun to tease.

"In blood!"

The first man appeared at the foot of the stairs. He held his right hand close to his chest, but otherwise looked unharmed. He must have avoided the lighter in the hall, though by the sound of it, one of his buddies hadn't.

Tim gulped. All he could see above the black ninja mask was the man's eyes, and he looked furious.

"Um, how about traveler's checks?"

The man started up the stairs with a roar and immediately toppled backwards, slipping on the generous coating of oil over the hardwood.

"Oh, yeah, I just polished that."

One man staggered into the foyer from the front hall. He still had dust and broken pottery on his head and shoulders, and his eyes looked unfocused. Another limped in from the kitchen, barefoot and glaring. He drew a knife, and Tim scrambled backwards.

"No!" The first man grabbed the other's wrist. He didn't look happy about it, but he said, "Lord Ra's wants the boy alive."

"He can live without his arrogant little tongue!"

Tim tried to think up something clever to say, to get them to come up the stairs, but he really did not want them any closer than they were. Out in the yard, they couldn't hurt him, but here they could. They could hurt Tim very, very bad.

Two more ninjas stumbled in, one blinking and squinting, pant leg still smoldering. The other, who looked like a woman, was walking on the sides of her feet. She left a thin trail of blood behind her, and Tim both felt sorry and wished it were worse all at once.

"He's lost his tongue even without your blade, Hans," laughed the first man. "Not so brave now, are you, boy?"

Brave, Tim. Brave like Robin.

Jason wouldn't be scared of these goons, and neither would Dick. Dick would make fun of them, and Jason would cuss them out, so Tim did both.

"Like hell I'm scared of you shit-faces! The wax dummies at the history museum would make better ninjas than you!"

Hans yelled and ran at the stairs. He didn't hear the first man yell, "Fool, it's oiled!" until he was already flat on his back. Tim listened very hard, but couldn't hear anyone else in the house. He taunted, "Where's the rest of you? Maybe you could use the power of friendship to figure it out," to make sure.

"Thank whatever god guards you there are none others," the woman snarled. "Or you would choke on your blood even as you laugh."

"Dramatic," Tim quipped weakly, voice a bit too high.

"How did we fail him that Lord Ra's would punish us this way," moaned Pottery Man. "Being tormented and mocked by an infant."

"Hey!" Tim cried, indignant. "I'm eleven and five twelfths!"

"Enough of this!" Number One shouted. "Hans, the servant's stair, Edda, the back stair. Jethro, the dumbwaiter." They scattered, and One began stalking up the oiled stairs, clinging to the rail and motioning the blinded man to stay behind. "You think we do not know every hall and stair in this house, boy? Every entrance and exit? What do you think will be your salvation if you stall us?"

Tim swallowed, edging into the hall and carefully pushing open the first door. He may have to adjust his escape plan.

"Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg, 1981!" Tim hollered. He dove out of the way as his father's massive, prized floor globe, the one twice the size and weight of Tim, rolled down the improvised ramp and onto the stairwell, gathering speed every second.

Tim took off, running down the hall to his bedroom without looking back. He heard screaming from several parts of the house, and would have jeered at them about not expecting him to know how to trap his own house, but he no longer wanted to give away his location. He'd need extra time now. Climbing down from his window was going to be a hell of a lot harder than climbing the rope he'd put in the dumbwaiter for himself.

Tim pulled out his army knife as he passed the dumbwaiter door and started sawing at the rope, grateful the set-up could double as another trap. He didn't even have to cut all the way through, the ninja's weight snapping the fibers in seconds once they frayed. He heard a yell and an awful snap.

The cry of, "I'll kill you, brat!" should not have been comforting, but Tim didn't want to have killed anybody, so it was.

He made it to his room, shut and locked the door, then shoved his dresser against it, grunting and panting. He had to lean against it for a moment to catch his breath, swiping the sweat from his forehead. He gave himself thirty seconds, but dropped it to twenty when the shouting drew nearer.

"I can do this," Tim whispered, stepping onto the windowsill and staring down. "I can totally, one hundred percent do this."

He sat down and shimmied around until he was clutching the window ledge with ungloved hands. His fingers were already freezing. His toes hung and flailed in open air for a few terrifying seconds before they found crevices in the weathered brick.

Tim took a deep breath.

Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way down the wall until his feet hit the top of the first floor window. His fingers scraped and bled against the bricks, turning white with cold and terror. Sweat ran down his face and back, making him hot and cold both at once. Once he got his hand or foot on a hold, it was hard to make himself move again.

Carefully -- oh, so, so carefully, when Tim's feet hit the top of that window, did he turn his head over his shoulder. The snow rose to the bottom of the window, making the drop only about three feet into a cushion. Tim closed his eyes and jumped.

The snow crunched loudly beneath him, and he broke through it up to his knees. He didn't dare waste time celebrating, but immediately started off, hoping the blizzard would help to cover his tracks.

Half a mile due east. Tim could make it.

Half a mile through ever-deeper snow, in wind and dark, with only a coat and boots, and furious ninjas hunting him down.

Tim had to make it.

At first he tried to run, shoving his hands in his pockets to make them warm, but it was like trying to run through a pool, and Tim soon found himself basically swimming with his arms and legs. Within minutes (though each felt like an hour) he couldn't feel his fingers at all.

The snow was high enough to slip into the tops of his boots, melting into his socks and making his feet grow numb. Tim started crying, only realizing it when the tear tracks burned down his cheeks and froze there. Every breath became a white cloud in front of his face.

The whole world had turned into the snowstorm. Tim didn't know anymore if he was going east or west, north or south, up or down. If he was still going towards Batman and safety, or if he'd got so turned around he was about to run right into the ninjas' arms. He stumbled and staggered, knowing he had to keep moving no matter where he ended up. Fall down in the snow, and he was never getting back up.

Then finally, finally, Tim saw light in the distance.

"Help!" he cried, but his voice was ripped away by the wind.

"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"

A shadow blocked the light, and Tim sobbed in relief as arms hugged him tight.

"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."

Tim screamed and started thrashing, but the ninja had his arms pinned, and the snow blocked his kicks. He tried to bite, but there was nothing in front of his face but thick cloth.

"Let go!" he wailed. He was so close, he couldn't fail now. "Let me fucking go! Hel--mmph!"

Tim was spun around and a hand covered his mouth, grip bruisingly tight, enough that Tim couldn't even move his jaw, let alone bite.

"Oh, no, boy," the ninja snarled in his ear. "You will be brought before the Demon's Head, and punished for every injury inflicted, and even the great Detective can't save you!"

"Can't he?"

Tim's heart leapt as a hulking shadow appeared out of the snow, Batman's unmistakable growl now a roar over the wind. He had done it! He'd gotten to Batman! He was saved!

And then he felt ice cold metal against his throat.

"Stay out of this, Detective. Lord Ra's cares not if he must resurrect his prize."

Tim trembled, even though he'd stopped shivering ages ago. He didn't know what that meant, but he never wanted to find out.

"He should care that Gotham and its people are under my protection. Let the boy go, or there will be retaliation."

"We do not fear your posturing, Detective," the ninja sneered. He started dragging Tim back, away from Batman and safety. "And we do not fear your allies. But continue to oppose us now, and we will strike you down--"

"Wanna bet?"

There was a loud thunk and the ninja's hold went slack. The knife dropped to the snow, its wielder crumpling, and Tim stumbled, grabbing for his throat to be sure it wasn't bleeding.

"Kid? Kid, what's wrong, are you hurt?" Robin hollered over the wind.

Tim slowly shook his head, staring at the ninja. He felt something warm and big and surprisingly soft drape over his shoulders, like a blanket, and looked up to see Batman leaning over him with his cape.

"You're freezing," he murmured, sounding much more like Mr. Wayne. "Robin, get him inside!" His voice dipped back to a growl as he said, "I'll deal with the League."

"Here, kid."

Batman was replaced by Robin, but the cloak remained wrapped around Tim. He was bundled tighter into it, then scooped right off the ground and into Robin's arms. He squeaked in surprise, but pressed closer because Robin was so warm.

"Geez, you're tiny!" Robin half-shouted, wading through the snow only a little faster than Tim had. "How old are you, kid?"

"Eleven and a half," Tim mumbled. Jason Todd was a fine one to talk about being small for one's age.

As Robin muttered something like, because the half makes all the difference, a big black shape loomed out of the snow right in front of Tim's face. It took him far too long to realize it was a Bat-Snowmobile; Robin had plopped him on top and climbed on behind him before he registered the headlights had turned on.

"Hang on tight!" Robin ordered, and the engine roared to life.

Tim yelped, grabbing Robin as the vehicle lurched and zoomed into the storm, throwing his arms around the older boy's neck and hiding his face against his shoulder. One arm wrapped around Tim's waist and gently squeezed.

"Just hang in there a few more minutes, squirt. It's not far."

"What's not far?"

Not Tim's house. Please, not Tim's house. He didn't want to go back and run into the rest of the bad guys -- the League -- without Batman. Robin was awesome and warm, but Batman was powerful, and Tim didn't think the League would give up without more of a fight.

Robin hesitated before answering. "Wayne Manor is just under a quarter mile. They can look after you while I go back to help Batman."

Tim sighed in relief. Wayne Manor would be warm and safe, and until Batman and Robin came back to be Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, Tim would no doubt be looked after by Alfred Pennyworth, and he was as powerful as Batman himself in Tim's book.

I did it, he thought happily, cuddling closer to Robin's warmth. I actually fucking did it.

"Eat shit, Lord Ra's."

Robin laughed.

After only a few more minutes, Wayne Manor appeared, looming out of the dark with a few cheerily lit windows. There was a glowing Christmas tree visible through one, and seeing it warmed something other than Tim's fingers.

Robin parked the Bat-Snowmobile outside the back kitchen door and swung himself off, then scooped up Tim to plop him on the ground. He kept an arm around Tim's shoulders as he went and knocked on the door. Tim could see the kitchen lights on, and it only took a minute before the door opened to reveal Alfred Pennyworth in a robe and nightshirt.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, and immediately backed up to usher them inside.

"Mr. Pennyworth, this is Tim Drake, your next-door neighbor," Robin introduced. "His home was attacked tonight by the League of Assassins, and he had to run a long way through the cold. If you would look after him and warm him up, Batman and I will be back before too long."

"I-- yes, of course," Mr. Pennyworth said, surprise changing to concern. "Thank you, Master Robin."

Robin nodded and ruffled Tim's hair. "You'll be safe here for a while, ok, squirt? Batman or I'll be back soon."

Tim nodded, and Robin grinned and left. Tim could hear the roar of the Bat-Snowmobile as it tore off outside.

Mr. Pennyworth turned to put a kettle on the stove, then told Tim, "Come, let's get you out of those wet things, Master Tim."

Tim nodded eagerly, stumbling a bit on frozen feet as he followed Mr. Pennyworth to a bathroom, still clutching Batman's cape around his shoulders.

"I'll set some of Master Jason's things outside the door for you. You're about the same size, I think. If you can find your way back to the kitchen, I'll have hot cocoa ready in moments."

"You don't have to go to any trouble," Tim said shyly.

"Nonsense, dear boy." Mr. Pennyworth smiled. "Tisn't any trouble at all, I assure you."

He left, and Tim stripped out of his sweats and socks. He hated to drop Batman's cape on the ground, but it had gotten soggy with snow just like everything else. He tried to fold it up, but it was like trying to fold his sheets, it was so huge.

A knock came at the door, and Mr. Pennyworth called that there were pajamas and a sweatshirt outside. Tim answered with a thank you and waited a moment before sticking one hand out the door to snatch the bundle.

He was startled into a laugh to see that the pajamas were themed like Batman and the hoodie like Nightwing. He wondered if Dick had gotten it for Jason. There were also a non-themed pair of slippers, and now that the feeling was coming back to Tim's toes, he could tell they were wonderfully soft.

Once dressed, he found his way back to the kitchen, where a kettle was starting to whistle before Mr. Pennyworth plucked it off the stove.

"Warming up, Master Tim?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

The butler tutted. "Alfred is quite alright, dear boy."

"Thank you, Alfred," Tim corrected shyly. He'd never called an adult by their first name before.

A very loud yawn from behind made Tim jump, turning to look at the doorway, where...

Tim blinked.

Where stood Jason Todd.

He was dressed in Wonder Woman pajama pants and a red hoodie, rumpled like he'd been asleep, but his hair was still damp and his nose and cheeks pink from the snow and cold. His eyes looked bleary and sleepy, like he'd just woken up, but he most definitely scanned over Tim like he was looking for injuries.

"'S goin' on, Alf?" he asked, slurring his voice to sound half-awake. "Who's that?"

Tim just kept staring, dumbfounded, as Alfred said, "You recall young Timothy Drake, Master Jason? I'm afraid he ran into quite the spot of trouble tonight. Robin brought him here for us to look after until the situation is resolved."

Jason's eyes widened like he hadn't himself, as Robin, dropped Tim off ten minutes ago. "No way," he muttered. "What the hell were you doing, Timbit, that you got mixed up in superhero stuff?"

Tim hesitated.

"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"

"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."

Tim hadn't had any idea just why he was being almost-kidnapped, except maybe for ransom or something, until the ninja had said that, and Batman showed up seeming to know all about that Lord Ra's guy and his ninja-kidnappers. At the time, he'd been too terrified to analyze, but now he wondered...

Did Ra's somehow know that Tim knew who Batman was? Tim didn't think that was possible. He hadn't even told his parents. But maybe Ra's was a mind-reader. Or had some kind of special powers. But then why would he need Tim to tell him who Batman was? Especially when the ninja sounded like Ra's and his League already knew all about Batman.

"Timber?"

Tim blinked and looked back at Jason. He and Alfred were both watching Tim, sharp-eyed. That was when he realized Jason wasn't just asking as a shocked civilian, he was investigating as Robin. In order to protect Tim, he and Batman needed to know why he'd been endangered in the first place.

"I...I don't know," he admitted. Jason's mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown, until Tim hesitantly added, "But I might have a guess?"

"Yeah? What do you think?"

Alfred set a cup of steaming cocoa on the table in front of Tim. It warmed his face, and he almost thought it burned his hands when he cupped them around it, but he didn't care. One sip warmed him all over inside, like he hadn't been cold or frightened at all. He wondered if Alfred was magic.

There was another clink of ceramic, and Tim realized Jason had gotten a mug of cocoa, too, and had sat down across from Tim. He held out a bowl of marshmallows, and Tim took two with a soft thanks.

Jason waited until Tim had taken two more sips before prompting, "Timmers? What's your guess?"

Tim took a deep breath, trying to calculate how mad Batman was going to be when he found out, and blurted, "I know who Batman and Robin are."

"What? No way! Who are they? How did you figure it out?" Jason gasped, face splitting into a grin, looking for all the world like someone expecting to hear the most amazing secret in the world.

But Tim saw the panic behind his eyes.

"I wouldn't tell you, if you didn't know," he promised. "But they're you. You and Mr. Wayne. I... I know because it was Dick Grayson first. He's the only person ever who can do a quadruple flip, and I saw Robin do it with my own eyes."

Jason stared.

Alfred stared.

Tim ducked his head and stared at his cocoa.

Then Jason said slowly, "You... you saw the first Robin in person? Doing a four-flip?"

"Yes?"

"How... how old were you?"

Tim frowned, calculating. "Nine?"

Alfred coughed.

"You were nine," Jason repeated. "And you were out in Gotham and saw Robin. Doing a fancy flip. And figured out one of the most dangerous and well-kept secrets in the city."

"Yes," Tim said, a bit more confidently. "Like I said, only Dick Grayson can do that flip. And if he's Robin, Bruce Wayne has to be Batman. And you have to be the next Robin. It's... it's just logic."

It's just logic, Jason mouthed. His lips stayed parted in astonishment as he turned to look at Alfred.

"That's... quite impressive, Master Tim," he managed. "Although, might I inquire... just what were the circumstances under which you saw Robin's flip?"

Tim hastily took a sip of cocoa. Jason raised his eyebrows and copied him, not setting down his mug until Tim did. Tim immediately took another sip. Jason and Alfred exchanged a glance.

"IusedtofollowBatmanandRobinaroundatnightandtakepictures," Tim blurted.

Jason blinked rapidly several times before suggesting, "A-again... slowly, please?"

"I... I used to, to follow Batman and Robin around at night. And take pictures."

"And your parents let you?" Jason yelped.

"They didn't... exactly know?"

"How...?" Jason's voice kept sounding more and more strangled. If Tim didn't know better, he'd have thought an invisible villain was throttling him.

"Well..." Tim ducked his head, shoulders almost rising to his ears. He stared intently at the melting marshmallows in his cocoa as he said, "They're not really around much."

"What exactly do you mean by 'not much,' Master Tim?" Alfred asked, both firm and kind, but also concerned.

Tim's ears felt hot. "They're usually on digs. They come back for a weekend or so every couple months. So they never knew I went out at night. I never told them I figured out who you are. I promise that I've never told anybody, and I never would tell anybody, even that Ra's guy, no matter what he did!"

He looked back up at Jason and Alfred, hoping they could see the honesty in his face.

Their faces showed a mix of shock and horror. Jason's eyes were wide and round, but Alfred's were pinched, and his mouth was drawn into a hard line. Tim swallowed nervously.

"You're a very impressive young lad, Master Tim," Alfred said in a carefully measured voice. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I think I ought to go inform Master Bruce of... these developments. I assume your parents were not home tonight?"

"Their flight got cancelled," Tim admitted. He wondered for the first time, as Alfred nodded curtly and stepped out of the room, if Batman had a mind-wipe machine or something. He very much hoped not.

Jason made a low whistle, then murmured, "Well, damn." He took a sip of cocoa, looking at the door Alfred had left through.

"What's 'well damn'?" Tim asked, voice too high.

"Alfie's 'bout'a go off," Jason chuckled, then, seeing Tim's expression, clarified, "not on you, Timberly, on your parents. And Ra's. Definitely also on Ra's."

"Why would Alfred be mad at my parents? And what does he need to tell Batman? Are you mad at me? Because I figured it out? Or..." Tim gasped in horror. "Or because I led them here? I led them here! Oh, God, I told a villain who Batman is! I--"

"Tim! Tim, calm down, it's ok!" Jason seemed torn between laughter and concern, but he reached out and put a bracing hand on Tim's shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong. Ra's already knows who we are. Alfred just has to tell Bruce, um. Not to look for your parents. And why they're not there. And that's why he's pissed off, because nobody should leave a little kid all by himself for all but a few weekends out of the year."

Jason looked pissed himself when he said the last bit. Unfortunately, all of it just left Tim with even more questions. But even as he opened his mouth to ask them, there was a loud rattling and banging from above.

"What was that?" Tim yelped, jumping and spilling cocoa on the table.

"The storm," Jason said, completely expressionless. He grabbed some napkins from the holder on the table and dropped them on the spill, clearing it with one neat swipe. "Don't worry about it."

"You're sure it's not the ninjas?"

Jason snorted. "Don't ever let them hear you call them that. I'm sure, kid. Batman's got it covered."

Alfred came back into the kitchen muttering about reception, and took Tim's and Jason's empty mugs over to the sink to wash. There was a loud pounding from up above, first moving distant, then drawing near again. Tim realized it was running feet.

He raised his eyebrows at Jason.

"The storm, huh?"

Jason shrugged with a smile too mischievous to be innocent.

A moment later, Bruce Wayne appeared in the doorway, hair mussed and face pink, barefoot and wearing a red bathrobe that did not succeed at hiding the Batsuit underneath.

The way he blinked and squinted at the warm kitchen light appeared genuine, but he sounded far too awake as he said, "Alfred, what's going on? Who's this? Jason? I thought you went to bed."

Jason glanced at Tim, mischief peaking.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, jumping up and running over. "Dad, you'll never guess what happened! This is Tim Drake, from next door, and he was attacked by supervillains and Batman and Robin came and saved him and brought him here!"

"Oh! My... God..." Mr. Wayne faltered, glancing from Alfred (who's back was turned to hide his smile) to Tim (who was just as confused as he seemed) to Jason (who was grinning just a bit too wide), before narrowing a bit at the last one.

Jason beamed up at him, and Mr. Wayne apparently decided not to worry about it, because he turned to Tim and asked, "Are you alright, Tim?"

"I... think so," Tim said slowly, staring at Jason, who was mouthing at him. Mr. Wayne glanced down at his son suspiciously, but Jason shut his mouth in an instant.

"Are you hurt at all? Cold?"

"No, I'm ok now. Mr... uh, Alfred's hot chocolate warmed me right up."

Mr. Wayne smiled. "It does that quite well. Are..." He turned hesitant again, glancing at them all before asking, "Do you know if your parents are alright? If they escaped?"

"They weren't even there," Jason said, bright smile turning downright ferocious. "They leave Tim all alone in the house all year and only come in for a weekend every once in a while. And since that's criminal neglect, and Batman and Robin asked us to take care of him, I guess I got a little brother for Christmas like I asked for after all!"

Tim stared. Mr. Wayne stared. Jason beamed. Alfred coughed in a way that sounded much too much like a laugh.

"Um..." Tim started, but had no idea how to continue.

"It... I... don't think it's all quite that simple, Jay," Mr. Wayne cautioned hesitantly. Jason just stared straight up into his face, both grinning and glaring at the same time. It was mildly terrifying, and Mr. Wayne cleared his throat before turning to Tim. "But of course, you're more than welcome to stay with us until it's safe. We'll be glad to have you."

Tim stammered out a thank you, wondering if Mr. Wayne offered because he knew as Batman that it wasn't safe. He hoped not. As awesome as being Jason Todd's little brother sounded, Tim already had parents and a home, even if they were... distant. He also wondered why Jason was pretending he was an ordinary civilian, and that Tim didn't know better. And Alfred was going along with it, even though he'd been about to tell Batman everything just before.

"If you're quite warm and well, Master Tim, I think a good night's rest would do you good," Alfred said, "as it would the rest of us."

"Oh. Um, yes." Tim blinked and looked at the clock, which read 11:30 PM. "Sleep. Yeah."

"Great!" Jason chirped. He did a cartwheel over to Tim, channeling Dick Grayson, probably, and pulled him up, slinging his arm over Tim's shoulders. "C'mon, Timbers, we can have a sleepover in my room."

"Uh, sure."

A sleepover with Robin? Tim was equal parts confused and ecstatic. He followed Jason past a mystified Mr. Wayne, who wished them both goodnight, and up a small back staircase to the second floor.

It wasn't until Jason had showed them into his room and they got settled in bed that Tim finally asked, "Jason? Why didn't we tell Mr. Wayne that I know who you are? Isn't it kind of important?"

"Oh, Timmy Tim Timmers. Think about it. We only get to tell him that once."

"But-- oh. Ohhh."

"Exactly." Jason sounded smug. "Just you wait, Timbit. I have a feeling you and I are gonna be the holiest terrors this city ever saw."

#feral tim drake #ra's: 5 ninjas should do it right?#he's like a toddler itll be fine #tim: fucking bet you old assbutt #day 2 #home alone #tim drake #bruce wayne #batfam #fic #ao3 writer #sprite wrote #amow winter whumperland 2022 #day 5 #trapped in a blizzard #day 10 #hot chocolate #jason todd #alfred pennyworth

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pagannatural · 3 months

Text

1.18

Something Wicked

-Winchester brothers investigate a sickness that spreads through child-siblings that’s really a monster that’s really the thing that haunts Dean for letting it get to Sammy. Help

-“Two queens” “I bet” Michael thought they were a gay couple trying to hide their relationship

-Nine-year old Dean made his little brother’s dinner and didn’t even sit down to eat anything himself. He gives the last bowl of lucky charms to Sammy due to puppydog eyes. He throws away Sammy’s spaghettios rather than eating them, saying Sam was the one who wanted them in the first place- so he probably doesn’t like them. Everything in this scene is for Sam.

-Sam offers Dean the cereal box prize. Dean remembers that 17 years later, which means it really meant something to him, which is so fucking cute.

-This is also the age at which Dean started making his own money Somehow and got a subscription to a news magazine. I think he wanted a way to feel like he was connected to the world outside that still allowed him to stay home watching Sam so he didn’t have to risk leaving again.

-Dean knew about all of the monsters his dad hunts and knew how to shoot a gun at this point and yet he wasn’t scared to leave the motel by himself and walk alone at night. And he’s in what, third grade? His fear center is broken

-Sam was probably scared to be woken up by his dad losing his shit over him, glaring daggers and yelling at his older brother standing in his doorway pale and shaking.

-Dean tells Sam “he gave me an order and I didn’t listen and I almost got you killed.” No wonder he did as John said for the rest of his life.

Sam tries to comfort him by saying he was just a kid, but Dean shuts him down.

He was never a kid. He still feels guilty for this.

-It’s not like he ran away or froze up. He pushed open Sam’s door, picked up and aimed his gun, and then hesitated when the monster roared at him. I think he was out of his mind afraid of what he was seeing-Sam in danger- and afraid that he would miss and accidentally shoot Sam. He tells Michael to get under the bed before they can take a shot at the shtriga later in the episode, so that’s definitely on his mind.

-Michael asks Dean if he would do anything for his little brother and Dean says “yeah I would.” Sam has told Dean both “I would die for you” and “I would do anything for you.” It’s Sam’s way of communicating how much he loves Dean. But I don’t think he’s heard that from Dean yet. Dean really doesn’t express how he feels with words the way Sam does, so he probably loved hearing this.

-Sam says “I’ve really given you a lot of crap for always following Dad’s orders. But I know why you do it.” Dean turns away and says “oh god kill me now” like this is too emotional for him. If the reason he followed orders was like, For Safety, this wouldn’t be an emotional conversation. Sam’s looking at Dean like, I know you do it for me.

-Shtriga attacks Sam, and Dean gets to save him and kill it, maybe allowing him to start changing the belief that challenging John would lead to Sam getting hurt. Before it was I failed so Sam almost died, now it’s I acted and I’m not nine anymore.

-Sam says sometimes he wishes he could have the innocence of never having known about monsters. Dean says “if it means anything, sometimes I wish you could too.”

Dean doesn’t even wish for his own innocence. I think Sam notices this.

Dean got to be a part of Sam’s life before he knew about hunting. He probably saw how Sam started getting scared, how he resisted hunting, and wished he didn’t have to do it. This is Dean admitting that yes, he does question and resent the way they grew up sometimes, he does see the ways that it hurt Sam. They both acknowledge the realities of each other’s lives- Sam understanding why Dean always follows John’s orders and Dean understanding why Sam wanted a different life.

This whole episode was about how big Dean’s love for Sam is, and about a monster that feeds on children’s youth and life force that Dean believes only got to Sam because of him. But Sam doesn’t even remember, Dean is the one living with that guilt.

#samdean #spn meta #sam and dean #wincest #supernatural #spn 1x18

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fluffykiddosstuff · 8 months

Text

Choose (Gavin X Reader X nines)

Do I have a problem with Gavin and nines? Maybe, will I stop writing about them? No.

Warnings : insults, crime scene explanation, part nudity, fighting for someone

The reader, has a female body and uses she/her pronouns and lives in an apartment

______

That was by far the most disgusting crime scene you ever saw.

There was blood, blue blood everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, even on the ceiling, how was that even possible?

Today was valentines day, every couple was happy, well except the one who was brutally murdered by the mother of the human, who didn't appreciate that her sweet boy was with a "machine" which was odd to you because now, androids were a big part of society and concidered as living beings, there was still many things Markus needed to do for their rights, but it was on the good path.

For this investigation you were paired with a model that Connor freed himself, the Rk900, supposed to be his replacement, yes he was deviant but stiff as a stick and emotionless like a rock.

The mother came herself to the police, after murdering her son by "accident" she kept babbling about "just wanting to get rid of the machine", so you both didnt had much to do about her, but fowler still needed a report of the crime scene so here you both are.

"how did she even managed to do that, that poor android girl.." you said looking at the thirium being all over the place, there was no scent like human blood would, but it was still a disgusting scene, the android was unalived on the floor, wires out of her stomach and led completely Grey, she was severely damaged outside too, and near was her boyfriend, he was killed with a bullet right in the heart, a bit of blood circled his body but it was not that creepy compared to the other body.

"detective I found something"

Earing your partner's voice, you got closer to him, in the living room, he showed you a black box with a gold ring on it, examinating it.

"it's an engagement ring, and from what I could reconstitue, they where all in the living room, the son proposed to his girlfriend in front of his mother then leaved to get something in the garage, she then attacked the android with a knife, finished her with a gun the son kept in the drawer, when he came back and started to yell at his mother, she got surprised and shot as a reflex"

"I will never understand this.. Why can't people accept change" you mumbled, nines as a better model, already sent the report to fowler like usual so you could go home. But as you were walking, you didn't noticed the curtain on the ground, resulting in you slipping on it and ended being covered in blue and red blood, your android partner came closer and helped you get up.

" are you alright detective? No Injuries?"

"no I'm fine, I'll just go home to wash myself.."

"gavin's house is not far maybe we-"

"no I don't want anything to do with him, let's go. "

You got into your car, staining it but fuck, you'll clean it later, nines came as well, since he didn't had a place to stay yet, he came to your apartment regularly, you looked at the windows while nines was driving to your living place, that's when all of the things that happened today got into your mind

Flashback

You had putted a chocolate box on the desk of your crush : Gavin reed, you talked a lot about it with nines and he told you to do it "the worse thing he could say is no after all, you are friends" little did he know how he reacted.. He thought it was a joke from hank or even worse, connor, he threw the chocolate box on the ground and stepped on it, putting it in the garbage after. You saw everything from your desk and runned to the bathroom to cry, why was he so cruel!? You then avoided him from the rest of the day, being heartbroken by his behavior.

End of flashback

"Detective we arrived"

You opened up your eyes to see your apartment by the window, you got out, so did your partner, you unlocked your door and stepped into the living room, nines closing it behind him

"can you get me some clothes? I'll go wash myself"

The android nodded, you got into your bathroom and started to strip off, putting your dirty clothes in the washing machine, you then got under your shower to get off of all of this disgusting blood on you.

Nines pov :

While i was searching for some clothes, the bell ringed, since the detective was still in the shower I decided to open the door myself, it was unexpected to see detective reed on the porch

"hey-what are you doing here tincan?"

Autor's pov :

The smaller male was visibly mad and shocked that his "coworker" was there, nines furrowed his eyebrows and looked at him, he seemed, mad.

"since your little brain can't register something so simple, the detective allowed me to stay here until I found somewhere else to stay, what are you doing here reed?"

That was the first time the Rk900 used gavin's last name without his title, that made him boil inside, he clenched his teeth, holding onto the flowers and the chocolates he had hid in his back

"let me see her, now."

"i'm afraid I can not, you hurt her, and I don't want her to suffer anymore, especially from an idiot like you."

Gavin pushed his opponent with his elbow and got into the apartment, not hiding the presents anymore, that's when it hit nines : he was nicely dressed, he even putted on cologne, his hair weren't as messy as usual and he had presents : he wanted to ask you out. Anger took all over his systems, he rushed to the human and picked him by his collar, resulting in the gifts dropping on the floor.

"what are you thinking!? Do you want just to broke her heart again and again!? She has enough, I have enough! Can't you leave her alone, are you that much of an asshole!?"

"the fuck are you talking about shit head!?"

"the chocolates from earlier! It was from y/n ! She putted them for you on your desk, if you weren't a shit head and actually had read the note she left you would have know it!"

He then dropped him off, Gavin falling on the ground, he was pale as an egg, it was from you? So that's why you wouldn't talk to him and runned to the bathroom this morning.. Man he really fucked up, he needed to apologize, and quick. As he stands up, you then appeared in his sight, still wet from your shower and a poor towel to cover yourself, debuting on your breasts and finishing at the base of your tighs.

He picked up the flowers who were a bit ruined and the chocolates and got closer to you, almost a bit, shy..? He dropped them on the table and looked at you in the eyes.

"listen I'm, sorry for earlier, I didn't know those were from you, I swear I wouldn't had done this if I knew, please, forgive me for my behavior"

You smiled, you had been friends from years, how couldn't you forgive him? Then you looked at nines, who was approaching with a gift box

"I would like to give those to you, as a thankful way and also, for you know, the meaning of this day.." he seemed shy and had blue over his cheeks

"I-I appreciate it guys but, I might gonna change first.." you putted your towel up, almost half of your breasts were out, they blushed and nodded as you got into your room to change, you then came back, both are sitting on your sofa, looking at you.

"so did you make a choice?" they both said, you then responded

"I don't want to make one"

Both males looked at each other, wondering if you already had someone in your heart or if, you just didn't like them, you then spoke again

"I actually want both of you"

They were, quite chocked by your statement

"what, how??" managed to say gavin

"well, I like both of you, for many different reasons so.., what do you both think about it?"

They looked at each other again then back at you, nodding.

"we can try" finally said nines, you kissed them both on the cheek and then sits in the middle, putting the TV on to watch your favorite show, one of their hands in yours.

-------

Oml I just can't get rid of them 💕 I love my pooks

(1491 words)

#x reader #dbh rk900 #angst #angst with a happy ending #detroit become human #female reader #gavin reed #dbh #dbh gavin reed #dbh gavin #gavin x reader #nines #dbh nines #nines dbh #nines x reader x gavin #dbh nines x reader #Dbh nines x reader x gavin

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b1as1an-souya · 2 years

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Hi! Can i ask for a younger brother Shiba, who has a crush on Mitsuya, having a toy phone with Takashi's picture on it. Capable the child would be eight or nine years old

This idea is so cute so ofc I’m gonna write it!

“H-He’s just so pretty!”

Shiba siblings x younger brother reader

Ps: this is in the 2007 timeline, ooc taiju??

When Hakkai Shiba found out that his little brother [Name] had a crush on his best friend Takashi Mitsuya he went crazy.

“Yuzuha!” Hakkai yelled while running towards his older sisters room. “What’s wrong?!” Yuzuha said worriedly honestly confused a bit. “I- I think [Name] has a crush on Taka-chan!” Hakkai yelled at his sister. “Whaa? What are you talking about Hakkai…?” Yuzuha said now fully confused.

“Today when I went out with Taka-chan [Name] came back from school! And he was following us around and he had boy crazy eyes for Taka-chan!” Hakkai explained to his older sister. “That can’t be true! I’ll call him over here.” Yuzuha said trying to reassure Hakkai that [Name] didn’t have a crush on Takashi. Although it took everything in her not to start laughing.

“[Name]!” Yuzuha called out, there was no answer. “[Name]!” Yuzuha called out again trying to get an answer from her younger brother. “[Name]!” Yuzuha said now looking for her brother.

Yuzuha and hakkai searched all over the house only to see Taiju sitting down on the couch, eating a snack. “Yo big bro, have you seen [Name]?” Hakkai said to his older brother hoping to find a answer. “He’s in his room, if he’s not there he went to the store.” Taiju replied back munching on his snack.

“What’s up with him?” Taiju asked, curious to know why his siblings were going crazy over [Name]. “Hakkai suspects that [Name] has a crush on Takashi.” Yuzuha said while smirking a bit. “It’s true!” Hakkai said trying to prove a point. “He’s only 9 Hakkai, it’s normal to have a crush on people at that age. But why Mitsuya…?” Taiju said attempting to calm his brother down. “I wanna see what this is about though, so I’ll join this little investigation.” Taiju said while a smile appeared on his face.

As the three siblings quietly went up to [Names] room they finally spotted him! But he didn’t see them. “He’s so amazing!” [Name] said not knowing that his siblings were directly in his room. “See he sounds like he’s in love!” Hakkai whispered. “Shush! He might hear you.” Yuzuha said. “Who the hell is he talking about…?” Taiju said.

“Pstt! Look he has one of the fake phones we got him when he was younger…” Yuzuha whispered as she walked out the room, the two following her. “Something was off about that phone though…” Hakkai said as he thought about the phone. “It had a photo of Mitsuya on the back of it…” Taiju realized. “I told you he had a crush on him!” Hakkai said to Yuzuha.

“You do realize what we gotta do now right…?” Yuzuha said to her brothers. “No what?” The two said confused. “We gotta confront him about it!” Yuzuha said. “You can do that yourself…” Taiju said awkwardly. “Definitely not you said you were joining in on us!” Hakkai teased. “Fine…” Taiju said.

“[Name]?” Yuzuha asked softly. There was no answer. “He’s so in love he won’t talk to his own siblings!” Hakkai joked around and said. “We’re coming in!” Yuzuha said as she opened the door only to spot her youngest brother just admiring the photo of Takashi on the back of his phone.

“[Name]! Are you in love with Taka-chan?!” Hakkai asked his brother. When [Name] heard the words Taka-chan come out of his big bros mouth he immediately froze up. “Me…? Whaa? No wayyy!” Was all [Name] managed to let out his mouth. “So you do like him…” Taiju said as he smirked at his younger brother.

“I do not!” [Name] yelled out as he puffed his cheeks. “You say that but you have a photo of him on your toy phone, you have boy crazy eyes for him and you’re puffing your cheeks!” Yuzuha said to her brother trying to prove a point. “And what does that have to do with anything?!” [Name] yelled. “[Name], we’re your older siblings, and when you lie you puff your cheeks and your voice gets high.” Taiju told his brother.

“Fine! So I do like him!” [Name] said shyly as he covered his face. “But you’re to young [Name]…” Hakkai said breaking the truth. “It’s okay! I’ll wait!” [Name] said determinedly. “Well you have a long wait [Name]… a really long one” Taiju said as he laughed, Yuzuha and Hakkai laughing along with Taiju.

“I told you I was right about the crush thing!” Hakkai said victoriously to his siblings. “Hooray you.” Yuzuha said back sarcastically to Hakkai. “I really was though!” Hakkai whined back.

#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tok rev #tokyo revengers manga #x male reader #anime #tokyo revengers #male reader #tok rev x male reader #anime / manga #tok rev fluff #shiba family #yuzuha shiba #taiju shiba #hakkai shiba

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deatherella · 2 years

Text

Wallpaper of the Week #38

ArtHouse's Chalky Matt Paints painted walls and painted plaster. All 24 colors. There's a chart/swatch to show you the order the colors go. The plaster set also has a white plaster wall from the texture I used to make the walls. I included the colors, too, in case anyone wanted to make matching windows and doors for their rooms. (If you do, send me a link, as I haven't gotten around to it, yet.)

Mosaico Mixed is a set on walls that go along with each other. There are swatches included so you can see all the colors. I put the solid color rows on the bottom to make it act like a mopboard. While I was making swatches, I decided I wanted to have the solid tile walls have them, too, so they are sitting in Homecrafter. The green solid wall comes alone so I went investigating and discovered there wasn't a green hued mosaic wall so I invented one. Green's companion pieces will come with the other textures I did up tonight after I run them through.

The Floreal Series. These are contrasting walls and floors. There are nine colors. Lots of swatches to show you what number is what and how they look. They come with no trim or just a ceramic mopboard.

Above is an example of this red tiled wall in use. Avy and I put it in the bathroom next to the lego bedroom. We're thinking the little alien baby with demon eyes is gonna like this when he finally gets big enough for his own room.

All three sets are in one download, so keep what you like, pitch what you don't.

Download!

#ts2walls #ts2floors #ts2cc #wallpaperoftheweek

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master-sass-blast · 1 year

Text

Down the River -The Hands that Heal, Part Fifteen.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen

Summary:

“Did your aversion to public displays of affection and planning dates end those relationships?” When you nod, Chinatsu kicks back in her seat. She stares at the city skyline for a moment, then folds her hands over her stomach. “What’s your strongest, earliest memory as it relates to your sexuality?”

“See, that’s what I don’t understand.” You lean forward and brace your elbows against the table. “I’ve done trauma recovery work and spoken with patients; I know that the stronger the memory is, and the earlier in life it is, the more formative it is for how you feel and respond to things. But what keeps coming to mind doesn’t have anything to do with my relationships or sexuality!”

“Let’s investigate it anyway,” Chinatsu says. “What comes to mind?”

You can practically feel your body try to shut down. Everything goes numb; the early fall breeze doesn’t feel like it’s catching on your skin anymore. It’s almost like something inside you separates from the outer shell of your body. You swallow hard, then force yourself to speak. “It’s when I came out to my parents.”

aka talking about feelings and trauma is hard, part two.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: T for emotional trauma and trauma processing, specifically focused on queer identity.

Word count: 9.2k.

“You don’t need to make a big deal out of this!”

…

You can hear birds chirping outside. The residents in the apartment next door are awake; it sounds like they’re making breakfast. You can hear the clatter of dishes and muted chatter through the adjoining wall.

There’s a crack on the ceiling of your bedroom. It’s been painted over, but the break still shows through. It looks like a river cutting through a ravine. You know every inch of that crack. You’ve stared at it on countless groggy mornings and sleepless nights.

Your alarm clock went off ten minutes ago. It’s another day at the physical therapy clinic. You need to get up so you can shower before heading off to work.

You blink when the sound of something hitting the floor –followed by light swearing–emanates through the wall. Sounds messy.

Your alarm clock went off ten minutes ago. You need to get up.

Your eyes trace over the crack in the ceiling. If you let your mind wander far enough, you can envision yourself floating down the imaginary river. You can almost feel the coolness of the water against your skin. The strength of the current beneath your body.

You need to get up.

Your body feels like lead. Despite sleeping adequately, your mind feels like it’s full of fog.

You stare up at the crack on the ceiling. You inhale deeply, then breathe out slowly.

You can feel the water dragging you under its surface.

Get up.

You force yourself to sit up. You stare at the floor for several minutes without really seeing it. Then –finally–you get up from your bed and walk to your phone. “I need to place a call to Northern Moon Physical Therapy Center.” You sag against the wall, gazing off into space while the operator places the call. Your mind drifts to nowhere, filling with the crackle of quiet static. Your body almost goes numb; it’s like you’ve been disconnected from your body, and now part of you is drifting away on some invisible current–

“Northern Moon Physical Therapy Center, how can I help you?”

You flinch, blinking rapidly, then clear your throat and identify yourself to the receptionist. “I need to call in sick today. I think I might’ve caught a bug.”

The receptionist –a sweet young woman named Li-Na–hums sympathetically. “I’ll let management know. Feel better soon.”

You thank her in a mumble of words, then hang up. Alright, at least that’s taken care of.

You’ve got a day to rest. A day to recuperate inside your apartment. A day to stay inside, by yourself, just staring off into space…

You pick up the phone and ask the operator to place another call. When the line picks up, you ask, “Hey, can I take you to lunch today?”

…

The world feels like it’s on lowered volume. Nothing sounds as clear or looks as bright. The chatter from midday shoppers is just a muddy mess. The gently swaying multicolored flags that hang up in Yangchen Plaza are distant blurs.

And I didn’t even get hungover for this, you think absently. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your blouse. What a damn shame.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

You flinch, caught off guard, then look up as Chinatsu sits down across from you. “Oh. Hi. It’s alright.”

She pauses halfway into her seat. She studies you for a long moment, then slowly finishes sitting. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You swallow hard, then force yourself to nod. “I’m alright.”

Her mouth twists into a disbelieving frown –but then a waiter materializes next to your table, distracting both of you. Once your orders have been taken, she returns the full brunt of her laser-focused attention to you. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Your voice trails off as you try –and fail–to find the words to explain the mess of muck in your mind. You smile, sardonic, and laugh softly. “I mean, nothing, I guess.”

“Right,” she drawls, expression flatly unconvinced. She adjusts the collar of her tweed blazer, then arches one eyebrow at you. “So, you wanted to have lunch and talk about the weather?”

You blanch. “I –I don’t want you to think that I’m… that I’m just using you for your expertise–”

“What are friends for?” She waves one hand dismissively. “You’re buying me lunch. It’s fine. Why do you look like someone killed your dog?”

You grimace and stare down at the table. “Uh… relationship troubles, I guess.”

Chinatsu nods. “Same lady?” When you nod, she nods again. “What’s the scope of things this time?”

“I… We’re together.” You smile, but it quickly slips away. “The problem’s on my end this time. She pointed out that I’m not very affectionate in public. And that I don’t really initiate a lot of dates. It’s making her feel like I don’t want to be seen with her.”

Chinatsu drums her fingers against the tabletop. She considers, then shrugs. “Not everyone’s comfortable with PDA. And not everyone is a planner.”

“But she’s right,” you insist. Your eyes start watering, and you have to take a deep breath before you can continue. “This isn’t exactly… new to me. It’s come up in past relationships.”

“Did your aversion to public displays of affection and planning dates end those relationships?” When you nod, Chinatsu kicks back in her seat. She stares at the city skyline for a moment, then folds her hands over her stomach. “Not to be nosy, but did you ever experience an instance of sexual abuse or assault?” When you shake your head, she nods. “What’s your strongest, earliest memory as it relates to your sexuality?”

“Let’s investigate it anyway,” Chinatsu says. “What comes to mind?”

Chinatsu blinks, then cocks her head to one side and stares flatly at you. She paraphrases you, “‘Doesn’t have anything to do with your sexuality.’”

“Not –not like this!” you sputter. “It doesn’t have anything to do with romantic relationships or dating!”

“It’s fine.” She waves one hand dismissively. “How did they react to you coming out?”

“My mom was supportive.”

Chinatsu nods slowly. “Was your father in the picture?”

“Yes.”

“How did he react?”

Your throat constricts. You shrug and look away from her. “He was himself.”

“Did he disown you?” When you shake your head, she presses further. “Did he assault you –verbally or physically?”

“Tui and La, no!” you reply with a vehement frown and shake of your head. “No –no, he would never. He’d cut off his own hands before he raised one to me –or my mother!”

“Okay, good.” Chinatsu drums her fingers against the wrought metal table top. “I’m assuming he rejected you –or, at least, made you feel rejected.”

The addendum catches you flat-footed –because, no, he didn’t reject you. Not in so many words, at least, you reflect as your chest goes tight with pain. You look down, avoiding your friend’s intense, all-seeing gaze. But we can’t always help what we feel, regardless of what actually happened.

“I heard you the first time.”

Chinatsu watches you while you struggle in silence. When it’s apparent you’re not going to offer any new information, she leans forward in her chair. “Okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But, I do have a question, if that’s alright?” When you nod, she continues. “So, I’m gathering that you agree that you have an issue with being distant in relationships, especially in public settings. What do you see as the source of that anxiety?”

You frown, perplexed, and look up to meet her gaze. “Anxiety?”

“Admittedly, it’s a supposition on my part,” she concedes with a shrug. “But, from what I can gather, you aren’t coming across like you don’t enjoy physical affection at all, or that you don’t see the point of dates.” She pauses, but when you don’t answer, she adjusts her glasses and keeps going. “To me, it reads like you have an aversion to public displays of affection. Generally, aversion is driven by discomfort, distaste, or anxiety,” she explains, ticking off each item on her fingers. “Everything you’ve been telling me –in my opinion–points towards anxiety.” She lowers her hand, then studies your face before asking, “So, in your view of yourself, where do you see that anxiety coming from?”

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “What, like…” Your gaze flits across the plaza, as though you’ll find an answer written on a storefront sign. “Like trauma?”

“Could be,” Chinatsu agrees with a nod. “Or it could be a negative belief system –something that tells you whatever you’re doing is bad, or dangerous, or wrong.”

Something heavy tugs at your gut. You fold your arms over your torso to try and abate it, but it only grows heavier. More uncomfortable. You swallow hard, then shift in your seat.

“Are you okay?”

You nod without thinking about it. “Yeah. Just…” Your teeth fuss at the inside of your bottom lip. “I mean, the Water tribes aren’t necessarily the most open-minded. Queerness isn’t a bad thing, but you’re not supposed to be open about it. I guess…” You roll your shoulders to try to relax your neck (not that it works). “I guess I’m always worried about making everyone else uncomfortable… with… all of it.” You look back up at Chinatsu. “Is that enough?”

“Of course, it is.” She waves one hand dismissively. “This is about your perceptions of yourself and the world around you. Anything can be enough.”

“But –it’s not like I got attacked. Or sexually assaulted.”

“Devastation according to legal or social code really isn’t the point,” Chinatsu explains while shaking her head. She pauses when a waiter brings you both your meals, smiles and says thank you, then waits for the waiter to move out of earshot before resuming. “Trauma isn’t just about things society deems as obviously traumatic. I mean –how many patients have seen you because they hurt themselves doing mundane chores?”

“I’ll do you one better,” you fire back, grinning for the first time since you sat down. “A majority of people throw their back out by sneezing.”

“Spirits, that’s terrifying.” Chinatsu picks up her chopsticks and mixes together her noodles, steamed vegetables, and Komodo chicken. “But, the point stands: injuries aren’t only caused by catastrophic events or abuse. It’s the same with psychological trauma.”

You nod to yourself slowly. You pick up your spoon –but freeze before you stir up your Southern-style Sea Prune stew. “How do I get over this?”

Chinatsu snorts. “Not that easy. You’ve seen how long physical trauma lasts. It depends on the person, the inciting incidents, what treatments are used–”

You let out a dejected sigh. “Figures it wouldn’t be that easy.”

She pauses, then reaches across the table and places one hand on yours. “Hey.” When you look up, she offers you a reassuring smile. “It can get better, okay? I’d recommend therapy –obviously–but in lieu of that, try journaling or talking with someone you trust.” She retracts her hand, then gestures to you. “It’s evident to me that whatever’s causing all this distress is pretty deeply rooted, so doing things to filter it out should help make things clearer.”

You manage a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

…

You have five days until Lin’s supposed to stop by for dinner. Five days to process through whatever bullshit has you all clogged up about romantic relationships so that you can present it to your girlfriend in a coherent enough fashion, in hopes that she doesn’t just dump your emotionally constipated ass and find someone better.

You swallow hard, press down the churning in your stomach, then open up the journal you’d purchased after your lunch with Chinatsu. Alright. Stream of consciousness. Let’s do this. You uncap your pen and stare down at the faintly lined page.

Nothing comes.

You inhale deeply, then put the date in the top right corner of the page. Maybe that’ll help.

It doesn’t.

You spend at least five minutes staring at the empty page, trying to think of something –anything–to write. Your brain feels like it’s turned to lead. When was the last time you even thought of a full, coherent sentence? Were you ever truly capable? Well, it doesn’t matter now, seeing how your damn brain has decided to be a useless glob of shit.

You flop back against your sofa and let out a frustrated groan. How can this be hard? It’s just writing about my feelings!

Maybe it’s your memory that’s at issue here. After all, you still can’t see the connection between your father and your problems in your romantic life. To you, it just doesn’t add up.

Granted, it’s not a pleasant memory. It’s one of those recollections that you keep deeply buried, beneath countless layers of repression and denial.

God, I was so terrified, you reflect with a grim smile. I thought I was going to throw up.

Your mother was wonderfully supportive when you came out to your parents. She’d smiled warmly, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and taken your face in her hands. She’d wiped the tears off your cheeks and assured you that, of course, she’d always love you no matter what.

And your father…

It’s strange, how emotion warps memories. The scene playing out in your mind’s eye switches between being in suffocating black and white, or being painfully bright, like staring directly into the sun.

The kitchen in your parents’ home feels too small. You feel like a giant crammed into a closet –like in a book you read as a child where a girl, upon being transported to a magical realm, grew twenty times her size after eating enchanted cookies.

The instinct to hunch over under the weight of your father’s indifference still holds strong today. You have to forcibly straighten up and relax your shoulders and neck.

It’s disorienting to the point of nausea –you still feel too big to fit in the room (too big to properly breathe), but under your father’s state you feel no more than an inch high. He towers over you, somehow miles away despite sitting at the table next to you.

You think that maybe he didn’t hear you. Or maybe he didn’t understand. Either way, he still hasn’t said anything, and you’re going to throw up or pass out –or both–if he keeps silent. You swallow hard, knees shaking, and tell him the news again–

You jerk out of your reverie with a grief-stricken sob. You clamp one hand over your mouth, body trembling as panic washes over you. You draw down a breath as deep as you can, then lunge for your journal and scrawl out a single sentence.

Why do I always have to make myself small?

You cap your pen, all but fling it onto your coffee table, then drop your face into your hands before bursting into tears.

…

“Are you okay?”

You inhale sharply, blink, then return your attention to Amaruq. “Yeah. Sorry. Spaced out for a minute.”

She seems none too convinced. She leans against the table in the breakroom and tucks a client folder under her arm. “Are you sure? You went ashen for a minute.” When you purse your lips, she pulls out a chair and sits down. “What’s wrong?”

“Just…” You quirk your mouth to one side and shrug. “Dealing with some stuff.”

“I’m so sorry. Do you need to talk about it?”

You nearly say “no” –it’s reflexive–but stop just before you can shake your head. Maybe… maybe it would help. Amaruq grew up in the Northern Water tribe, too. She’d understand the culture.

Besides, Chinatsu told you to talk to someone about it; if you talk to Amaruq, you can actually say you’ve done that much.

“Uh…” You swallow hard, then nod. “Yeah, actually. If you’re okay with that.”

“Of course.” She sets the closed folder on the table, then sits back in her chair and folds her hands over her lap. “What’s going on?” She cocks her head to one side for a moment and studies you for a moment. Then, her eyes widen; she glances around the breakroom, then leans towards you once she’s certain there’s no one nearby. “Is it –is it the incident?”

You shake your head. “No. No, it’s not that. It’s–” You have to swallow again when nausea suddenly overtakes you; your stomach churns, and you can feel a cold sweat break out across your back and the nape of your neck. You breathe deeply through your nose, then let it out through your mouth. You flick a glance around the room to make sure no one’s within earshot –aside from Amaruq, of course–then murmur, “It’s queer stuff.”

“Oh.” Amaruq blinks a few times. Then, her brows furrow together. “Is it Lin?”

“I mean… not really?” You shrug when she motions for you to continue. “It’s… it’s more me than her.”

Amaruq nods, expression heavy with contemplation. “Okay.”

“You–” You grit your teeth when another wave of nausea crests over you. “You grew up in the tribe. You –you know how things are.”

Understanding settles over Amaruq’s features. She nods slowly, emphatically, and sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Your knee bounces up and down beneath the table. You lean forward, arms braced against your stomach to try and ease the nervous tension coiled there. “I mean–” You let out a hollow, breathless laugh. “We’re lucky. We could’ve grown up in the Earth Kingdom. Or Ba Sing Se, specifically.”

“There are places where it’s worse,” Amaruq agrees with a sage nod. She purses her lips, expression strained. “But I don’t think many people really consider…” She swallows hard, tucks her tongue against the inside of her lower lip, then sighs. “They don’t think about what it’s like if you’re just expected to stay in the closet your whole life.”

It’s like someone cut the strings holding you up. You slump forward, managing to brace your chin against your palm. “Yeah.” You manage a wan smile and arch one eyebrow at her. “We won’t go to jail for it. Or be killed for it. And it seems like once those bars are cleared, the world stops caring.”

“They do,” Amaruq agrees. She stares down at the table, gaze distant, then smiles faintly. “I had the hardest adjustment when I moved here. I was so used to being… overly discreet, I guess. I was so shocked at how open everyone is here about their sexuality.”

“As a rule, yeah.” You laugh. “It’s almost like they’re being rude, right?”

“Exactly!” Amaruq’s eyes widen. “It seems so… so socially unaware!”

“It’s like you’re forcing everyone else to watch!”

“That’s how I felt!” She leans back in her seat again and smiles, equal parts nostalgic and pained. “I learned how to get past it –how to be more comfortable with being ‘out’... but, Tui and La, it was painful for a bit.”

You clench your teeth and grimace. “Yeah.” You close your eyes and breathe deep when another wave of nausea mixed with dizziness sweeps over you, then open your eyes and look at your friend once more. “How did your parents react when you came out?”

Her nostrils flare, and her lips tuck into a tight frown. “They were dismissive. I mean –they were fine with it, but they really didn’t want to talk about it. They didn’t want me to be open about it.” Her jaw tightens, and her brows draw together. “My mom said that she didn’t want to have to think about it.”

Your gut clenches sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

“After coming here, I tried to explain…” She pauses, then shakes her head. “Well, I tried. They weren’t very receptive.” Her hands curl into tight balls in her lap. “We don’t talk anymore.”

You frown, saddened, and reach out to touch her forearm. “Oh, Amaruq, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” She forces herself to untense and offers you a small smile. “It is what it is. My partner and friends here have been very supportive, and I couldn’t be more grateful.” She watches you for a moment, then asks, “Have you told your parents?”

You nod.

“How did they react?”

“My mother was supportive,” you answer, smiling softly –though it slips away seconds later. “My father… he was a lot like your parents.”

Amaruq grimaces. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know–” You let out a sardonic laugh. “I never really thought about how it impacted me? But… I haven’t been back to the Northern Water tribe in years. I just… can’t.”

“I know what you mean.”

You lean back in your chair, somewhat floored by the revelation. You stare down at the tabletop for a moment, then shake your head. “Wow. I can’t…” Your voice trails off, and you swallow hard before whispering, “Wow.”

“It’s understandable,” Amaruq assures you after studying you for a moment. “I don’t think I could go back, either.” She shakes her head, lips pursed as she mulls it over, then turns her attention back to you. “I’m guessing the ‘culture shock’” –she makes air quotes with her fingers– “is causing strain between you and Lin?”

You nod. “It’s… it’s been a problem for all my romantic relationships, really. I can’t think of one that didn’t end –or at least have problems–because of it.”

“I’m sorry.” Amaruq winces sympathetically. Then, she leans over and places her hand on your upper arm. “But, if I can give some encouragement?” When you nod, she smiles. “It’s worth working through, I promise. It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”

You smile back and place your hand over hers. “Thank you.”

…

Saturday arrives without warning. It’s like you blink, and then it’s the end of the week.

Despite everything, you start panicking. You oscillate between frantically cleaning, wondering if you’re cleaning too much, and following each tick of the minute hand on the clock you keep in your kitchen until you nearly lose your fucking mind.

Three minutes until noon, and you finally stop. You force yourself to get off your couch, take a deep breath through your nose, then let it out through your mouth until the room doesn’t feel like it’s spinning anymore. Okay. You’re making dinner tonight. Go get ingredients.

The walk down to the outdoor market in your neighborhood does you good. The fresh air and sunshine clears your head and finishes clearing out any remaining panic.

You… might go a little overboard. You were already planning on making Northern-style Sea Prune stew, so you purchase the handful of ingredients you don’t have on hand. There’s also a good deal on whole red snapper, so you get one to share with Lin –which means getting ingredients for a marinade. You get some fresh vegetables and mushrooms for sides, too. If Lin hadn’t already told you she’d bring dessert, you’d have gotten something for that, too.

Halfway on your walk back to your apartment, and you regret not taking a cab back. Fucking hindsight, you grumble in your head as you adjust your hold on your many paper bags.

It turns out to work for the best, though (making so many dishes, not walking back, though nothing detrimental happens). Getting the stew going, prepping and marinating the fish, and preparing the vegetables and mushrooms keeps you busy for the rest of the day. Between cooking and cleaning as you go, you don’t have time to spiral into overthinking for the rest of the day.

A knock on your apartment door jolts you out of your efficient flow of work.

Your stomach drops. You catch yourself against the lip of the counter when you stagger. You close your eyes, inhale deeply through your nose, then let it out through your mouth. Relax. Everything’s going to be fine… hopefully.

Lin offers you a small smile when you open the door. She waits until you’ve closed and locked the door, then holds out a small, white paper box to you. “I stopped by The Juniper Cafe.”

“Always a good choice.” You accept the box from her, then lift the lid to peek inside –only to let out a soft, pleased gasp when you see four custard tartlets sitting inside. “You got the mango flavor!”

“You said it was your favorite.”

You grin at Lin; you feel warm all over. “That was very sweet of you.” You tuck the box in the icebox for later, then turn and hold your arms out to her. “It’s good to see you.”

Lin steps forward and accepts the offer for a hug. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Something shifts in your brain as soon as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. It’s like the final, teeny piece of the dam holding your emotions back crumbles. It ripples through your whole body; relief and grief cascade through you, warring against each other, you go nearly boneless at the same time your eyes well up with tears and your throat constricts. You draw in a shaky breath, then bury your face against her shoulder and let out a shuddering sigh.

Lin picks up on the shift immediately. She tenses, then cups the back of your neck with one hand. “Are you okay?”

You nod, then turn your head a little so she’ll hear you easier. “It’s just been a long week,” you explain, voice wavering.

Lin stays still for a moment. Then, she slides her free arm lower, around your waist, and hugs you closer. And she just… holds you.

You feel tears threaten to slip free when she kisses the top of your head. You sniff, then let yourself melt and break –just a little–in her grasp.

…

It’s a fight to keep Lin from assisting you in finishing dinner.

She balks, first, at how much you’re making. Her eyes go wide when she sees how many pans and pots are atop your stove –and again when you check the oven, revealing the baking snapper. “If I’d known you were going to this much effort–”

“Yeah, why do you think I didn’t tell you?”

“How much did you spend–”

“You’re not paying me back.” You close the oven door –the snapper’s not quite done yet–then shake your head when she crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re my girlfriend, Lin. It’s fine if I want to spoil you a bit. Besides–” you stir the pot of bubbling stew with your waterbending “–these’ll be leftovers for me in the coming week.”

She sighs, but doesn’t argue. Instead, she steps into your kitchen. “How can I help?”

“I’ve got it –you’re a guest!” you insist when Lin rolls her eyes.

“I’m your girlfriend,” she fires back, giving you a flat stare (though the corners of her mouth twitch upwards). “It’s fine if I want to help you.” When you don’t acquiesce, she simply starts doing dishes you haven’t gotten to yet.

So, clearly, your only recourse is using your waterbending to bend the water away from the dish in her hands. You giggle when she slowly turns her head and stares at you, then let the water revert to its natural course. “Sorry.”

“I doubt it.”

…

Dinner goes smoothly. The two of you set up on your sofa, kick back, and enjoy the mountain of food you made while catching each other up on your respective weeks.

You nearly choke on a mouthful of rice and vegetables when Lin tells you about a bust on a Spirit Vine dealing ring. Your eyes bug out, and you quickly swallow before clearing your throat. “Sorry, I didn’t–” You raise your eyebrows at her. “You said ‘pounds,’ right?”

“Pounds,” Lin confirms, looking simultaneously amused and exhausted.

“Two hundred pounds,” you repeat; you can’t even wrap your head around the amount. When Lin nods, you gape. “I –what would they even use that much for?”

“There’s groups purporting various medicinal and spiritual uses for Spirit Vines,” Lin says with a sigh. “So there are corporations and private individuals trying to cash in on a new industry opportunity without having to go through proper licensing, affiliating with local unions, or paying taxes. Aside from that, there’s research that suggests that the vines could be used as a new energy source.”

“So it’s the same deal,” you surmise. “Capitalize on the resource, avoid fees or legal limitations, create a monopoly…”

Lin nods and wipes her fingers on a napkin. “And, unfortunately, there’s testing that proves the vines can be used to create weapons.”

Right. Kuvira’s giant mech used spirit vines to power the cannon. It was practically in every paper at the time. You purse your lips. “Shit.”

Lin grimaces and nods. “Yeah.” She leans back against your couch and offers you a small smile. “What happened with your work this week?”

“Nothing as exciting as what you did,” you state with a laugh.

Lin laughs along with you. “Some days, I think I’d take that.”

But dinner passes all too quickly. And because Lin insists on helping you with the clean up and putting the food away, you’re suddenly out of stall time and back in your head.

You swallow hard when your stomach churns. Maybe dinner wasn’t such a good idea, after all. You grit your teeth, then force the nausea creeping up your throat back down. I am not wasting that snapper.

Lin notices the shift in your mood –probably because she’s spent years as a detective and was trained to pick up on such changes, but also probably because you feel like you’re going to shit out your heart, and that’s bound to show on your face. She latches onto your shoulders like you’re about to keel over. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. You take a deep breath, then try to squish yourself back into your body before looking up at her. You smile and look up at her without really seeing her face. “I’m fine.” You blink when she takes your wrist in one hand, then laugh when she starts counting under her breath. “I’m not going to pass out, Lin.”

“You look like it. You need to sit down.”

You let her walk you over to your couch and sit without protest. You clasp your hands tightly in your lap, then offer her a thin smile when she sits next to you. “We should…” You clear your throat, then force yourself to keep going. “We should probably talk about ‘it,’ yeah?”

It doesn’t take Lin long to catch your meaning. Her brows draw together, but then her look of confusion fades a few moments later. She purses her lips, but lets out a long breath and nods. “Only if you feel up to it.”

“I want to,” you assure her. “And –I mean, we need to. We should.” You can feel your hands getting sweaty, and you wipe them off on the legs of your pants.

After you go silent for a few moments, Lin gestures for you to continue. “You’re the one who said you wanted time to sort stuff out.”

“Yeah.” You tuck your hair behind your ears, then cover your face with your hands. “Look, just–” You draw in a shaky breath, then lift your head slightly so she can hear you clearly. “This –this is going to sound really stupid, and it’ll probably sound like I’m whining, so I’m sorry in advance, okay?”

Lin frowns and sits back against the sofa. She crosses her arms loosely over her chest, then crosses one leg over her knee. “Alright.”

You’re sweating. You can feel the clamminess on your hands, along your back, at the nape of your neck, in the pits of your knees. Your chin trembles, and you stare down at the floor as you try to think of where to even start with all of this shit. You let out a shaky breath –then jolt when Lin puts a hand on your back. You gasp, then clear your throat and look at her.

“Whatever you have to say,” she assures you, voice quiet but clear, “it’s alright.”

You swallow hard, then nod and go back to staring at the floor. “I… I don’t know. I guess –I guess it’s never really one of those things I thought about, you know?”

“Thought about what?”

“About… about how different things are here, compared to the Northern Water tribe.” You let out a shaky breath, and some of the tension in your chest chips away. You sigh –then let out a bitter laugh. “You know, any time any of us talk about it –or anyone raised in the Southern tribe–we always hear about how it’s worse in the Earth Kingdom, worse in Ba Sing Se. And it is. The laws and social attitudes towards queerness there are worse than they’ll ever be in the Water tribes.” You pause, purse your lips, then smack one loose fist against your thigh. “But… no one understands!”

“Understands what?” Lin asks after you’ve been quiet for a few moments.

You deflate a bit, shoulders slumping, and drop your head into your hands. You groan, then rub your face to try and focus your mind. “It was so weird when I first moved here, you know.” You lower your hands from your face and offer her a hollow smile. “I mean, I knew that Republic City followed the Fire Nation’s reforms and Air Nomad philosophies towards sexuality. I knew that it was an open safe space for queer communities.” You sit back against the sofa and stare down at your lap. “I still remember the first week I was here. I’d just gotten settled in university, and I’d gone to a local market to get a few supplies –and there were two men, just walking together and holding hands! And they stopped to look at some produce, and one of the men kissed his partner on the cheek, and I couldn’t help but stare because it just… felt rude? To make such a public scene?” You sniff, then wipe away a tear that’s trailing down your cheek. “And I looked around, and literally no one but me noticed. But back home, it would’ve been such a big deal!”

“Is PDA frowned on in the Water tribes?” Lin asks with a frown.

You grimace and sigh. “For visibly queer couples, yes.”

She grimaces as well. “But not for straight-passing couples.”

“But not for straight-passing couples,” you surmise. You go quiet again, then let out a quiet, watery laugh. “You know, I never really processed… any of it. The whole rule against appearing ‘gay’ in public, against talking about it, or being open about it outside of home, or in select company just seemed so normal. And it still feels normal.”

Lin says nothing –but when you start crying harder, she reaches over and takes your hand in hers.

You sniff, then let out a choked, body-shaking sob. You rub your cheeks dry with the back of your free hand –not that it does much good, because your skin’s soaked again seconds later. “I feel so big,” you confess with a shaking gasp, “all the time. I feel like I’m always breaking out of my body. Like I’m taking up too much space. Everywhere I go –whenever someone might be able to tell I’m gay, I feel like there are thousands of eyes on me, that everyone’s just waiting for some sort of proof–” You inhale sharply, when Lin puts one arm around your shoulders, then weep a bit when she tugs you into her arms. You bury your face into her neck and cry. “I –I just d-don’t want to piss anyone off, o-or get ye-yelled at, or–”

“Easy.” Lin shushes you, then hugs you tight. She kisses your forehead, then cups the back of your neck when you whimper. “Just breathe.”

Easier said than done, but eventually, you manage. Your shoulders and chest jump as you gasp unsteadily, but slowly, surely, your body winds down. Eventually, you’re limp in her hold, hiccuping softly as tension and panic winds out of you, leaving melancholy and fatigue in its wake. Well, that was dramatic. You sniff, then grimace. And it probably didn’t explain shit. You swallow hard, then let out a tremulous sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Well, I am. I don’t think I explained myself well.”

“You did fine,” Lin says, voice soft but firm in a way that tells you that while she cares about you and is sensitive to your mood at present, she’s not going to tolerate arguing. (Good thing for her, your sob session tired you out.) She smoothes one hand over your hair, then kisses the top of your head when you draw in a shaky breath. “I have one question, if that’s okay?”

You nod, then sniff. “Yeah, go for it.”

“Can you look at me?” She waits, then brushes a few stray locks of hair off your forehead once you lift your head. “You mentioned that you didn’t want to be yelled at.”

You frown, confused. “Yeah…”

“Has anyone ever yelled at you over this?” Lin asks, gesturing vaguely with one hand. When you drop her gaze, and your expression shifts to one of pain, the arm wrapped around your back tenses. “Who yelled at you?” she asks, voice lower, more gravelly.

You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, but your eyes start stinging again. “My dad did.” Your lower trembles, and you can feel your throat tensing with grief once more. “When I came out.”

Lin sucks in a breath, then pulls you against her. She hugs you tight, tucking your head beneath her chin. “I’m so sorry. He was wrong for rejecting–”

“He didn’t!” you snap –more out of anger towards yourself than her. You pull away, then lurch into a standing position and start pacing around your apartment. “That’s –that’s the thing I don’t fucking understand! He didn’t reject me! He didn’t tell me that I was wrong for being gay, or that he didn’t want me to be gay, or that he was ashamed to have a gay daughter, or any of it!” You spread your arms wide in a harsh, jerky movement. “None of that happened!”

Lin watches you, lips pulled into a worried frown. “But he yelled at you?”

“I mean…” You stall, deflating slightly. You swallow hard, fighting against a fresh wave of nausea, then shrug. “Yeah. He did.”

“Why?” When you shrug again, she purses her lips and changes tracks. “What did he say?”

You clench your jaw as anguish threatens to overtake you again. You look away and spread your arms in a short, tight movement. “He got mad when I tried to push the issue.”

Lin’s brows draw together. “I thought you said he didn’t reject you.”

“He didn’t.” You sniff, shoulders shaking as you start crying again. “He– I–” You stop, swallow hard, then take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just start from the beginning. Get the whole thing out there. “I came out to both of my parents at the same time. My mom was supportive. She hugged me, told me she loved me–” You stop when your voice breaks, then duck your head and push forward. “And my dad –I mean, it’s not like he really reacted. He–” You gasp. Your chest feels tight. “I thought –I thought he didn’t hear me, or maybe he didn’t understand, so I told him again–”

Lin stands and steps around your coffee table.

“He told me that he heard me the first time,” you eke out between sobs as she draws you into her arms. You choke on a gasp, then cling onto the front of her shirt. “And –and that I shouldn’t shove it into anyone’s face. He told me that he heard me, and that was that, and to be done with it, and that I shouldn’t be so dramatic–”

Lin hooks her arm under your shoulder when your knees give out. She wraps one arm around your back, then squats and hooks her other arm under your knees. She carries you back to the couch, sits, then tucks a blue throw blanket you keep over the back of your sofa around you.

You’re incoherent for a while. You bury your face into her shoulder and sob; you let it all out –all your nonsensical grief, and anguish, and fear.

Lin stays quiet, but her hold on you never falters. She doesn’t complain, or fidget, or try to hurry you along in any way.

You cry until your face feels raw from your tears. Until your voice is hoarse and you’ve given yourself a headache. Until you’re on the verge of collapsing from dehydration (okay, maybe not that severe, but you feel like a dishrag that’s been wrung out until it's bone dry).

“I don’t know why it hurts so much,” you croak once you’ve caught your breath, some long while later. “It wasn’t that bad. It shouldn’t hurt so much.”

Lin’s silent for a couple beats. Then, she shifts so your head is tucked in the crook of her neck. She squeezes you against her for a moment, then brushes her lips against your forehead. “I think it’s enough.”

You sniff. Your throat goes tight. And then, you start crying again.

…

She stays the night.

“It’s your choice,” Lin says once you’ve gotten up to get some water (because even though you’re not on the verge of death, you did dehydrate yourself), “but I’d feel better knowing you’re not alone tonight.”

“I mean… you can stay if you want.” You gulp down some water, then frown. “I won’t have coffee for you in the morning.”

“I’ll live.”

You grimace into your water cup. “I don’t have any spare toiletries for you to use, or anything. I don’t know if I’d have pajamas that fit you, either.”

“It’s not the end of the world,” she says with a shrug.

“Dental hygiene is important,” you mumble into your mug.

Lin merely arches one eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll just borrow your toothbrush.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Isn’t that gross?”

“...I’ve had my entire tongue inside your cunt.” She smirks when you spit your water back into your cup out of sheer shock. “I find it surprising that this is where you draw the line at ‘gross.’”

You laugh a little, but it fades. You go back to staring down at your half-empty glass of water. “I don’t want to be a bad hostess.”

“You made me dinner–”

“And then I cried on you for an hour and ruined your shirt.”

“It’s not. Ruined.” Lin stands, walks over to your kitchen, and places her hands on your shoulders. “Look, if it’s that important to you, I can duck back to my place and pack an overnight bag.”

“But it’s late,” you sigh with a glance at the clock. “And cold. I don’t want to make you deal with that.”

“You wouldn’t be –but fine. I’m fine with staying without an overnight bag.” She stares down at you for a moment, then softens when your exhausted, bleak expression doesn’t lift. She cups your cheek with one hand, then murmurs your name. “If you want to be alone, it’s okay. I won’t take it personally.”

You sniff, then lean into her hand. “I want you to stay.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Lin murmurs as she sweeps her thumb over the swell of your cheek.

She winds up not returning to her apartment for an overnight bag. She borrows your toothbrush. “I worked homicide as a detective,” she says when you keep fussing over her. “Arguably, this is the least gross thing I’ve seen or done in my life.” She borrows an oversized shirt of yours and a pair of shorts that she deems comfortable.

You climb into bed next to Lin after turning out the light. You let out a shaky, relieved breath when she wraps one arm around you, then lay your head against her shoulder.

You feel bad. You feel guilty. You’ve spent the better part of the evening as an emotional, spewing wreck, and now you’ve got her here overnight without basic amenities for her.

You bite the tip of your tongue before you can apologize; it seems wrong to make her console you –again–after all she’s done for you tonight. You sniff, then adjust where your hand rests on her chest so you can feel the gentle thud of her heart. “Thank you.”

Lin hugs you closer and kisses the top of your head. “Of course.”

It’s a short course to falling asleep (though you spend your remaining consciousness making a list of what you need to have on hand should your girlfriend spend the night in the future).

…

Lin wakes up before you.

You wake up face down in a pillow, starfished across the open space in your bed, tangled up in blankets like a penguinseal in a fisherman’s net. You grunt when something presses against your shoulder, then lift your head and shove your hair against your face. “Huh?”

Lin smirks. “Good morning.” She holds a steaming mug out to you. “I made tea.”

“Oh.” You struggle into a sitting position, then accept the cup with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

The two of you sit in silence for a bit as you drag yourself out of the dregs of slumber. Once you’ve downed half the cup, you finish extricating yourself from your snarl of blankets and make your way to your living room.

The two of you have some of the mango custard tarts for breakfast. Lin uses a plate and utensils to eat hers, while you pick one up out of the box and bite straight into it.

“It’s about the authentic experience,” you argue when Lin teases you.

“What’s so authentic about eating like a heathen?” Lin quips.

You swallow, then gesture with your tartlet. “Because I feel the urge to eat them like this everytime I go to Juniper’s.”

Lin smirks and shakes her head.

It’s soft and companionable, eating custard tarts and drinking tea on your sofa in the early, autumnal morning light.

You finish off the last of your tea, then lay your head against Lin’s shoulder. “I–” You purse your lips as the urge to apologize rears its head, then swallow it. “Thank you. For last night. And everything.”

“Of course.”

You lift your head when she leans forward to set her plate, utensils, and cup on your coffee table, then settle back against her once she sits back once more. You nestle against her side, then let out a little sigh when she takes your hands in hers. “I feel like we should talk about last night.”

“Do you want to?”

You press your lips together, but nod. “I think we should. I mean –we haven’t even talked about your side of it, really. It’s… it’s important to me.”

“Okay.” Lin squeezes your hand gently, then shifts so she’s angled towards you. “Is it okay if I go first?”

“Yeah.” You nod, then look up at her. “Of course.”

She offers you a small, soft smile, then looks down at your joined hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever considered how growing up in the Northern Water Tribe would impact your perspective of public affection –or your own sexuality, for that matter.” She squeezes your hand gently, then lets out a soft huff. “I suppose I was more fortunate. I grew up in an accepting family and environment. There wasn’t ever an issue of public affection being ‘inappropriate’ because of my partner’s gender –or a notion that I was supposed to keep my sexuality completely to myself, or only in select circles. It was always my choice.”

“I’m glad,” you interject. You offer her a smile when she looks at you. “I’m glad you had that support.”

Lin gives you a small smile in return, then drops your gaze as she returns to contemplation. She stares down at your joined hands. Her thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. “If I can ask… why did you keep saying that how your father responded ‘wasn’t that big of a deal?’”

“I…” You blink a few times, then swallow hard. I don’t know. You shrug. “It… it just isn’t, I guess.”

“But he yelled at you when you came out to him. How is that not a problem?” Lin frowns when you don’t respond. “Did he yell at you a lot?”

“I don’t know,” you answer with a shrug. “It didn’t seem like a lot. He wasn’t the most emotionally open person, so when he got mad, it was kind of hard to tell until it hit the breaking point.” When Lin nods, but her frown doesn’t lift, you frown up at her, concerned. “What?”

She sighs. “Look, I’ll concede that I’m not the best at this shit, but –in my opinion–he shouldn’t have yelled at you. Whatever was going on in his head, you’re his kid. You needed him.” Her voice cracks at the end, but she swallows hard and moves on quickly. “There wasn’t anything you did that warranted him yelling, as far as I can tell.”

A lump rises up in your throat. You press your lips together to try and keep the tidal wave of feelings –anguish, anger, grief–at bay. You give a tight, one shouldered shrug and let out a hollow laugh. “I appreciate that, but it’s not like you were there.”

“I wasn’t,” she agrees, nodding. “Doesn’t mean I can’t tell if something’s fucked up when I see it.”

You grimace, then shift your position on the couch. You cross your free arm over your stomach and bring your knees up against your chest. “I thought we were talking about you,” you deflect, careful to keep your voice teasing instead of accusatory.

Lin considers, then shakes her. “Not much to talk about.”

“Okay, no–” You level her with a hard stare when she opens her mouth to argue. “Relationships are a two-way street, Lin. The whole reason we wound up here is because I made you feel like I don’t care about you or our relationship. Your feelings are important, regardless of my childhood bullshit.”

“Stop. That.” Lin’s upper lip curls slightly as she meets your stare. “Quit trivializing your experiences. If we’re talking about my feelings, how am I supposed to feel when you’re degrading yourself in the process? Because now I feel like I need to comfort you –and I want to–when you’ve made it clear that we’re talking about my hurt in the situation. How is that fair?”

You duck your head and purse your lips. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.” She squeezes your hand tenderly. “It’s just not fair.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You sniff, then let out a ragged sigh as your vision clouds over from tears. “I just… I hate that this all splashed out on you. You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“Everyone brings baggage to a relationship.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want you getting hurt!” Your voice breaks at the end, and you gasp as tears start dripping down your cheeks. “I –I didn’t ever want to hurt you!”

Lin lets go of your hand and winds her arms around your shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. People fuck up. We’re working through it. It’s okay.”

You can’t help but snort. “I think you may have missed your calling as a therapist.”

“I’d fling myself off a bridge first,” Lin replies, utterly serious, without missing a beat.

You sniff, then lay your head against her shoulder. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Of course.” She kisses the top of your head. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

You sigh, then nestle against her. You take a moment to collect yourself –catch your breath, dry your face, let the wave of emotions pass–then tap her arm. “We still need to talk about you.”

“I already said–”

“You’re not getting out of this!” you interject. You wag your index finger at her. “If I’m suffering, so are you. Start talking about your feelings, Beifong.”

“You do realize who you’re talking to –hey!” Lin grabs your hand when you start poking her in the ribs. “That’s enough, brat. Behave.”

“Not a damn day in my life.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” She chuckles when you laugh, but her body goes tense against yours soon after. “Okay, hear me out. I’ve already told you I don’t have anything to say for my part –no.” She claps one hand over your mouth when you start to protest. “You can be patient.”

You’re half tempted to lick her hand, but it’s lost in the wake of unexpected arousal. Note to self: bring this up later.

She lowers her hand once you nod. “I’m being honest,” Lin continues. “What I needed was context and clarity. Especially since I know that what you’re dealing with is trauma-based–”

“It’s not–”

“Whatever you want to fucking call it,” she sighs, slightly exasperated. “My point is that it’s not just a lack of care or effort. You’re processing through shit, and I’m okay to meet you where you’re at. Okay?”

I’m gonna fucking cry again. You mash your lips into a thin line. You can feel your eyes burning again. You smile, then nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Lin’s expression softens. She tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “Of course.”

You curl up against her for a bit, and she folds her arms around you. The two of you bask in the late morning silence –the glow of the sunlight filtering through the window, the rattle of Satomobiles outside, the soft sounds of the tenants around and above you starting their day. There’s a deep sense of peace that comes with it; it’s almost meditative.

“I want to get better,” you say after a bit. At Lin’s questioning hum, you look up at her. “I want to work on being more comfortable with relationship stuff in public. Not just for you –though you’re very important to me–but for me, too.” As much as I count, anyway. You swallow, then press on. “I just… need time.”

Lin nods, then tucks your head beneath her chin. “I have time.”

#sass writes #lin beifong x reader #happy new year! i have returned!#and i bring trauma processing sdlfjdslfkjdslfkjdsf #nice and auspicious for the new year sljfdslkfjsldfj #hurt/comfort #highkey processing my own trauma through this so it goes hard imo #just be forewarned #legend of korra #hands that heal

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obwjam · 9 months

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I always had the idea to make a fanfic with Miles shrunken and peter parker from PS5.

It turns out that Peter is investigating some strange hidden facilities in the Kim Pim areas, when he discovers some secret corridors where a door leads to a laboratory and the rest are dark and semi-empty rooms.

In one of those rooms there is something that catches your attention, it is full of stacked cages small enough to have laboratory mice, all rusty and lacking in maintenance, of all those cages only 9 were half-open with traces of dried blood and the tenth that was around the open ones, was closed with something inside, he thought it was a small experiment mouse, but its shape did not quite match.

As he got closer, he realized that it was a small shrunken human (Miles), he had a tattered white coat and his dark skin, although it was not very noticeable, was full of bruises and cuts, he looked thin and fragile, his body was noticeable. lack of food, he looked very mistreated and behind his robe he had the number 1610, the same number that he had on the door of the cage (Experiment 1610)

It turns out that little Miles was going to school when some strangers with hoods and masks neutralized and kidnapped him, from there his life became hell and he was not the only one, along with him there were nine other children who were from different parts of New York, they did the same to him and they used them all as guinea pigs, they injected him with serums and experimentarion with them, their objective was to give them abilities and powers of spiders like spiderman but in a smaller version so that they could better infiltrate future missions of espionage, of all of them thousands was the only survivor who obtained spiderman powers and a couple of extra abilities (invisibility and venom) the rest died thanks to the experiments and was trapped for 8 months (but Miles lost track of time For always being stuck in the dark, so he had no idea)

Miles knows about spiderman because he always watched his news, and when he saw him in front of him, a small ray of hope blooms in his chest, but it doesn't mean it's easy, thanks to how they mistreated him during all those months he feels tiny and defenseless, he knows that spiderman came to save him but that doesn't mean he's not afraid of the big hands when he sees them in front of him, and he can feel the vibrations when a person moves around him, which makes him tense and scared, Peter (disguised as spiderman) he realizes this and very delicately tries to grab him to get him out of that hell, that's when he hears voices from the corridors and tries to lighten things up to get the boy out quickly before the scientists arrive, although be reluctant.

When he takes him out and takes him to his apartment, he realizes that Mile is the son of Jeriff Jefferson Davis and the mother Rio who works in a hospital, there were "wanted" posters of him and the nine other children who died in the experiments, From there Peter tries to decide with Mile whether to reveal what happened to Mile by showing them his current state or directly keep it a secret and try to find the cure while taking care of him and teaching him to use his spider powers.

I'm sorry if it's too long, but this idea has always been on my mind, what do you think? is this to make a fanfic?

i’ve never played the game but this is such a fantastic idea omg!!! you basically just wrote a fic right here hahaha i don’t think i could make it any better than you did wow. this is such a cool and unique concept but poor miles!!! i don’t want to see him hurt like that 😟

#poor miles!!!!#peter would take such good care of him though #asks

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salami2 · 2 years

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Ch. 2 - Vecna’s Curse

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary - When news of Chrissy Cunningham’s death, you and the gang find Eddie alone in an abounded drug dealers house. Now, you have to stay together and protect him, but somehow, the two of you learn things about each-other and grow closer…

w/c - 1.7k a:n - this chapter so far has my favourite scene i’ve ever written :) also, less Munson x reader but dw! we’ll get there

Warning(s) - spoilers for ep.2, guns, death, murder, bleeding, Eddie almsot killing Steve, blood.

Chapter List - Ch.1 , Ch.3 , Ch.4 , Ch.5 , Ch.6

You couldn’t believe it. Your eyes were deceiving you, you thought. There’s no way this could happen…

The grainy television inside your class were only distant voices compared to the headline.

‘Girl found Murdered at Hawkins trailer park’

You excused yourself from the class, making a quick getaway from the front doors of the school as fast as your skates could take you.

The wheels felt like they could be on fire from how fast you were going. Speeding like a racecar who’s about to lose the race. Your mind was set on going to one place: Family Rental. To see if Steve was okay.

Hawkins, Indiana is the smallest town you’ve ever known. Well, technically it’s the only town you’ve ever known. Been living here your whole life. But you know damn well no murderers live in Hawkins.

Any human ones, at least.

You swung open the doors of ‘Family Video’. Steve and Robin whipped his head around in confusion then worried.

“Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s dangerous, if you need to be picked up I-“

“Thank you, Steve- do you know whose trailer that was?“ “No, why?” He asked. You skated over to the computer, trying to start it and get it working.

“This isn't normal. Over the past 3 years, when have spontaneous murders ever happened at Hawkins? If it’s what I think it is, we need to find where the murder took place and start investigating.”

Everything was silent. Until the doors swung open, once again. There stood Max and Dustin. Their eyes laid on you, and a once confused Steve became confused once again.

“Nine! You got the same idea, too?”

You nodded, not entirely sure where to start. Dustin slid over the counter, furiating Steve and Robin. They both curse at Dustin as he heads to the computers.

“We need to find Eddie,” Dustin says, “He could be in serious trouble!”

“Wait, why are we trying to find Eddie?” You asked, curious as to why they brought up that boy's name.

“That trailer was his. Chrissy died in his trailer and now he’s a convicted murderer. We need to find him to see if he’s alright.”

Your heart started pounding a mile a minute. It felt like time was slowing down. Not only was someone you had just been with last night falsely accused, he’ll be hunted like a witch.

A cold sweat broke out on your forehead. Finding yourself praying he’s safe and sound.

“I need… I need a TV and some chords!”

The door of the abandoned house creaked open. Everyone's eyes looked around the messy surroundings, as Steve would put it.

“So… this is where Eddies been?”

Steve asked, carefully treading inside. Robin and Max pointed out empty cans and trash bags.

He grabbed an oar and started poking and prodding around. Sighing at your brothers idiotic antics once again. “Steve, what the hell are you doing? You could hurt Eddie if you're not careful.”

He scoffed. “Y/N, don’t worry. I’m sure your little friend would be fine.”

You drag the tv inside. Fixing it up with a special headset.

“Hey, don’t worry, guys. Steve will save us with his big, long oar! He’ll save us from any danger here!” Dustin jokes.

“Please Henderson, half of us here have had our lives in danger more than once. This kid can’t do anything to us that we haven’t been against-“

A tarp Steve was jabbing up flew up, revealing a hiding Eddie. He grabbed him by the collar, shoving him against the wall with a shattered bottle against his throat. Everyone went into high alert mode as you dug around in your backpack to grab something.

“EDDIE! STOP, PLEASE, CALM DOWN, WE’RE NOT HERE TO HURT YOU!”

Dustin exclaimed, trying to stop Eddie from cutting Steve’s throat. “We’re here to help you, right guys- NINE Y/N WHAT THE HELL!?”

You had your eyes on Eddie, who was currently looking scared out of his mind.

A loaded shotgun was in your hands, pointing directly at the boy's head. Everyone was completely stunned at what was happening. Eddie's mouth agape.

“Let go of my GODDAMN BROTHER!” You shouted, unwilling to move from your position. Eyes steady on that Munson boy.

“If you let go, I won’t shoot and put the gun away. But if you don’t… don’t expect me to hold back.”

Dustin spoke up. “Eddie, we’re on your side. This is Robin, from band! This is Max, the one who never wants to play D&D, that’s Steve- And the one about to kill you you already know, Y/N. Just… please. Let go and we can talk.”

He hesitated. Eddie let go of his grip on Steve and sat down. You tucked the gun in your backpack, still keeping an eye on Eddie.

Steve came up to you and gave you a pat on the back. As if to say ‘thanks’.

“Eddie… We’re just here to help. Tell us what happened that night. I promise, we’ll believe you…”

He scoffed, lips trembling. His body was crouched, like he became a ball. He wasn’t ready to fight. You felt sorry for him, looking like a shivering puppy.

“You wouldn’t believe me…” he mumbled, hiding his face.

“Try us.” Your voice called out.

Both your [E/C] eyes and his round, brown doe eyes didn’t stray away. As if communicating telepathically, you awkwardly looked away. As if to say a quiet ‘sorry’.

He spilled his guts out to you. The situation with Chrissy, drug deals, her body contorting as she died right in front of him. Your heart broke for Eddie. You knew that facing the demogorgon was traumatic for everyone who first experiences it, but for him, he was completely innocent in it. I mean, everyone is. But you thought how nobody else should have gotten involved.

“… You all think this is bullshit, huh?” He asked, looking away.

“No, we believe you.” Robin said. “Don’t bullshit me man!” he exclaimed back.

“We’re not.” You protested, inching closer towards him. He jerked back, a little afraid of what you’d do to him. In good faith, you put your hands up, coming in peace.

“Look,” Dustin said, “Y/N- no, Nine is going to need to do something to you so we can see what happened that night.”

“It’s not going to hurt,” you quickly reassured, “But I just… need you to keep quiet about what I’m about to do. If word got out, my life could be on the line. I’m not joking about it.”

His cute, confused expression was evident. You slid on a monitored net on his head, secured tightly and synced to the busted television. You took a seat, taking a deep breath.

It’s been so long since you’ve done this. Shaking, you decided to take his hands. Holding them out for him.

When he slid his cold, ringed hand you felt it again. The perfect fit, like last night.

Focusing, you start using your powers.

Static showed on the screen what he had seen that night. His eyes were wide, like a frightened deer. Though you couldn’t see. Since yours was firmly shut, trying to show everyone what you can see.

Eddie felt like his trauma was replaying once again. It couldn’t be… how is this happening?

How was Y/N doing this?

You got to the moment where Chrissy hit the floor when you gave out, exasperated. You let go of his hands and slumped in your chair.

A stream of blood trailing down from your left nostril.

Robin gave you a tissue as Dustin took noted on what happened.

“Holy shit-“ Eddie gasped. “What just happened? How did you do that? Is she like… a wizard??”

So much confusion circulated his brain. But one thing was for sure:

That was the coolest shit he’s ever seen!

“Yeah, she’s great.” Dustin chuckled, as you gave him the best sloppy high five you could muster.

“I can’t believe I actually stayed…”

You mumbled under your breath, leaning against the cold exterior of an unused boat. An arm over your shut eyes.

Currently, you were sitting in the house that Eddie was staying in while a certain red car swiftly got away. That car was Steves. And all of your friends had asked you to stay with Eddie while they try to solve the mystery. Asking for your help when everything was figured out.

Eddie gazed at you, starstruck, from across the room.

He walks up to you and sits next to you, in a childish manner.

“So, uh,” he speaks, prompting you to look at him, “I have, like, a shit ton of questions.” he states.

You giggle. “And what are they?” You ask.

“Ok, first off: YOU HAVE SUPER POWERS!?”

You burst out laughing. It had been a while since you got a reaction like that. A genuine smile forming on both of your faces.

“Well, yeah. Reading people's minds is just one. But, if I try hard enough…”

You look dead- locked on a toppled can of empty soda. Hand reaching out as if to have grabbed it. After a moment or trying, the can started to rattle in its place, slowly but surely lifting off the ground. Causing Eddie to stand up shocked. Spewing out a long line of curses in amazement.

“Holy SHIT- That’s fucking metal!” He shouts, jumping up and down a bit.

You laughed, cleaning up the bit of blood. “Ok, ok, next question: why does Henderson call you Nine?”

Pausing, you showed your wrist to him. A faded tattoo reading ‘009’ shown. He made an ‘o’ with his mouth. “A little weird to get a numbered tattoo. Like you're some sort of war prisoner.”

You decided now was not the time to tell him. You weren’t exactly sure how he would take you being a Hawkins Lab escapee that had to undergo traumatic tests every day from your birth.

“Last, and final one: Why the hell do you carry a shotgun around??”

“Self defense. If I’m ever in a situation where I can’t use my hands or powers. It’s just something I’ve always had, ever since 83’”

He nodded, licking his lips.

“Are you satisfied?” You smiled. He gave you one of his dorky ones.

“Somewhat. But, we should do this more often.” He said. You raised an eyebrow. “Do what?” You wondered.

“Talk. You have a nice voice.”

Sputtering on your words, you didn’t know what to say. Placing a hand on your cheek. Yep, you were blushing alright.

“Ever the charmer, Munson. Ever the charmer…”

@salami2 , pls like & reblog

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson series #stranger things series

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leelany-world · 1 year

Text

DBH Rarepairsweek: Free Day (Hank x Rose)

@dbhrarepairs DBH rarepairsweek 6, Day 7, prompt: Free Day

Words: 1,987 Relationships: Hank x Rose Additional Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, First Dates, Falling In Love, Rose knows what she wants, it's Hank, Connor/Fake Mustache, Sixty/Kitchen Knife, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, surprise case, DBH Rarepairs Week Summary: Hank and Rose are on their first date. What could go wrong?

Free Day

Hank promised to buy Sumo only the best treats for the rest of his life as a thank you. And Sixty would get a lifetime supply of his favorite flavored Thirium drink.

If Sixty hadn't tied the big, stupid, adorable animal too loosely, and if Sumo hadn't run off to chase a squirrel, he wouldn't have met the lovely woman he was going out with tonight. Rose.

Maybe he should even bring the squirrel a bag of nuts every day from now on.

Damn, when was the last time he was this happy and nervous? He never thought he would feel like this again. Like an embarrassing teenager in love. Butterflies in his stomach, he couldn't eat and he was nervous as hell.

He thought that after the death of his son Cole and the failure of his marriage, he would never be able to love again.

It was his first day off in months, always busy with his rehab and keeping Detroit safe from raids until the citizens returned after the evacuation.

And he would use this day for his first date in years.

It would be the first real date with Rose, a whole day together, not just phone calls, chats, or fleeting meetings at the market where there was always someone around.

These were Hank's thoughts as he stood in his bedroom, getting ready for the day and looking at himself in the mirror. He scrutinized himself from top to bottom and had to admit that he liked what he saw. He had gotten fitter and didn't look as run down as he had six months ago. His hair had been cut, his beard trimmed and his clothes pressed.

Lost in thoughts of their plans for the day, Hank didn't even notice when someone called his name.

“...nk... Hank!” said Connor with emphasis and Hank was jolted out of his musings.

"Did you say something?"

“Yes, we have to leave soon, I have to assist Nines and Gavin with their investigation and drop you off at the Botanical Gardens first,” Connor explained as he adjusted the collar of Hank's shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, don't stress an old man like that,” Hank laughed and tugged at the collar again when Connor was done.

“Please don't say you're old. Studies say you're in the prime of life! We've improved your diet, you're exercising, and you've been sober for half a year. You are in good shape and will live many more years if you keep this up.”

“I know, Connor, I know,” Hank said, patting him on the shoulder. “And I really appreciate your help. But don't stress me out on this day! I'm stressing myself out enough.”

“Don't worry, Hank. This will be a great night for you and Rose, I promise.”

Hank raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "How can you promise that?"

Connor's LED circled yellow, betraying his confident attitude, “I just... know? It's a... gut feeling, as you would say.”

“Uh-huh, that doesn't sound very reassuring coming from you.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, obviously annoyed by Hank's lack of confidence in him. But he was there for Hank and Hank was absolutely nervous.

“I know you and Rose really like each other. So what could go wrong?” said Connor as he pushed Hank towards the door.

Yeah, what could go wrong, Hank wondered.

***

As luck would have it, Rose and Hank arrived at the Botanical Gardens at the same time and neither had to wait nervously for the other.

She looked beautiful in her floral summer dress and her gorgeous smile when she caught sight of Hank. Her stunning, voluminous natural curls hung loosely over her shoulders, and Hank was mesmerized.

“You look very handsome, Hank,” Rose greeted him as she gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“I should say so about you,” Hank replied in genuine surprise.

“Your eyes told me,” Rose giggled, and Hank joined in her laughter as he rubbed the back of his neck.

He gave her his arm and led her into the building.

As they entered the first large greenhouse, they were greeted by lush tropical trees and plants. The warm, humid tropical air was filled with a multitude of scents. They strolled along the paths, stopping at interesting flowers or when a bird sat near the edge of the path. The conversation never stopped as they walked through the various themed exhibits.

But the real goal for the day was an exhibit on ancient native crops, beekeeping, and butterfly farming for the conservation of endangered species. Rose wanted to make her farm a learning experience for children with the help of Kara and Luther, whom Hank had also met that day at the Farmers Market.

Hank liked gardening.... before. Then he'd let it slide, everything withered and died, like his will to live.

But now? Now it was as if his old passion was blossoming again, like his feelings for Rose.

Hank loved listening to Rose's passion as she shared her knowledge of plants, and she promised to give him some of the plants and trees she grew for his garden.

They were so engrossed in conversation that they were almost late for their dinner reservation at the restaurant. A new French restaurant by a famous chef whose name Hank didn't think was important to remember. But Nines had promised him that the evening of food and drink would be free. Who was Hank to say no?

The restaurant had an elegant interior, the guests talked quietly and a waiter greeted them at the entrance. After taking their coats, he led them to their table by the window with a beautiful view of the city.

“This is nice,” Rose admitted after they sat down and ordered their drinks.

Hank opened the menu and looked at the prices. "You think? A little too extravagant for my taste," he said, laughing nervously.

“But it's free, so we should definitely enjoy it! And any place is nice when you have the perfect company,” Rose replied, wearing a sweet smile on her face as she read the menu.

That automatically made Hank smile, too. She was right, of course. And the company was beyond perfect.

Hank couldn't stop admiring her. Her smile was enchanting, her heart so big that he lost himself in it. Suddenly he knew he had to tell her. It had been so long since he had felt such a strong connection with anyone.

“Rose, I—”

“Bonsoir, I am Claude, I will be your server tonight,” a man with a heavy French accent but a very familiar voice interrupted him as he placed the drinks on the table. Hank's head turned abruptly to face the waiter.

Of course it was Connor. He was wearing the restaurant's waiter uniform, with a white button-down shirt, a dark green vest, black slacks and a bow tie in the same green color. He stood bolt upright beside him, had one scarf draped over his arm in front of him, the other folded behind his back. And he wore a mustache. Hank didn't know what to think.

“Connor, what the hell are you doing, and why the hell are you wearing a mustache?” whispered Hank in a sharp tone. The last thing he wanted to do was to draw attention to his table.

“I am not Connor, you must have me confused with someone else, monsieur,” Connor replied, still with a French accent.

Hank stared dumbfounded at Connor, who smiled innocently down at him.

Rose giggled at the scene that presented itself. “I think we should give him our order, Hank” she suggested amusedly and Connor nodded in agreement.

“Hello Rose,” Connor whispered.

“Hello Co-, hello Claude,” she played along with amusement.

But Hank was still pissed about the situation, especially the interruption. “Why didn't you guys tell me your case was going to be in this restaurant?" he said.

“We wanted you to have a perfect evening, so we combined the two,” Connor whispered, looking around stressed, afraid of blowing his cover.

“And the others?” He asked in resignation.

“Sixty's in the kitchen,” Connor said, and just then the kitchen door opened and Sixty waved at them with a big grin, wearing a white kitchen staff uniform and holding a large kitchen knife in his other hand.

Hank groaned. “You let him near all those knives?”

“He's the only one of us who's interested in cooking,” Connor said with a shrug.

“Please don't tell me Nines and Gavin are waiters, too. They'd scare away every customer,” Hank buried his face in his hand.

“No, they sit in the back corner and play a cheesy couple on their first date.”

That must be a hilarious image. But Hank knew better than to turn around, not wanting to arouse suspicion.

Connor then urged them to place their orders, as he had already spent too much time at that table.

After they had both ordered the three-course meal of the day, Connor grabbed their menus and hurried to the kitchen.

Hank sighed deeply. “I'm sorry about this.”

“Why? They do their job and take care of you at the same time. Don't act like a grumpy old man, I can tell you love them,” Rose laughed.

Hank nearly choked on the water he was drinking. But she was right again.

“Yes, I do,” he admitted. He had already talked to Rose about their history and how they had wormed their way into his life.

They quickly returned to other great conversations. Sumo was always a nice topic, since Rose also liked dogs. But they also talked about the loved ones they had lost. Neither thought they would ever find someone they could talk to so easily about that part of their past. They shared their pain and it brought them closer together.

It took them a while to realize that their food was taking far too long to be served. Hank turned to look for Connor when a loud crash and shouting from the kitchen drew everyone's attention in that direction.

Then the kitchen door burst open and a man in chef's clothing rushed out - followed by Sixty, knife in hand.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nines and Gavin jump up from their table, but he also saw the path the culprit would take.

At the right moment, he stood up abruptly and pushed his chair back into the attacker's path. Hank took advantage of the surprise and tackled the guy to the ground, pinning him with his body.

“Damn it, Hank, I was just about to throw that knife,” Sixty whined as he joined him. Hank glared at him and Sixty hid it behind his back.

Nines and Gavin joined them and arrested the culprit. All with much praise for Hank's efforts.

Connor joined them last, his vest and white shirt torn and stained blue with thirium.

Before Hank could scold him again for his carelessness, Connor beat him to it.

“I... didn't expect him to react so aggressively,” he explained, feeling a little ashamed for being wrong.

Hank's anger vanished instantly and he put a reassuring hand on Connor's shoulder. “I'm glad you're okay. Now get this checked out,” he ordered.

Connor nodded and left.

“I really wouldn't eat here tonight, Hank,” Sixty advised as he straightened Hank's chair.

“What, why not?”

“We were here to catch him in the act of poisoning the food," Sixty explained. “Unfortunately, we caught him a little too late.” Sixty winked and followed Connor to check on him.

Hank slumped back in his chair and looked at Rose with a resigned expression. But before he could apologize for ruining the evening, Rose put her hand on Hank's.

“How about we skip this and… go straight to dessert?” She suggested. “At your place?”

Hank's effort must have really impressed her, and they left the restaurant as quickly as they could.

#dbhrarepairsweek #dbhrarepairs #dbh #dbh hank anderson #dbh rose chapman #dbh connor #dbh sixty #prompt: Free Day

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unstablerk800 · 11 months

Text

Party Punch

Pairing: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader

Rating: Mature (I'm lazy, everything is mature)

Warnings: none really, harmless fluff (wind down fic in between Soulless chapters, haha!)

Description: A hot priest and a hot vampire appears at the Halloween party and someone spiked the punch. That is definitely a recipe for disaster for you and your friend.

Word count: 2,909

Read on Ao3.

Chapter 1.: Nines

Chapter 2.: Connor 🔽

A smile is the shortest distance between two people.

As you watched your friend leave with Nines, head hung in shame, you blessed your luck that you weren't caught red handed by your own android crush just yet.

Even if you couldn't help giving signs all this time.

You could vividly remember when and how it started. You were moved to murder investigation almost two years ago, along with your partner, and Connor was already there. You got a nice little desk with your friend and of course, you were unlucky enough that you had a wonderful view over that cute android.

It shouldn't sound bad, but it was. Because you couldn't take your eyes off of him.

It wasn't the fact he wasn't human; you've had met other androids and treated them as you'd treat any other human, but there was something more to Connor. You couldn't put a finger on what it was.

And then there was the first time of you meeting him…

"Wow, this looks good", you nudged your friend as you spotted the empty desk where you two would sit. You already noticed your name tag. "Much better than Southfield."

"Ugh", your friend rolled her eyes as you reminded her of your previous city. You both lived in Southfield before you moved over to Detroit; especially because of the android revolution. Both of you were curious how humans and androids lived together. "Stop reminding me of that shithole. I'm so glad we got away."

And there he was. The first to walk up to you both. Still in his standard RK800 attire, with the LED still at his temple. He didn't follow others' examples; it seemed he was perfectly fine with how he looked before the revolution.

"Good morning. I'm Detective Connor Anderson, partner of Lieutenant Anderson. Welcome to Detroit. I've heard so much about you both."

He offered you his hand and you stared at it before you stared up in his face, eyes wide open. You've never seen an android like him; none of them were this expressive, this casual, this nice, this… handsome…

Oh God, you were lost in his eyes within two seconds. You forgot instantly what he was talking about.

You said something – something unintelligable that made him look very confused. You noticed his LED spun with brighter blue for a moment, and you were terrified he scanned you. He probably did. And he probably could clearly see that your pulse skyrocketed; your heart misbehaved like never before. You've been dealing with difficult cases before and you've been in a few near-death situations so far, but your heart never beat as fast and hard as it did now.

Could humans short circuit? Because you were pretty much sure you short circuited.

"What a warm welcome!" Your friend got you out of trouble as you changed colours like a chameleon: first you went as red as a rose, then you went as white as marble. Your friend grabbed Connor's offered hand and shook it. His attention shifted to her, and you could breathe again. "I'm sure we're both looking forward to work with you, Connor!"

They had a little friendly banter while you were still speechless at the sight of him. All you could manage was a weak smile, which he returned before he walked back to his desk. You quickly found out where the restrooms were and promptly locked yourself in in one of the booths to hide in your shame.

"Hey", your friend joined you after a few minutes as you were sitting on the closed toilet with your face hidden in your hands. "Are you okay?"

"Did you even see him??" You whined as you unlocked the door for her. She joined you with an exciting look on her face, closing the door behind herself with a big smirk. "Oh my God-"

"Yeah I did, although I didn't make a complete idiot of myself like you did", she sniggered and you hid your face with your hands again.

"Why do they make androids this way??"

"I'm convinced they're doing it on a purpose. Fuckin' CyberLife. They want to take over the world, mark my words."

"How the Hell will I concentrate?! I've never felt like this in the presence of a- of anyone-"

"Yeah, I know. But you can't work from the toilet", she laughed, patting your shoulder. "We've gotta go and talk to Fowler."

Later that day – after you've tried to get over your emotions and focus on your damned job which was nearly impossible – your friend had a similar reaction when Detective Gavin Reed and his partner, an RK900 android – also Detective – nicknamed Nines entered the DPD.

You've made a conscious effort not to stare, and you placed your hand over your mouth as you appeared to be really immersed in a file on your screen, but your partner was reduced to the same state as you were in when you've met Connor. At least neither Nines nor Gavin felt the need to introduce themselves. They ignored you both.

That was the day when both of you felt like Earth became Hell. Because from that day, neither of you could spend a single day without thinking about them. It was a curse. You wished to get rid of it, and you turned to desperate measures, especially after the celebration of Fourth of July earlier that same year.

As you stared down at your punch in your hand, any good feelings you've gathered with your friend here at the Halloween party faded away. As the memories of the Fourth of July party you've both went to flooded your mind, you couldn't help but feel your throat tighten.

It was held outside. Everyone was invited – a few didn't attend, including Nines, and that fact made your friend very sad, but that was nothing what you had to go through.

You've kept every little emotion to yourself for months. You were very careful earlier that year with your Valentine's card, too; there was no way Connor could figure out who sent it because you were determined not to leave any traces he could follow back to you behind. Quite hard to fool two androids, but it seemed to work. Neither of them behaved differently than before. Nines still was reserved and quiet, and Connor still was friendly and helpful.

But Fourth of July made you rethink your wish to work in Detroit.

There were a few other androids working at the station. Some of them were just outside in the waiting area, registering anyone who wanted to enter; officers, suspects and visitors alike. One of them – a rather beautiful one, at that – joined your group as she'd been invited by someone, and before the celebration started, you also had a pretty good guess who could've invited her.

You weren't near enough to hear what they were talking about. Frankly, it wasn't even your business. Connor appeared to be polite, as always, while she was more on the physical side. The problem was that he took his jacket off so they could sit on it in the grass, and he rolled up the sleeves of his stark white shirt, exposing his perfectly shaped arms – which she kept stroking, making jealousy bubble up in your gut –, and thus, you couldn't help but look at him from time to time to just appreciate the view, and keep an eye on her, just in case.

And at one time when you glanced over at him, you saw that she leaned closer to him to kiss his lips.

It shouldn't've had such an effect on you. Clearly, you were nobody to control who he could or couldn't hook up with. He was free to do whatever he wished, with whoever he wished. But your mouth went dry, your heart felt like it stopped and dropped to your stomach, and all you heard was static noise as you scrambled to your feet and promptly left. Your friend said your name but you didn't stop walking – which turned to running as you started to cry, then to sob. You fumbled with your keys and quickly got in your car and you started to drive home; thinking back, you were really irresponsible as you barely could see from your tears.

Almost four months passed by, and it still left you with a terrible feeling. You didn't know whether they started to date at that time or not; once again, it wasn't your business. In the past few months you've tried to focus more on your job and also tried to flirt with people, but they never evolved into long term dating. People came and went and you felt stupid and lonely.

You walked over to the table where the punch was and poured yourself another glass. Sighing, you started to drink. Alcohol maybe would help you to forget that memory, and maybe it'd also help you to focus on other things. Getting drunk, for example.

"May I have this dance?"

The voice made you choke on the punch. Despite your best efforts, you blushed up to the tip of your ears as you coughed and tried to breathe, turning to stare up at Connor. He looked polite and smart, even dressed as a posh vampire. His fake fangs were missing, you noticed, when he smiled down at you.

"What?" You managed to cough out, placing down the punch on the table.

"May I have this dance?" Connor repeated as patiently as possible, offering you his right hand.

You glanced down at his palm, then back up in his face, as if you were suspecting there was a trap. There had to be, right? When he saw you furrowing your brows, he tilted his head slightly. You could never get used to those beautiful eyes of his. You couldn't get enough of the sight of them. Especially when they were boring into yours.

"Please", he added ever so softly, making your legs feel like jelly.

"Sure", you managed to push through your frozen lips, then you gently placed your left hand in his right.

You were a hundred percent sure that electricity ran through you the second he touched you directly. You tried to recall if this ever happened, but you couldn't remember. You didn't accept his hand when he greeted you when you arrived in Detroit, after all, and you did your best to stay out of his way and view. You never liked to be loud and noticeable around your crushes. You simply... admired them from afar. Dreaming, but never acting upon it.

And now, you had your little hand in his big, strong palm. Unbelievable. His fingers were warm as they wrapped around your hand; soft and gentle and perfect. Just as you pictured it.

"I'm glad Nines took your partner home", Connor stated with a little smile, guiding you a few meters towards the dance floor.

An uncharacteristically slow song played, and Connor did not waste the time to slip his free hand on the small of your waist. You panicked. He was suddenly so very, very close, too close to you. Your arm automatically slid up on his shoulder, your brain barely registering how he was guiding you to dance. Your legs nearly gave out. At least it was dark, so hopefully nobody saw you on the brink of fainting because of Connor.

"Yeah?" You nearly whimpered, making his smile wider. You were mesmerized by his gaze; you couldn't possibly tear your eyes away from his face. "Why?"

"Because I can finally talk to you in private."

"About what?"

The question was automatic. You were so unaware of your approaching doom. You also failed to notice that Connor was in his no-nonsense mood. He was smiling, but he looked so determined to get the truth out of you.

"About your feelings."

Your eyes widened just slightly. Thankfully, you were drunk enough not to break away from him immediately, but he had a good grip on you anyway. Still, you snorted and looked away, only for Connor to pull you right back, even closer against him, making you stare up in his eyes again, colouring your cheeks crimson again.

"No, you won't run. Not this time."

You didn't know why, but his words sent waves of pleasure down your spine. Your brain was giving you all the wrong signals. Stupid party punch.

"My feelings?" You finally gathered your thoughts. "They're not that special, Connor."

"Maybe they're special to me", he tilted his head lower, closer to yours. Never missing a beat when it came to the dance. Perfectly keeping up the image for the rest of the crowd. And making your heart feel like it was beating outside of your body. Could you go to cardiac arrest from his gaze alone? You were sure you'd find out in about five seconds. "So perhaps you could talk about them."

"Is this an interrogation?" You managed a weak smile up at him.

"Most definitely", he reassured you, but there was playfulness in his tone along with all the seriousness. "And I'm the good cop, now."

"Yeah?" You decided to humour him. "And who's the bad cop?"

"Nines."

"Shit."

Your reaction made him laugh lightly. Stupid butterflies in your stomach! Will they ever just cease?! It's been months, they could give you a break! You could feel your own smile fade away a few seconds later. You could turn it into an interrogation, sure. Why not? There was nothing you could lose, apart from dignity. But maybe... if you could discuss it, you could put it behind yourself once and for all.

"Why do you care about my feelings when you have a girlfriend, Connor?"

His foot missed a beat as it was guiding you. Both of you stumbled a little, and despite the shocked expression on his face, you had to laugh a little. When both of you regained your balance, he fixed you with a frown.

"Girlfriend?"

"How rude of you, Connor-"

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"I'd bet she thought differently when you kissed her."

"...you mean Layla? Back in July?" Seeing your expression, you knew he knew he hit the nail on the head. "It didn't work out between us", he admitted softly. "It took me a few hours to realise that I'd rather be with someone else. That was the night when I came to terms with my own feelings."

No, you told yourself firmly. Don't get your hopes up.

"I know you've behaved strangely in my presence from the beginning", he continued, "but... when you walked in the office and I saw you-"

"Nooo", you whined, scrunching up your entire face.

Connor paused. But only for a few seconds.

"-I always thought that perhaps you were afraid of me."

"I wish I was!" You whined again. The song stopped and you pulled away from him, and he let you go. You hid your face in your hands. "I damn wish I was!"

"I'm glad you aren't", he whispered from very, very close. Too close. You didn't even dare to move, but he moved you anyway. His gentle fingers wrapped around your wrists and pulled your hands away from your face. "Please, look at me." You couldn't possibly ignore his soft request. "I'm sorry it took me so long. I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to tell you... but I wouldn't be able to last one more day without telling you. You have to know."

"Connor-"

"I'm not familiar with these emotions, but... I can't stop thinking about you. I want to make sure you're safe and happy. I wish I could be there with you every night when you fall asleep and every morning when you wake up. I want to be there for you, whenever you need me, and-" His brows twitched. "Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?"

You couldn't help, you had to giggle at his question. You shook your head.

"No... no, you've said nothing wrong."

"Then why are you c-"

You pushed yourself up on your tiptoes – you were quite a bit smaller than him – and angled your head to kiss him on the lips. He felt soft and gentle, just like you imagined. It was a little, chaste kiss, and when you pulled away and looked up at him, his eyes were still closed, and his LED was spinning in golden circles.

"Do you need a reboot?" You teased him lightly, and he smiled, looking down at you.

"I was saving that in my long-term memory", he admitted.

"How much can you save to your long-term memory?"

"It's basically infinite", he leaned closer to you, resting his forehead against yours.

"Good", you smiled, your lips just an inch away from his. "You'll be saving a lot, then."

"Good", he confirmed, happiness lilting his timbre as he kissed you again.

~*~

Gavin grimaced as he was watching the two lovebirds at the edge of the dance floor. Hank snorted at his expression.

"I thought the punch would get me laid, not the tin cans!" Reed scoffed.

"Look on the bright side", Hank smirked at the Detective. "You helped them to finally get together. Most sophisticated androids my ass; took them months to realise, and it's your booze that cracked the ice for them."

"Phck-", Gavin scoffed, making the Lieutenant laugh.

#party punch #fanfic #dbh fanfic #detroit become human fanfic #rk800 #dbh connor #connor dbh #dbh #detroit become human #rk800 x fem reader #detroit become human connor #reader insert

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queenmuzz · 1 year

Text

Deal with the Devil

A bit of an introduction to an OC that I've been working on.

Drip…

The sound of an unseen leaky pipe splashing its contents on the concrete floor of the Fortuna City Prison was the only thing that seemed to indicate the passage of time to the prisoner who sat on her little cot in an out of the way cell. Aside from that, time seemed to stand still for her. And looking down at the paper in her lap, she might as well be frozen in time.

Ten years.

That’s how long she would be trapped in this place, among the cursed and the damned of this island. Ten years of imprisonment and hard labor before she could possibly dream about getting out on good behavior.

And for what? For killing someone? No. For beating that one guard that kept glaring at her hatefully to a bloody pulp? Sadly, no again.

It was all because she had slipped up, and sold a ‘Genuine Document’, written in the Saviour’s own hand, recognizing the authority of one of the noble families to one of their descendents of that house. How was she to know it had been a forgery? Well… because she had been the one to forge it. It was so hard to resist the easy money. The previous three times she had ‘uncovered’ documents purported to be dated from Sparda’s rule, various collectors had clamored for them, paying obscene amounts of cash. At the time, she found it to be perfectly reasonable to create such documents. A woman with a talent for pitch ought to make their living playing the violin, a man with a keen eye for color would be accepted for making paintings for his daily bread, why not her, a young lady who could replicate handwriting upon just a glance, make a few bucks doing some light forgery? It wasn’t hurting anyone, it just let some hoity toity idle rich enjoy their delusions of grandeur.

Apparently the judge didn’t have the same idea, as he slammed his gavel down and sentenced her to a decade of ‘penance for the most shameful of sacrilege.’ She had a feeling that he’d have given her more time if he had permitted, as he proclaimed the Saviour’s so-called ‘Justice’ upon her.

She kicked herself mentally as she read the sentencing report. She had gotten sloppy. Her first forgery, only discovered as such during the investigation, had been so close to perfect, that even the experts couldn’t say for sure that she had created it. She’d read whatever scraps of paper Sparda had left in the Archives to copy his handwriting, found paper that was the appropriate age, and even created the ink as it was made hundreds of years ago. She’d practiced writing with a quill, learning how to pretend to write with hands that were probably twice her size, and the payoff for her three months of hard work was enough for her to live comfortably for nine months. The second time, confident in her method, had taken a mere month, and had her living like a queen for a year. And then… like Icarus, the hubris had taken her too high to the sun, forging a document that had declared the Pontiff’s family line as the successor to ruling Fortuna. And the price she’d paid for using some paper that had been dated a hundred years later than when Sparda had relinquished his throne was… very painful.

Drip…

The water continued on, oblivious to her plight, except there it was matched in tempo by the heavy clomping of boots that grew louder with each drip, before stopping right at her cell door. She had been locked up for no more than a week, yet she knew exactly whose arrogant face would be sneering down at her. Dominick, probably one of those bastards son’s whose noble father had paid for his post, stood there, as set of big iron keys in his hand. Was he about to inspect her cell for ‘contraband’ as he had done the previous five days? He yanked the door open, his baton wielded in his other hand, just daring her to try something stupid.

“Get up Sinner, you got a visitor.” He gruffly ordered as he yanked her by the arm. She was perplexed. A visitor? Her defense counsel had ostensibly abandoned her after sentencing, telling her regretfully that there was no sense in filing an appeal, ten years was probably the best deal she could get, so it wouldn’t be him.

Nor would it be her family, unless she had an eccentric great uncle she had never been told about. Nor would it be any friends or any of her connections from Fortuna’s grey and black markets, none of them would be stupid enough to walk into Fortuna’s most secure prison.

“Who-” she started to ask, but was cut off with a push to the back.

“No questions. Move.” He poked her with the baton, as an added incentive to move faster as they walked down the hall. She tried to not look at the other cells, filled with people like her, the criminal scum of the island, the ones that were beyond even the Saviour’s mercy. No doubt they were watching the ‘fresh meat’ being frog marched into a little room that led off from the main hall.

The tiny room consisted of two worn chairs and a metal table, and nothing else. This room was not made for comfort, and the way the door slammed shut behind her. Sitting at the table, with a file folder in his hand was a man she’d never seen before. He was in Order garb, was he the Warden? No, the gold trim on his pristine white overcoat signified that he was much MUCH higher on the totem pole, possibly one of Sanctus’s personal attendants.

She felt another shove, and she stumbled, her hand catching on the back of the chair to avoid a fall.

“Be gentle with her, sir” the man gently chided as he motioned her to sit across from him. “You may leave us.”

Dominic started, and he felt him drawing near, “My Lord, I am obligated to keep watch whenever a prisoner is brought to the visitor room.” To which the man waved him off. “Don’t worry, I’ll have a word with the Warden. He’ll be more than happy to overlook this one time incident.”

“I must prote-”

The man glared, and slammed his fist down on the table, his papers scattered all over the table“Sh-shall I speak to your s-superiors about your ins-subordination!?” He yelled with a voice that commanded respect, even with the slight stutter. Her mouth went dry, wondering why a man with such a hair trigger temper was interested in speaking with her. His authoritarian voice did the trick, and the guard mumbled some apologies before backing out like an embarrassed crab, letting the door slam shut, whose vibrations rustled the papers even more.

The man regained his composure, and hastily gathered up his disorganized set of papers, before smiling at her.

“Now my dear, I apologise. But sometimes men need to be shown who holds the true power.” He placed an ornate monocle on his left eye and began to scan the file he had in front of him.

“Let me introduce myself, I am Lord Agnus, Chief Scientist to His Holiness,” he took great pride in that title, and his teeth formed a smile that was a tad bit too wide. “And you are… Ms. Meredith Voss. Age: 25. Incarcerated for Sacrilegious Forgery. No previous criminal record. No living family members.” The last line carried an ominous tone that lingered in the air. “I’ve taken quite an interest in you Miss Voss. You might be exactly what I need…”

Meredith cocked her head in confusion, “Uh… I’m not sure what you mean… sir”

The man waved away her concern, “I’ll cut to the chase. I have the authority to offer you a deal only a fool would pass up. A complete pardon.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?” “Your conviction: Expunged. Your sentence: Commuted. It’ll be as if you were never charged. And,” he glanced down at a photo of her mugshot, “you’ll be offered employment with the Order, and I assure you,” that damn way too wide smile reappeared, “your pay will be more than sufficient.”

Meredith sat stunned. She’d hoped, (a fools hope, she had finally admitted to herself), that she’d receive a reprieve, seeing as this was her first offense (that she’d gotten caught for) but there had been no mercy shown. But this? This was beyond her wildest dreams. A full pardon, and the certainty of not worrying where her next meal came from… it was almost too good to be true… it MUST be too good to be true.

She frowned at him, obvious distrust plastered on her face. “What’s the catch?” She leaned forward over the table as much as she dared, “There’s gotta be some reason you’re going to let me off the hook, and to go Last time I checked, the Order didn’t take too kindly to my little…transgression. So…” she leaned back, in an air of faux confidence. “What do you want from me so badly you’re willing to go above the law?” There was a moment of heavy silence as the slightest wave of anger flashed on his face, before being masked by that smug grin of his.

“How perceptive, Miss Voss.” He mirrored her action and leaned back himself, letting the tension slowly leak out of the room. “I must be frank, it was His Holiness that actually recommended you to me.” She shouldn’t have been leaning so far back, as the revelation nearly caused her to topple backwards. What did Sanctus care about her? Even before the trial, she was beneath the notice of any of the upper crust.

“I’ll confess, He’s quite thankful for your last piece of artistry, even if it didn’t hold up to scrutiny. It has helped solidify his family’s pedigree in the minds of the populace. You work is convincing enough to the average congregant that many say that your prosecution was the work of some power hungry noble family, jealous of His Holiness’s rank.”

Meredith’s brow wrinkled at that revelation. Sanctus had always seemed to her to be a kindly old man, above the petty bickerings of power politics. He was like a grandfather to each and every Fortunian. If this was true, it painted a different, and darker picture of the man. But…” Agnus looked down at her file again. “No doubt you think there must be more to this than a thankful old man. And you’d be correct. That’s where I come in. You see… I’m embarking on a little… experiment.” The pause before that last word sent warning bells in her head. There was something more going on. “I’m currently on the cusp of a breakthrough, and I’ve completed animal trials with great success, and it’s now time to go into human trials. Unfortunately, I must be honest,” He sighed as he adjusted his monocle, “this is highly secretive work that I am embarking on, that I cannot ask any random person to partake in. I’ll be honest, I need a person who has nothing to lose.”

“Sounds like you’re not sure this ‘experiment’ will work.”

“I assure you,” he sounded almost offended at her doubts, “It’s not the success that I’m worried about, it’s the fact I cannot afford to let anyone aside from the highest levels of the Order find out about my work until the time comes to reveal it. Too many prying eyes and ears might cause some who doubt Our cause to steal that which I’ve worked years-no, decades on.” His voice took a darker, deeper shade, and the air in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“I won’t let them take the power of which I’ve sought”

And for the briefest of moments, she swore that he had changed from a dignified, arrogant man, to something… unholy.

But the moment passed, and he was back to his usual self, and with that slightly too wide smile, he passed a paper to her. On first scan, it was full of legalese, and she realised that it was a contract.

“So, I will admit that I require you, a person who aside from a minor indiscretion, is an upstanding individual I can trust to keep quiet until the moment I’m ready to reveal my findings. And you, my dear…” he handed her an elegant royal violet lacquered pen, with accents of gold, “I assume you desire nothing more than freedom. I’m willing, His Grace is quite willing, to offer this to you.” He glanced down at the paper that she now was slowly pulling towards herself, beginning to decipher the the archaic language of the courts. “Please, take your time.”

There was a half hour of silence as she perused the three pages that consisted of the contract. Some terms were quite vague, such as the description of the experiment, aside from that it looked like there was some surgery involved, as there was some talk about certain anesthesia being used.

Her duties were more clear cut. She was to keep a journal of sorts for a three months after the procedure, detailing her health and mental state. She would be kept in prison for that period of time, but after the span of a few months, if she kept up her writing (and to be fair, she had all the time in the world to do that.) she would be released with no conditions. If the experiment was a failure, she would still be a free woman, with a small stipend to keep her comfortable should she not be able to find work.

But if was successful… the stipend was… woah… She looked back up in astonishment. “Are you sure this is not a typo? This sum seems to have a couple more extra zeros than I expected.” “His Holiness guarantees it.” Agnus proclaimed confidently, “and steady employment among the upper echelons of the Order. You’ll be wearing the white and gold, a dream few have ever achieved. A woman of your talents should not be wasted on the grubby business of forgery.” She wasn’t really sure what use her talents could possibly have use for in such exalted company, but with that sum… she wouldn’t live like a queen… she could live like a Goddess. Just the chance of this, however remote, seemed so tantalizing. Her hand seemed to move with a mind of her own, and drifted to the bottom of the last page, where a blank spot was left. Taking a deep breath, she furiously signed her name. Her name, not some pseudonym she’d conjured. Her signature, not some copy of one her betters. This was her doing.

Agnus’s eyes lit up at her actions, and he tried to not look so eager as he affixed his signature, a spidery script with another pen he kept in his breast pocket. She offered his purple pen back but he waved her off.

“Consider it a gift in celebration of a profitable partnership.” He smiled as he hit a button to buzz in Dominic, who came in with a scowl on his face. “I cannot wait to see where this will take us. I will see you in about a week’s time.”

As she was marched roughly back to her dank cell, she wondered if she had made the greatest decision in her life… or the greatest mistake. ~~~~~~~

Drip…

The sound of that leaky pipe was grating on each and every one of her nerves as she tried her best to focus on writing her daily report while sitting on her cot. It had been one month, two weeks and four days since she had been escorted under heavy guard (and with Dominic’s suspicious eyes following her every step until she left the prison) to Fortuna castle. She vaguely remember visiting the place on a field trip as a child, being bored to death as the guide explained each and every damn tapestry detailing Sparda’s exploits, but this time, they had whisked her past that finery, and the castle’s walls changed from ancient and elegant, to something more modern and…cold. Tubes that rumbled with air… or were they screams? She didn’t have much time to think about, as she was made to strip into a flimsy hospital gown, and sedated as she was wheeled into some sort of operating room. Her last thoughts before oblivion took her was how odd that Sparda’s home had operating facilities…

She remembered very little for a while afterwards. She had the feeling she was inside one of those tubes, the screams echoing in her ears, in her chest. A feeling of immense fleeting pain, of an inferno of rage that was quickly muffled…but not silenced.

Her first coherent memory was Agnus proudly declaring that the most complex and delicate part of the test had passed with perfect success. He nearly cooed at her, telling her to rest, and if she was in any pain, to let him know so he could administer more sedatives. She never managed to answer, as she fell back into a dreamless slumber, but this time she felt like she wasn’t alone.

She finally awoke back up in her cell, exactly the same as before, as if she hadn’t even left it. The only two signs that it hadn’t been some weird drug fueld dream was that aching, too full feeling in her chest, and the scar.

The scar consisted of a white line that ran from her breastbone, down her chest, before splitting off into two branches above her belly button was distinctive, but she’d seen it before, and that’s what disturbed her.

Because the only other person she’d seen with that scar was her older brother, Fredrico… lying on a cold metal slab in the island mortuary. It was an autopsy scar, to confirm that his death was what they all knew to be to be true. A drug overdose. Poor Freddy, he’d been her shield against a cruel world that consisted of two alcoholic parents that saw the both of them as punching bags, and an island who considered them as beyond saving. He’d been her pillar of stability, helping her grow up into a mostly well adjusted adult after their mother died from liver failure, and their father drowning in the ocean after yet another night of drinking. But the price he’d paid was his own mental health, and despite swearing off a drop of alcohol, he’d fallen hard for various hard drugs that were sold in the dark corners of the island. She’d seen him age decades in the span of a few years…and then he was gone. The coroner had ruled it an accidental overdose, but she still had a niggling suspicion that he hadn’t been able to cope, and had purposely taken way more of those pills than he usually did from that now empty bottle that was found with his body. She had been there to identify him, before he was buried in an unmarked plot in the pauper’s ground, another sad addition to the growing pile of unwanted refuse this island accumulated.

And now, in a twist of sick irony, she now had a matching scar. Except, unlike Freddy, she was alive, and instead of looking towards a life of despair, she had a potentially bright future ahead of her. Still, the fact her scar looked just like an autopsy scar made her feel… nervous.

She scribbled down the date on the new page. She listed the basics, the scar, which had healed amazingly well and with very little pain. She’d been reluctant to take any pain medication, considering her family history, but she needn’t have worried. Aside from an occasional burning heat that emanated from her chest, she hadn’t felt the need to request any medication. She listed her weight and measurements. She’d gained a good twenty pounds since the procedure. That was understandable, she’d gotten an insatiable appetite, and Agnus had given the prison personal instructions to double, and then triple her rations, much to the obvious disgust of Dominic, who glared at her more suspiciously each and everyday. And yet… she wasn’t getting flabby. She had always been on the slim side, considering her upbringing, but her waist size had barely changed, if the measuring tape was being truthful. Her clothes were getting tighter, but not in the tummy area, it was her legs, arms… and she swore she now had a set of abs she swore hadn’t been there before. She was gaining muscle, but due to another restriction placed by the Chief Scientist, she’d been unable to join the general population, and use the work out equipment they all used in boredom. She idly wondered if that was what this experiment was all about, to see if they could build stronger humans with less physical training. If it was… it was probably going better than he dreamed when he and her had their weekly meetings in that same cramped room, if his beaming creepy smile indicated anything. He’d perurse her documentation of her physical progress in glee, and send her back to her cell confidently assuring her that she was on the fast track to freedom. She turned the page, and hissed as she felt the familiar stinging pain of a paper cut. She instinctively sucked her finger, as she went to grab her handkerchief and the taste of her own blood sent an uncofortable shiver down her spine. She grabbed her faded blue cloth, intending to hold it on the cut until the bleeding had stopped, before realizing to her amazement… there was no cut. Not even white line of freshly healed skin to mark where she had just sliced her finger. She examined her finger a little more… wondering if she should mention that she seemed to be healing much faster than before. Her physical state was better than ever, it seemed.

Her mental state however… that was a different story altogether. It hadn’t deteriorated so much as it had changed. Things felt different. The air smelled more and more of stagnation, and she swore she could taste the metallic recycled tinge, the intermingling scents of hundreds of bodies with every breath. At lights out at exactly ten at night, when the place went dark, she saw much more than she ought to have, able to see the pictures of the illicit eroctic magazine one of the inmates across the cell block had smuggled in and perused in the darkness. She could even hear the muffled crinkle as they turned each page slowly, as to not be caught. That was her major concern. The sounds. Everything sounded too loud. Coughs… snickers about some dumb off-colour joke, the sounds of people breathing in their sleep. She heard it all, and accompanied with that incessant Drip… Drip… Drip… it was liable to drive her mad. She could barely sleep as it was, with all the racket going on, and when she did manage to drift off, she’d have the strangest dreams. Of wide open plains and dense forests, but nothing like anything she’d seen in Fortuna. The sky was blood red, with no sun, and the trees were the colour and shape of bones jutting out of the rusty brown earth. And always… She was not alone. There was a presence, an entity quite close to her, but who she never actually saw, just sensed and heard. Its silky whispers ran down her spine, blooming into heat in her newly scarred chest.

You are a prisoner…

You will always be a prisoner…

The freedom they offer is just an illusion…

They will chain you to them with bindings stronger than hellforged steel.

You must be free…WE must be free…

A sharp rap at the bars of her cell startled her, and she dropped the purple pen down onto the concrete floor. Dominic stood there, glowering as if that was the only facial expression he could make.

“Inspection time!” He barked, as he yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him. Meredith resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his pathetic power tripping. This was the third time this week he had barged in under the guise of an inspection. He’d been specifically assigned to guarding just her, under orders of Agnus, and yet was not allowed to use any of his petty powertripping moves that all the guards enjoyed as perks. So he’d made up for it by doing excessive inspections for contraband, despite her never leaving her cell unless accompanied by him, which meant he was wasting her time.

He ruffled through her small selection of books, chucking her journal across the room before tossing her cot. “Aha!” he said in triumph as he held up his prize: Her gold enamled pen. “Where did you get this?” She sighed, and shrugged, “Lord Agnus gave it to me.” “Ah likely story,” he scoffed as he tucked the pen into his breast pocket, right behind his bonzed sigiled name plate. No doubt he wanted to keep such a valuable item for himself and had come across the perfect excuse. But strangely just the act of his taking what was rightfully hers caused a deep burning pain within her chest to blossom. Before, it had been dull, and barely noticeable… Now, it was all she could do to keep from doubling over. She would not give him an excuse to berate her for feigning an injury.

“I’ll be taking this…” he patted the pocket, and grabbed her arm. The hard grip sent her nerves screaming, and that voice inside her head nearly overpowered what the guard was saying as he yanked the door open, “And you a I will be having a chat with the War-” She heard one last Drip… of water, and then no more.

~~~~~ It was the sound of water that awoke her again. But this time, instead of the usual drip, it was the gentle lapping of water that reminded her of when a teenage Freddy would take her to the dockyards, hoping to get a few coins to help clean a fishing vessel while she ran up and down the wooden docks. Only later did she realize he was taking her there because he couldn’t trust her being alone with their parents.

She slowly opened her eyes, blinked once in confusion, then blinked several more times. Instead of a concrete ceiling, above her was a blanket of stars. She sat up from her cot, and nearly toppled over again as the bed seemed to shift underneath her. It still took her another minute to realize she wasn’t in her bed, nor her cell, nor even at the prison. Instead, she was laying in one of those fishermen’s lifeboats, no more than rubber dinghy, drifting on unseen currents. Her pulse raced as she scanned the horizen. She was adrift, bobbing on gentle swells, but to the south, she could make out a line of lights on the horizon, stretching far into the distance. That must be the mainland, she thought. She hadn’t ever been off of Fotuna, but she had heard from stories about the innumerable glittering lights that would tempt the Faithful.

She slowly sat up straight, her clothes had apparently gotten soaked and now had gotten stiff from drying seawater. How the hell did she ever get here? She felt like shit, with a raging headache and a disgusting metallic taste in the back of her throat. She gripped her head, trying to remember, but everything seemed a blur, like the first (and last) time she had gotten drunk. She started with the last clear memory she could confidently say was unclouded. Dominic, the asshole, was going to drag her before the Warden for some trumped up reason… and then… just a red bloom of rage. She remembered a blur of images, the clearest was his face, no longer glowering at her, but looking at her in abject terror. He was trying to say something…but she couldn’t hear him… there was a roaring in her head, like the sound of a thousand angry hornets. He was bleeding from the mouth…and his eyes rolled back. There were other faces, most of which she had no recollection of ever seeing before, but they all seemed to be the same, terrified as they passed with a blur.

To the east, the horizon began to glow a beautiful pale orange, as the sun rose. It light brought another memory, something much clearer, if still a bit jumbled. The warmth of a cobblestone road on her cheek…and… A woman’s face, auburn hair peeking out from beneath her hood, asking her if she was alright, that there had been a demon attack. Her eyes were so kind, Meredith thought at the time, why am I afraid of her?

She remembered the smell of flowers, a soft bed… the woman was talking to someone else in a different room, telling them to take his sister to visit her friend…there was worry in her voice, though she tried to mask it.

She felt a wet soft cloth wiping her face, yellow as a sunflower it seemed to be, although it had streaks of red as the woman rinsed it out in a basin. The memories seemed to be getting clearer, as the woman told her that everything would be alright, she was safe, no one would hurt her. That fear Meredith felt slowly ebbed away… and that pain in her chest faded… everything would be alright…

Then, the woman called someone in to help… and the memories got garbled again, as her last clear memory was the appearance of a white robed figure with gold trim. A man? She couldn’t quite tell, since that was the moment the pain in her chest flared into a white hot ingot of desperation and fear. WE MUST BE FREE And just like that, the memories melted into each other, fear and pain melding into something, an animal seeking escape… no, not an animal. A demon.

She clutched at her chest, her prison robes crimson in the dawn of the new day. Only then did she realize that she had something clutched in her right hand. Two things, actually. The first was that purple pen, its gold trim glinting in the rapidly rising sun.

The other was a bronze Order sigil, its metallic shine only marred with what seemed to be flecks of rust.

Meredith set them down, and raked her hand through her hair, perplexed at why and how she had procured these two things. She paused, her hair seemed … crusty, as if she had taken a mud bath, and hadn’t properly showered before it dried. She checked her hand and was shocked to see tiny dark flecks, the exact same color as those on the sigil… and then she saw the back of her hands had dark splotches that got more numerous down her until they merged into a dark red coat at her elbow.

The sun now had fully broken free from the horizon, bathing the boat in bright yellow sunlight. And yet… her prison robes still remained a dark red, with only the part below her knees changing to a washed out prison grey. Heart pounding, she looked at her left hand, holding something tightly. She mentally forced herself to open it, to reveal the contents she didn’t want to see.

It was a red piece of cloth, of fine quality… like a handkerchief… but if one looked at the corner… one could see its original shade…

Sunflower Yellow.

Meredith shuddered, as she dropped the pen and handkerchief as only now did she realize what that metallic taste in her mouth represented, and she scrambled to the side of the boat and began to vomit. Black streams flowed out of her mouth, like coffee grounds falling into the water. She’d seen it before, back when he was suffering from an alcohol induced ulcer, she’d seen that exact same type of vomit, the colour of dark brown. Except … the taste in her mouth, somehow she knew this wasn’t her blood.

She hung over the side of the boat, clinging for dear life as she felt another wave of nausea overtake her, shuddering as her stomach expelled all of its contents. The memories were still jumbled and chaotic, but the blood soaked picture they painted was horrific. Once her gags had settled down to choked sobs, she slowly pushed herself back into the boat, shivering like a wet kitten. What had she done…? I saved us…

A voice spoke clearly, but it felt like it came straight from her heart, as the scar flared out in pain.

“What?”

I saved us… the voice repeated, with a slight aggravation, like a teacher who was answering a question from a particularly slow student. We wished to be free from the chains, from the cage that would forever bind us.

“We?”

She felt an annoyed sigh, and the voice continued. Did you not desire freedom, to get away from the clutches of that cruel man? I merely did what needed to be done to secure what we both desired. You should be thankful.

“Not like this!” She protested, feeling rather foolish that she was arguing with herself, “I was so close to getting out of that joint!”

No you weren’t, the voice replied, they would do to you, what they have done to me. They would bind you, make you into their slave… you would be beholden to their will. The pain in her chest subsided a little. Now that we are free, we can do whatever we wish… together we will be so powerful, no one will ever control us ever again, instead… they will serve US.

“No, you’re wrong.” Meredith cut off this conversation, clearly not liking where it was going, “You’re not going to be in control of me. Never. Again.”

The pain flared out again, causing her to double over in agony. Her blood flecked hands gripped that Order sigil so hard, and she could feel the metal bending at the strength of her grip.

You would deny my offer? The voice snarled, After what I’ve done for you!?

“I didn’t ask…. Didn’t ask for it.” she said between gritted teeth, fighting over the presence that was trying to overtake her. “I don’t want your h-help.”

You were NOTHING without me, destined to rot… it was ME that made you more than you could ever hope to achieve you weak human.

“Shut. Up.”

And now you think you have the power to overwhelm me? Your hubris will be your undoing.

“I said… Shut. Up.”

If you continue to resist I will obliterate you, and control this vessel, weak as it is, to do with it as I will. I was willing to offer you an equal partnership, but you stupidly-

“SHUT UP!” She screamed as she felt like she was ablaze, the pain crackling on every nerve as she fought against a force that threatened to take over. The agony was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

Somehow, bit by bit, she stamped down on the flames within her. The pain subsided from her fingertips, then her arms. Her legs stopped shaking… and the pounding in her head subsided. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, the flame in her chest was blown out, as if by an unexpected gust of wind.

But the embers were still there, glowing, waiting for the kindling to reignite.

She took deep gulps of air, exausted after all the effort she had put into fighting whatever that thing… that demon was. She might be in control right now, but she felt its presence lurking within her. She had won this battle, but there was still a war to fight. And she would refuse to lose that one.

“Listen well, whoever, whatever you are.” she spoke to herself, “I’m the boss here. I make the decisions. If you ever try that shit again…” she looked around, found the boat's anchor, and wrapped its rope around her arm, tying it securly. “Well, good luck controlling a corpse at the bottom of the ocean.”

Strange, she expected more pushback, or at least a sense of resentment at being bested. But no… there was only a feeling of surprise, and a bit of curious amusement. It seemed to have given up, if only temporarily.

Meredith looked out towards the south, towards the rapidly approaching mainland. The currents seemed to be pushing her towards it, which was a relief, she wouldn’t have to paddle. She could instead think about what her next step would be. Obviously, she couldn’t go back home, nor did she want to. But she’d never stepped foot off of Fortuna, didn’t know anything about the Mainland, how to survive in such a different world.

She picked up the pen, and examined it closely, before wrapping it up in that stained yellow handkerchief. She did have a particular set of skills that probably could come in very handy…both on and off the island.

Yes, she thought, gripping the rope tightly. She’d find a way to make a new life out there… and figure out how to get rid of this hitchiker… or die trying.

#Devil may cry #my writing #my OC #bonus points if you figured out where I inserted the extra angst #Dante's gonna be involved somehow #but I'm still not sure if I want to make it romantic #or just friendship

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pendragonsandbuckleys · 6 months

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Long Lost Papa Bear. Summary: James MacGyver – Oversight to those within the Phoenix Foundation – left his son at the mere age of ten in a pragmatic attempt at protecting him from the growing list of enemies making their way to his door. But walking out and abandoning are two different things, and when his son goes from estranged family to current employee, his methods of keeping an eye on him are only made easier. - A look into James’ time as the boss of the Phoenix Foundation, knowing full well that his own son is working beneath him. Word Count: 4,903 [Also on AO3]

When I was first recruited, I thought I could keep family and work separate and for a while, I did. But the more I worked, the more enemies I racked up and I knew one day they’d come after me like Murdoc came after you. I’d already lost your mother and I wasn’t about to risk losing you.

Your grandfather helped me keep tabs on you. I was never really gone, son. I mean, you think you ended up working for me by accident? I was always in the background, nudging you in the right direction.

— James MacGyver, Season 2 Episode 23.

FEBRUARY 2000

Teeth grinding together; a low hiss escaped past his tongue as he dabbed away the blood with a saline-soaked cotton ball. Of all the places his target had to get a hit in, of course it was right on his temple – not an easy spot to hide from an inquisitive nine-year-old.

He should be relived. A major terror attempt thwarted, the culprits locked up under high security, and – glancing at his watch – the promise of two uninterrupted days with his boy. So why was it the last thought, the thought of being close to his son, that left an uncomfortable pit in his stomach?

It amazed him how bright Angus was, always curious and eager to learn. So much like his mother—

His palms pressed into the cool ceramic of the sink; head bent low as he let out a long breath. He would have given anything for Ellen to see her son now. To see the intelligent little man he was growing into. But beautifully big-brained or not, Angus was still just a boy and he needed his father to protect him. And what better way to keep him safe than to draw the enemies away from his door.

The terrorists, the gunmen, the psychopaths intent on murder. Every day they drew nearer and eventually, whether he prepared for it or not, someone was going to infiltrate his defences and get too close to the thing he loved most in the world.

So if staying away kept his son safe, then so be it.

OCTOBER 2001

Matilda Webber was a force of nature. Fierce and determined. With only seven years on the job under her belt her reputation preceded her, accomplishing twice as much as half of his agents and he wanted her on his team.

Her assignment was simple: investigate him.

Interrogation, surveillance, snooping though information she shouldn’t be privy to using methods she had spent years honing.

Show him what all the hype was about.

Show him any flaws in his security that would need to be patched.

She was incredible, winning him over halfway through the first day, and by the end of the week he had made a firm decision: she would be his handler. She would keep him in check and help lead his team and

– when she found information on his son, his stomach dropped –

she would help him hide deeper within this organisation where even his name would not see the light of day.

MAY 2002

LOCAL TEEN CAUSES NUCLEAR MELTDOWN

…was the headline he had spent days waiting to see plastered across the front page each time he passed the newspaper stand.

Those bold black letters would never be printed of course. Regardless of his hand in the containment of the incident, his son was much too loved in that school for them to let him come into any harm over it.

Only Angus.

And Wilt, he supposed. Though he had a feeling that his son’s best friend had been an innocent – if not eager – bystander as usual. What happened to the days of Angus being satisfied with dismantling a car or stripping a DVD player for parts?

He bet the teachers were wishing they had provided something a little more stimulating for the boy genius. If they had, the giant patch of charcoaled grass might still have a football field in its place.

Then again, this was the same boy who had almost set his gym alight a few months prior with his homemade indoor lightning.

Yeah…there would have been no stopping this. He just hoped for their sake they had some good insurance in place.

For next time.

FEBRUARY 2007

His phone vibrated once against the desk as he was midway through a report. Fingers flying across the keys, he let himself finish his sentence before taking a look.

No words, just a photo.

He appreciated Harry’s lack of small talk but sometimes he did wonder if his father’s straight-to-the-point messages were born more out of annoyance than convenience. His father understood why he had to leave all those years ago, but it didn’t mean he agreed with it.

He tapped on the photo, opening it to full screen.

Dear Angus,

On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to the MIT Class of 2008…

A warm feeling he probably didn’t deserve to be having suddenly crept into his chest. Seventeen years old no less and his son had been accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the country.

The Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

He had dreamt of this day. His son’s excitement at reading those words aloud. His bittersweet sorrow as his son moved far away from home and into his dorm. His pride as Angus donned his graduation cap and gown after three hard years of work.

Only, in his dream, he had been there at his son’s side.

Without a word he closed the photo, returned his phone to the desk and continued with his report.

MARCH 2011

He smiled politely at the gaggle of agents as they passed him in the hallway after a meeting, recognising their faces even if some of their names escaped him. As Oversight, it was his duty to supervise the inner workings of his organisation and he’d grown very familiar with the different teams within DXS and the expertise that each operative brought to the table.

Rather basic as a code name, but conveniently self-explanatory he supposed. To oversee something.

He was aware of all active missions, all new recruits, all ongoing disputes. And though it came with a heavy sense of responsibility, he happily carried it with both hands. DXS was his pride and joy, and he was privileged to be its commander.

Which is why he felt it crucial to employ only the best.

Recruitment came from all over the country; individuals on their radar, fellow Intelligence agencies, his reach even went as far as the US military. Which is why he had been able to pull some strings to get his son paired together with a one Jack Dalton during their time in Afghanistan.

The partnership between scientists and soldiers in the field was something their organisation had been the first to introduce way back after the Second World War. Something he had thought beneficial to every team under his command. He had looked into several servicemen, but Sergeant Dalton – a former associate of Matilda Webber, no less – seemed the best counterbalance to Angus’ scientific prowess. On paper at least.

He had given them the push, but now it was up to them to form the bond that would be pivotal for their eventual enrolment into DXS.

SEPTEMBER 2016

A stolen bioweapon.

A failed mission.

A dead agent; two more injured.

Patricia Thornton’s carefully crafted team had been operating under him for a few years now. A world class computer analyst, a deadly skilled ex-Delta operative and an EOD tech come scientific genius. Far from the first mission they had ever faced, he had expected better from them during their time in Lake Como, Italy. They had been warned of the dangers of the device, the effects it could have on thousands of people if it ended up in the wrong hands.

And still, they let it slip through their grasp.

He paced his office as his eyes scanned the medical report that had worked its way up the chain to him.

DALTON, J.

Agent Dalton suffered a grade one concussion and scalp laceration following a blow to the occipital bone. Four stitches were required. No swelling of the brain identified and minimal blood loss occurred.

Minor cuts and bruises to the face and scalp also identified, not requiring treatment.

Recovery time estimated at 7 days.

Not ideal, but not the end of the world. One week, maybe five days at a push, and he’d be back in the field.

MACGYVER, A.

Agent MacGyver suffered a GSW to the upper left thorax causing approx. 1.5 litre blood loss at scene. Surgery to remove bullet and close wound was successful. Further blood loss managed effectively.

Intervention to reduce water in lungs also successful.

4 units blood transfusion in progress. Blood type: AB Negative.

Recovery time estimated at 4 weeks.

One month recovery time.

Also not ideal. But then, Angus wasn’t hired solely for his physical capability. Even while recovering at home, his brain could still be of use to them.

GSW to upper left thorax.

He let out a grunt as his hip connected with the corner of his desk, inattention to his surroundings prevalent as his eyes were drawn to that point over and over. The chest was a dangerous place for any injury with multiple vital organs and arteries at risk.

He rubbed his thumb over the sore spot, releasing a long breath through his nose as he placed the report on the desk.

Not only was the bioweapon now firmly in the wind, they had also come this close to losing one of their top assets. And all because DXS had allowed two of their agents to cross the line of professionalism.

Angus would never have lost focus and allowed the mission to fail so terribly if only they had reinforced the no-relationship-between-agents rule.

NOVEMBER 2016

Whilst most people would be spending their weekends navigating busy malls in an attempt to get their holiday shopping underway, he was fielding multiple calls from multiple divisions demanding to know what was happening in an embassy building 5.6 thousand miles from his office.

He was keeping up with it all, of course. All comms, all decisions being made, The team on the ground were more than capable of handling it but it was a delicate situation and he had to be ready to step in if needed.

He had just ended his latest call when the phone immediately chimed in his hand.

“Yes?” He greeted, no time for pleasantries.

It was a swift conversation, barely move than five words needed from his end, as the agent provided an update.

Three hours.

He felt his stomach drop.

Three hours until exfil could reach the embassy. Three hours that the boots on the ground would need to hold the fort against the Dieva Roka and their barrage of gunfire. He couldn’t lose—

They couldn’t lose this embassy. It was too important to the inner workings of international relationships between multiple territories.

He was certain that the team would come up with a sure-fire way of keeping everyone safe until backup arrived, but in the meantime, he had a few more phone calls to make.

JANUARY 2017

He had eyes and ears everywhere. He knew about the mole lurking within the US government, he knew they had been feeding information to an outside terror organisation, that they had even gone as far as ordering the deaths of innocents to keep their secret safe.

What he was ashamed to have not known was that the mole was an agent within his own establishment. Instead, the privilege of identifying them had fallen on his own son’s team no less.

Patricia Thornton had been the trusted Head of DXS for many years and the transformation into the Phoenix Foundation had seen her shift in roles to the Director of Operations. A role that, he now realised, suited her agenda perfectly.

How had he missed it? A mole so high up in their agency.

He would be running thorough checks on all of his employees over the next few days. And the new director? He knew exactly who to bring in for that role. Someone who had worked closely with him for several years. Someone he trusted exceedingly.

OCTOBER 2017

As the Head of the Phoenix Foundation, it was well within his right to delegate all missions to the various teams on the ground but where was the fun in that? He hadn’t spent all these years honing his skills as a covert operative just to sit in an office all day once he’d reached the top.

It was a juicy assignment. Reports of a cartel leader operating out of Pasadena had led to weeks of surveillance, days of planning and finally this morning, the successful detainment of said leader and seventeen members, effectively shutting down that chapter of the cartel for good.

A few hours with his operatives and those members would spill enough intel to have them taking down the entire operation. No casualties, 100% success – it felt good to end his morning on a high. And just in time for lunch at his favourite diner.

The drive back had been a breeze in the late-morning, low-level traffic and he had just navigated his car into one of many empty parking spots when his phone began to ring from where it was clipped to the dashboard. Only a select few people had his number, and they wouldn’t be calling unless it was urgent.

He wasn’t sure what to think when glanced down to see the screen lit with Director Webber’s name. As of this morning, she wasn’t scheduled to have sent her team out on any assignments. He answered the call swiftly and let her do most of the talking, grateful that she was as to-the-point as ever with her updates.

Murdoc had returned from whatever dark hole he had last crawled into.

Agent MacGyver had been kidnapped.

Agents Dalton, Cage and Bozer had followed the trail as far as possible before it had run too cold to be of any use.

As her words washed over him, leaving an uncomfortable chill in their wake, his eyes were drawn to a young boy exiting the diner with a man that he could only assume was his father. As the boy lifted his hand for his father to hold onto, he was reminded of the reason he had stayed hidden away from Angus for all of these years.

To stop this very thing from happening. To keep his family out of enemy crosshairs. He should have known that guiding Angus into the same profession would eventually have him racking up enemies of his own.

It sent a shiver down his spine; the known murderer breaking into his father’s old house. Phoenix’s previous dealings with Murdoc had been enough for them to get a clear idea of the man’s psychopathic tendencies and Angus had been in his clutches for a good few hours now if Matilda’s timeline was correct.

Why his son hadn’t secured the house more thoroughly after Murdoc’s previous infiltration was a mystery to him. He thought he’d taught his son better than that.

Dalton, Cage and Bozer were returning to the Phoenix but he trusted that their search wouldn’t end there. And as the young boy and his father disappeared down the street, Director Webber finished her update with a promise to keep him notified as the situation progressed. He ended the call with a thanks and reversed out of the parking spot, heading straight for his office. He didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

DECEMBER 2017

“Thank you, Director Webber.” He dismissed her succinctly.

Keeping his eyes locked on his computer screen, he could pretend that his Handler wasn’t lingering in his provisional, hesitating with only one foot out of his office door.

He’d been here before, the great mystery of Schrödinger’s scowl. If he didn’t look up, then maybe daggers weren’t really being glared in his direction. But if anyone was going to win a stubbornness contest…

“Was there something else, Director Webber?” He asked coolly, raising his head and accepting the harsh eye contact.

Matilda lifted her chin defiantly, glower only deepening the longer the silence lingered between them. She rolled her eyes with a huff, stepping back into the room to close the door behind her.

“He’s only six floors down, you know. If you fancied checking in on him.”

He knew. Of course he knew. Where else would his son have been taken after being exposed to a lethal nerve gas if not the Phoenix Foundation’s impressive infirmary. The high tech, state of the art medical floor of their building was often overlooked on the day-to-day basis of many agents who successfully made it through missions with barely a scratch on them. But for the more dangerous endings to otherwise fruitful assignments; the gunshot wounds, the poisonings, the injuries that would raise all the wrong questions at a normal hospital; their infirmary was fully manned and copiously stocked for anything that came through their doors.

As head of the organisation, he had access to the running log of those being treated at any one time and often liked to check that his agents were recovering well. That report had been open on his screen for two hours today, only closing once Angus’ name had appeared at the top of the list.

Matilda crossed her arms with more flourish than was strictly necessary, head tilting perfectly to the side. He was obviously taking too long to reply.

“They’ve sedated him so he wouldn’t even have to know you were there.”

Sedated. Made sense. Nerve agents could cause havoc on the body; difficulty breathing, painful muscle spasms, severe headaches, coma, death—

He’d read the report. They’d gotten Angus back to the Phoenix before his condition had turned critical, administered the atropine and pralidoxime before anything irreversible played out. Several words had stood out from the page to leave an uneasiness sitting in his chest though – respiratory distress and seizure amongst them – but considering the devastation the VX gas could have caused to the entirety of New York had it been dropped into the water supply; they had gotten off lightly.

“Jim.”

“Matilda.”

Another roll of the eyes.

“You’re not going to be able to hide away forever.” She said sadly. Though he had a feeling that was more on his son’s behalf than anything else. “For the past few months that boy has spent every waking moment he has hunting for clues that could lead him to you.”

He pushed himself up from his chair as she spoke, moving to stand by the window. It was much easier to hear her words without the scrutinous stare that accompanied them. Even as a young boy, Angus was relentless when he put his mind to something, eager to solve every problem he came across. But this was different. This wasn’t some old television set that could be ripped apart and screwed back together, this was life or death. And he had been perfecting the art of hiding a lot longer than Angus had been alive. His son was going to have to admit defeat soon enough.

“I’m staying away for—”

“—for his own protection, yes, so you keep saying. But whether you like it or not, your son is far too clever not to succeed in this.”

The sun was setting now, long shadows being cast behind trees as the evening took hold. His window was open slightly and the eventide air seeping through was cool against his skin. Angus would be kept in for a few days, at least, medical staff checking in on him regularly to ensure his symptoms were under control and improving. The recovery statistics from such poisonings were typically very good when treated in time – which it had been – so he should be back to normal, and back to work, by the end of the week.

Wordlessly, Matilda moved back to the door, taking his reluctance to answer as her cue to leave and suddenly the question he’d been dying to ask forced its way out before he could think twice. He couldn’t hide behind the impersonal technical jargon of the report, he needed to hear it from the mouth of someone who had been there, on direct comms with the team.

“Was it bad?”

He watched as her faint window reflection paused, took a breath, and turned her head just enough to speak into the room.

“Yeah Jim. It was bad.”

She left the room this time, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving a sickly feeling settling in his stomach and his mind drifting downwards to six floors below. It wasn’t the first time Angus had found himself there and, in their line of work, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

He just didn’t want to know how many more ways his son could think of to try and get himself killed.

JANUARY 2018

Okay, Angus really needed to up his security system; or better yet, move out. He knew the appeal of a safe space – especially one with an already paid off mortgage – but if multiple criminals have been able to break in and threaten your life, maybe it was time to find somewhere new.

He was halfway through his prep for a meeting when his comms completely blew up (…possibly an inappropriate turn of phrase to use under the circumstances). He had already been dealing with two failed missions, three agents stranded on foreign soil without exfil, and an agent in the hospital after being shot by a psychopath that appeared to be haunting their organisation. And now, two of his men had found themselves trapped in their own house alongside a giant bomb.

Director Webber was on the ground liaising with LAPD and the FBI, and he was happy to stay in the shadows, watching from afar while she coordinated their movements. Agents Bozer and Davies were assisting, and he was grateful for their constant communications that he was able to listen in to over the radio.

The staticky chatter filled the room with background noise while he made some calls to keep TV crews and reporters away. The last thing they needed were swarms of nosy individuals crowding the area and putting themselves in danger. That, and the mass panic that would no doubt ensue if it was revealed that there was a bomb primed to explode in the centre of Los Angeles.

His forefinger tapped impatiently against the desk. There was nothing more maddening than someone taking their time to relay information to him when there was an ongoing crisis at hand. It was a tricky situation to navigate and time was ticking. There were a lot of variables to consider when dealing with a threat situation such as this and though his team on the ground were handling the investigation of the bomb with meticulousness, he still had his part to play.

Though if he stepped back and took in the whole picture, he’d be able to see that this bomb-maker, the Ghost, had already taken the hard choice out of their hands should the worst come to the worst. Phoenix had been made aware of the threat and had, so far, been able to clear the suspected blast vicinity, keeping potentially hundreds of innocents safe. Leaving only two to be affected.

The lives of the many, outweighed the lives of the few, but it was harder to be impartial when the few included someone very important – not just to him, but to the whole world.

FEBRUARY 2018

If Director Webber were standing next to him, she would have zero reservations whatsoever about calling him a coward.

And maybe he was.

But if anything, it was her fault for putting the idea in his head. It really was easier to face someone if they didn’t know that you were there. If anything, this at least made him a better father than the man two months ago who had refused to step foot into the Phoenix infirmary for fear of…something. What exactly he hadn’t quite worked out. Being seen? Being recognised? Being forced to have an adult conversation with the son he left all those years ago?

So, now here he was, lingering in the long stretch of hallway, paying the medical staff no attention as they wandered past. He was stood close enough to Angus’ room to see in, but far enough away to keep it from being obvious why he was there.

The distance wasn’t necessary. Not anymore. Not after Angus’ list of enemies had long since outnumbered his own. But hiding was second nature to him now and it seemed not even his son could reverse the trait that had been so strongly ingrained into his very DNA.

Angus wasn’t alone in his room, accompanied only by his overwatch who, up until half an hour ago, had been pacing so restlessly he was sure the man would wear a hole into the polished floor. Now he was sitting in the single chair positioned next to the bed, hand periodically reaching up to run through his mess of hair or across the stubble of his chin.

He could remember that feeling all too well. A mission gone bad. A partner injured in the field. The long night waiting for news.

Angus was asleep in the bed, pale blue sheets pulled high up to his chest exposing a heavily bandaged shoulder. It was a successful surgery, he’d been informed. Bullet removed and skin stitched up with minimal issues. They would let him stay the night but by morning he’d be good to return home with an abundance of painkillers and the instruction to take it easy.

How was it that his son had been shot more times under his leadership than he ever had in an active war zone?

Though when he had hired Angus, he hadn’t expected a crazed admirer to quickly be included in the package. Murdoc had been popping up on his radar repeatedly since the Phoenix Foundation’s first encounter with him a year prior and his obsession with Agent MacGyver was concerning to say the least. They were lucky he had been feeling generous today, inflicting a non-fatal flesh wound with his bullet instead of anything more permanent.

And now to top it off, he’d received word that Murdoc had escaped from custody, again…

Once Angus found out, that instruction to take it easy was going to need to be a strongly worded command from Director Webber for his son to even consider following it seriously. Though he was sure the team could handle the stubborn ways of their fellow agent.

Glancing through the window, he took one final look at the pair before wordlessly slipping away to get a head start on the search.

MAY 2018

He’d been imagining this day for years.

He just didn’t know why Angus had to decide to quit on the one day he finally got the intel he had been waiting months for. Time sensitive intel too. He couldn’t waste this opportunity to take down Jonah Walsh just because Agent MacGyver had been having doubts about his place of work.

When Director Webber had called to inform him, he’d told her to send Angus his way. Two birds, one stone and all that.

The large country house had been mostly empty when he’d arrived, only one gun-wielding thug who, after a bit of a tumble, had been easily incapacitated. He was having a nice nap in the pantry now, safely out of the way.

It was a big, open house with high ceilings and polished furniture. Not exactly the backdrop he was expecting when notified of the cartel’s latest bolt hole. But honestly, he didn’t care if it was a 5-star hotel or an underground sewer, he wasn’t staying long. As soon as he cracked the safe and grabbed what was inside, he was gone.

Careful footsteps approached from behind and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

Just in time.

The dial clicked beneath his fingers and as he began rotating it to the left to continue the combination, it occurred to him that he hadn’t actually considered what his first words to his son would be after fifteen years.

“Wouldn’t take another step if I were you.” He said without thinking as Angus softly trod right on the loose board he’d noticed earlier. Good enough start as any he supposed. He never could do things normally. “That weak floorboard is actually a pressure plate attached to an IED.”

“…You’re lying.” Angus replied sceptically, which was…surprising. Not the tone of voice— no, Angus was far too smart to not see through that. But the words. Zero comment, zero recognition of his father’s voice. Maybe it had been too long.

“Maybe. Take another step and we’ll see.” The dial clicked again. “What do you want.”

“Director Webber sent me here to speak with Oversight.” Angus’ voice was steady, if not a little frustrated. Unfazed by the situation he had walked into. Unprepared for what he was about to discover.

“Oh, then you got him.” He turned around to look over at the man standing behind him.

Time for the moment of truth…

Thanks for reading! 🖤

#macgyver #macgyver fic #my fic

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comfylionsden · 2 years

Text

Tender Love || E.M X Reader

Pairing: Eddie Munson x AFAB!Reader, Eddie Munson x Australian!Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader

Rating: PG for now - Subject to change if I wanna write more

Summary: Reader has just moved to Hawkins from Australia. She was the local freak back down under but now that she’s been given a fresh chance to start over she’s gonna give it her best to try and fit in, but of course it all goes to hell and like moths to a flame you and Eddie are drawn to each other. (I suck at summaries sorry asdfghjkl;)

Warnings: Reader has really bad anxiety, low self esteem and mentions of depression. She is also a massive cry baby. Eddie has a thing for reader having teary eyes. Use of Y/N and also Chrissy is an angel and her and Y/N are gonna be best buddies!!! No Chrissy slander or hurt in this fic!!!!!

Word Count: 5.2k

AN: Hello! This is my first ever piece of written fiction! I have 0 background in writing but after having my Eddie playlist on repeat for the past few weeks my hands literally HAD to type this out or I’d simply DIE. No one proof read this so sorry for any mistakes I tried my hardest to comb them out! I hope you enjoy! I may possibly write another chapter in the future!

<3 Hope you enjoy!

Standing in the cool morning air, the sun peaking over the tree line stood a young girl in front of Hawkins High School. Her name was y/n. You were ripped up from your somewhat uncomfortable roots of Australia and moved across the globe for your fathers work at a newly opened hospital and research facility in Hawkins. The roots were uncomfortable because you were a known freak, a nerd and a geek. You love anime and comics, are a certified metal head, a bit of an artist type, and finally you LOVE dungeons and dragons.

The only saving grace while being the town freak was how you spent the past five or so years building up a small group of friends who loved the same things as you and accepted you for all your flaws and shortcomings. In fact as a parting gift, your party of heroes gave you a special dice set containing one die from everyone’s own favourite set to make a complete set for you. To say you bawled your eyes out at your going away party from this gesture would be an understatement.

Now here you are, starting all over again. You knew you were awkward, your anxiety was your biggest enemy and it made it so hard for you to socialize but you wanted to make this year as normal as possible. You wanted to make the most of this fresh start and you are gonna do your best to fit in.

You glanced down at your watch with an audible gulp. ‘7:46am… should be enough time to find home room before nine.’ You thought to yourself as you glanced back up to the school's front doors. “It is not the strength of the body but the strength of the spirit y/n…” you sighed out, taking your first step into her new life. ‘Tolkien give me strength’.

The halls were almost empty, gazing around you saw only a few people, those going to sports practice or clubs before class. The quiet and emptiness of it eased your nerves, crowds were another source of discomfort for your poor self. As you walked around aimlessly trying to take note of what class was where and where things were you passed a school notice board. There were flyers for upcoming school events, any recent news and clubs advertising for new members.

Under all the advertisements something caught your eye, a small piece of ratty paper with the words ‘Hellfire club’ scribbled on with a big drawing of a flail, some dice and a demon. It piqued your interest but it had no contact information on it so you just shrugged to yourself and continued on your path.

You passed by your home room around 3 times, investigating the quickest ways out of the school, to the bathrooms and to the cafeteria and figuring out any potential quiet spots. After about an hour of this you meandered back to your home room and slowly opened the door. As you looked in, the handful of students already at their desks peered up to you and just /stared/. This unnerved you and all you could do was let out a little squeak and a wave of your hand with a quiet “G‘ morning…” following after.

Your eyes instantly spotted the entire back row of the class was empty and you speed walked your way right there. You sat yourself down and sighed with relief. About five minutes before the bell a few jocks walked in with a few cheerleaders. You only caught the names of two: Chrissy and Jason.

You didn’t pay much mind to Jason, but you couldn’t help but focus on Chrissy. She was so pretty! You stared at her in complete adoration. You didn’t really have cheerleaders back in Australia so seeing one in person was an awesome experience. You could hear her giggle and talk with her friends, she seemed so lovely. You cursed yourself for having terrible social skills, horrid anxiety AND not the most top notch self esteem or you’d have half a mind to introduce yourself to her. But alas before that thought could spiral the bell rang and everyone took their seats. There was only one chair empty and it was to the left of you.

Your home room teacher Mrs Fitzgerald walked in, giving out good mornings casually and clearing her throat.

“Alright everybody, we have a very special lady joining us today—” oh god no.

“Her name is Y/N L/N and she is all the way from down under in Australia!” Please stop.

“Why don’t you come up here and introduce yourself Y/N matey and give us a G’Day!” Oh Jesus H Christ. This was literally your worst nightmare, a terrible Australian accent AND introducing yourself. You had a feeling it would happen but taking a seat at the back was your attempt to stop it dead in its tracks. Curse well organised teachers.

You pushed your chair out from under you, your stomach was turning as you slowly walked your way up past everyone not even DARING to look at a single person. When you reach the front of class you turn to see the sea of eyes looking at you like you were fresh meat. You were going to be SICK. You looked around and your eyes fell on someone and you strangely felt like this was gonna be the thing that saves you right now. Your eyes met Chrissy’s. She was staring up at you in awe, eyes wide as she rested her chin on her hands, leaning forward in her chair to listen keenly onto every word you said.

“Uh good mornin’ everyone… My name is Y/N but you can just call me Y/N/N if you’d like.” You kept eye contact with Chrissy the whole time and it was working. It was like she was a calming energy to your very anxious self and this was your attempt to just introduce yourself to her and not the rest of the class.

“I’m from a city called Melbourne, my dad is from New Zealand and I am half native New Zealander. I like art and I hope we can all get along.” There were some whispers among the crowd about your heritage, astonished since honestly some people don’t even know New Zealand had native people. You hated saying native but if you just said you were half Māori you doubted anyone would understand and you weren’t in the mood to explain while trying to introduce yourself and out yourself as a socially awkward freak IMMEDIATELY.

You have a slight bow and gauged by Chrissy's big beaming smile and her starting to clap and welcome you that you didn’t freak her out at least. Before you could scurry back to your seat, the class door swung up and under its archway stood a scruffy mop of a man, his hellfire shirt catching your eye as you remembered the paper on the notice board. The smell of smoke wafted to you and part of you couldn’t help but enjoy it, kind of reminded you of home, in the backyard during summer. His rings glinted in the light, jeans ripped and dirty reeboks and he just looked so… hot! He was exactly your type and you hated yourself for it! What kind of thoughts were these to be having about someone you’ve just seen! You didn’t need to wait for an introduction, Mrs Fitzgerald did it for him.

“Edward Munson, you are late! How do you expect to graduate this year when you can’t even make it to your home room on time!”

He paid no mind to Mrs Fitzgerald but was eyeing you off instead. This meek little lamb standing at the front of class. You had your hair tied back in a low pony, some black, baggy jumper clinging for dear life to your shoulders, some ripped up shorts that were just a little too short for his imagination and some ratty old red chucks. The thing that caught his attention most were your dewy eyes. You looked like you were going to break down at the slightest breeze and it made his heart beat a few beats quicker.

He needed to draw his attention away from you and turned to Mrs Fitzgerald and made some horns with his fingers and gaudy face at the teacher in question as he spun on his heel to saunter down to the last free desk. The one to your left. You were internally screaming, this day was already going off to a GREAT start (not). Now you had to be stuck next to the hottest guy in the school for all your home room classes. Once home room was done you sprung out of your chair and got the fuck out of there. Your tummy was hurting from the anxiety so bad, you just wanted to get away from the stud next to you before you died from nerves.

Just before you could make it to your next class, English, an already familiar face came into view…

“Hey Y/N! My names Chrissy!” She beamed at you as she stepped next to you and matched your walking speed. She noticed the small jump you did, when she just came out of what felt like NOWHERE to you.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you! Are you heading to Mr Ray's English class?” She asked, with you immediately returning with a nod. You were way too shy to say anything and you could feel your face going red.

“Oh that’s perfect! I’m all alone in his class and I’m in need of an English friend so we can sit together!” She took the initiative to interlock your arms together, your face going from a soft pink to a bright red almost instantly, eyes darting from your arms to her smile. Her smile was gentle and Chrissy picked up that you were shy almost instantly. Anyone could honestly, you thought you had it under lock and key but if you could see yourself all you’d see is a shaking leaf.

During class all Chrissy and you did was talk really, asking one about the other, you opening up to Chrissy about your less mainstream interests and she accepting them with almost open arms. Chrissy was a bright beacon for your first day and you were grateful to have met someone as fun and as outgoing as her. After class, you both went separate ways for your next class but she said to come have lunch with her and her friends after! She was rearing to introduce you to Jason and the basketball team.

Chrissy meets you at your class before lunch, she is jumping up with excitement to introduce her new friend to her boyfriend. In English she was gushing about him ecstatically and you were hoping he was as nice as his wonderful girlfriend. You walk into the cafeteria with Chrissy hand in hand, she pointed and started to wave at Jason but your attention was drawn elsewhere. In the corner you saw him again, Edward Munson. He was sitting at the head of the table with a group of guys in the same ‘Hellfire club’ Shirt. Your gaze was so drawn to the mystery man you didn’t notice that it had caught the attention of Jason. It didn’t take a lot to see who you were looking at. “Why you staring at Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson new girl? Amazed someone could be that ugly?” He chuckled out which in turn earned a push on the arm from Chrissy. Your face was back to its stock standard red not only from the embarrassment at how obvious you were being but also something you hadn’t felt in a REALLY long time… Annoyance. Not like the kind where you have to wait for something longer than it should take but more like you hear a sound and that sound just annoys you. What Jason said was really annoying.

“Why do you call him a freak? He seems nice enough, kind cool honestly.” You ask him, taking your seat next to Chrissy. Jason doesn’t hesitate to unleash his grievances of the man known as Eddie Munson. He’s a freak, he’s into hard metal rock music, he plays Dungeons and Dragons which is a satanic cult game, he does drugs and smokes and drinks! He’s a complete menace to Hawkins society and Jason won’t stand for it! You glance over at Chrissy while Jason is on his high horse and see her slightly roll her eyes. Good to know she doesn’t agree with his raving and ranting.

“So do you see why I do what I do Y/N? He’s no good and if I were you I wouldn’t hang around him or his satanic cult!” Jason bellowed and you looked up at him, your bottom lip quivering ever so faintly. There was no fucking way he could know you were a massive geek cause from everything you just heard this guy and his friends hated people like Eddie and by the sounds of it he was your people. Chrissy was so nice and accepting when you admitted your love for comics and anime and dungeons and dragons, how could her boyfriend be so judgemental? Chrissy didn’t look at you but she gave your hand a comforting squeeze. Despite how bubbly and almost ditzy her personality came across you could already tell she was extremely empathetic and that was exactly what you needed right now. Usually Eddie would have chimed in by now at Jason's bitchin’ about him but he was focused way too hard on you. He was hyper fixated from across the cafeteria on the smallest things about you right now that made him seethe but also made him weak at the knees. Your once again wet eyes, the soft bounce of your thigh against the seat and that little shake in your bottom lip. You seemed anxious and upset and it was making him mald. Since he first laid eyes on you this morning you’d be sitting in Eddie's mind all pretty and darling like you were this morning next to him.

He saw the way your gaze had lingered when you’d look at him and how you’d snuck quite the handful of stares at him in home room. Dustin yelled his name for the fifth time in a row trying to pry his attention away from you and back to the conversation. Eddie flung a pretzel square in his face. “SHUDDUP- I’m listening shuddup.” He yelled back to Dustin, joining back into discussions about the club this afternoon but his eyes never really left you, watching you almost protectively. You followed along with Chrissy, Jason and their friends all day. You felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb, no uniform like them, definitely not sporty and you thought of yourself akin to an ugly duckling compared to their good looks. You thought you’d survived the day, listening to Chrissy and Jason chat next to your locker with a few others on the basketball team. Chrissy wasn’t cheering this afternoon and invited you to watch the boys train. You’d agreed, your dad wouldn’t be home tonight so no one was expecting you anytime soon. All seemed to be going well when you pulled your art binder out of your locker. A whole stack of art you hadn’t secured in the binder fell out all over the floor. Art from all your Dungeons and Dragons sessions that you had drawn. Bloodied battle scenes, cultish depictions, your tiefling ranger praying at an altar to her deity. The blood left your face, you were as pale as a sheet as Jason quickly leaned down to pick up the art, at first complimenting it but at second glance he stared a bit hard, squinting at it almost like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Chrissy chimed in, exclaiming how good it is and how creative you are! All the love and support from this cheerleading angel couldn’t quell the dread that washed over you as Jason looked up to you from your art and quietly asked you “Y/N… What is all this?” Chrissy instantly jumped into action telling Jason to drop it and to give you the art back. That it wasn’t a big deal and that you were new and he should be nice to you! Your eyes grew to the size of plates as a few other members of the basketball team gathered to look at the art. Cringe, disgust, fear all on each face. Everything was going so well, sure you had a rocky start but Chrissy's company made it easier! Panic began to set in, what if Chrissy didn’t want to be seen around you after this? What would others say about you? You just wanted to fit in and not be judged! You just wanted to have a normal first day!

Before you know it one of Jason's friends makes comment about how “It makes sense she’d be a freak, her accent is so fucking weird she sounds like some backwater hick…” and then another pipes up with a “She said she was a native to New Zealand? I bet they do some really freaky stuff dude…” Chrissy's yells for them to stop it fell on deaf ears; both theirs and yours. You just wanted a void portal to open up and swallow you whole right now but that wasn’t going to happen so you did the only thing you knew. You ran. You ripped your art from Jason's hands and grabbed the paper up from the ground. The paper became wrinkled and ripped and the graphite became smudge but right now you didn’t care. You just wanted to get the fuck out of there. Of course, at the end of the day the halls were crowded and it felt like every single eye was on you, judging and admonishing you for your likes. Your chest began to get tighter and your sight became blurry from the hot tears threatening to FINALLY spill. Your legs threatened to give way at any moment as you pushed your way through people in the halls and so to protect yourself from any further embarrassment you opened the first door with the lights out. Surely there would be no one there, clubs would need lights and you would have a quiet and dark place to cry alone until it was less crowded and you could slink home.

You slammed the door closed behind you and you could finally hear your own heartbeat and your breathing. It was uneven and heavy, like your lungs had been drowning this entire time. You wiped your tears off your cheeks and slid down the door, landing on your butt with a soft thud. You threw your head back against the door to try and help clear your eyes and help you breathe a little better . “Ehem-” Just when you thought nothing could get worse, you bring your head back and see the entire Hellfire Club staring at you, including the LAST person you wanted to see, Eddie. From the point of view of Hellfire, you looked like a deer that had just been hit by a car and was about to be hit by ANOTHER car with how you were looking at them all. Without saying a word, you slowly start to stand up against the door, not breaking eye contact and feeling around for the door handle but before you can spin around and flee once you feel the cold metal of the handle Eddie is next to you. He pulls you to his side and swings open the door, but doesn't let you leave. He’s got a tight grip on your forearm and he uses his free hand to wave the group out announcing “Alright boys, play times over get out.”

Dustin sprung up from his chair about to ask why the fuck they were canning Hellfire over a girl but when Eddie heard the squeak of the chair he craned his head to give Dustin a very stern ‘Do-not-push-it-kid’ Look. Gareth came up behind him and Mike and started ushering them out along with everyone. Members in Hellfire knew after long enough when Eddie said to get out you got OUT.

Once the last party member left Eddie closed the door behind him. You couldn’t even look at Eddie, you could feel his gaze on you and you couldn’t help but let more tears flow freely. “Hold my hand, count to ten and breathe in. You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack at this rate.” He whispered gently to you, holding out his silver clad fingers.

Hesitantly, your shaking hands reached out for his. The second your fingers touched his palms, Eddie engulfed your hands with his. With a soft ‘Ready?’ you nod and he begins doing deep breathes in and out, you following and trying to match his pace despite how shaky and uneven you were. You kept going until he could feel your hands shaking less. You gave Eddie a very small nod and let go of his hands. He lingered for a moment, feeling your hands let go of his but he didn’t want to let go. Once he did let go, you both stood looking at each other and it took less than thirty seconds for you to once again break down again, this time full blown sobs and weeps leaving you. You fell to your knees once again. “God today fucking sucks!” You cried out between hiccups.

Your eyes were closed, you could feel them becoming red and puffy from just how much hard you had been crying this afternoon. You felt like you were gonna pass out but before that could come to fruition, Eddie had knelt down beside you and pulled you into his chest with a warm, tight embrace. His bleeding heart ached for the new girl. Your need for a hug and affection outweighed the awkwardness and shock of being hugged by this stranger. You clung onto his vest and it just pulled at his heart strings more. Those assholes seriously couldn’t wait for the new girl to get settled before tormenting her?

Once your weeps turned to whimpers, and you had cried a puddle into Eddie's shirt, you sat there wondering how to pierce the silence between you two. You peered over Eddie's shoulder and found something you could carry a conversation about. "What campaign are you guys playing?”

Eddie’s head spun at the question and yanked her off him to look her over with a face of bewilderment. “Excuse me?” His eyes were nearly popping out of his skull, his grip on your shoulders tight and slightly painful. The switch that flipped him from gentle to surprised over such a simple question was quite sobering for your anxiety.

“Your campaign?” You stared back, a little confused at his own confused reaction. She pointed to the DM screen and books and then it dawned on her what she interrupted with her panic attack— “ohmygod I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize anyone was in here, I feel like such an ass GOD” you blurted out in a single breath. You held your head in your hands in utter defeat. “God could today get ANY worse?”

Eddie just stared down at her, his brain still processing that this new mystery girl knew what dungeons and dragons was. “You know what all this is?” He gestured to the table with character sheets, dice and books scattered around. He wasn’t not expecting to get the answer he got.

“Know it? Dude I PLAY it! This was the saving grace in Australia! Which is why I feel like such an ass! You dismissed the party because of me bursting into the first dark room I saw! I’m such a stupid idiot I’m so sorry—”

“Hey hey slow down there—“ Eddie pulled you closer to him again and rubbed your shoulders. “You aren’t a stupid idiot, don’t say that about yourself. Those little assholes can deal with an early finish for today. What kind of adventurer would I be if I didn’t prioritize a damsel in distress!”

You actually laughed for the first time since your dad told you they were moving to Indiana fucking HAWKINS. For the past few months all these changes did nothing for your mental health and you’d found it hard to find any peace. Today was an emotional rollercoaster of anxiety, relaxation, fear, annoyance, paranoia and now joy? “Mate I’m not some kind of princess, I’m a tiefling ranger.” You laughed out.

Eddie had to bite his tongue, wanting to blurt out how you actually were a princess. For every glance you gave him today, he gave it back to you when you weren't looking. All day he wanted to say something, he felt something was off when you sat with Chrissy at lunch. Sure Chrissy was an angel but he knew Jason was an ass to say the least and despite how well you thought you hid it, you looked one light breeze away from having a meltdown every time Eddie saw you.

You couldn’t tell from outward appearances but you’d be a great addition to hellfire and he feels like such an idiot for not approaching you sooner during the day especially after he caught you eyeing off the hellfire club note on the notice board!

There was an awkward silence for a moment. ‘How much worse can this day get, just go for it’ you thought while rummaging in your book bag, pulling out the black binder “Wanna see my tiefling?” Eddie just nods at the question and she flips through it, grimacing at the torn, crumpled, smudged and ripped pages from your quick getaway but thankfully your tiefling ranger escaped harm's way. You held the binder out to him, waiting for the very casual “Oh cool” remark like you usually get from others when they’d look at your art but instead Eddie gave quite the reaction.

Eddie grabbed the book from you and stared at the picture in awe. It was beautifully shaded and her character was gorgeous (just like yourself, Eddie thought) . It was honestly brilliant and Eddie didn’t hold back “YOU DREW THIS?” You giggled and nodded, cheeks tinged red at his amazement. “This is… this is AMAZING!! You have to come back when we have a full house here and show everyone this and anything else you’ve got! They’ll go insane for it!” You just kept giggling out of embarrassment and some coyness, mumbling little ‘Oh stop it!’ Between your laughs.

Eddie handed back your binder and asked “Think you’d be interested in picking d&d back up?” You nodded so hard your neck would snap with just a bit more force. “God yes, only if you have room of course!” Eddie smirked and nudged at your arm. “For you? I’ll make an exception.” He winked at you before loudly announcing “ Welcome to hellfire club sweetheart! Consider today fate! —“ he said, jumping to his feet in an explosive gesture, holding his hands out to her. “And consider this room your sanctuary! You are always welcome to escape here and your band of merry adventures will beat the shit out of anyone who tries to breach our doors!”

You reached for Eddie’s hand, laughing loudly along with Eddie at his protective declaration to her. Looking down at you in the moment, Eddie’s heart quickened once again, holding the soft hand of a blushing girl with dewy cheeks and eyes who was giggling because of him and not at him! In that same instance, you gazed up into his warm brown eyes and big grin, his warm hand encompassing her own and the pet name “sweetheart” lingering in your ears. If you could you would live in this moment forever. In one swift movement the moment ended as Eddie hoisted you up from the floor back to your feet.

“Want me to drive you home?” He glanced down at his watch to check the time. Before you could hum and uhh at his offer he said “Consider it a part of my duties to my sad little ranger~ Can't have you wandering these strange lands after such a distressing day huh?” You couldn’t help but giggle more at the scary looking metal head being a total goofball. God did he know how to tickle her funny bone and oh god did your giggle sound like a beautiful song to him.

“You’re not trying to stalk me are you?” You asked, giving him a smirk with some side eye. Eddie couldn’t believe his ears. He grabbed his chest like he had been shot and staggered back “NEVER! I am if nothing but a gentleman! You wound me sweetheart!” There it was again. That delicious pet name. Goddamnit.

On the walk to his van and ride to her house, they asked each a plethora of questions, their favourite bands, Eddie’s other hobbies including music, his band and his side hustle. Eddie learned you love nature and hikes, the beach and you want to be an artist as a career.

As you both pull up to your house, you muster up the courage to tell him something more intimate. “Thanks for everything this afternoon Eddie. For comforting me, inviting me to hellfire and just… being kind. Today started off so bad and since I found out I was moving here I’ve been struggling a lot. I felt like at any minute my life is just gonna collapse in on itself—“ you rambled whole making all these gestures. Talking about it seemed to help you and Eddie was nothing but keen to help you.

“—and I’ve felt like I’ve been up shit creek without a paddle and you were my life line this arvo.” Without warning you leaned over his centre console and hugged him with all your strength. You whispered a meek thank you to Eddie and when you pulled back you once again had Eddie’s heart in a death lock.

Dewy eyes and bright red cheeks and quivering bottom lip as you tried so hard to hold back from bawling at the man’s kindness. Words couldn’t express how thankful you were Eddie saved your first day from being a complete disaster.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” You jumped out of his car with a smile and ran to your front door, turning around and giving him a big sincere wave. God damnit he was down bad and there was nothing he could do to stop.

You ran STRAIGHT up to your room, locking the door and screaming into your pillow. You just spilled her entire GUTS to someone she literally just met today! What a first impression. You were nervously awaiting tomorrow to be told “you’re too much of a cry baby for hellfire so you are out” from Eddie but little did you know Eddie SPED out of your driveway so he could flop in his own bed as he mindlessly strummed at his guitar, thinking about how fate blessed him with you today.

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