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bored-storyteller · 3 years

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Dear Anon, sorry if I can't do the screen of your request :3 anyway I hope you like it

Warning: mention of violence and blood (nothing too bloody I think)

45- Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x human!Reader

“Natural”

That's your favorite time of the day. When you sit at the table in the hot cafeteria, with the steam of the sweet boiling drink in your nostrils, the warmth of the discreetly attended but not too noisy environment and your faithful sketchbook open on the polished wooden shelf. The first blank page available looks at you, waiting to become your world, your dreams.

You are particularly lucky today; he is there.

When you entered he was already sitting at the bar, sipping a black coffee. He doesn't come every day, nor does he always arrive at the same time, but when you find him you know he will stay a long time.

You don't know his name - or at least you shouldn't know, it's not nice to overhear conversations - you don't know who he is, you just know that the first time something entered him it made you hold your breath. You don't even know what has caused you so much upset at a simple glance; it's not his extravagant style, it's not his piercings or his intricate tattoos. They are not even his strange and sometimes scary eyes. They are not those caressing, sweet and persuasive ways with which he seems to behave as usual, and not even the calm ironic words he occasionally addresses to the one who serves behind the counter. No, it's none of this, or maybe it's all this, but you don't know it, you can't understand it.

Today he smiled at you. The place wasn't too crowded, and his look had turned to you at the chirping of the bell. How bizarre as a face that threatens so much aggression it is capable of such delicacy.

You wonder if he knows how much your eyes touch him every time you meet him. Maybe yes, but he doesn't really care.

His decorated fingers are absent-mindedly tucked into the handle of the cup, his hair today is gathered in a rather messy half-ponytail. You don't know if he did it on purpose or if he just didn't pay much attention to it.

For a second you get lost following his profile line. His lips are slightly parted, he is listening.

You choose to seize the moment, and your freshly sharpened pencil glides over the slightly textured paper, sketching indefinite sketches. You have plenty of time to improve them.

You don't really remember since you started drawing Uta - as the man in the coffee shop calls him, and for you he is the only reference you can rely on - only, suddenly the block that had taken possession of your artistic skills was suddenly loose. Whoever that man was, you wanted to draw him.

From there, his face started to appear more and more often in your drawings, and from there he started to inspire you, he started to make you imagine.

"Beautiful, he is really beautiful." You thought immediately, and at the beginning it was nothing more. Then, slowly, over time that "beautiful" had extended beyond his physical boundary, also touching his attitude, his voice, his expressions.

You never really talked to him - out of shyness, or maybe not to break that magic - but it's not important. That's okay, you've started to get attached to him, you've begun to hope that he can be okay, that he can be happy, and it doesn't matter who he is or who he isn't. His mere presence has given you so much.

Today it is a coincidence that you and he get up at the same time from your respective seats. He surely didn't notice, and neither did you, as you put your sketchbook back in your bag.

It is not rush hour, and even if you are far away you can see him well. He is so calm, while he keeps his balance clinging effortlessly to the steel tube. His eyes look beyond the glass, although there is little to see. But maybe they see much more? You wonder what he is thinking, what can a person like him think? Who knows how he lives, you wouldn't even know how to attribute a precise age to him.

He is quicker than you to get out, and you are still settling your bill. It's not like you want to chase him, you're not a stalker or a maniac, but he's right in front of you. It is a coincidence. It is also a coincidence when he takes the subway with you.

Your stop passes by, and this time it is no coincidence.

Shinjuku is his station, apparently. Yes, it suits him, it's a suitable environment for him, at least you think. The frenetic lights and noises make the neighborhood alive even in the evening dusk. It is not a bad place to pass the time, it is full of attractions, activities and culture.

You feel a bit dirty following him like this, but it's not something you can really command. You just want to know who he is, your muse. You would like to be close to him, you would like to ask him questions, but at the same time you are afraid. You are afraid of seeing him disappear, scared of you. Who will fill your blank pages if he leaves? But how come you could justify your behavior towards him? Would he ever understand the beauty he represents for your artist eyes?

When he disappears among the people it's not that big of a problem. You don't want to interfere in his business, after all you just wanted to have him close a little longer, at least close to your eyes.

But even if you didn't see him anymore, you didn't regret having extended your trip a little. Tokyo could inspire an artist more than people thought, and your sketchbook is back in your hands, to sketch what came to you - and from time to time to look back at that face that is taking shape more and more. below the details you have come to know by now.

There, in that district of the capital, if you take enough alleys and go down enough steps, you can reach hidden areas away from the eyes of tourists. Sure, they might seem insignificant and at times creepy, but for someone like you the small traditional shop on the corner, or the writing on the wall that would be poorly tolerated in the city center, has such a particular charm, so intense that it makes you imagine stories, and eyes that never existed.

And it is while the graphite of your pencil draws more or less regular shadows on a creature that looks so much like that tabby cat looking for food in the alley, that something makes your blood run cold.

A cry, a cry of terror. It was sharp, scratchy, but immediately suffocated, or rather, broken.

And it is then that looking up to the sky you see the night. It is not the case for someone like you to be in those areas with darkness that has fallen.

And that's why you don't bother thinking about that scream, you just think about going back through those alleys, and as quickly as possible.

But for you the world is bigger than for any human being, and your feet stop, your breath freezes in your chest.

There is no light, you are alone, but taking refuge behind the wall like a mouse, your eyes too used to observing see it immediately.

Him. It's him. Him, and his eyes light up hot. In the light glow of the moon and the flickering artificial lights you can see blood-colored veins that like roots mark his nocturnal sclera up to affect the pale skin.

His arms always dyed with black weaves are now covered in red, as are his hungry lips, his face up to his nose.

You know perfectly well what is happening, you know that that mass of flesh at his feet is a man he has just killed, to devour him.

You know what he is, and it scares you. How could it not? Yet it is precisely that fear that inspires you, that makes you take the figure of him in the dim light. As many details as possible are frantically marked on the paper, everything you need to remember.

"Beautiful" is everything your confused and terrified mind can think as you start running unaware of the fact that he saw you - or rather, he smelled you -, but luckily for you too late. . . .

"I don't know anything about it."

You don't know if actually the case those investigators are investigating is actually the killing - or the post-killing - you witnessed, but it doesn't really matter. Your words come out with such an ease that you are amazed too.

You wonder which god is angry with you for letting you cross their path and their eyes, is it your punishment for asking for help?

Maybe wandering around the back streets of Shinjuku makes you suspicious? Probably. But it doesn't matter, you really don't know anything. You are ready to forget everything in order to protect him. You can not miss it. He is your subject, your art.

You hold your sketchbook to your chest, protective.

"I didn't know there were ghouls in the area… is it really that dangerous?" It's not that you like to lie, but the more you can mislead those people, the more you can avoid danger to him, so don't blame yourself. It's the right thing, it's right that he has the chance to live.

"We don't have precise information, but it would be better not to wander alone in such isolated places, especially if the day is ending."

Looking up at the sky you realize that the sky is slowly turning on the evening colors. Who knows what you really expected. Were you seriously hoping to find him? Maybe Shinjuku was just a stop for him that day. Or maybe you are the cause why you don't come across him anymore, not even at the cafeteria.

“Now that I know, I'll try to be careful. I'll finish quickly and go home right away. "

The man in front of you smiles, his eyes scan the surroundings come to make sure you are safe: "Well, if you see something strange, even a suspicious trace, please contact us."

You agree. He gives you the impression of a good-hearted man, that agent, and you silently thank him as he and his companions walk away from you.

The world is cruel. It is cruel, but you don't even know in what respect, because it can be so cruel and so generous at the same time. So kind and so unfair.

And while in solitude your free mind wanders among those thoughts, something makes you quickly return to the ground, rushes you, crushes you.

A stabbing pain takes you to the right side of your body, like a burning fire throbs and quivers in your torn muscles, starting from the hollow between the neck and shoulder.

You would scream, but you are prevented, because a cold hand presses on your lips forcefully.

You don't really think about what's happening, you don't have time to think. All you can do is wriggle desperately, even though the strength holding you back is far superior to yours.

That pain repeats itself, more overwhelming on the open wound, and this time you can at least turn around in the arms of torture. And everything stops.

His beautiful face, the face you searched for so intensely is there, a few inches from yours. His eyes look at you, they scan you. His tongue licks your blood and his arms tighten you against him to keep you from running away.

Have you ever had him so close? Do not you think. You don't think he has ever looked at you as directly as he is doing right now.

But you don't have time, you have no way of thinking. The blood slips away, your eyesight darkens and your body loses sensitivity with every passing second.

The world is so kind to grant you that closeness, and so cruel to give you so little time to enjoy what you have so desired.

"Beautiful ..." You manage to murmur, and maybe that's really all you want to tell him. Your hand rests cold and delicate on his face, touching his pale cheek. His night-colored tuft lightly tickles your numb knuckles, and his confused gaze is the last thing you see. . . .

How long hadn't anyone caressed him like that? Had anyone ever caressed him like that?

Uta hadn't really looked for you, even though he recognized you, for some reason he just avoided meeting you again. It was the riskiest choice for him, yet he had subconsciously decided to give you that chance, to the little artist in the coffee shop.

But you were there, so close to him, in his domain. He had smelled you, so what could he do?

Yet you weren't behaving like everyone else. He didn't believe he could see such warmth in human eyes, ready to give in to forced sleep, and the bite had been held back. He still feels the sweetness and tenderness of your flesh running down his throat, but he has held back from giving you the coup de grace. A sign of respect for an artist like him? Or just too risky curiosity?

And your hand moved away from him too soon, slumping along his arm with a dead weight.

From your chest your black-covered notebook slips to the ground, you had held it tight all the time despite your injured shoulder.

His pupils scrutinize the object with distrust and curiosity. Probably he should kill you before he feels free to browse, yet now he is there, bent over. His long moon fingers and night-colored interlacing turn the pages with a light and quick gesture.

There are drawings of animals, people, objects. You're good, really good, he likes your style.

But that is not all. He could have foreseen it, he could have suspected since your eyes touched him so much, yet it was as if in his vision this was impossible. Despite this impossibility, one's face looks at him, and turning the page it is still there, only from another point of view. There are drawings of him in every perspective, with expressions that not even he realizes he has - probably no one has ever noticed -; some portraits are detailed, some are colored, some are just sketches that, despite everything, reflect him, while still others are started and never finished, deleted and thrown away as errors.

He is really beautiful.

You even wrote it down. You have written a lot, you have taken note of the details of him.

Uta doesn't know how he actually feels. How is he feeling? He feels a shyness on him that is not his own. Is it embarrassment? Maybe, in part. In part it's confusion, and in part ... how long hasn't someone considered him with the tenderness with which you did? You had watched him from afar for so long, and so intensely.

He obviously understood your interest, every time he greeted you cordially it was a confirmation, but he didn't think there was such a stupid sincerity in your feelings.

As he continues to turn the cream-colored pages, he notices that some pages are torn. He doesn't really give weight to them, he also does it when a work of his does not satisfy him, despite your mistakes being present several times in the notebook.

The last page is still him, he is smiling. He wonders if he really smiles like that. He looks really handsome, and he doesn't know if he's real or your eyes have affected that image to make his face so kind and serene.

A soft sigh blows between his lips as he closes your treasure. Yet, before he can complete the action, something blocks him.

On the bottom, on the hard cover, the internal part reproduces the black of the external facade. He probably wouldn't have noticed anything strange if his eye wasn't used to being attentive.

Sticking his fingers into the crack under that black, he manages to retrieve a slightly protruding sheet, one of the sheets you tore.

On paper, the dark traces form his figure again, but this time something is different. He is different.

He is a ghoul in that drawing. He is bent over his victim, his placid face stained with blood, like his arms. He is imposing above the figure you have represented in the shadow.

Yet despite this, he is not ugly or cruel. You made it beautiful anyway, natural. Yes, you simply grasped his nature, you grasped the beauty in his nature and brought it back to paper, as a work of art.

It's not finished yet, his critical eye saw it well. Maybe that's why you hid it? Why were you dying to complete it during your days, to always have it with you, but were you afraid it would be discovered? Did you tear up so many pages for this? To deprive prying eyes of discovering his nature through your drawings?

Honestly, were you really protecting him, in your own way?

He had distractedly heard you talking to the Doves, and hadn't given it any weight - always because it was impossible, in his eyes - but now, in front of himself so sweetly admired by your shy eyes, he can't help admitting that something it moves in his stomach, like agitated butterflies.

Perhaps it is the interest in having been made a work of art by such skilled hands, or a sense of esteem that overwhelms him when he realizes that he is in front of a skilled artist, or perhaps, deep down, it is a simple motion of affection he can't help but feel for amazing human beings like you. Even while he was killing you, you didn't speak out against him. You are stranger than Tsugumi.

Uta may be crazy, but he is not insensitive, on the contrary, it is his sensitivity that makes him so uncomfortable in the world.

He feels you tremble and suddenly remembers he has you in his arms. He hadn't noticed that he had kept you with such care; your lifeless head, resting on his chest, rises and falls to the rhythm of his breaths.

Look at your suffering face, in his lap you are getting colder and colder and the nectarine blood continues to dirty both your clothes and his.

You can die, but the wounds he inflicted on you are not fatal in themselves - luckily -.

Will you forgive him for tasting your body? Probably yes. He doesn't know you, but he has already understood you, and now he wants to understand more. . . .

The warmth envelops you, all you perceive is a warm and placid relief.

Your clouded mind only asks you one question: "Are you dead?"

You don't really know why you should be, you just know that there is that possibility. Yet, slowly, a physicality settles on you, making you return to earth, away from the world of ideas.

Your fingers barely move and your sensitivity feels warmth and softness. The shoulder burns.

Your eyelids vibrate before venturing to lift again wondering if you really are living.

The light is dim, the environment is unfamiliar to you and yet you perceive something you know, even if you don't really know what it is. A sensation? A smell?

"Hey…"

A gentle, light, friendly voice. Maybe it's a bit hypocritical of him, but what does it matter to you? You're probably dreaming, he really killed you and that's your hell. It's not that bad if you can spend your pains admiring him.

His blood-colored and strawberry-colored eyes scan you attentively, there is no threat in his features, only a barely hinted smile, a smile that you adore, and a greeting from him that for some reason makes your rhythm pick up again your heart: "Good morning."

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uncrownedmox · 3 years

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Veil of Secrecy

Noun: The action of suppressing something such as an activity

Throughout the day Liana had watched Dean for signs of any other explosive memories or any other signs of discomfort but he seemed totally relaxed with Roman and Seth. Her would-be brother had cornered her once and asked about the bruise around her neck. His soft brown eyes spoke volumes of his disbelief of her rushed story of accidentally doing it herself. Larkin had come in after midway through their conversation, she said nothing. She helped Liana make lunch wordlessly but with one look she told Liana that she wasn’t buying her story either.

Dismissing Larkin and Seth’s disbelief over her cover story Liana watched carefully as Dean interacted with Roman and Seth throughout the day, noticing how as they spoke of past memories he commented more and more on them. Twice she fetched the Rosemary and Sage potion for him to drink, Seth always snarked out a laugh but Roman watched him like a hawk to make sure he drank it all.

It was late afternoon, Dean, Roman, and Seth were in the second bedroom putting together a crib for Sammy. Their male laughter could be heard echoing down the hallway into the front room and making all three women smile and making young Sammy giggle. Larkin as she pushes a toy back to Sammy scoots closer to Liana and whispers softly, “So what really happened to your neck?” Blushing as Katelyn laughed loudly Liana brought her hand up to massage her throat and look back at the hallway. Sammy suddenly lost interest in the truck he and Larkin had been playing with and moved onto some wooden blocks and started to clack them together.

Liana sighed and looked back at Larkin, “what makes you think anything happened?” Larkin looked at Sammy first then down the hallway then finally at her sharply. After a moment she spoke lightly, “Xavier was into some kinky crap from time to time. I got used to having bruises like that as well, Liana.” There was slight pain and discomfort in Larkin’s eyes but when Liana reached out to her she waved her off, “it’s in the past Lee. I have something way better now.” Nodding in hopes her friend slash sister knew if she needed to talk, then Larkin is looking at her dead on and giving her a wink.

Smiling brightly Liana knew it was just as Larkin said it was, the past. Swallowing, she shyly retold the story she had already told Katelyn. Afterward, she timidly asked Larkin her opinion, “how would you suggest I get him to do it again?” Larkin blinks in shock at her and it makes her blush but Katelyn is chiming in softly, “she is young Lark. She needs to find herself in her sexuality through experimentation, Jon as an experienced man should know this.” She feels her blush deepen, heat radiates with hot heat and she squeaks out. “It’s not like that, Katie. Due to how Mox came into his magic and other circumstances,” here her words stumble for a moment and both women look at her in question.

Taking a deep breath she tries to explain the best she can, “look at it this way. It’s not a split personality pre say but mood swings maybe? As Mox, he is serious about intimate things. Not saying there is no play or anything but you want ‘playful’ that’s ‘Dean.’' Looking at her sisters she sees Larkin is confused and Katelyn is somewhat lost. Sighing she murmured, “think of it like this. Ambrose,” looking at Katelyn because she knew the other woman would understand. “As my hard demanding lover and Mox and my gentler one. Dean is kinda a combination of both.” It takes Katelyn a moment but she only asks, “a playful hard fuck?” Larkin sputters and Liana winces at the language in front of Sammy. In the end, she only sighs and blushes, “si hermama.”

That makes Larkin cough, after she gets herself under control she mutters lightly, “I haven’t seen Jon as this Profeta or Ambrose thingy but I have heard him, and boy oh boy let me say this. That man screamed hardcore sex appeal. I mean by the voice alone I can easily imagine him as a Dom in one of those BDSM playrooms or whatever they are.” Liana blinks at her and Katelyn brings her finger up to tap her chin and questions, “si. Only he would use exotic toys.” Liana reaches for Sammy as he attempts to crawl too far away, bringing him back within their group she asks. “Can’t we just stick to something simple for now? Like handcuffs. I could possibly do those.” Larkin gives her a wide eye look then laughs, “Live dangerous sister! Besides, once you get him into some latex?”

Liana felt her eyes go super wide at the thought of Dean in latex, shaking her head. “I can’t see it! Tight jeans maybe.” Katelyn is laughing hard at her. Larkin is thinking about what she said then adds, “who cares what he wears. Just as long as he uses that voice again I would be putty in his hands.” Liana snickers at her comments but Katelyn turns the tables on their sister-friend. “Seth should invest in a ball gag for you. Since you like toys so much.” Larkin gives her an evil eye then shakes her head, “he would never. He loves how vocal I am!”

Before any of them could respond a male voice chime in, “that I do but when we are visiting one might be a good investment.” They all turn to see Seth leaning against the door jam, once they all see him he pops off the jam and heads into the kitchen. Larkin flops onto her back to watch him go and scrunches up her nose at him, he calls over his shoulder. “Don’t give me any sass woman.”

She pops back up and looks at them and they burst out laughing in pure contentment.

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The first time putting a crib together he was thankful to have Roman around to help, who was close to an expert on the matter by now. Looking at his older brother he murmured, “if Larkin is right and you Katie are destined with five-plus the three you already have.” Roman doesn’t even pause to look at him, “I am Samoan Uce. We normally come in large batches.” Seth snorts at that and snarky out, “between you guys it’s going to be a dozen or more.” Dean looks at the half-built crib knowing he would need it again in just a few months.

When they had first stepped into the second bedroom and laid out all the pieces and hardware for the crib their talk had been light and somber. Seth was however like an open book to both him and Roman, so when he had come back from the kitchen shaking his head and handing them a fresh cold beer. Dean asked softly but quietly, “she didn’t say anything to you about it?” He saw Seth was thinking about something, at the moment his younger brother was raising his beer to his lips. He stopped mid-motion and looked at him. “Who? About what?” Grinding his teeth together Dean sighed and took a drink of his own beer. Shooting Seth a haunted look after swallowing hard. “Liana, Seth. I thought she might have mentioned to you about the bruise, it is why you two have been staring a hole in me all day.”

Roman pauses in screwing a screw and innocently questions, “it wasn’t done in some rough foreplay?” Dean could actually hear the hope in his voice and shame flooded him and a blush warmed his face in an instant. Choking out as he lowered his eyes, “hate to break it to you Ro but I am not into that type of foreplay.” Seth actually laughs at his words and when he looks up Seth is looking out the bedroom door. “Here we are talking about choking foreplay and the girls are talking about using ball gags.” Dean blinks as he reaches for a screw to continue to help Roman in putting together the crib. Roman on the other hand laughs out, “might come in handy for your wife baby Uce.” Dean snorts as he finishes screwing in one screw.

Reaching for his beer and another screw as Seth snaps back playfully, “my wife is vocal, Reigns. Not my fault you don’t have Katie screaming the roof off the place.” Seth says it with such a straight face Dean can’t help but to laugh. Roman at first gives both his brothers an evil eye then just shakes his head. Then after a minute, he muses silently just how far this conversation has gotten off topic but is damned if he ain’t enjoying himself. And yet the question is still heavily lingering in the air, “so if she didn’t tell you Seth then how in the hell am I suppose to find out what happened?” Roman is reaching out for his beer and blinks slowly at him, Seth takes another swallow of his beer for good measure and puts the question to him. “Tried asking her yourself?” Rolling his eyes Dean snaps back waspy, “why detective Rollins I do believe you missed your calling in life.” Roman’s big frame is shaking from him trying to hold back his laughter and Dean is somewhat proud of that.

Seth on the other hand, “smart ass. See if I fucking help you again.” Roman finally loses it and laughs out loud, “you call that helping Uce?” Roman then looks at him, the laughter is dying out and there is a somber look in his blueish grey eyes. “Look Uce if it wasn’t some rough foreplay and she hasn't come clean on how it happened, you know.” Dean swallowed hard and nodded his own laughter, dying off. “I know Ro.” Swallowing hard, casting his eyes downward he choked out as he fought against the tears. “It had to be me, I mean it couldn’t be anyone else. They would’ve been,” he doesn’t finish so after a minute Seth murmurs. “They would have been dead before they had time to leave a mark. Plus you are the only one she wouldn’t fight.”

It broke him in a way he couldn’t voice but he managed to grind out, “it’s killing something inside of me knowing I did that to her and she won’t tell me about it.” When the crib was done, with Roman help of course Seth however wasn't done. “Listen, Dean, you’re Montana’s world. Right now you're handicapped because you don’t have all your memories.” Roman is nodding but he cuts Seth off, “I want to remember, Seth. I want to be the man she loves again.” Seth comes up beside him and slaps him in the back of the head, “stupid. You are THAT man.” Narrowing his eyes he opens his mouth but Roman hums out, “point and match to Rollins.” Fighting back actual tears he snarls, “this doesn’t help assholes.” Seth growls at him in open frustration now, “look dickward you asked her point-blank and she shut you down, right? Then fuck it and play hardball and GET your answers. We have seen you use magic to get what you want out of her before.” Seth takes a deep breath and adds, “she finds it charming, I think?” Roman snorts in amusement and adds, “more like a turn on probably?”

Dean glances between his brothers and sputters, “you two want me to force my way in?” Seth laughs out loud as he takes another drink of his beer. “I don’t think you can force her, Dean.” Fighting the rising heat on his face, choking out. “I can’t do what you’re suggesting, it’s not in me.” Roman tosses his screwdriver down in disgust and growls out, “yes it is! Dig deep and fucking find Ambrose. If you taught me one thing it's that she wouldn’t dare disrespect or lie to him.” He knows there must be confusion showing on his face because Seth is laughing like an idiot again but once he stops. “Look Deano, the fact is Montana loves you. All of you, but I agree with Roman. She is more relaxed with you whether you call yourself Dean or Mox. Just remember she was raised to respect the power and title of a Profeta.” Roman is humming in agreement and before he can question it further. “She will answer to Ambrose.” Looking at his brothers he sighed, “I hope to hell you guys are right!”

There is a smirk on both of their faces and Seth just hands him a fresh beer and asks, “So Deano let's talk about this lack of foreplay of yours.” Roman laughs grab a fresh beer and wait on his answer, “magic lil brother with Liana everything is always magical.” Roman bellows out a laugh but Seth is grinning like a madman, “does that go for the sex as well?” Dean lets a matching grin overtake his lips, “no Sethie the sex is out of this world." Seth is helping him pick up the extra bolts and asking, “like your seeing stars or more like mind-numbing, and your soul is exploded from your dick?” Dean is tossing the extra hardware in a ziplock bag but pauses to slyly ask, “Is that even possible?” Roman is rumbling, “hasn’t happened to me yet.” Smirking at their little brother, “sounds like you have a personal problem, lil brother.”

Seth laughs, “naw, not a problem at all I actually like the feeling, I recommend it! But a second-round is usually out of the question if done correctly.” Dean is shaking his head but deep down the darkness that was Ambrose was intrigued.

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It was around nine, and after the crib was done he had watched for a moment as Liana and the other girls had moved into the bedroom to make it. After dinner he watched as Liana tended to Sammy and put him down for the night, feeling accomplished and satisfied. He knew it was just a matter of months before she would be repeating this process with their own son and it made his heart swell with pride and love, so much love.

Once Sammy was down and softly snoring he and Liana retreated back into their living room. He was still nursing a beer, she still had an ice tea in her hand but once she sat down she stretched her back and it gave off a loud pop. Sitting his beer down on the coffee table he looped his arm around her neck, his fingers playing with her red-gold hair. She sat her ice tea down next to his beer and leaned more into him, smirking softly as he gently reached out to bring her on top of his lap. Her eyes light up and her hands came to rest on his shoulders, fingers caressing the sides of his neck. Closing his eyes at the simple touch he let a small moan work its way free from his lips as a reward when Liana started to shift and grind herself against his hardening dick. Muttering darkly, “you’re a damn tease sweetheart.” Smiling as she moaned when he placed his own kiss on her neck.

Pulling himself back before this got out of hand and he forgot what he was after. “Sweetheart, please. I would do anything,” with heavy-lidded eyes Liana pulls back and smiled sheepishly at him. She licks her lips and whispers, “please baby. I want you in me.” Moaning loudly because her words make his dick incredibly hard and the temptation was almost too great but he stayed focused. “No sweetheart, first you get one more chance to tell me how I hurt you?” Her beautiful honey eyes snapped completely open and stared right into baby blues in total disbelief. “Dean,” shaking his head he hardened his voice a little more, “you misunderstand me little girl I am not asking this time.” Her breath catches and Dean watches in fascination as her pupils dilate and her face flushes. It’s then he realizes Roman is right, the control was acting as a turn-on for her.

There is also a hint of stubbornness in her eyes that he sees, a willingness to defy and it moves something deep down inside of him. And yet, “last chance sweetheart.” He can almost hear her heart beating against her ribcage, sees her shake her head and her wide-eyed expression. He sighs softly and lets out what little magic he has currently stored up to bubble up to the surface, he expects a large amount of pain but there wasn’t hardly any and yet her reaction. “Stop it, Dean. Please don’t hurt,” he ignored her words instead he concentrated on making sure she didn’t feel any of the excess pain. The darkness was there in an instant, cold and dark, he felt the traces of the evil that lingered within and it had him second-guessing himself. Yet the sheer amount of deep soul-shattering love he felt for Liana told him that it out negated the negative traces he felt in his magic.

Closing down his thoughts and trusting in his magic, trusting in Ambrose and the love for Liana, that the darkness would protect her and get the answers he sought he found he couldn’t completely close his mind away. He found his thoughts and magic was becoming a merger with the darkness and personality. Something told him that as Mox he was never able to accomplish this, that the only time he was able to come close to this was when he was buried deep in the woman that was sitting on top of his lap. A soft murmur of “Dean,” broke through the darkness and brought Ambrose so he was more than willing to do as she commanded. “Liana,” he noticed her eyes were heavy was magic, his own voice coated must respond in kind. “Are you not my Sacerdotisa?” The question had her jerking backward and almost off his lap but his hands steadied her from her hips, his voice low and hot, “I think you are.” Bringing her forward he placed a sweet innocent kiss on her lips. Her eyes never left his and it made his magic hum, sharpening his magic he bit out. “Then you need to fucking act like it,” her answer was to scoot her hips forward more flush against him. A soft meow sigh escaped her lips.

The knowledge that this was arousing her made him harder but at the same time steeled his resolve in getting his answers. Her hands petted him gently through his hair, lips kissing him at his neck, her voice caressing him, “Dean.” Her tone was low and filled with so much desire and passion it had him slipping a hand down and to the side of her shorts and inside her panties to see how wet she was. His fingers found pure wetness, letting his fingers caress her core back and forth then removing them and bringing them to his mouth he moaned, “I will never get tired of tasting you little girl but tonight isn’t going to be about you.” At his words, Liana’s eyes flutter shut and she gasps out, “and you call me a tease.” Shaking his head he bit back a moan and was able to choke out. “This isn't about teasing, little girl. This is about you learning your lesson.” Watching as she licked her parted lips as he thrust his fingers back into her dripping wet heat.

Her hips started to twitch and move in rhythm to his fingers, his thumb brushing her clit ever so often had her buckling hard against him fast. As he watched, she rode his fingers and had her softly panting and gasping then he withdrew his fingers. Smirking as he brought his fingers back up to his lips, sucking them clean, watching Liana watch him lick his fingers clean. Her hips twitched as she watched him, her eyes held disappointment. Her fingernails dug into the skin on his bare shoulders, her small voice begged. “Mox please,” the nickname she tried hard not to call him stumbled out in her time of need but in his state of mind right now it didn’t matter to him, “think about it my Sacerdotisa. I can bring you to that sweet edge countless times, I can even.” He pulled her hips back from his crotch and unzipped his shorts and pulled his boxers down, his cock sprung free and he moaned as he ran a single fingertip down his length. All the while he watched Liana hungrily took in the site he was presenting to her, “I can even make you watch as I find my release, by myself.” Lowering his voice even more, “you and I both don’t want that, do we my sweet young Sacerdotisa, you would much rather we both find our pleasure in one another tonight, right?” At those words, he began to stroke his dick.

He kept his strokes light and unhurried, he tilted his head back- eyes closing because he didn’t need to see Liana to know she was watching his hand intensity nor that she would reach out to overlap his hand with her own. Widening his leg stance, without a second thought he removed his hand he was pleased to feel her continue to stroke him. “That’s right, baby. Nice and slow, depending on how stubborn you want to be, will determine who gets their release tonight.” At his words, she shifts and he knows what she is seeking. Raising his hands back to her hips he harshly tells her, “don’t!” Letting his eyes flutter open he muttered, “don’t make me punish you, little girl.” She whimpers and he feels her free hand on his chest. Her voice is small and filled with so much desire, “my Profeta. I want you, please.” A moment of soft ghosted words, “I am so wet for you Profeta Ambrose.” The sound of that name awakes something so hard and dark in him that he jerks her hips forwards. “Show me Sacerdotisa, show me just how badly you want me.”

Watching as she pushes off of his lap he can only moan as she quietly slips off her shirt then her bra, taking in just how swollen her breasts were he whispered, “your breasts, little girl.” his eyes lit up as she cupped herself and gently pinched her nipples hard, “Is this what you want Ambrose?” Her voice is timid and so soft he growled, “what I want is your ass bare and your legs spread open wide before me.” Her eyes glowed with her magic and he watched as she slowly stepped out of her shorts and solid white panties then make her way back to him. Hand on her elbow he yanks her body to him, moving to give her nipples a quick lick before laying her down onto the couch. Spreading her legs wide, watching her pant in desire, letting his eyes roam over her as he gazes at her core and the dripping mess she is presenting to him. Slipping to lower himself to her sloppy core he used both hands to pry her open and took a moment to stare in appreciation. Licking his lips because she is so soaking wet it almost makes him spill in his boxers. Then she is crying out softly as her hips jerk in his hands, “Ambrose please.” Humming he lowers his head but instead of a lick he takes her clit in hard long suck, it has her back arching, her moaning louder, her legs snapping around his neck in an instant.

Her hands come to bury themselves in his hair as she bolts upright when he flicks his tongue against her clit. The action causes more moisture to gather in his mouth, chuckling as he pulls back and she snarls down at him. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, savoring her taste on his tongue he moaned as he let his finger dance at her entrance. Watching as her hips started to buckle harder and her moaning became louder. Letting his finger dip just barely within her drenched pussy, letting her work herself harder onto his finger just to the point when she was about to explode then he withdrew his finger. This caused her to snap, “no please. You just can’t.” Letting his magic glow in his eyes, coming to lean over her he snapped. “This is your lesson Sacerdotisa, not mine.” Shifting onto his knees he lets a hand go back to slowly stroking himself, Liana meows at him and thrusts her hips upwards, “give me what I want, Sacerdotisa. Give me my answers and I will give you your pleasure.”

There is a tightening deep down in his balls and he knows he is almost done for this round. Leaning down to place a kiss on her lips he murmurs, “I am about to cum Sacerdotisa. I had hoped when I did so it would be inside your hot wet pussy but I suppose you're letting your pride deny the both of us.” Her cry is so soul-deep that he almost stops this game he has started, but one looks at the bruise on her neck and continues. Images of her on her knees come crashing down in his mind and he knows in an instant that’s how he will finish this round. Shifting to stand up he reaches out and grabs her under her elbows watching as she reaches down to stroke his dick he rumbles out, “on your knee’s Sacerdotisa. I want your mouth on me when I cum and you will swallow every last drop.” Her answer is to moan and to drop to her knees, the moment her mouth opens and engulfs him he is lost. Letting his head fall back as she sucks him dry he can't help but thank the Gods for her, for making her his.

After a few moments and she swallows she lets out a deep moan and cries out, “Ambrose please it hurts, so badly.” When he tilts his head forward again and looks down at her up-tilt face he moans at the sight of her. Her lips still have traces of his cum on them and there is such a desperate look in her eyes that his dick seems to forget that it should be going soft instead of hardening again. With a tight voice, reaching out to caress her hair. “Dry your lips Sacerdotisa,” watching as she licks at her lips, he moans again. He also notices her hand making its way between her legs, “I don’t want to punish you further Liana but you’re tempting me.” Her hand stills and she blinks up at him shyly and he nods in satisfaction but she manages to sob out, “please Ambrose it hurts.” Yanking her up he snarls out, “ you think I am enjoying this Liana? I want nothing more than to sink deep into you. The need to fuck you is driving me to a point of madness I didn’t know was possible.” Her body is shaking and he knows he needs to end this soon; she is too young to have been thrust into this lesson.

She moans, her voice is broken but she leans against him and murmurs, “yes please.” He tries to be kinder as he holds her, as he brings her in for a kiss. “Please what Sacerdotisa?” A moment of silence then a bare whisper, “fuck me, like before.” Her voice is so soft but her eyes are dark and lost to her need and desire. He growls in frustration he pushed too hard in one direction and it would cost the answers he wanted. Murmuring, he still tried, “like before?” She could only offer a whimper, “Sacerdotisa? Answer me, like before? Did I fuck you last night?” Her voice is painful and full of need, “ anything please just.” Raising his hand to cup her throat as he must’ve last night he asked, “did I punish you as I fucked you last night Sacerdotisa?” Shaking her head, she moaned and pressed harder into his hand around her throat, “just a dream, then you.” He backs her up until she hits the couch and falls, but she keeps his hand around her throat. “Then what baby?” He asks as he falls with her, careful not to hurt her, she instantly opens her legs for him and he blindly thrusts in.

She cums around him before he can bury himself all the way within her. Her voice is airy as she moans, “You, oh Gods you feel so good, Ambrose.” Leaning over her smaller body, “I am going to fuck you hard and fast baby. I need to cum again.” She sobs and her magic flutters in her eyes and her hips are thrusting against him, “you didn’t know me. Didn’t believe I was yours. You didn’t even wait.” Her words were mere sobs and her fingers were digging into his ass trying to get more of him within her. Grinding his teeth together he tries to fight against the pleasure and concentrate on her words but it was unless her body was too hungry and needful and he was too deep in the feel of her to care about the words she was groaning.

Moaning as the sounds of her cries of pleasure filled the room, he is grunting and her sobs of pleasure were louder than normal because he had driven her to such an edge. Then his balls were tightening once again, reaching out to cup her face he gave her a hard kiss as he surges harder into her. Murmuring hotly against her lips, “I am about to cum Sacerdotisa.” Then he feels it as she coats his dick and it triggers him to give a few chaotic pumps before he explodes within her. He is aware that she is mumbling something and he suddenly knows it’s the blessing, feels it when her body greedily takes every drop of his seed.

A few moments later, they both are still panting when he mumbles brokenly, “don’t ever make me do that again Liana.” Her breath is still coming out hot and jagged but she whispers shyly, “and if I want it like that again? Popping his head and raising himself onto his forearms he stares down into her magical glowing golden eyes in wonder and finds himself laughing. “Baby if you want fucked just tell me, I don’t need to go commando on your ass.” Her face goes flush but she reaches up and murmurs, “and if I want it like that again?” There is a moment, looking into her eyes before it registers with him what she means but when he figures it out he moans, “seems like my little girl likes a different form of play than I thought.” She only hums beneath him and places a kiss on his collarbone. He places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

It takes him a moment to gather enough strength to carry her to the bedroom and place her gently on the bed. As he shifts down beside her he quietly asks if she wants to wash up and she moans sleepily that she would in a minute he chuckles and curls up into his arms and blinks at him. “So we can do that again, like soon right?” Moaning he couldn’t help but smile, “next time I won’t cave in so soon little girl. Think you can handle it?” Her body stretches out against his and she wraps her arms around his neck, “I want to be the best Sacerdotisa for my Profeta. I want to serve him in all ways. The best ways.” His heart thunders at her words but she shifts in his arms and he realizes she is waiting for him to say something. Reaching out to caress her hair he mumbled, “then one lesson every night. No cry-offs baby.” Her answer is a soft snore.

Laughing lightly, he simply laid next to her petting her bare hip, and thought over their play. It never occurred to him to explore Liana’s sexual preferences before now, not that he himself had a wide appetite, no out of three of them that had always been Seth. Granted he and Roman had been the two married men and had lived vicariously through their younger brother exploits, then he had met Kayla and became domesticated. At least that’s how Jess and Renee had described it.

So, he had learned a few things tonight, Liana liked to be dominated and pushed to her limits. It told him several things about what must have happened the night before, smiling as he buried his hand in her hair his mind thought over how demanding his little lover was. Renee had liked to be teased and to liked her teasing light but Liana was hard and full throttle. Placing a light kiss in her hair and chuckling as she snuggled closer to him he mused at just how well she took her lesson tonight. Her words are whispering in his mind.

You didn’t know me- didn’t believe I was yours! You didn’t even wait.

Glancing down at her sleeping face he tried to piece her words together, to understand her desire soak riddle knowing the answer to his question was in those words if only he would tease them apart?

Just a dream, then you.

As he yawns, he knows for sure that he ain’t telling Roman and Seth about this. Cause Seth’s remark about coming so hard that your soul is exploding from dick isn’t that far off the mark.

You didn’t even wait. Just a dream.

Mumbled words said in a need to be satisfied but fuck it something was nagging him in the back of his mind. Closing his eyes, fingers combing her hair, body going lax as he starts to drift off then it hits him like a mack truck. You didn’t even wait. Just a dream. Followed by Renee’s question of ‘You don’t know what this will do to you, you honestly want to remember the years of torture you went through in that place?’ His breath caught in his throat as he jerks awake and bolts upright. Glancing as Liana sleepily moved to curl up around him.

Fucking hell!

Slipping from the bed quietly he slipped into the shower to wash the dread away. In the deep of the night, he had woken up from a dream, a memory, and had taken it out on Liana. He could feel his body wanting to shake but he supposed something, something from his time in the Tunnels was preventing him from doing so. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself under the hot water and let his mind chase the rest of what Liana had revealed to him tonight.

He didn’t jump when Liana slipped into the shower with him and wrapped her arms around him, swallowing hard he whispered, “did I force you, Liana?” He had forced himself to stare straight ahead and not turn to hold her but at his question, he felt her push herself away and snap, “Dean, look at me.” When he couldn’t bring himself to do as she requested she growled, “I said look at me, Profeta Ambrose.” Her words were laced with her magic and he felt his soul respond, his eyes lowering to her face as he waited. “You're my Profeta. I could never deny you anything, my heart, my soul, my body is yours to command. What happened last night was unexpected but did you hurt me? No! Did you surprise me? Yes! But I enjoyed it just like tonight, it was a new kind of pleasure and I liked it very much!”

Searching her eyes deeply he saw the truth in her bright beautiful eyes and moaned but nodded in acceptance. They finished their shower in silence and slipped back into bed, he was almost asleep when she whispered. “I really did enjoy it, baby.” Burrowing deeper into the sheets and into her he sleepy tells her, “we will see about that after you take another lesson or two?” With that, she hummed and shifted to spoon against him, and sleep claimed them both.

——————————————————————————————

Sacerdotisa Ruby looked once more at the glass container that held the blood absorbing poppet, blood that was three quarters the way gone, it had been sad to kill the little nino but at this point with his mother was failing in controlling Profeta Ambrose and that made his life’s blood was more valuable to her that his life. Now a little of that life’s blood would power the poppet and let her gain power over the mother.

“I hope his death was a necessity Ruby,” glancing back, Ruby felt disgusted for the taller man, regardless if he was of her blood or not. “You have no power to question me nino,” of her blood or not the boy thought he was better than her, more powerful than her and she wouldn’t stand for that much longer. Humming, it was the man behind her that was the only way to get Liana back into the City, “do you bring me news of your sister nino?” Stilling when she feels hands at her hips, nimble fingers undoing the sash at her waist, she forces her body to respond to the seeking fingers and after a while, she feels a release glide down her thighs.

Hands bunch up her skirt and bend her at the waist in this action she lets her mind drift back to better times, when her brother ruled the City with an iron fist, to when he would take what was his and leave her spent and sometimes blooded in a heap on the floor. The boy behind her now is not even a pale comparison to the man her brother had been all those years ago regardless of that part of her brother's blood that ran through his veins.

There had not been another like her brother within the City since his death, that was until Ambrose. Jericho had been molding him nicely; he by far was still weak compared to her brother but more powerful than Bray and more than satisfying between the legs. That night in the cemetery even though he had not put any effort into their coupling had her body alive in ways she could only dream of now. Closing her eyes she let her body remember that night, trying to give something to the nino in exchange for the news that he would give her. Remembering Ambrose’s cock deep within her had her clenching around his dick and moaning, praying silently that the coupling would end quickly she chanted a blessing softly.

Feeling him empty in her, feeling him lean over her back, panting hotly against her ear as he whispers. “I have it on good word Sacerdotisa Rudy that Profeta Ambrose is taking my sister in like some kind of fucking stray. If that’s the case and if he so much as touches her I will kill him. No matter how much you like his dick.” Snapping around to face the nino she lets her hand fly, smiling icily when sees blood flow from his lower lip. “You will do no such thing, Bray is useless. To access the pools I need Ambrose. Therefore I need to restore his memories and his magic so he can fuel the streams.” She watches as he licks the blood from his lip, his eyes glowed a deep brown and for a moment she is reminded of her brother.

A smirk forms on his lips, “one chance Ruby. Don’t deny me in the matters of Liana, she will choose me and if you like I will let you watch when I take her to the pool and fuck her.” Laughing she can’t help but notice the lack of confidence in his eyes, “why would she choose you when she has someone like Ambrose? Someone that possibly could match her instead of leach off her? Someone that can give her untold pleasures instead of one-minute delights. I raised her better than that!” His scowl was dark but she pushed on, “you are not your father's son, Baron, your just a man playing pretend and the goal you have set forth isn’t in your league.”

Adjusting her skirt and sash she threw the last insult at him again, “my daughter would never choose a pitiful powerless man like you if she has taken Ambrose in between her legs, even if she was only to have pleasure from his pinkie finger it would be more pleasure your whole body could give her and trust me, my daughter will want her desires filled to the fullest.” With that, she swayed away from him and his thunderous expression.

——————————————————————————————

It’s around eight am and Dean knows he is dreaming again but there is no fog and the dreams don’t seem to reach in and tear at his very soul, he thinks for a moment it's because there is a small warm hand shaking him awake that or because his own Sacerdotisa has coated him in her magic, in her body, in her love and he is damn if he wants to explain that cause Sacerdotisa don’t share their magic and they sure as hell don’t love.

But mine does. It’s time to remember.

There is an image of a heavy metal door and when the whispered words of remembering hit him the door isn’t quite blown open but cracked open enough a person could walk through it. Memories not of his Sacerdotisa fill him but of Renee, when they met, their first kiss, the gentle way she had begged him to make love to her after he had returned from his first deployment, their wedding day.

Then there are memories of the day he stepped foot into the City the first time. Of Kai being struck down, of Cassidy dropping to his knees. Of the way Nox’s screamed. Then there is the biting memory of pain as Jericho starts his torture. As Sacerdotisa Lita demanded her lessons of pleasure.

Then the rapture of casting the spell ended Jericho. Seeing the pure horror on Sacerdotisa Lita’s face as she watched. The bliss for the next two months as he couldn’t feel his magic then pain as it came rushing back into his body. As Profeta Punk eased him back into it. As the Army finally found him and Cassidy, they proceeded to drill them for the nearly two-plus years of hell they had lived.

Then the shock awaited him back in Vegas. The rejection from his wife, at the feel of his magic, the cold hard truth at the feel of the new life that grew within her. A life that he had no part of making. Then the heartbreak of coming to the decision of leaving it, HER, all behind and return to the hell that had imprisoned him for two years.

The shock of seeing Roman and Seth stepping off of a chopper and into the City. The pettiness between his brothers and Cassidy. Then a letter from Montana, an offering of fudge. Sad honey-filled eyes haunt his dreams and make his cock hard all at the same time, then a blessing being cast. Pleasure filling his magic but his body staying empty- then there was a snap in his head.

The feel being encased in sweetness. The smell of oranges and the images of a young beautiful woman is reaching for him. And for his magic. As he sinks into her, her magic demands his and it makes him hard in new ways. The beautiful woman is moaning for him, coming all around his cock.

A soft sweet voice is calling out to him, “Dean, baby you need to wake up.” The voice calling out to him belongs to the voice that is moaning for him but it’s all wrong. He wants her to want him as a whole, and he knows (somehow) she is calling out to his weak pitiful side. “Don’t call me that,” there is amusement in her voice. “I cry your pardon Profeta Ambrose,” letting a smile form he knows she is playing now. She likes to play, play hard- hard and fast. Likes to fuck the same way too, “I need to teach to be dirtier baby.” She laughs as she whispers in his ear, “you can make me dirty anyway you want me.” Those words have him moving and rolling on top of her in a flat second, his sleep is long since forgotten.

Sadly, her eyes are laughing at him and her body is fully clothed from him. “The fuck Montana?” Her eyes are wide but her voice is questioning, “Dean?” Narrowing his eyes down at her he reminded her, “I told you not to call me that.” There is a pause and he wonders why she would ever call him by his middle name in the first place? His magic sparks at his right arms and it has her surging up in his arms, “Mox, baby?” Her voice cracks and is questioning him but he doesn’t dwell on it, instead he lowers her back down onto the bed and kisses her roughly.

There is a sound deep within the house that finally pokes his desire fogged mind and he pulls back, “Montana what’s?” Her eyes take a moment to focus and then she is snapping out from under him, “you’re a bad boy distracting me like that.” Smirking as he stretches out in the bed he lets her eyes drink him in, “Mox baby stop, we can’t.” Her voice is uncertain and she is nibbling on her lower lip, letting a hand rub his abs, watching her watch him. “Why not? Is Sammy awake yet?” She shakes her head and whispers, “Lt. Colonel Cena is in the front room, waiting on you.”

Sighing in disappointment he rolled to the beds edge and took his time in getting up, glancing up when Liana brought him a pair of boxers and shorts he smiled and nodded his thanks. Slipping them on when he was standing, he noticed Liana had slipped out of the bedroom and he listened as she started talking lightly to Sammy, glancing around he called out, “babe where’s my hiking tee.” The room, even with the air on, was hot and he wanted to wear as little as possible, she called back quickly, “dresser, left side, three drawers down.” Finding a white tee that had the sleeves cut off he tossed it on and smiled as his dog tags clinked together with the crystal necklace he wore.

Walking out into the living room he noticed that the former Major looked tired and beat all to hell and back, “sorry for the wait sir.” He felt Liana come up behind him, heard Sammy call out his morning ‘dada’, and felt a smile on his lips. Watching Cena nod in silent greeting he sat down and cocked his head when Liana plopped Sammy into his lap, “may I get you anything Colonel?” Cena smiled and shook his head and Liana nodded and went to the kitchen.

“I am sure that Rollin’s and Reign’s have explained the basics to you, LT Moxley?” Jon felt his core shift, sitting Sammy down on the floor he leaned forward, and with his magic brimming in his eyes he asked, “just tell me how the fuck do I get my City back from that greedy ass bastard?” A moment later LT Colonel John Cena smiled and leaned forward as well, “I am so glad you asked.” He could not stop his magic from sparking in pleasure.

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This story didn't want to be rewritten. I would nit pick it to death. I this point I am simply giving you this. Sorry. I am tired of staring at it. Plus with a new 4-month-old kitten in the house. Not much is getting done these days.

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stiltonbasket · 3 years

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It’s 1 am and I can’t sleep. For the renouncement verse, does wei ying ever lay awake thinking of their little baby bun on the way? Maybe in the later months of the pregnancy? I imagine wei ying keeps waking up early as he did while he was acting sect leader, but does Lan zhan wake up even earlier and just *looks* at his growing family? 🥺 does wei ying also cool for the baby lan disclipes like he did in lotus pier? 🥺🥺🥺 it’s late and I’m feeling soft

Long before he was old enough to read or write, Wei Wuxian was painfully aware that the world was never kind to children.

He learned that fact when he was a child himself, picking through rubbish heaps for scraps on the streets of Yiling, and when he saw other street-children die of hunger and thirst around him. He learned it again when he was eighteen, watching the little bodies of his nine and ten-year-old baby shidis being laid out in Lotus Pier’s training courtyard for burning--and then a third time, though it felt like the hundredth, when Jin Zixun had thirty women and children shot to death in the woods of Lanling for nothing but his own pitiful amusement.

(Even twenty years after that day on Qiongqi Dao, Wei Wuxian will never feel an ounce of remorse for the way Jin Zixun died; the moment Jin Ling struck him out of the Jin clan’s records was one of the most satisfying moments of his life, and even Jin Guangshan’s name receiving the same treatment did not please him half so much.)

To this very day, it seems to be an unwritten law that the rich and the mighty have no obligation to care for the vulnerable, or the weak, and it was only due to luck and Lan Zhan’s timely intervention that their A-Yuan did not join the hundreds of babies who were left to die, forgotten, or killed for the crime of being born to clans who were disgraced or disbanded or somehow fell out of favor--and if Wei Wuxian had not been in Yunping last year at exactly the right time to find Xiao-Yu, who can say what might have become of him?

“A-Die,” Xiao-Yu mumbles sleepily, curling up against Wei Wuxian’s side like a hibernating squirrel. “There’s a big mouse in Xiao-Yu’s sock. A-Die, look...”

Anything could have happened to him, Wei Wuxian thinks, swallowing down a mouthful of bile as he cradles his son close to his chest. He could have been treated poorly in that children’s home, or beaten, or run away to find his father and ended up on the streets, or even--

After tormenting himself by imagining what Xiao-Yu might have suffered if Wei Wuxian had not found him, he presses a hand to the front of his robes and prays that wealth and the blessing of a good family will be enough to protect his unborn daughter from suffering as her two older brothers did in their childhood. But even little A-Lan was nearly murdered before her parents learned she existed, thrown into mortal danger to atone for the sin of being part of Wei Wuxian, and both of them would have died in that cellar full of fierce corpses if Lan Zhan had not reached them in time.

“Hurry up and grow strong, A-Lan, so that no one can hurt you again because of me,” he whispers, as the baby directs a plaintive kick at the spot where Xiao-Yu’s tiny feet are sticking into him. “I’m sorry that I brought this bad fate to you. But after you’re born, your A-Die and I will both be able to protect you, and you’ll never have to worry about anything again.”

He often finds it strange to think about how deeply he adores the baby slumbering in his dantian. Being with a child has come with a host of uncomfortable changes to his body; he has to steady himself when he walks, and take care not to bump into things, and the nausea that made the first three months so miserable has returned now that he’s approaching the end of his confinement.

But he loves his little one so dearly that the idea of her being hurt brings him to tears at least three or four times a day, and even during the night if Wei Wuxian wakes before mao shi and imagines a tiny, fragile infant crying for her A-Niang in the Burial Mounds while an army of thousands charges upon the mountain to destroy her.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan’s hand is resting on his cheek, and Wei Wuxian leans into it with such desperate gratefulness that his tears trickle down onto his husband’s sleeve. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“You are,” Wei Wuxian sighs, as Lan Zhan rolls over to wrap him and Xiao-Yu up in his arms. “Lan Zhan, I...after the baby comes, what are we going to do?”

His husband kisses his forehead. “Do about what, xingan?”

“I thought everything would die down after the wedding, but those cultivators from Zhoushan showed their hand only six months ago,” Wei Wuxian says, biting his lip. “Nie-xiong said he was certain that everyone who knows I don’t have a jindan is either dead or in prison, but he can’t have tracked down everyone who was involved--and Lan Zhan, it won’t matter if anyone comes for me, and nobody would bother going after A-Yuan or Xiao-Yu, but A-Lan--”

“We will keep her safe,” Lan Zhan says fiercely. “I will let no harm come to either of you, and Nie-zongzhu has over fifty men collecting intelligence in Zhoushan. He will not rest until this is finished, and neither will I.”

“But what if something happens to her anyway?”

If an answer to that fear exists, Wei Wuxian has no idea how to find it; but then Lan Zhan squeezes his hand, and reaches out to touch his cheek before tucking him back into his nest of blankets.

Lan Zhan must have comforted him well enough to lull him back to sleep after that, though Wei Wuxian was too exhausted to remember what he said; but he does remember that he dreams of his baby born and grown up enough to walk and run by herself, and wonders how such a darling child could possibly belong to him.

She’s half Lan Zhan, and half of me, Wei Wuxian muses, watching with his heart in his throat as the little girl in his dreams goes through her hours of work and play, and even climbs onto Lan Zhan’s lap and begs him to tell her a story before leaping straight into Wei Wuxian’s open arms. A-Lan, Lan-bao, my good Shuilan--be healthy and happy always, and live with no regrets. A-Die and Papa will be with you wherever you go, and no matter what you do--so you don’t need to be scared, all right? Don’t pay any mind to me.

He has often wondered what his daughter will be like: but when he opens his eyes the next morning, it seems as if he might have known her all along.

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wangxian arranged marriage au #renouncement verse #my fic #rip long time no see for this verse huh #IT'S STILL OPEN FOR PROMPTS BTW #finishing tmaaf is 1 priority rn but prompts are open 24/7!

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jeongyunhoed · 3 years

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Past-Present-Future Black Dahlia

Two major tragedies bring Lee Mirae closer to the edge as she goes through the stages of grief in a more violent manner that would affect not only her relationships with her boyfriend Jeong Yunho and her half-brother Choi San, but also has her becoming closer with the immortal mutant Kang Yeosang. Fueled by rage, grief, and pain, along with a very rude awakening that has Mirae spiraling out of control and questioning everything she holds dear.

Group: ATEEZ Member: Yunho Pairing: Jeong Yunho / OC Genre: Action, adventure, angst, fantasy

Watch Out! : Violence, blood, death, grief and loss, major character deaths, use of weapons

Anything else? : Mentions of other idols of course as well as other characters. SuperM, Dean, Chanyeol, Zelo, soloist Park Jihoon to name a few.

Author’s Note: So, here is the end of the series! Sorry if the ending was a little blah -- I really couldn’t wait to finish this whole story already. Thank you for reading it if you have.

Listen to: All About You - ATEEZ, Halcyon + On and On - Orbital

Masterlist

Chapter 10

“Where did he go?” San looked around. The being transformed back into Mirae, whose hair, except for the streak, had also turned partially white at the ends.

“Not to be that kind of person, but as long as he’s away from here, I don’t care where else he goes,” Jongho said.

“What now?” Hongjoong turned to her, noticing the change in her appearance and the vacant expression on her face. “...Mirae, are you okay?”

She glanced at them, all of whom were looking at her with hopeful eyes. Mirae was trying to process everything that just happened. Did she really just do what she did? From the looks on Junhong and San’s faces it seemed to be the case. She didn’t feel any better, but she realized that she had come a long way from where she was. If Hyuk and Chanyeol and even Jihoon could see her now.

“I’m fine,” Mirae said. “I-I never thought I’d get to what you told me before,” She glanced at Junhong.

“Grief tends to do that to people,” Junhong replied, a small assuring smile on his face. “On the bright side, everything is fixed, save for this window,” He looked at the broken glass behind her. “And the fact that we’re in someone else’s building.”

“By now, people know who we are too,” Seonghwa spoke. “Our pictures, videos of what we did, would be going viral by now.”

“I don’t think there’s a way to stop it either,” Yunho shook his head. He held out the gem in his hand. “But we need to do something about this.”

“There’s no doubt they’ll come for that when they get around to showing themselves again,” Wooyoung said, looking at all of them and then at the gem in Yunho’s hand. “We need to put that away, that’s too powerful for any one of us to handle.”

“Where do you suggest we put this away?” Yeosang questioned. “It’s too much of a risk to keep it around here.”

Just then, the jewel glowed and after a moment, it disappeared. They stared at Yunho’s empty hand, amazed. “Well that answers your question,” Mirae pointed out. “The jewel is sentient. It knew that we didn’t want it, so it disappeared.”

“If there was a way to understand how that diamond moves, I would’ve found a way,” Junhong said quietly. “If it left us, let’s hope that it doesn’t come back, or at least is in the right hands.”

“That’s all we can do?” San spoke, a slight frown on his face.

“That’s all we can do, Sannie,” Mirae replied. “Those people outside that we tried to protect will be coming back in here now that it’s over. I hate to imagine what they’d say when they see us going home.”

“Me too. If it was anything like what happened to me in Morocco,” Yunho shook his head upon remembering. “It wouldn’t be pretty.”

Mirae sighed and looked back out the window. “It’s getting dark, there’s nowhere else to go but home, now that it’s all over, and we all need to shower.”

The rest of them laughed. “Can we get something to eat first? I know a good barbecue place,” Wooyoung suggested.

“By all means,” Yeosang waved his hand at the broken window, the shards of glass putting itself back together. “No doubt people will recognize me now, I might as well do what I want. I will need to keep myself from doing any more magic if I don’t want to feed on people as constantly as I might do so now.”

“Where do you think those guys went?” Hongjoong mused as they walked out of the office, seeing the shocked expressions of the employees who seemed to be aware of the ruckus that occurred moments ago. “Do you think they tried to make their own little world again?”

“It is possible,” Yeosang replied. “However, I must reveal that I can’t guarantee Mark won’t come back if I’ve killed him not too long ago.”

The mention of the immortal made Yunho glance at him. “We can’t really kill him for good?”

“We are immortals, Yunho. If we kill each other, we get reincarnated. It’s something I forgot to tell you,” He said. “You will never really be away from Mirae if Mark tries to go after you, same as me.”

“You mean we can’t get rid of you at all even if we tried?” San chimed in.

“I’m afraid not, I’ll always be here to torment you and ruin your day,” Yeosang replied with a sly smile on his face. “Admit it, I must have proved myself to be a valuable member of… this cabal of people.”

“And I never thought we’d have executive Kang on our side,” Hongjoong said.

Yeosang glanced at Mirae then cleared his throat when he noticed Yunho caught him. “Well, since I helped my dear Mirae the first two times, three times the charm, isn’t it?”

Mirae sighed. “Service elevator might be good for all of us to go down at the same time. We just have to figure out where it is.”

“We don’t need to,” Yunho shook his head, gesturing to a dimly-lit hallway that likely led to the store rooms and the janitor’s closet. “I don’t know where we’ll be, but at least we’re out of here,” He said, as the rest of them grabbed onto him and they vanished.

It was the ten of them in the almost empty barbecue restaurant Wooyoung suggested, with Yeosang paying the owners to allow them to stay late while they ate. The owners turned on the television, paying attention to the news that was on.

“In what was one of the most disastrous attacks since the goblin invasion five years ago, robotic machines caused chaos. While there were no casualties, there was some property damage. However, shortly after the attacks, the damages caused from the chaos were easily repaired, all thanks to ten unidentified people who risked their lives to protect the citizens that were caught in the crossfire,” the news anchor said, and photos and video footage of the attacks. The restaurant owners gaped upon seeing their faces on the television. It then switched to the news correspondent, who was talking with some of the people who witnessed the incident.

“On behalf of the citizens, we would like to thank them for keeping us safe,” One person said to the camera. “They just left like that without telling us, and they repaired everything too.”

“Superheroes! Those were superheroes!” One kid said, almost excitedly. “They saved us!”

“Just another day,” San muttered in between bites of rice. He could sense that the restaurant owners were staring at them after realizing who they were.

Yunho glanced at Mirae, hearing what she was thinking while they ate. “Do you really want to leave this place?” He asked quietly, making the rest of them look.

“I’m thinking about it,” Mirae said. “We’ve been exposed somehow, and even with those people saying thank you, I feel like I’m too dangerous to be around here.”

“They could say that about each and every one of us, even Junhong hyung,” Hongjoong said. “Was this what it was like from the train station incident? I remember Chanyeol hyung talking about it.”

“Yeah. People didn’t take too kindly to what happened even after the whole thing,” Mirae nodded. “We’ve had coffee thrown at us. They don’t like this kind of thing, that’s why I live quietly. That’s why we’ve been living quietly.”

Junhong put his chopsticks down. “You know, maybe times have changed. Maybe people who didn’t like things back then would’ve changed their minds now.”

Yeosang sighed. “I believe he is right. Times have certainly changed, there is a chance that people of our kind would be received well, but that doesn’t mean we should go around showing off.”

“Then they’ll really hate us,” Wooyoung ate a big piece of meat. “So, after this, what’s next? We go back to our homes and move on, isn’t it?”

“That is the plan, there’s nothing much else we can do, is there?” Mirae replied.

Seonghwa waved his hand and the bottles of water and soju poured themselves into their respective glasses. He raised his own glass, making them do the same. “Can I say something?” He asked, the rest of them nodding. “I haven’t been a mutant for very long. Actually, I haven’t been the type to do what we just did for good for very long, and I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I do want to say that we did well out there.”

They clinked their glasses and took sips. They suddenly heard the sounds of something cooking from the back and after a moment, the restaurant owner came back out, bringing over a large pot of ramen to their table. “This is to thank you, for keeping everyone safe out there,” They said.

They stared at the pot, then glanced at her. “You really didn’t have to-” Mirae said.

“But it is the least that could be done. All of you are owed a great debt that seems impossible to pay off by the rest of us. Please, have some of the noodles, it’ll go well with the meat you’re eating too,” They said.

“We will eat this well. But for the record, we didn’t do what we did to get something in return,” Mirae said quietly.

“That’s even more noble,” The restaurant owner said. “All of you are heroes in a world of flying men and monsters. The goblin invasion seemed to reveal to everyone that humans and animals aren’t the only living things walking the planet, this one seemed to be another reminder that we’re not alone. Please eat and enjoy. You are all welcome to return here as much as you want,” They bowed before walking back into the kitchens.

Mirae turned back to her food, as did the rest of them. Yunho kept glancing at her and he put his spoon down to hold her hand. “We’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” He whispered.

She laced their fingers together. “I know I will be, as long as you’re around, as long as San is around. I took you and San for granted all this time.”

Yunho shook his head. “You’ve been learning, and I won’t stop reminding you that you aren’t alone. You don’t have to bear the weight by yourself.”

“Jihoon, Hyuk, and Chanyeol would’ve been proud of you, Mirae,” Junhong said. “I know they would be. Just like how the rest of us are proud of you.”

“And you even got a dye job from your powers too, with your hair now being the way it is,” Mingi pointed out, making them laugh.

“It’s the mark your powers are leaving on you, through your hair,” Junhong explained to her, seeing her confused expression. “When you tapped into your ability to trap souls, that white streak on your hair appeared. When you turned into an energy spirit, even more white appeared. Who knows what else you can do.”

“Hang on, does that mean my hair’s going to do the same?” San stared at the elder.

“Well, you are Mirae’s brother, it’s likely you will go through the same changes in your appearance, mainly your hair, if you push your abilities to the fullest extent,” Junhong shrugged.

“Then there’s hope for the rest of us,” Hongjoong grinned. “We’d look cool with those kinds of changes.”

The rest of them, including Yeosang, stayed inside the apartment bases later that night. “Now that everything’s done and over with, I guess it’s back to training for the rest of you, isn’t it?” Junhong said to them.

“This place is quite plain,” Yeosang seemed to examine the interiors. “I know someone who can do wonders with redecorating.”

“Speaking of redecorating,” Jongho poured himself a cup of coffee from the kitchen. “Are we still considering the old base that we went to with those goblin corpses?”

They all looked at each other. “If I may be permitted, we can develop the place, make it nicer, I can have a clean up crew get rid of the blood and corpses but I am afraid I’m not sure where we can dispose of those goblin bodies,” Yeosang suggested.

“That place does seem like a good choice,” Junhong shrugged. “There’s room in that tunnel for some of you to train using your powers, but no more simulations, just practical training courses.”

“Good, I think we’ve learned from what happened that set everything off in the first place,” San nodded, glancing at his sister, who raised a brow at him.

“What do you think, Mirae?” Hongjoong turned to her.

Mirae looked back at all of them. They still had the same hopeful expressions. “...Me? I mean, there are all these passageways in there that are waiting to be used over and over, and since we took care of the goblins years ago, it would make sense that we’d have that place as a kind of headquarters.”

“Can we get rid of the rats too? I don’t want to have to run away in the middle of a training session because Remy and his clan are busy going back and forth,” Wooyoung spoke. “Then again, he might be on his way to some kitchen, cooking soup…”

“Someone’s watched Ratatouille for the recipe of that soup,” Jongho teased.

“So then it’s settled, we can use that place, we’ll just get rid of the bodies and the blood,” Mirae nodded.

“Now that I’ve eaten my fill and we’ve come to an agreement, my dear Mirae, it has been a pleasure working with you,” Yeosang turned to her, then paused to see the rest of them watching him. “And...I must admit, even the rest of you. With Ino gone, this whole… operation of ours will need funds, and I am happy to back this up, within reason. As always, my dear Mirae, if there is anything you need, if another investigation comes up again, don’t hesitate to come to Kang Tower. Gentlemen, it’s been nice, but not too nice,” Yeosang gave the rest of them a nod before seeing himself out.

“Well, I think it’s time for me to shower and turn in, I’m starting to feel the exhaustion sink in,” Mingi got up from the chair, making Hongjoong and Jongho do the same.

“We better get some rest now too, and I also need a shower. I’ve been in these clothes for a while, I didn’t realize how fast the days came,” Mirae looked down at her now dust and soot-covered clothes. “These also happen to be very expensive.”

“Looks like it too. Yeosang got you that?” San noticed the details on her sleeve.

“Yeah,” Mirae shrugged. She followed the rest of them to the door, seeing Junhong clear out the cups of coffee and put back the couch cushions in between waving at them. There was something she still wanted to do now that it was all over. She turned to Yunho. “Don’t wait up for me, there’s still something I need to do,” she muttered.

Yunho got the idea and nodded. “Alright,” He kissed her cheek and watched her go down the stairs.

With a small bouquet of flowers in hand, Mirae arrived at the graves of Chanyeol and Hyuk and put half of the bouquet on each of their grave stones. “I miss both of you so much,” She whispered, reading the epitaphs. “We could’ve been on this adventure together, the three of us. Then again, I realize that both of you were with me this whole time.”

Mirae’s eyes were welling with tears as she looked at the two gravestones. She heard a whoosh from the nearby tree and out stepped Yunho. “Junhong is right, you know. Hyuk and Chanyeol would’ve been proud of you, even if you destroyed some things along the way,” He said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Mirae leaned on him as she looked at the gravestones again, and at the flowers she put down. “I hope they are.”

Yunho kissed the side of her head. “I love you, you know that, right?” He whispered, and she nodded. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I love you too,” She said quietly, wrapping her arms around him.

Yunho kissed her. “It’s always us,” He murmured.

“Always.”

“Come on, let’s go home, hmm? We’ve had a rough few days,” Yunho held her hand, lacing their fingers together as he led her towards the tree. Mirae smiled to herself as she followed him, the two of them disappearing.

A moment later, a glittering object appeared in the space between Chanyeol and Hyuk’s gravestones.

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reyescarlos · 3 years

Text

all through the night || a tarlos fic

❄️ @911giftexchange fic for @buckieys ❄️

happy holidays, sy! i'm wishing you a wonderful and prosperous new year. i hope this fic helps to usher in 2021 right!

word count: 5.2k || read on ao3

All through the night I'll be awake and I'll be with you All through the night This precious time when time is new

When Carlos envisioned winter in New York, his elaborate fantasies had somehow managed to eclipse the reality of what it might actually entail. He had enjoyed his brief stay, taking in the window displays along Fifth Avenue. It had long since been something he wanted to see for himself and the storefronts had more than delivered. But on the flipside of such a picturesque scene has come the downside of what heavy amounts of snow could mean.

It’s why he finds himself now planted in a too hard seat at JFK Airport, wondering how he’ll possibly fill his time now that his flight has been delayed until morning. Outside the blizzard rages on with no real end in sight and Carlos mulls over the merits of his decision to leave Texas in the New Year and make this city his home. This is a far cry from Austin. He’d once thought winter temperatures there could be bad but it’s been nothing compared to the arctic blast in the North.

He tries to keep busy with a book but his attention is split between the words before him and the cute guy across from him frantically digging inside his backpack, a phone teetering dangerously on his knee.

“God, where is that stupid thing,” the man mumbles to himself. “Come on charger, where are you?”

Carlos looks away, burying his head in his book to hide the smile that breaks out on his face. The guy is obviously peeved but Carlos can’t help but to find his muttering endearing. After another moment of fruitless searching on the stranger’s end, Carlos takes mercy on him.

“Here, you can borrow mine,” he says, unzipping his own backpack and fishing out his charger.

The man sighs in relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he replies, reaching over and taking the cord from Carlos.

He settles back and plugs it into the wall, the screen lighting up a moment later. Carlos smiles politely and gets back to reading, only to be interrupted.

“So, I take it you’re heading down to visit family before the new year comes, huh?” the stranger says.

Carlos looks up from his book, head tilting slightly. It hadn’t been expecting the man to strike up a conversation.

“Sorry, awkward small talk. I’ll let you get back to it,” he says, face scrunching as he gestures to the book in Carlos’ hands.

Carlos waves him off, bookmarking his page and closing it.

“No worries. We’re here all night so...plenty of time for that.” He licks his lips and drums his fingers against the front. “To answer your question though, no. Austin is actually my home so I’m just heading back.”

“Oh, cool. I’m going to see my dad. I thought he’d want to do the whole white Christmas, New York for the New Year thing but ever since he moved down to Austin last year, I think he’s gotten spoiled by the warmer weather.”

The man looks out of the window where the snow is swirling so heavily it’s hard to even see the sky or planes sitting idly on the tarmac.

“Guess I can’t exactly blame him.”

Carlos laughs. “It’s disgustingly cold here and all of that,” he says, gesturing to the storm, “doesn’t help. I don’t know how you guys manage.”

“You get used to it. I’ve only ever grown up with it so while I like to complain about the snow at times, I can’t picture this time of year without it. It’s been a few years since it’s been this bad though, I’ll admit.”

Carlos smiles a bit, looking out of the window briefly. “This is actually my first time experiencing snow. And the city was gracious enough to give me a blizzard to commemorate.”

The man smiles at this thoughtfully. He sits up, stretching his hand out across the aisle towards Carlos.

“I’m TK, by the way.”

Carlos touches his fingertips to his forehead before shaking TK’s hand.

“God, my mother would be so ashamed of my manners right now,” he laughs. “I’m Carlos. It’s nice to meet you.”

He lets go, his palm feeling extremely warm from TK’s touch. TK smiles at him, a slow grin that ultimately reveals his teeth. This man is very good looking, there’s no denying that. He’s got an easy way about him that makes Carlos feel comfortable in his presence as if they’re old friends catching up and not perfectly good strangers meeting for the first time.

TK’s phone buzzes, stealing his attention and Carlos is all too grateful for it. TK types something on the device for a few seconds before pausing.

“Sorry, excuse me for a second,” he says, putting his phone to his ear.

Carlos nods and gestures for him to go for it.

“Hey, Dad. I—,” TK starts out but stops short as his father speaks. “I bet it’s all over the news but I’m alright. Not looking forward to being stuck here overnight but,” he continues, his eyes landing on Carlos and away so quickly Carlos is sure he’s imagined it. “I guess there are worse ways to be trapped for a few hours.”

Carlos looks away then, cracking open his book again to keep himself occupied while TK chats with his father. He tries not to dwell heavily on TK’s look or what the implications of that glance could mean. It could’ve been a coincidence and nothing more. All the same, it doesn’t make his heart race any less to think that TK feels a spark too.

TK ends the call with a sigh, stretching out his legs before bouncing one of them. The gesture is distracting but endearing. For the second time, Carlos closes his book, this time putting it back into his bag for good as TK speaks to him again.

“Are you hungry? I could go for a bite.”

“I could eat,” Carlos says. He rises from his seat as TK does, both men dragging their carry-ons along with them.

They follow the winding path down from their gate, Carlos taking notice of all the fellow flyers now forced to wait out the storm. Some have taken to stretching out on the ground, laying on top of jackets like makeshift sleeping bags, others keeping busy with phones and tablets, hunched over in chairs.

Carlos isn’t looking forward to the uncomfortable sleep he’ll have tonight but as he looks over at TK, he wonders just how much rest he’ll actually manage to get. The guy is already proving himself to be a good way to pass the time and Carlos can’t say he wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to keep chatting with him.

As they approach the cluster of food stands, TK groans and it’s easy to see why. Many of the shops are already closed, no doubt the employees hurrying home before the worst of the storm kicked in. All that’s available now is Cinnabon but Carlos supposes that can suffice as dinner.

TK orders a hot chocolate and a classic roll while Carlos opts for a cold brew in addition to a roll as well. TK eyes the drink with raised brows.

“I’m fully committing to the cause of being awake until we board, apparently,” Carlos muses, pushing his straw through the lid and taking a sip. “Worth it.”

The two head to a nearby empty table, settling into their elevated seats before unloading their food. The scent coming off the baked goods is incredible and Carlos’ stomach suddenly feels desperate for a bite.

“So, Carlos, since we’ve nominated each other for the buddy system while we wait this storm out,” he jokes, “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

Carlos drums his fingers on the tabletop as he tries to decide what to share.

“Well, you already know that Austin is where I’m from but the whole reason I’m even here now is because I’m going to be moving to New York soon. I’ll be transferring next month.”

TK’s brows raise. “Seriously? That’s awesome. Do you mind if I ask what you do?”

“I’m a police officer. I’ve been with the Austin Police Department for a few years but I’ve been considering leaving Texas for a little while now and I’ve been exploring my options. For some reason my mind kept coming back to the idea of New York and I figured I should just take the chance and see what happens.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “Oh man, well, we have something in common, more or less. I’m with the NYFD myself.”

Carlos holds up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re a firefighter?” he laughs.

TK puffs out his chest jokingly and nods with a grin on his face. “That’s right. Ladder 252.”

Carlos does his best to push the image of TK in uniform from mind but the picture is an appealing one. He can see it so clearly, the way he’d look in suspenders, not to mention full gear. It’s almost unfair just how much hotter the man becomes as if Carlos hasn’t spent this whole time finding him attractive. He picks up his drink again for something to do with his hands, swirling the straw inside of the cup.

“Small world. Outside of my own little bubble, I can’t say I casually meet many people who are first responders. We seem to be a pretty special breed to get into this line of work.”

TK laughs. “I fell into this because of my dad. He’s been a firefighter for years. He, uh, actually was on site during 9/11. I always thought he was incredible but knowing the full scope of what he and so many others did that day and for people in times of crisis, big and small in general, it just made me want to be like him.”

Carlos frowns, unsure of what to even say or think. “Your dad’s a hero.”

“I like to think so.” TK draws in a breath, squaring his shoulders. “Anyway, now he’s kicking ass down in Texas so, even though I miss him as my captain, I know he’s doing great work with his crew down there.”

Curiosity gets the better of Carlos as he asks, “What station is he with?”

“The 126,” TK replies, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

Carlos’ eyes widen. “Captain Owen Strand is your father?”

It makes sense the longer he looks at TK. Captain Strand is an attractive older guy and TK clearly got handed some solid genes. Still, it throws him for a loop to realize they have a legitimate connection to each other.

TK tilts his head to the side. “You know him? Shit, okay, wow, small world just got a whole hell of a lot smaller.”

“Unbelievable,” Carlos laughs in disbelief. “I don’t know him that well but we work together sometimes on calls. He’s amazing in the field and he’s really turned that station around.”

TK practically beams. “Guess this means we’ll be seeing each other again soon once we finally make it to Austin then.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Assuming you don’t get sick of me before this night is through, that is.”

TK holds Carlos’ gaze for a moment and if it were anyone else, it would be unnerving but something in TK’s stare just sends a thrill through Carlos, excites him in a way no stranger has ever really gotten under his skin.

“I don’t see that happening,” he says plainly, as if this is an irrefutable fact and not something that’s truly subject to change.

Carlos doesn’t argue the point. He merely enjoys the next few hours, seeing just how easily TK’s theory pans out.

~*~*~

The contrast in weather between New York and Austin is one of the first things Carlos’ remarks on as he steps outside of Austin-Bergstrom. He’s never been more grateful for a forty degree afternoon. He’s kept Michelle updated about his new set time and he waits patiently outside of arrivals. Beside him now, TK types out a message on his phone before smiling over at him.

Carlos has had hours to get used to that look on TK’s face and yet he’s still brought up short. Last night and the early morning hours were spent talking to TK about everything imaginable, trading stories about crazy calls they’ve been on and even touching on personal things like their families. When they grew tired of talking, they watched movies on TK’s laptop, fighting off the urge to sleep for the mere sake of hanging out.

It isn’t rare for Carlos to become friendly with a person but this connection to TK feels different in a way he can’t quite parse.

By the time their flight boarded, Carlos knocked out for the entire length of the trip but it had been worth it in his eyes to stay up and take advantage of the uninterrupted time that stretched before him with TK. It was safe to say a bit of a crush had formed, as absurd as Carlos felt for it. TK was going to be in town for the next few days and that prospect was both thrilling and terrifying. If he could feel this close to TK in one night, there’s no telling what could happen in a few days.

Before he can get lost in that thought, Carlos sees Michelle as she pulls up to the curb, the trunk popping open.

“Are you good out here?”

“My dad’s coming in just a minute. I’ll be just fine,” TK muses as Carlos puts his carry-on inside and slams the trunk shut.

“Alright, well. You have my number now so text me whenever you’re free. I’ll show you a few places while you’re here.”

Carlos extends his hand but TK rolls his eyes jokingly and pulls him into a half hug instead.

“We’ve spent the night together, Carlos. I think we’re past handshakes now.”

Carlos’ face burns with TK’s wording but the man merely laughs.

“See you soon?”

Carlos just nods and finds the wherewithal to get inside of Michelle’s car. He waves after he buckles himself in, TK lifting a hand in response.

“Okay, who is that?” Michelle asks immediately, head turned to take in the sight of TK.

Carlos tips his head back against the seat. “You won’t believe the night I’ve had.”

~*~*~

Carlos has spent two days showing TK some of his favorite stomping grounds. TK relished in all that Austin had to offer and Carlos has been happy to see that their closeness from the unexpected overnight at the airport hadn’t been a fluke. If anything, these outings have only made Carlos feel closer to TK.

Michelle has been relentless in her teasing, finding it all too amusing that Carlos managed to cross paths with Captain Strand’s son of all people. She’d clung to his every word during the ride home from the airport as he filled her in on how he waited out the storm.

The 126 meets at their usual bar and Carlos is glad for this post-work gathering. It’s the perfect time to show TK what a real honky-tonk is like, further immersing him in the culture of the state his father now resides.

TK sits next to him at the table, the large group so packed in that his leg presses against Carlos’. It’s light but it’s enough to make the point of contact all Carlos can focus on even as everyone else at the table engages in conversations that overlap, laughing amongst themselves. He does his best to ignore it but it’s difficult not to take notice of each shift TK makes. Michelle keeps looking at him and Carlos, to the best of his abilities, avoids her gaze knowing that it’ll make it just that much more difficult to act as if he isn’t freaking out internally.

“I’m gonna get another. You want anything?” Carlos asks TK.

TK shakes his head. “No, I’m alright but thank you though.”

Carlos nods once and gets up, finding it much easier to breathe already now that he’s no longer sitting beside TK. Michelle catches his eye as he leaves from the table and he can hear her shoes as she follows behind him to the bar. She rests against the counter facing the room at large as Carlos gets the attention of the bartender and asks for another beer.

“You sure know how to pick them,” Michelle laughs at his side.

“Chelle,” he groans, shaking his head.

She merely laughs again, bumping her hip against his. “When did your life become a romantic comedy?”

“I must’ve missed the memo myself because this sure snuck up on me.”

The bartender sets a bottle down in front of him but Carlos doesn’t move. This little reprieve away from everyone but Michelle right now is welcome.

“I like him. He’s nice. Really cute too.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed?” he deadpans, looking over his shoulder at TK.

He looks so at home here, hanging out and laughing with these people he’s, up until now, only known secondhand from his father’s work stories. TK is personable as ever, Carlos knows all too well. Had he not been swept away after one night in the man’s company?

“I think this is so great.”

“Funny, I think it’s the universe trying to mess with me.”

Michelle scoffs, finally turning to face the bar like him. “There are worse things in the world than a seemingly perfect guy practically falling into your lap. We should all be so lucky.”

Carlos casts the mental image aside, taking a sip of his drink. “The timing though. I can’t think about guys right now. I need to be figuring out my next set of moves for New York.”

“If those plans just so happen to include an attractive new friend…,” she trails off with a grin.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to screw this up because yeah, he is a new friend and we get along well, it’s a good feeling.”

“Do you like him?”

Carlos falters. “I barely even know the guy.”

“That’s not even remotely close to what I asked you.”

Carlos scratches at his forehead before letting out a sigh. “I do. Which hardly makes any sense at all. It’s only been a few days and yet I can’t stop thinking about him. That’s strange, isn’t it?”

Michelle shakes her head. “No, actually. I don’t think so. You guys had such a cute introduction to each other and you clearly hit it off. Some people just click and are meant to meet. The fact that you two had a connection to each other beforehand without even knowing it? I think there’s something to be said for that.”

“What, you think it’s fate or something?”

Michelle shrugs. “I wouldn’t rule it out. Your flight could have been a day earlier or even a few hours before his. On a plane filled with hundreds, you connected with him, Captain Strand’s son who just so happens to live in the city you’re about to move to. I think it’s worth seeing just how far it could go. If you ask me, you’ll wind up with a boyfriend in no time.”

Carlos mulls it over for a moment. He can admit he is in fact curious. It’s been a while since he’s felt this drawn to someone and with TK, it’s been as natural as breathing since they first met. The timing is less than ideal but it’s been so long since Carlos has felt this urge to get close to someone, since he’s felt safe enough to even open his mind and heart up to the possibility.

“Maybe you’re onto something.”

“One of these days you’ll learn to just accept my brilliance, no questions asked. But this will do for now.”

Carlos rolls his eyes but drapes an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side and kissing her temple.

“I’m going moments like this with you,” he says.

Michelle sighs and pats his back. “I will too but we still have time on the clock, right? Let’s not think about that now.”

Carlos sighs, knowing she’s right. It just feels as if these moments are slipping through his fingers, the new year and all its changes lurking just around the corner.

~*~*~

As customary, the Ryder house is the staple for parties among the team and New Year’s Eve is no different. Carlos has lost track of how many times he’s sat on their couch or been treated for Grace’s incredible home-cooking. It’s always been a source of comfort for him, being surrounded by these colleagues who have become an extended family to him.

This time next year, he’ll be in another time zone, familiarized with a new group of people. Carlos knows he’s jumping the gun. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll be able to visit back home and that this collection of people will still love him as they do now.

Carlos looks around the living room, taking stock: Marjan blowing into a noise maker in Mateo’s face and bursting into laughter, Paul shaking his head and dropping his face into his palm. Over by the kitchen he sees Grace and Judd swaying to the music playing as Captain Strand takes Michelle’s hand and begins dancing alongside the other couple. It warms Carlos’ heart and breaks it too, seeing this all for what will be the last time with this city being home.

Suddenly the room feels too small and he finds himself heading for the door, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack. It’s cold out but Carlos remembers just how bitter the weather in New York was. This is nothing compared to that. And it’s this thought that twists at his heart a bit more, one more reminder of how much his life is set to change sooner than he thinks he’s ready for.

The new year is biting at his heels and time is just slipping by. Logically he knows that he shouldn’t be outside now, that he would be wise to savor these memories with his Austin crew while they’re here rather than lament later. But it all feels like too much and the last thing he wants is to let his pensive mood be a dark cloud over a celebratory and joyous time.

Carlos keeps walking until he reaches the park nearby the Ryder household. Naturally it’s abandoned as everyone is tucked away inside their homes either enjoying a quiet night in or throwing parties like the Ryders. Carlos draws in a breath and takes a seat on one of the swings, his fingers clutching on to the links. He quickly stands up the second he hears footsteps approaching, a figure walking towards him.

“It’s just me,” comes TK’s voice and sure enough the man’s features come into focus the closer he gets until he’s settling into the swing beside Carlos.

“I saw you take off. I just wanted to check that you were okay.”

Carlos smiles a bit. “I appreciate it. I’m okay. I’m just...thinking about a lot right now.”

TK sways on his swing, letting a comfortable silence fall between them before he speaks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Carlos’ heart and thoughts feel so heavy now, such a contrast to how lighthearted and hopeful this holiday is meant to be. But TK looks at him with such genuine care that he finds himself almost desperate to unburden himself a bit.

“Sometimes I wish I could just stop time, you know? But hell, it’s New Year’s Eve. What more proof do I need that life is always moving forward?”

Carlos sighs and rocks slightly back and forth.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a downer. You should head on back inside, have fun with the others.”

TK is silent beside him, long enough for Carlos to pull his gaze toward the other man. TK is eyeing him thoughtfully.

“You’re scared about what comes next. That’s totally normal. Moving away, starting a new life somewhere else, it’s a big step. A huge change.”

Carlos frowns as he nods. “I wish I could see the end, you know? I wish I could see if it’s all worth it, that I’m making the right choice.”

TK hums in thought. “Well, the best way out is through, right?”

“So you don’t think it’s a mistake to move out to New York?”

TK shrugs. “I don’t know you well enough to say one way or the other for sure. But no, I don’t think it is. I think the fact that you’re even considering it at all should tell you something about how you feel about where you are now.”

Carlos grows quiet, considering the man’s words. But TK isn’t done dishing out his opinion.

“You’ve got an amazing team here, there’s no denying that. It’s a real family, not to mention your actual family is here too. But—and mind you I’m super biased here— New York is an amazing place to be, to live. If you’re feeling restless in Austin, I think New York is the perfect alternative.”

Carlos laughs at this. “So, so biased,” he muses.

TK jokingly puffs up his chest. “Hey, it’s not my fault people have written songs about it and flock to it from all corners of the world,” he jokes. “And all of them, like you would, find home.”

A soft sigh escapes Carlos’ lips as he grips the chain link of the swing.

“That does actually sound pretty nice. I’d miss everyone here like crazy but maybe it’s time for something new? I don’t know. I keep waiting for something extraordinary to happen but nothing ever really changes around here. And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course. I just—“

“You’ve outgrown it,” TK says simply. “And there’s nothing wrong with that either.”

Carlos smiles at him and nods. “I suppose not, no.”

“At least you’ll come to the city knowing someone; you won’t be alone or completely starting from scratch.”

“You? You would take that on?”

TK rolls his eyes. “Of course me. You think I’d leave you high and dry? Damn, I know New Yorkers have a bit of a rep but jeez,” he teases.

Carlos laughs. “I only meant...you barely even know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe so but I’d like to get to know you better. And if we’re gonna be calling the same city home, it’s kind of perfect. You get a new job, a new city, a new friend. Pretty sweet package, if you ask me.”

“You’ll be my tour guide then? You can take me to all the hot spots, Central Park and Times Square for starters.”

TK shakes his head in dismay. “God, Times Square,” he groans. “Hell on earth but sure, just for you I’d make the exception.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos says, placing a hand over his heart.

“As you should be. There aren’t many reasons I’d willingly go there so you should be patting yourself on the back right now.”

Carlos raises a brow. “But you’re thinking I’d be worth it?”

TK’s face grows serious. “In a lot of ways I’m thinking you would be, yes.”

Carlos' face flushes a bit and he looks away, down at his feet as he begins to kick out in earnest to start swinging.

Not for the first time since meeting TK he isn’t sure if there’s more to his words just below the surface, if he’s flirting or just being naturally charismatic. It shouldn’t matter either way, Carlos tells himself. Starting up a new relationship when so much in his life is already about to change doesn’t seem smart.

And yet it’s difficult to bear that in mind when he looks over and sees that TK is still watching him. The man smiles softly and follows Carlos' lead, swinging a bit.

In the distance Carlos can hear the rise in voices from houses where everyone is celebrating, just waiting to usher in the new year.

“One minute to go,” TK says, looking at the time on his watch and digging his feet into the ground to stop himself.

Carlos keeps going, breathing in the last dregs of this year before it’s gone with the tick of the clock. He looks up at the pinpricks of stars above, almost glistening in the clear sky. He closes his eyes, soaks in the moment, the last few seconds of this year winding down.

The New Years party goers can be heard shouting their countdown and beside him, TK joins in quietly as well.

Carlos opens his eyes once more and holds his breath as he upward, counting down the last few seconds in his head. This year is going, going...

Gone.

He exhales as shouts from the neighboring houses rent the air. He stops swinging then, digging his feet into the hard earth beneath him as he looks over at TK. Beside him the man’s face is flushed, the tip of his nose pink from the cold but his gaze is unrelenting as he leans forward.

Carlos’ body seems to move on its own accord, closing the distance between them as well. He doesn’t think about anything other than what TK’s lips will feel like and before he realizes it, he’s getting his answer.

It’s a chaste kiss, truly just a meeting of mouths in a gentle press but it warms Carlos from the center all the way through his entire body. TK’s lips are soft and warm despite the cold.

“Happy New Year, Carlos,” TK says softly.

Carlos doesn’t have the slightest clue of what the road ahead will look like exactly but it’s enough to know that in some capacity, TK is going to be a part of it. Be it as a friend or something more, it makes Carlos hopeful to see how life will unfold, what other surprises it may have in store.

Carlos stares at him for a moment and it seems as if TK and the whole world is holding its breath as they sit in silence together. This feeling in his chest is so unlike anything Carlos has experienced before. He likes to think things through, to anticipate at least three steps ahead but his future is such a blank slate that it’s truly anyone’s guess as to what will happen next. All he can do is control this present moment and as Carlos sees it, kissing TK is the only thing on his agenda for right now.

He leans in again and kisses the man once more, deeply this time, hand cradling the back of TK’s neck.

Maybe this is risky, maybe this will only complicate his life further when he settles in New York and has to figure out what this all means. But in this moment, that all feels like a lifetime away, a page from a chapter that hasn’t been written yet. There’s only the here and now with this beautiful man that fills him with possibilities.

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venusofthehardsells · 4 years

Text

No Rest for the Wicked [Dea ex Machina part one]

John ConstantinexAngel!Reader Summary: You travel to a remote island to put a murderous spirit to rest, but things get complicated when you run into one John Constantine. Warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness, blood, smoking, ghosts, pining, is slowburn a warning? A/N: My first Constantine fic on tumblr, yay! This was originally written for a challenge aaages ago, but it got away from me and I couldn’t meet the deadline. I had so much fun with this though, Constantine is a great character to write for! There will definitely be more stories about him and this particular angelic reader in the future ♥

I’ve mixed elements from both the Vertigo comics and the NBC TV series, as well as from the general DC Universe, so don’t expect accuracy when it comes to canon. A special thanks to @nellblazer for support and linguistic aid, you’re the best! ♥ Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged ~

Contrary to common belief, there had never actually been any ravens on Raven’s Rock. The tiny, windswept fleck of land in the North Sea had been named a few hundred years ago by a fool of a sailor, who hadn’t been able to tell a raven from a severely lost and consequently very confused Scandinavian pigeon. Said sailor had regrettably also been of some importance in his homeland at the time, meaning no one had bothered to correct the unfortunate mistake for fear of losing a head. Even though everyone who since came upon the island only ever managed to find gulls and puffins and various other seabirds, it had still kept its misleading English name.

The Celts, who by rights had been on the island long before the British, had chosen to play it safe and completely forego the bird names (although it had been suggested several times in later centuries to change it to the Gaelic word for seagull, or even pigeon, as a taunt). Instead, they had most likely looked to the ancient ruins that specked the island, jutting up from the rocks like broken teeth and, all things considered, had endured well beyond memory and history and legend. Or perhaps they had still been reeling from the mad determination that had brought them and their wooden ships so far from home. Whichever the case, they had called the stubborn, little rock Innis Seasmhach, “the steadfast island”.

That was its official name to this day, though most people, especially those who didn’t speak Gaelic (which in all fairness are not very many), still referred to it as Raven’s Rock.

The locals shrugged and simply called it “the island”.

There was only one village on the entire island, whose population on a good day might reach a hundred and thirty people. That usually only happened a few times during summer when the ferries from Stavanger and Aberdeen docked at the same time. The tourists came to see the ruins, buy a souvenir fridge magnet of a raven or a puffin, complain about the frightfully bleak weather and leave again on one of the ferries that departed before evenfall, secretly happy they didn’t have to spend any more time on the island.

On the day you arrived, the population on the isle of Raven’s Rock, was an astounding one hundred and forty four, which was quite unheard of in the middle of October.

What was even more unheard of, however, was the reason for all these untimely appearances.

A night ago, a pair of fishermen had discovered the body of a man in a small, secluded cove on the north side of the island. The body was placed so that it could only be seen from sea, unless one were to venture down a rocky and extremely narrow trail into the cove itself. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone slipping and ending up on the stony beach below. That kind of unfortunate death was of course tragic, but it hardly warranted the wide array of policemen and journalists the death had attracted. No, the reason for the sudden interest was the gruesome way the body had been displayed.

The dead man had been stripped bare and splayed out on the rocks like a cross with his arms stretched away from his torso. His skin was almost completely covered in symbols and writing no one could make sense of, though one expert, when consulted by the mystified and slightly desperate police, vaguely suggested it was possibly a rare pre-Arthurian dialect.

The more macabre specifics had so far been kept out of the press.

One was that the writings on the body had been done in blood, the corpse’s own, and another was that it came from where the head had been crudely severed from the rest of the flesh and spiked close by on a piece of driftwood.

Even hypnotised, the young sergeant who had told you, had looked slightly green when he related the information. You had padded him sympathetically on the shoulder before moving on. He wouldn’t remember revealing the details to you, but the information itself was seared into his mind forever.

His, along with the rest of the islanders’, you mused as you continued from the harbour and on into the village.

The locals called it “town”, but in truth it wasn’t really big enough to warrant that title.

It had one store that sold a little bit of everything depending on the weather, a church, a pub, a repair shop (it wasn’t specified what exactly you could get repaired there) and a public building, functioning as city hall, police station, post office, library and school in one. All the police reinforcements from Aberdeen had been moved into the city hall, seeing as the only two policemen permanently stationed on the island had never handled a murder case before. Meanwhile, the reporters and TV crews covering the case were taking up the pub’s five tiny bedrooms, both B&Bs and every single rental cottage Raven’s Rock could boast (nine in total if you counted the back room in the garage of the repair shop). Because you had left for the airport in a hurry and jumped onto the first plane to Norway, you hadn’t had time to secure a place to sleep on the island. You had pondered it on the ferry, but when it came down to it, you didn’t want to stick around longer than a day. If you worked fast, you could probably be on your way back to the mainland in the morning and wouldn’t need to worry about finding a bed. You had spotted a bench down by the harbour; it would have to do.

Besides, you didn’t have any time to waste as long as the murder case was unsolved. You could still hear Madame Xanadu’s words in your head like some annoying ominous echo.

A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks. The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Fate was a menace when you had to deal with it like this, grounded and fumbling through the world with nothing but scraps to guide you. Not like in the old days when you had all of Heaven at your disposal… Being a proper angel had really had its advantages. You scoffed and walked faster. At least this prophecy had been pretty straightforward, which was far from what you were usually given to work with, you thought sourly, folding your arms around yourself against the wind.

A malevolent spirit that should have passed on, but hadn’t was easy enough to figure out; it happened all the time and you could deal with that. The location of the spirit had also been a walk in the park with so many hints to go on.

What really worried you was the second part of Madame Xanadu’s little mystic insight.

The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Blood drinking was never a good omen in prophecies. It hardly ever meant vampires, usually just death. And the laughing magician, well, that one was always the same. The reason Madame Xanadu had called upon you to restore the balance in this place.

John Constantine.

Whenever one of her foresights indicated that the blonde warlock was walking into something he couldn’t handle himself, she sent you after him or, in this case, ahead to clear his path for him. Most times, he didn’t even know you had been there and you preferred it that way.

Like now.

The last you had heard of John was that he was in the States. Sufficiently far away, you thought. Even if someone had alerted him to the murder on Raven’s Rock, it would be at least another day before he could reach the windswept little island and by then you hoped to be long gone. It was best if you two didn’t meet at all.

You chewed on your lip as you thought of him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, it was just… easier if you didn’t. The things you did, the jobs you took were simply too dangerous if your focus wasn’t a hundred per cent on the task in front of you. And with John around, your newly mortal heart had a tendency to make your better judgement evaporate.

You passed a phonebox on the main (and only) street that looked as though it had seen better days and a small tourist information office/part time bakery with its doors and windows shut for the night, before you reached the seemingly only building in town with light and, admittedly subdued, noise streaming out of it: the pub. Apart from the city hall, you reckoned it must be the oldest building around, but also by far the one in best repair. The wooden sign above the heavy green door was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a very sinister looking gull and it swayed in the wind with an ominous creak that made a shiver run down your spine, as if trying to dissuade you from entering.

Well, it wasn’t very likely that you would get any information elsewhere. With determination in your steps, you walked the last few cobbled steps to the door and went inside.

Your eyes quickly scanned the room, the patrons, the energies... and you froze on the threshold.

On a stool by the bar sat the very man you had hoped to avoid. He had taken off his signature trench coat and his back was towards you, but it didn't matter; you would recognise him blindfolded. He was so thoroughly cloaked and shrouded in magical protections of all sorts that the space he occupied was practically a vacuum. It was damn near impossible to locate him by magic, you knew. If one weren't looking directly at him, like you were now, no sixth sense or intricate spell would reveal his whereabouts. But his was a vacuum you had come to know very well. So well in fact, that by now you could pin him down by his apparent lack of magic, rather than by his well-hidden magical signature, and yet, there he was, sitting only half a room away from you with a drink in one hand and one of his ghastly Silk Cuts resting between the fingers of the other. And you hadn't noticed. You hadn't even done a quick scan to see if there were other magical presences on the island when you arrived. Worse, you hadn't cloaked yourself as thoroughly as you normally would have done and your own signature reached him before you could even think to try and prevent it.

From the way he straightened his back and immediately snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray as if someone had shouted at him to show some care, you could tell he knew you were there. He shifted ever so slightly as if making room for you and you sighed. There was no getting out of this one.

Getting rid of your raincoat, you went over and crawled onto the empty stool next to him.

You were met with that wicked smirk of his that made your heart stutter and stumble in your chest.

"Now, there's a pleasant surprise to brighten this hellhole," he greeted, raising his glass at you. "Must confess, I never guessed I'd be running into you on this godforsaken rock, luv."

"Hello John." You did with a nod, trying to keep your voice even. "Can't say I expected this to be your sort of retreat either."

The warm light in the pub shone in John Constantine's dark eyes and his smirk grew into a grin.

"It's good to see you, luv. I've missed that disapproving pout o' yours. The fact that I never know when I'll see it again makes it so much sweeter."

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't attempt to hide your burning cheeks. The bastard couldn’t possibly know exactly how brightly your torch for him was burning, but he always acted accordingly.

"So, what are you doing here then? Odd place for playing tourist, innit?"

He leaned on the counter, his hand moving closer to where yours was resting and there was that little, dark gleam of hope in his eyes that always appeared when he looked at you. As if there was somehow some other reasonable purpose you could have to be in a place like this, at a time like this.

You shrugged, biting down a smile.

"I find the climate rather agreeable."

John threw his head back and laughed at that. Even the barkeep, who had overheard your words, snorted. You caught his gaze before he turned back around and ordered a sparkling water.

"Right. And I just happened by to see the sights, eh?"

"Well, what do you think of them then?"

You raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of the fizzy water the barkeep placed in front of you. John grinned and gave you an obvious once-over. Your dirty boots and high-neck jumper didn't seem to put him off.

"Much improved since this morning. At this rate, I can't wait to see how they'll look in the night."

"Oh, I ought to slap that smirk off your smug face, wizard," you sighed, feeling how your stomach was practically fluttering at his suggestive tone.

"Is that a promise, luv?"

"You're insufferable."

"Aye, that I am, luv, but you keep coming back for more. Must be doing something right, eh?"

You bit your lip and looked down; he suddenly felt too close. And the general level of noise inside the pub from people chattering wasn't as high as you had hoped. It would be easy for others to overhear anything you said. Given the island-wide unrest over the murder, you were sure ears were perked more than usual and you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, or John. You would have to gather more information some other way.

"I missed you, too," you confessed, staring at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar as if they were all of a sudden exceedingly interesting. "But I... I thought you were helping out a certain green vigilante overseas these days."

John visibly tensed up.

"Who told you that?"

You shrugged, still not looking directly at him. The truth was that he couldn't really hide from you, not even in your current state. If he found out though, you didn't doubt for a second that his heated flirting would be switched for a literal knife in the back before you could even think the word "portal". Well, perhaps not literal, but you had no doubt the outcome would be fatal for you anyway.

"Who told you to come here?," you countered, raising an eyebrow and John scoffed.

"If you must know, I got a call from an old friend. Looks like she's been scrying on her own and this little spit of land kept drawing all her energy. Didn't seem like something I could ignore."

"You should've," you mumbled, taking a large slurp of your water and doing your best to ignore the persistent little spark of envy starting to gnaw away at you at his choice of words. What old friend? It had to be someone he had slept with, it always was with him. Why couldn't you just not care? "Take my advice, John, leave. Go home and lay low. I'll handle this island."

"Is that concern for old Johnny I hear, luv?," he asked with mock-surprise.

"Maybe. Don't let it get to your head, your ego won't be able to fit into that coat of yours."

He chuckled, but the tension was still there and you didn't know how to break it without giving him the truth, or at least something close.

"Your turn, pretty bird. I don't believe in coincidences like this, so tell me. How'd you know to come here?"

Lying to John Constantine was out of the question. As was being honest with him.

You chewed on your lip a bit, weighing your options. It wasn't like him to accept any kind of help unless he was downright desperate and that was still a long way off. If you challenged him though, he was most likely to flee, that much you knew. But you didn't want to get on his bad side unless you had absolutely no other choice.

"Leave," you repeated. "This one's out of your league, John. Let me take care of it, please."

The way your eyes were pleading with him made him frown and you realised you might have shown too much of your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, luv." His hand was on top of yours on the bar before you could move it. To anyone looking, it seemed like an affectionate gesture, but he was effectively pinning you in place. "Not until you give me a bloody good reason not to give you the same treatment as whatever beast it is we're dealing with on this island."

"Let go of me."

Your voice wasn't very loud, but you knew he could hear you. He answered by pressing down harder on your hand and you winced.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I just want to keep you safe?," you all but hissed at him, emptying your drink with a sour expression.

"Oh, I trust you just about as far as I can throw you, luv. Every time I see your pretty little face it means there's trouble brewing just around the corner."

"I saved your life in Tennessee. And in Derry," you tried, but his hold didn't loosen. If anything, John was now gripping your hand so hard no blood could possibly flow to your fingers. "I am trying to do your stubborn Scouse arse a bloody favour, why can't you just for once in your damn life listen to me?"

"Tell me your name then and maybe I will."

Fuck. Somehow it always came down to that.

"Xanadu," you snapped through gritted teeth, eyeing John with what you hoped was an appropriate amount of ire. "Xanadu contacted me and told me about this place. Happy? Obviously, she wasn't going to tell you now, was she?"

John withdrew his hand from you as though you'd burned him. It felt about as pleasant as a punch to the teeth, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

"I suppose you're right...," he admitted. "What did she tell you then? Her usual cryptic nonsense I reckon?"

"For someone in your line of work, you're not at all keen on prophecy reading, are you?," you sighed, forcing a bit of humour into your words.

There was no love lost between John Constantine and Madame Xanadu, that much had been clear to you from the beginning. But even though she couldn't stand the sight of him, she believed John was instrumental in keeping the world safe and had begrudgingly agreed to help you protect him when she could.

"Not really my style. I prefer things more tangible, to the point. Besides, I don't need to worry about divination when I have you."

"You rarely do."

"Not by my choice, luv."

Your eyes flickered back to the empty glass in front of you and you had to take a very slow breath to try and steady yourself. His effect on you was too strong for you to be safe around him. Your job required a clear head - for both your sakes.

"A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks," you recited, steeling your voice as you averted his unspoken question the way you always did. "It wasn't that cryptic at all for once."

He didn't need to hear the other part. You could feel his eyes roaming your face, trying to figure you out, looking for something without fully knowing what. It was at times like these you missed your wings. Keeping secrets in a human body full of emotions and urges and reactions beyond your immediate control was frustrating at best. It was another reason you were better off keeping your distance.

After a while of searching your features, John sighed and gave up.

"Alright. So it's probably some kind of malevolent spirit then, wreaking havoc. Don't see why you're so worried luv, sounds like any other Tuesday to me."

The barkeep was close enough for you to signal for a refill to you both. He grunted something unintelligible, obviously not too keen on all the Brits suddenly hanging out in his pub. You made sure to send him a grateful smile as he filled your glasses, yours with sparkling water, John's with whisky.

"My weeks are all Mondays," you said and raised the glass to your lips; just as you had hoped, John did the same. "Did you get here in time to see the body?"

"Only after they moved it. Wasn't pretty..." He took another swig while staring at the wall with a distant glaze clouding his eyes that told you he wasn't seeing the wall at all. "Pathologist told me the man had been alive when 'is head was severed. The, er... the inscriptions..." John looked just as sickly green as the constable had done and very gently you put your hand on his shoulder. A small gesture of reassurance. "I'm tired," he whispered suddenly. He turned his head to look at you and your heart ached when you realised how glassy his eyes had become. "I am just so bloody tired. Demons, vampires, curses, spirits, the lot. No matter where I go, there're always more and people die, it never stops. Innocent people, good people... I just want a fucking break, but if I don't stop the darkness from spreading, who will?"

His voice was thin and on the verge of breaking entirely. You wanted nothing more than to lean forwards on the stool and put your arms around him, somehow make him know he wasn't alone, but the risk was too great. You were in too deep already.

"Sometimes I wonder whether it's all worth it..."

"Of course it's worth it, John," you said quietly, clenching his shoulder. "We do what we have to so they...," you gestured discreetly towards the patrons, ”they can go on living their lives and not... not know and see the things we do..."

"I know, luv, I know. I just... I want..." The gloom that was always lurking just below the surface of his existence was spilling into his eyes. He was weary to the bone, deep into his very soul. For a moment, you thought he was going to let the tears burst. "I risk my life every day and it's never bloody enough, is it? A man got his head carved off by some wretched spirit who should have been resting in peace. Fuckin’ Hell..."

He rubbed his eyes hard and you decided then what to do. You didn't like it one bit, but seeing John this worn down, well, you liked that even less. It meant you had been sleeping on the job.

As subtly as you could, you put your hand in your pocket and found the tiny zip-bag with a pinch of purple powder in it. It wasn't something you used often and it had never been meant for John, but you couldn't in good conscience let him go after a rogue spirit in his current state. While he emptied his glass again, you drizzled the powder into your hand and braced yourself.

"John, look at me. It's going to be alright. You are John Constantine and without you this world would have ended twelve times in the last decade, maybe more. And right now you are going to save this island, because that is what you do. So get off your sulking arse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a job here. You're going to find that spirit and put it out of its misery before it hurts someone else, got it?"

He huffed, but even so raised his head and managed a small grateful smile at the reprimand.

"Yes. You're right. Thank you, luv. You always know what to say..." His eyes darted to your lips and for half a heartbeat, you did nothing, just sat there and waited for him to lean in the rest of the way and kiss you. It was far from the first time it had happened, but you still felt at war with yourself. There wasn't a single atom left in you anymore that didn't crave his affection. He was drunk and emotional and between the way he looked at you and the way there suddenly seemed to be less and less space separating your bodies, there was no doubt about his intention. It would be so easy just to finally give in and let it happen.

"Don't thank me."

Before he could lean back or ask you what you meant, you blew the purple powder straight into his face.

His eyes widened in shock, but his body immediately began to turn relaxed and pliant.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me...," he mumbled, but his gaze was already unfocused.

"I'm so sorry, John," you whispered, gently guiding his torso onto the bar.

He tried to say something more, but his words were slurred and within a few seconds, he was gone.

You had gotten the sleeping powder from a dealer in New Orleans, who had told you the effects would last at least four hours. They always oversold their stuff, but hopefully John would be out long enough for you to deal with the entire affair if you hurried up and took a few shortcuts. It was a messy solution, but then again, you hadn't planned on him being here. Desperate times and all that.

"He gonna be lying there all night?," the barkeep grumbled with a raised eyebrow at John when you hopped down from your stool. You put on the best smile you could manage under the circumstances and slid 50 quid across the counter.

"He'll come ‘round soon enough. If not, I'll be back for him in a few."

You practically fled the pub before he could ask you any more questions.

The road outside was deserted and you hoped no one was watching as you marched to the lonely phone box you had spotted earlier. It didn't look like anyone had used it in several years, but when you picked up the receiver the dial tone was there alright.

You took out a stained, battered playing card from the depths of one of your pockets (the seven of diamonds) and slid it into the credit card slot. You didn't own a mobile phone and neither did most of your acquaintances, but still you had memorised the few numbers you occasionally needed.

"Hey Chas, it's me," you said when the answering machine finally picked up. "I'm at the island with John and I haven't got much time. I don’t want to get John involved in this so I need to work fast. There's no need to worry, really, I've got it under control, but... just in case something unforeseen happens, uhm... if I don't call back in let's say ten hours, will you let John know where to find my body? He can't track me in his usual ways, so he'll need your help."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What you were about to do was risky, maybe even reckless.

"I'm going to the beach where they found the dead man and work my way from there. If... if I don't succeed..." It was as if your throat was suddenly full of gravel. "Chas, please, just make sure John isn't the one to take on that spirit. He is not ready for that." Too late, you held the receiver away from your face while you tried to suppress a sniffle. So much for convincing Chas Chandler that you had things under control. Forcing your voice to even out, you continued. "I have to go. Just help him if I can’t, okay? And don’t worry too much. I’ll probably see you in a couple of days.”

Before you could say anything even more stupid, you hung up and slid your helpful seven of diamonds back into your coat. Handy little thing to have on you.

You left the phone box in the last light of day and made your way down to the beach. It took you twenty minutes to reach the cove and less than one to sneak under the police tape unseen. There were just two constables standing guard at the scene and they only looked when you wanted them to. For an active crime scene, the site was unusually quiet, but you attributed your luck to the dusk that made searching for clues almost impossible.

Of course, that went for you as well, you thought sourly as you carefully stepped around the little plastic numbers the police forensics had put up all over the little stretch of beach. You could make out the bloody piece of driftwood and the large dark spatter running down the stones where the corpse had lain, but nothing smaller than those. Even if the place was rather secluded, you didn’t dare light a torch with the uniforms standing idly guard so close by.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and concentrated.

The place was tingling with dark energy and it became clearer the more you felt around, using your own magic.

A spirit, just like you had anticipated. A lost soul preying on the living for… revenge? Yes, the bloody traces sang with the mad desire for vengeance that so often kept the dead from their rest.

Bloodshed, the thirst temporarily quenched. Then what?

The movements of the spirit became blurry after that no matter how hard you tried to focus. The leftover energy had been disturbed and mixed with the signatures of all the people who had been to the crime scene since the discovery of the body and it was impossible to make out without assistance, even for someone as experienced as you.

If you couldn’t locate the soul, you couldn’t send it packing.

Luring it via séance required more people and it was too risky for everyone involved anyway. Without its name, summoning it was out of the question as well.

You groaned when you realised what you had to do.

Making sure for the last time you couldn’t be seen from the line of police tape above you, you took off your backpack and dark raincoat and shoved both of them under the nearest rock. Next, you loosened your boots and sat them next to the backpack, then your thick scarf and woollen jumper. With short, angry movements, you rolled your trousers down and folded them hastily, ripped off your socks and wriggled out of your top.

“You’re so bloody lucky I love you, John,” you mumbled through clenched teeth that were starting to rattle in your skull. With fingers already numb from the cold, you unclasped your bra and slid down your underwear before you could change your mind, and with a deep breath, you stepped into the waves.

Even before you went into the sea, your body had been covered in goosebumps from the chilly October air, but the surfs rising around your legs now made you heave for breath with every step forward. The rocks under your feet were dull compared to the sharpness of the water. When it reached you mid-thigh you had to stop and wait for the pain to subside enough so that you could get further out. You were too close to the beach and the water was still too shallow for your purpose.

A tangle of seaweed drifted past your ankle, or at least you hoped it was just seaweed. It was hard to tell for sure in the dark.

Your submerged muscles were screaming as you forced yourself out until the water reached your ribs. If only that wretched spirit hadn’t chosen the middle of the bleeding autumn to throw its tantrum.

“Sacred Nanuet, your humble servant speaks to you,” you intoned through gritted teeth and held out your hands on either side of you so the gentle waves touched the palms of your hands. “She beseeches you; allow her the honour of sharing in your wisdom. Blessed goddess, lend her your sight and expand her understanding, your humble servant begs of you, great Nanuet…”

The ancient language you muttered your request in felt strange on your tongue as always, but your flattery worked. You could feel the magic start to sing under your hands and so you took a deep breath and lowered yourself completely into the sea.

The stranglehold of the freezing water somehow got pushed into the background of your conscience and within a beat of your heart your mind was alight with images. Through the water, you could see most of the world, but you focused on Raven’s Rock and the little beach behind you. The water had seen it all. From the depths of the ocean, it rolled onto the sand and sneaked its way under the island’s rocks, seeped into the soil and was drunk by the hungry roots of The Green, stretching into the light above ground…

It wasn’t long before you managed to zero in on the exact event you needed. The Sight of Nanuet allowed your mind to access the memory of the watery abyss, which included as good as all water on Earth and not a lot of people mastered navigating it anymore. You had been forced to use a lot of wordly magic since you lost your wings and so had learned to find what you needed relatively easy.

Through the Sight, you saw the murder of the man on the beach, how the spirit severed his head and lapped at the blood before turning away from the scene. It lost some of its shape then, but through the dewy grass above the cove and the moist air, you managed to follow it away from the beach and across the land.

The spirit held its physical form, or at least the overall contours of it, and it made it easier to trail. From what you could tell, it definitely had been human when it had been alive. Poor thing. If only it hadn’t gone and murdered someone, maybe you could have sent it to rest.

But would you even be there if it hadn’t?

When the spirit finally settled, you had followed it to an old, abandoned stone house with no windows and a door rotting away on the hinges. The place must have been a farm. There were several small outhouses scattered around the main building and indents in the earth marking former animal pens. The roof had been a thatched one, but now it was more moss than straw and what still remained beneath the heavy green patches had long since turned mouldy and dark. A few shards of glass jutted from some of the window frames like crude, predatory teeth waiting to chew up whoever was unfortunate or foolish enough to get close.

You went after the spirit through the remnants of the front door.

A voice in the back of your head told you it was enough, you should get out of the house and the Sight and the water. You had what you needed for now.

But the way the spirit slumped through the dark rooms and up a ramshackle staircase, as if it had done it a hundred times before, as if it belonged there in that house, intrigued you. It didn't match your original theory, the reason you didn't want John involved.

Curiosity piqued, you followed the lonely ghost up the stairs, where it turned left and went into a room with what had been two alcoves in the wall but were now mostly caved in. The room didn't have any windows and it was hard to make out the details, but the flimsy shape of the spirit trudged towards one of the beds and with motions as if the bedding had still been intact, it lay down and pulled the memory of a blanket over itself.

You slowly got closer, unsure of what to do. The visible shape of the ghost was gone now that it was no longer in motion and the general gloom of the empty house made it near impossible for you to see anything clearly. But the person the ghost had been once seemed so at home here. You couldn't feel any hostility from it at all, not even a trace. Only peace, comfort. Quiet.

This had been its home once when it had lived, you were almost certain of it.

But the desolate little stone house, out of the way even for the island's standard, must have stood abandoned for several decades, maybe even a century or two. If the ghost had lived here it was much older than you had initially thought.

Which meant you might have knocked John out for nothing.

Fuck.

You had to find out more and fast, but it was unlikely the memory of the house before your closed eyes would yield anything further. Even if it was dark and late in the evening, you would have to go there physically. The chances of finding something would be higher, and besides, you couldn't stay in the water forever. You were almost human, after all.

The thought had barely crossed your mind before the reflex to breathe kicked in and you could feel the freezing seawater rush down your throat. One inhale was all it took for your lungs to feel heavy as a pair of burning bricks. A fleeting realisation, that drowning was one of the most unpleasant sensations you’d had the misfortune of experiencing since losing your wings, faintly made it to the front of your perception before the back of your head hit the sand on the ocean floor. Then the only thing you could focus on was the pressure of the water and the way your body grew ever more numb…

The room still flickered before your eyes, slowly losing definition as you lost consciousness. Strange, you mused with your last bit of coherence, that an angel from Heaven should die looking up at it from so far below, in the cold embrace of the sea. It wasn't even painful anymore, the water, but oddly comforting, lulling you to rest, holding you tight.

The only regret you had was leaving John…

The last thing you saw before your eyes fell shut was his face above yours and a faint smile moved your lips. How very considerate of your mind to conjure up his image as the last thing you would ever see.

You could feel his arms around you even, fingers digging into your skin, his body pressed down against your own…

“Bloody fucking Hell, let her go!” The words didn’t make sense to you and they sounded so awfully far away. “She isn’t yours, you stupid paegan relic, let go of her! Let go!”

But you were, you were letting go, there was nothing more you could do.

“Christ, luv, which heathen tosspot did you enlist to drown you?! Yam, Ægir? Tiamat? Nanuet? Nanuet, isn’t it?” At the invocation of her name, you could feel the ancient goddess slacken her hold on you, as if in surprise, and you vaguely realised that the embrace you felt didn’t belong to her or the water, but to John. “Oh, you always were a fickle tart. Let go of this servant or so help me God, I, John Constantine, will destroy you and every last shrine still bearing your blasted name! Let her go!”

With a cry you weren’t sure was even coming from you, your face broke the surface of the waves. You violently coughed up seawater and if it weren’t for John’s arms, you would have fallen right back down into the deep. Your head was spinning. The numbness gave way to a cold so freezing you might as well have been rolling in needles. Everything hurt. Your legs felt unsteady, no, your entire body felt as if someone had replaced your bones with straw and your muscles with jelly.

“J-John…,” you coughed, but he shushed you, keeping you close to him in the water.

“I know, luv, it’s a bloody miracle you aren’t dead, you’re welcome for that. Now let’s get you out of the water, yeah?”

He was really there, drenched in the North Sea in the middle of October at what might as well have been the edge of the Earth, just to save you from drowning. His white shirt and black trousers clung to his frame like film and from what you could make out in the light from the moon, he was shuddering from the cold, too. You had never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

“I c-can’t m-m-move,” you got out through teeth rattling painfully in your skull, suddenly all too aware of your proximity and your own state of undress. As much as you wanted to cling to him for warmth, for closeness, the logical part of your muddled brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. That was what you did, wasn’t it?

“‘Course you can’t. How long were you under for, anyway? Completely off your rocker summoning a paegan goddess alone at night in the middle of the bloody ocean! What were you thinking?”

“I-I saw the g-ghost,” you weakly tried stammering through your clattering teeth. “Saw h-how it killed-ungh!”

You let out a groan as John swiftly picked you up and started carrying you towards shore. Your severely tested heart felt as though it might give out entirely. Never had you been reckless enough to let him touch you like this before, to let him hold you, as if you were a lover who would readily indulge in such intimacy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were very likely about to freeze to death, your cheeks would have been on fire. Every inch of your skin would have been scorching.

As it were, you were too cold and too exhausted for your body to produce that kind of heat. Surrendering to the fatigue in your bones, you allowed your head to rest against him and closed your eyes. He could carry you to shore or to Hell on his hands. You weren’t going to argue. For the first time in all your human life, you completely let your guard down.

#john constantine x reader #constantine x reader #john constantine #constantine #john constantine fanfiction #hellblazer #vertigo hellblazer #nbc constantine #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #dc x reader #dc x you #john constantine x you

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loruleanheart · 3 years

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Desired Fate, Chapter 14

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Zelda and the others were transfixed as they looked up at the spirit of Calamity Ganon writhing around the castle. The anguish of all Hyrule hung stagnant in the air along with the ambient gurgling sound of malice.

"It's here…" Impa was the first one who managed to speak. "The Calamity has already begun…" She said, at a loss.

"No, No…." Zelda gasped when she noticed malice enter one of the nearby Guardians and became animate. It made a horrible mechanical sound as it turned its 'eye' towards the princess, a red laser appearing on Zelda's chest. Link immediately sprang into action, deflecting the Guardian's blast back at it in a brilliant flash of light.

"Calamity Ganon is taking control of the Guardians!" Zelda lamented. "It's going to turn them all against us!"

"It can do that?" Said Revali in surprise, realization starting to dawn on the Rito champion, as well as the three others. The Calamity was far more cunning than any of them had imagined.

"There are still more on the castle grounds. It's too dangerous. Everyone, protect the princess as we make our retreat!" Impa called.

"But…"

With that, Link grabbed Zelda's hand, pulling her roughly behind him as he ran down the brick path away from the Castle, which didn't go unnoticed by Astor, feeling an intense wave of sullenness he couldn't shake. They disappeared down the path and the Champions and Sheikah aide followed, no one paying him any mind in the frenzy the Calamity had created.

Astor remained, feeling out of sorts and alone, but determined to fully embrace his new destiny. Hyrule really was on its knees… Especially Zelda, who was being crushed under the weight of her duty. How had he ever been so blinded by Calamity Ganon to want this? To want to harm her? He had almost killed her for the sake of Calamity Ganon… HER! He was barely aware that his fists were clenched, wanting to make her his and spare her all this pain and suffering. The back of his neck was becoming sore as he glared up at the beast he'd once dedicated his life to serving. Calamity Ganon opened its maw to a right angle, and a thunderous roar of rage issued forth as if demanding the prophet make a blood sacrifice of himself to atone for his disloyalty.

Astor smiled up at the beast spitefully.

I wasted so many years of my life on you…. But serving you led me to her… I must thank you… I'm going to live on and create a legacy for myself, and you… You're going to be sealed away… Forever perhaps.

Astor's smile faded as he noticed King Rhoam emerge from the castle's sanctum.

"You're coming with me…" Rhoam said in a stern, matter-of-fact way., The King wielded a huge claymore single-handedly, flanked by three knight attendants.

Astor scowled at the older man, raising his hand to summon his orb, but then thought better of it, giving only a huff of defiance.

"I'm glad I have your cooperation, Astor," Rhoam said, coming close as he brandished his claymore in a vaguely threatening way. The sword was almost as big as he was.

Confident that Astor would not run or fight back, Rhoam nodded to his attendants. "Alright men, retreat!"

"Yes, Sire!" The three knight attendants said in unison. They were looking around wildly, in horror at the destruction the Guardians were bringing and a bit miffed that their king had apparently decided to take a prisoner at the worst time possible.

The five quickly, but carefully made their way down the path, Rhoam staggering a Guardian that blocked their path with a single swing of his sword. Astor could almost feel the brunt of that swing.

"Astor, I'm afraid we're going to get to know each other whether you like it or not. Had the Calamity not happened when it did, you would be in lockup now. However, since my castle is currently overrun with Guardians and all manner of Ganon's monsters, I will be keeping an eye on you myself. Suffice to say, I am not in a good mood."

Astor kept his gaze forward as they moved forward. The king's tone did not bode well for him. It wasn't lost on him that he was in a precarious situation. Still, this could be amusing.

"I know I'd rather not," King Rhoam continued, "but given that I fear you are encroaching on my daughter's divine duties, I must go above and beyond to perform mine as her father and as king." Rhoam noticed Astor's attention was elsewhere. "Look at your king when he's talking to you, you piece of filth!" Rhoam raised his voice, finding the younger man infuriating, despite knowing so little about him. The prophet had already left the worst impression on him, not that he stood a chance in hell of making a good first impression all things considered. Why would Zelda consort with this man, let alone trust him? He was scrawny, deathly pale, and dressed in rags. Everything about Astor was… off-putting. How had he and Zelda even met? Was the young knight he'd appointed to Zelda slacking off?

Astor turned his attention to the older man slowly, giving him a look of intense spite. He then saw the king's eyes widen, looking at something beyond him. Astor turned to come face to face with a Guardian's laser trained on him.

Rhoam and his men stood back, apparently obliging the Guardian to make short work of Astor.

The Guardian's laser rested on Astor for a moment, moving over the malice eye on his circlet before fading and readjusting to focus on the king.

Rhoam wasted no time in raising his claymore and bringing it down on the Guardian, giving a grunt of effort. Bolts and gears flew out of the busted machine, littering the brick pathway.

"Why did the Guardian disregard you?" Rhoam mused aloud. "How disappointing..."

"Thank you for looking out for me, Rhoam. Such a caring king and father, too… You're going to make a fine grandfather someday..." Astor said darkly, facetiously.

"How dare you!" Rhoam bellowed, giving the young man a ruthless slap across the face, causing Astor to stagger and fall. Astor simply returned a perverse smile despite the stinging sensation on his cheek. Astor began to laugh, chuckling at first and then breaking into an intense round of laughter, his yellow eyes going wide in a way that unsettled the old king - as if seeing beyond. "Yes, my children. Go harass King Rhoam and do not disappoint me!"

Rhoam was fuming. Astor was either very insane or intentionally provoking him, perhaps both. Either that or he had injured the prophet's mind when he struck him. Astor's antics were making it very difficult for the king to maintain his composure.

"You're very fortunate I am not a crass man, or I'd tell you what I think you deserve… Now tell me, how well do you know my daughter?"

"Well enough to know she is terribly lonely." Astor replied. "She despises you."

"What nonsense… Everything I've done has been for her! She was supposed to be Hyrule's pride, but it seems that the gossipmongers' words are coming true... Look around you. Hyrule is on fire. What sort of future does she have? 'Heir to a throne of nothing' if she does not awaken that power very soon. I can tell you're a lousy prophet by that alone."

"Bold words from a king who does not carry the blood of the Goddess."

"I may not carry the blood of the goddess, but I am still the rightful king of Hyrule in my late queen's stead. I was born into a noble family and my union with her was arranged by the former king and queen. The only thing I'm going to be arranging for you is an execution. Know your place, Prophet."

"An execution?" Astor almost laughed. He couldn't imagine what Rhoam's reaction might be when he learned he had formerly been trying to bring about Calamity Ganon's revival. "On what grounds?"

"Interfering with the Princess awakening her power to seal Calamity Ganon away for one. Also because it would bring me personal satisfaction. Now, get up, before I change my mind and grind my boot into your head. You're slowing down our escape."

Slowly Astor got up, dusting himself off, raising his chin to the older man in a testing manner.

"Wipe that smirk off your face. Move!" Rhoam said, giving Astor a shove with the side of his claymore.

oOo

Zelda looked back over her shoulder, her hair whipping in the wind as she ran. "Wait… Where are Astor and my father? We can't leave them behind…!"

Nobody seemed to acknowledge her question or nobody heard.

They ran through the chaotic town streets, witnessing horrifying scenes as the Guardians wrought havoc upon Hyrule's capital. Guardians were climbing the walls of houses and shops alike, some not being able to bear the weight of the mechanical wonders and the rooftops beginning to crumble.

They finally reached the main gate, crossing the threshold into Hyrule Field, as the Guardians had completely overtaken the castle and even the surrounding town. They stopped to look back, now a safe distance away. Zelda's eyes widened in horror when she realized more Guardians were appearing, being methodically ejected from the five columns that had suddenly risen out of the ground to surround Hyrule Castle. The same columns she had tried so hard to locate just days ago.

"Where did he go…?" Zelda said out of breath and sick at heart, but trying not to break down again. Hadn't she already cried all the tears she thought she had at the realization of her failure? She knew the Calamity was eventual, but experiencing it was beyond her worst nightmares.

"Little bird… How do you know he wasn't the one to summon the Calamity himself just by being present?" Said Urbosa.

"T-that can't be… " Zelda said, exasperated, not even willing to entertain the idea.

"His Majesty is missing as well… Did he remain behind on purpose?" Impa mused.

"The two are probably still bickering for all we know…" Revali quipped. "Hylian males…"

It would have been a humorous mental image in any other circumstances: Astor and her father too entrenched in their argument to notice as Guardians flooded into the Sanctum, but Zelda was vaguely aware that Astor had at least left the sanctum when the Calamity appeared.

Zelda turned her gaze elsewhere. Watching Castle Town burn was too much to bear. She happened to catch Link's eye, the boy wearing a severe expression.

You're fated to unlock your power because of him.

Zelda looked away from him and then at the back of her hand, giving an inaudible sigh, doubts about so many things clouding her mind.

This didn't go unnoticed by Urbosa, who came to stand behind Zelda, placing her hands on the princess's shoulders. "Don't give up! It's not too late."

"I know… We can't let the Calamity win. No matter what…" Zelda said, sounding downtrodden, but resolute.

"All is not lost. As long as I live I will fight. Just as you must." Impa reassured Zelda.

All the champions agreed one by one.

The group lifted their heads when they sensed others making their escape into Hyrule Field and out of Castle Town. Zelda's breath caught in her throat when she saw Astor standing in the shadow of her father's sword. He was unbound, yet it was clear from their expressions that he wasn't standing there on his own volition. Astor held her briefly in his gaze and then looked away, in shame. His face was more bruised than before.

"Champions, go to your Divine Beasts!" King Rhoam called in an official tone. "Astor will be coming with me, lest he interfere any further. Link… You are the knight to Princess Zelda. I trust you understand your duty." Rhoam said, shooting a disapproving look at Zelda.

There was a flicker in Zelda's eyes as they began to sting. "Where are you taking him?!"

Suddenly their hands held her back before she could rush forward. Zelda cried out for Astor as Rhoam and his attendants turned to leave, giving Astor another shove in the direction they were going.

A million horrible possibilities rushed through her mind. She was under no delusion that her father would deal with Astor kindly, especially if he were to ascertain Astor's former ties to the Calamity.

"What are they going to do to him?! Please, Someone, do something... Don't let them take him away!" Zelda implored pitifully, despairing because she knew none of them were going to defy her Father. Zelda dropped her head. "He's all… He's all I have…"

It was very soft, but everyone heard. Her pleas sounded all too familiar.. Rhoam halted, just for a moment to look back in irritation instead of pity as he had when she was young.

"Dammit, Zelda, show some self-control!" Rhoam said, angrily. "Your whining didn't work back then, what makes you think it will work now?"

Zelda looked hurt by his response, her shoulders shaking. Rhoam wondered if she remembered when he had confiscated the little Guardian she had named Terrako in a bid to get her to focus on her training. A decision that regrettably hadn't borne any fruit. Rhoam had almost cursed the late queen. Damn her for instilling such a love for Sheikah technology and relics in her daughter, which only proved to be a distraction for Zelda in awakening her divine power. That had been the most grievous flaw Rhoam saw in his wife.

Astor knew this was his moment to act. While the king was distracted, Astor phased past Rhoam like a restless spirit, knocking Rhoam off balance for a moment.

Zelda looked up and exhaled in surprise.

Astor came to a stop in front of Zelda, making a show of pulling her close. She clutched tightly to his robes, and for a moment everything else ceased. She was his and he was hers. She would have given much to live in that moment forever, relieved tears cascading down her cheeks.

"Her Highness is mine now. Have fun fighting the Calamity, Rhoam. You don't deserve her."

"Hylia on her throne! Stop him!" Rhoam ordered his knight attendants.

The men hesitated, fearful of the prophet's magical abilities. And in the blink of an eye, Astor raised his orb high, vanishing with Zelda in tow. Those that remained looked on in silent disbelief.

A short distance away, the scene was reflected in the 'eye' of Harbinger Ganon. Ganon knew it was winning, though that did not satisfy the being's intense all-encompassing rage. Its plans had still been disrupted. The weak-minded, disaffected Hylian man it had chosen to do its bidding in this age had somehow seen beyond the illusion of importance and power it had engineered for him. High above, the spirit of Calamity Ganon gave a shattering roar of detest for the goddess it knew was at work. And because of that vile goddess, the foolish bag of flesh was stepping out on him, even after all the power it had bestowed upon him. Ganon would simply take the man's ability to wield malice away. It would make sure the seer suffered tenfold for betraying him and choosing the girl who bore the goddess's blood. That pathetic mortal was supposed to remain loyal until his dying breath at its hand, for Ganon hated all life and showed no partiality even towards those who swore allegiance to it. It had been over ten millennia since Ganon had been mortal, and any memory of its past humanity or semblance of understanding human emotions had long perished. Calamity Ganon's inhuman hatred burned against the Hylian seer, rivaling its hatred for the hero and the young woman who bore the blood of the goddess. And so, the corrupted Guardian began to plot.

#Age of Calamity #Astor #Zelast #fanfiction #Feeling good about this chapter #so decided to go ahead and post

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

#august walker #Henry Cavill #August Walker Fanfiction #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x ofc #Henry Cavill x ofc #August Walker Fanfic #augustwalker #henrycavill

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foreverdavidbyrne · 3 years

Text

David Byrne’s interview in NME magazine

In 1979, David Byrne predicted Netflix. “It’ll be as easy to hook your computer up to a central television bank as it is to get the week’s groceries,” he told NME’s Max Bell, sitting in a Paris hotel considering the implications of Talking Heads’ dystopian single ‘Life During Wartime’.

He predicted the Apple Watch in that interview too: “[People will] be surrounded by computers the size of wrist watches.” And he foresaw surveillance culture and data harvesting: “Government surveillance becomes inevitable because there’s this dilemma when you have an increase in information storage. A lot of it is for your convenience, but as more information gets on file, it’s bound to be misused.”

In fact, over 40 years ago, he predicted the entire modern-day experience, as if he instinctively knew what was coming. “We’ll be cushioned by amazing technological development,” he said, “but sitting on Salvation Army furniture.”

The 68-year-old Byrne says today, “You can’t say that you know,” chuckling down a Zoom link from his home in New York and belying his reputation for awkwardness by seeming giddily relieved to be talking to someone. “It’s crazy to set yourself up as some sort of prophet. But there’s plenty of people who have done well with books where they claim to predict what’s going on. I suppose sometimes it’s possible to let yourself imagine, ‘Okay – what if?’ This can evolve into something that exists, can evolve into something more substantial, cheaper – these kinds of things.”

It’s been a lifelong gift. Byrne turned up at CBGBs in 1975 with his art school band Talking Heads touting ‘Psycho Killer’, as if predicting the punk scene’s angular melodic evolution, new wave, before punk was even called punk. In 1980, Talking Heads assimilated African beats and textures into their seminal ‘Remain In Light’ album, foreshadowing ‘world music’ and modern music’s globalist melting pot, then used it to warn America of the dangers of consumerism, selfishness and the collapse of civilisation. Pioneering or propheteering, Byrne has been on the front-line of musical evolution for 45 years, collaborating with fellow visionaries from Brian Eno to St Vincent’s Annie Clark, constantly imagining, ‘What if?’

The live music lockdown has been a frustrating freeze frame, but Byrne was already leading the way into music’s new normal. Launched in 2018, the tour to support his 10th solo album, ‘American Utopia’, has now turned into a cinematic marvel courtesy of Spike Lee – the concert film was released in the UK this week. The original tour was acclaimed as a live music revolution. Using remote technology, Byrne was able to remove all of the traditional equipment clutter from the stage and allow his musicians and dancers, in uniform grey suits and barefoot, to roam around a stage lined with curtains of metal chains with their instruments strapped to them. A Marshally distanced gig, if you will.

“As the show was conceptually coming together, I realised that once we had a completely empty stage the rulebook has now been thrown out,” Byrne says. “Now we can go anywhere and do anything. This is completely liberating. It means that people like drummers, for example, who are usually relegated to the back shadows, can now come to the front – all those kinds of things – which changes the whole dynamic.”

With six performers making up an entire drum kit and Byrne meandering through the choreography trying to navigate a nonsensical world, the show was his most striking and original since he jerked and jived around a constructed-mid-gig band set-up in Jonathan Demme’s legendary 1984 Talking Heads live film Stop Making Sense.

The American Utopia show embarked on a Broadway run last year, where Byrne super-fan Spike Lee saw it twice and leapt at the chance of turning the spectacle into Byrne’s second revolutionary live film, dotted with his musings on the human condition to illuminate the crux of the songs: institutional racism, our lack of modern connection, the erosion of democracy and, on opener ‘Here’, a lecture-like tour of the human brain, Byrne holding aloft a scale model, trying to fathom, ‘How do I work this?’

“I didn’t know how much of a fan Spike was!” Byrne laughs today. “He’d even go, ‘Why don’t you do this song? Why don’t you add this song in’. We knew one another casually so I could text him and say, ‘I want you to come and see our show; I think that you might be interested in making a film of it’.”

Are the days of the traditional stage set-up numbered? “Yes, I think so,” he replies. “At least in theatres and concert halls the size that I would normally play, yes. The fact that we can get the music digitally [means] a performance has to be really of value. It has to be really something special, because that’s where the performers are getting their money and that’s what the audience is paying for. They’re not paying very much for streaming music, but they are paying quite a bit to go and see a performance, so the performance has to give them value for money… It has to be really something to see.”

How does David Byrne envisage the future possibilities of live performance?

“I’ve seen a lot of things that hip-hop artists have done – like the Kanye West show where he emerges on a platform that floats above the stage,” he says. “I’d seen one with Kendrick Lamar where it was pretty much just him on stage, an empty stage with just him on stage and a DJ, somebody with a laptop – that was it. I thought, ‘Wow’. Then he started doing things with huge projections behind. There are lots of ways to do this. I love the idea of working with a band, with live musicians. ‘How can I innovate in this kind of way?’ It’s maybe easier for a hip-hop musician who doesn’t have a band to figure out. The pressure is on to come up with new ways of doing this.”

In liberating his musicians from fixed, immovable positions, American Utopia also acts as a metaphor for freeing our minds from our own ingrained ways of thinking. As Byrne intersperses Talking Heads classics such as ‘Once In A Lifetime’, ‘I Zimbra’ and ‘Road To Nowhere’ with choice solo cuts and tracks from ‘American Utopia’, he also dots the show with musings on an array of post-millennial questions: the health of democracy; the rise of xenophobia and fascism; our increasing reliance on materialism and online communication; the climate change threat; the existential nightmare of the dating app; and, crucially, the distances all of these things put between us.

“The ‘likes’ and friends and connections and everything that the internet enables,” he argues, “even Zoom calls like this, they’re no substitute for really being with other people. Calling social networks ‘social’ is a bit of an exaggeration.”

Byrne closes the show with the suggestion that, rather than isolate behind our LCD barriers, we should try to reconnect with each other. In an age when social media has descended into all-out thought war and anyone can find concocted ‘facts’ to support anything they want to believe, is that realistic?

“I have a little bit of hope,” he says. “Not every day, but some days. I have hope that people will abandon a lot of social media, that they’ll realise how intentionally addictive it is, and they’re actually being used, and that they might enjoy actually being with other people rather than just constantly scrolling through their phone. So, I’m a little bit optimistic that people will, in some ways, use this technology a little bit less than they have.”

A key moment in American Utopia comes with Byrne’s cover of Janelle Monae’s ‘Hell You Talmbout’, a confrontational track shouting the names of African-Americans who have been killed by police or in racially motivated attacks – Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, George Floyd and far, far too many more. Does Byrne think the civil unrest in the wake of Floyd’s death and the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement make a serious impact?

“We’ll see how long this continues,” he says, “but in projects that I’m working on – there’s a theatre project I’m working on in Denver, there’s the idea of bringing this show back to Broadway, there’s other projects – those issues came to the fore. Issues of diversity and inclusion and things like that, which were always there. Now they’re being taken more seriously. The producers and theatre owners realise that they can’t push those things aside, that they have to be included in the whole structure of how a show gets put together.”

“At least for now, that seems to be a big change. I see it in TV shows and other areas too. There’s a lot of tokenism, but there’s a lot of real opportunity and changed thinking as well.”

Elsewhere, he encourages his audience to register to vote, and had registration booths at the shows. He must have been pleased about the record turnout in the recent US election? “Yeah, the turnout was great. Now you just got to keep doing that. Gotta keep doing it at all the local elections, too. It was important for me not to endorse a political party or anything in the show but to say, ‘Listen, we can’t have a democracy if you don’t vote. You have to get out there and let your voice be heard and there’s lots of people trying to block it.’ We have to at least try.”

Will Trump’s loss help bring people together after four years with such a divisive influence in charge?

“Yes. I think for me Trump was not so much a shock; we knew who he is. He was around New York before that, in the reality show [The Apprentice], we knew what kind of character he was. What shocked me was how quickly the Republican party all fell into line behind him, behind this guy who’s obviously a racist, misogynist liar and everything else. But it’s kind of encouraging – although it’s taken four years and with some it’s only with the prospect of him being gone – that quite a few have been breaking ranks. There are some possibilities of bridge building being held out.”

But, he says, “It’s too early to celebrate,” concerned that Senate Majority Leader and fairweather Trump loyalist Mitch McConnell will use any Republican control of the Senate to block many of Biden’s policies from coming into effect. “[This] is what happened with Obama… I want to see real change happen. [Climate change] absolutely needs to be a priority. The clock had turned back over the last four years, so there’s a lot to be done. Whether there’s the willpower to do everything that needs to be done, it remains to be seen, but at least now it’s pointing in the right direction.”

How will he look back on the last four years? Byrne ponders. “I’m hoping that I look back at it as a near-miss.”

American Utopia is as much a personal journey as a dissection of modern ills. Ahead of ‘Everybody’s Coming To My House’, Byrne admits to being a rather socially awkward type. He claims that a choir of Detroit teenagers, when singing the song for the accompanying video, had imbued the song with a far more welcoming message than his own rendition, which found him wracked with the fear that his visitors might never leave. How does someone like that deal with celebrity?

“In a certain way it’s a blessing,” Byrne grins, “because I don’t have to go up to people to talk to them – they sometimes come up to me. In other ways it’s a little bit awkward. Celebrity itself seems very superficial and I have to constantly remind myself that your character, your behaviour and the work that you do is what’s important – not how well known you are, not this thing of celebrity. I learned early on it’s pretty easy to get carried away. But it does have its advantages. I had Spike Lee’s phone number, so I could text him.”

Talking Heads drummer Chris Frantz’s recent book Remain In Love suggests that the more successful Byrne got early on, the more distant he became.

Byrne nods. “I haven’t read the book, but I know that as we became more successful I definitely used some of that to be able to work on other projects. I worked on a dance score with [American choreographer] Twyla Tharp and I worked on a theatre piece with [director] Robert Wilson – other kinds of things – [and] I started working on directing some of the band’s music videos. So I guess I spent less time just hanging out. As often happens with bands, you start off being all best friends and doing everything together and after a while that gets to be a bit much. Everybody develops their own friends and it’s like, ‘I have my own friends too’. Everybody starts to have their own lives.”

The future is far too enticing for David Byrne to consider revisiting the past. “I do live alone so sometimes it would get lonely”, he says of lockdown, but he’s been using his Covid downtime to cycle around undiscovered areas of New York and remain philosophical about the aftermath.

“We’ll see how long before the vaccine is in, before we return to being able to socialise,” he says, “but I’m also wondering, ‘How am I going to look at this year? Am I going to look at it as, “Oh yes, that’s the year that was to some extent taken away from our lives; our lives were put on pause?”’ We kept growing; we kept ageing; we keep eating, but it was almost like this barrier had been put up. It has been a period where, in a good way, it’s led us to question a lot of what we do. You get up in the morning and go, ‘Why am I doing this? What am I doing this for? What’s this about?’ Everything is questioned.”

Post-vaccine, he hopes to “travel a little bit” before looking into plans to bring the ‘American Utopia’ show back to Broadway, and possibly even to London if the financial aspects can be worked out. “Often when a show like that travels, the lead actors might travel,” Byrne explains, “but in this case it’s the entire cast that has to travel. So you’ve got a lot of hotel bills and all that kind of stuff. We wanted to do it. There might be a way, if we can figure that out.”

Once we all get our jab, will everyone come to recognise that, as Byrne sings on ‘American Utopia’s most inspiring track, ‘Every Day Is A Miracle’? “Optimistically, maybe,” he says. “There will be a lot of people who will just go, ‘Let’s get back to normal – get out to the bars, the clubs and discos’. That’s already been happening in New York; there’s been these underground parties where people just can’t help themselves. But after all this it’d be nice to think that people might reassess things a little bit.”

And with the algorithm as the new gatekeeper and technology beginning to subsume the sounds and consumption of music, what does the new wave Nostradamus foresee for rock in the coming decades? Will AIs soon be writing songs for other AIs to consume to inflate the numbers, cutting humanity out of the equation altogether?

“It seems like there’ll be a kind of factory,” Byrne predicts, “an AI factory of things like that, and of newspaper articles and all of this kind of stuff, and it will just exaggerate and duplicate human biases and weaknesses and stupidity. On the other hand, I was part of a panel a while back, and a guy told a story about how his listening habits were Afrofuturism and ambient music – those were his two favourite ways to go. The algorithm tried to find commonalities between the two so it could recommend things to him and he said it was hopeless. Everything it recommended was just horrible because it tried to find commonalities between these two very separate things. This just shows that we’re a little more eclectic than these machines would like to think.”

And in the distant future? Best prepare to welcome your new gloop overlords. Byrne isn’t concerned about The Singularity – the point at which machine intelligence supersedes ours and AI becomes God – but instead believes that future technologies will emulate microbial forms.

“I watched a documentary on slime moulds [a simple slimy organism] the other day,” he says, warming to his sticky theme. “Slime moulds are actually extremely intelligent for being a single-celled organism. They can build networks and bunches of them can communicate. They can learn, they have memories, they can do all these kinds of things that you wouldn’t expect a single-celled organism to be able to do.”

“I started thinking, ‘Well, is there a lesson there for AI and machine learning, of how all these emerging properties could be done with something as simple as a single cell?’ It’s all in there… when things interact, they become greater than the sum of their parts. I thought, okay, maybe the future of AI is not in imitating human brains, but imitating these other kinds of networks, these other kinds of intelligences. Forget about imitating human intelligence – there’s other kinds of intelligence out there, and that might be more fruitful. But I don’t know where that leads.”

His grin says he does know, that he has a vision of our icky soup-world future, but maybe the rest of the species isn’t yet advanced enough to handle it. But if we’re evolving towards disaster rather than utopia, we can trust David Byrne to give us plenty of warning.

December 18, 2020

#david byrne #talking heads #music #new wave #post-punk #art pop #avant funk #worldbeat #interview #nme magazine #2020

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veterveter · 3 years

Note

As promised, coming by to drop a prompt! berlermo little mermaid AU, with Martín as the mermaid for maximum entertainment.

send me a (horribly cliched) au + a pairing for a drabble/ficlet/fic!

”Martín,” Andrés said, in a low voice like he knew exactly what he was doing. He was perched on the rock that had somehow, over the years, become theirs. This was where they met, every other week, just as the sun was setting, and stayed there as the night fell and the moon rose above them, until Andrés’s entire form started to shiver, and he had to return to his home. “Come ashore with me. You know it would be amazing.”

Martín rolled his eyes, grasping the rock with one hand to keep himself from being pulled away by the sea. He knew everything Andrés thought he knew, and so much more. The latter was the problem. Andrés was an idealist, and defiantly closed his eyes whenever reality disagreed with him.

“I’d take you to the theatre,” Andrés continued. The theatre, he said, like it was nothing at all. He had explained the concept to Martín more than once; yet being told was nothing quite like experiencing it. ”I’m certain we would find a show that would please you. Maybe you would enjoy Julius Caesar?”

Andrés seemed to never run out of these propositions.

Come ashore, Martín.

I'll take you to the pub, to the theatre, to a restaurant.

It'll be fun, Martín.

Come with me, you know you want to.

Martín used his tail to splash water on Andrés. It wasn’t much in the way of dissuading him, because Andrés’s eyes always filled with wonder and curiosity when he laid eyes on his deep blue tail. His glee was untainted by the greed associated with humanity. Martín would enjoy any show, he knew. He would be so easily pleased. He could possibly just sit in the theatre without being shown anything at all, and it would be the most pleasant evening he had ever had.

“And dinner, of course. Dinner is must. Veal, or lamb. You’ve certainly had enough fish for a lifetime. A bottle of wine, and I’d teach you everything about cutlery.”

Andrés had brought him a fork, once. It looked exactly like a weapon, but Martín sometimes put it in his mouth anyway, because Andrés told him that that’s what humans did.

“And we’d have a walk, as the dusk settles,” Andrés continued, a little quieter, “This rock is nice and all, but—”

Martín deflated over that. He knew, or at least thought he knew, what Andrés wanted it to mean, but to Martín it implied a great many other things.

This isn’t enough, he thought, and he knew that it was true. Andrés had an entire worldon shore, a world where he could have anything he ever wanted, and yet he kept on coming back here. No wonder he had been growing more insistent over the past months. Martín had been interesting, but their little corner of the world was ceasing to be big enough.

Andrés was no longer looking at him, apparently lost in musings of his own, and it was a blessing. Andrés was terrible at offering comfort – when a shark bit off a piece of Martín’s tail, Andrés said it doesn’t make you any less pretty, without any concern for the usefulness of the appendage – and anyway, Martín didn’t want to be pitied. He had relearned to swim in a way that accommodated the missing piece. He could deal with this, too.

When Andrés turned his head, and met Martín’s eyes straight on, he wore a new look of quiet determination. “You could do it, couldn’t you? You could come on land with me. If you chose to.”

Martín knew that no matter what he said or didn’t, Andrés would twist it into the answer he wanted – like an idealist. That’s why Martín said nothing, just retained Andrés’s gaze.

“You could,” Andrés decided, and of course he had found the truth somewhere in the air between them. “And would you? Will you?”

Martín sighed. He wanted to see the world in a way that was almost desperate. He knew that he was safe, under the sea, he knew there was nothing to worry about, that things were objectively better, that he never needed to truly fear for his life. He knew that humans were cruel and dangerous.

But humans also created things. They created items and tools and machines and trinkets. They had creativity, probably borne from the same well as their cruelty, and Martín longed to see all the beautiful things that led to.

There was very little innovation under the sea. They had no need for it. They were safe, and safety made them stale.

Andrés had assumed something from his silence, for he leaned closer to Martín. Andrés was now perched over him, the dying sun behind his back, and there was something almost menacing in his silhouette. Menacing, and interesting. Humanity seemed very two-fold in everything.

“Just imagine it,” he said, his voice low, and quiet, and enticing, “I would get you nice human clothes—” Martín frowned, because clothes as a concept sounded awful. He didn’t want anything touching his body constantly, not like that. He liked the freedom of the water. But Andrés laughed softly at his reaction, and that made Martín smile. “—and we’d eat nice food. There’s so much you’re missing out on. I’d show you everything. We’d see a show and discuss it afterwards over glasses of wine. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Yes, he would very much like that.

“I think I’d hate clothes,” Martín said evasively, voice surprisingly coarse even to his own ears, “I don’t know how you stand them.”

Andrés smiled, not at all deterred by his non-committal non-answer. “I’m sure I could find you something nice. Silk, velvet, cotton, you could take your pick.”

“These words mean nothing to me,” Martín responded, since hedidn’t what know what else to say – because he didn’t want to give an answer.

Both options were true in equal amounts, only at different times. Neither was ever the entire story, and both kept him up at night.

“All the more reason for you to come with me. How else will I show you a silk tie, or a cotton shirt?”

Martín opened his mouth to protest, but Andrés didn’t give him the chance.

“They are important for the human experience. You’re missing out as you are, and I can’t allow that. Even if it was just one day,” Andrés went on, because he had always been great at making their conversations feel organic, even if it was mostly just him monologuing. “You have no idea, the things you can accomplish in a day—”

It was just as well – if Martín ever caved in, a day would have to suffice.

Andrés painted these beautiful pictures in which life was full of pleasure and they could go on exactly like they were, on shore like in the sea. Unlike him, Martín knew the reality of it. He had heard stories about merfolk who made a deal with the sea witch to go spend a day ashore, and they were told to children as warnings; as cautionary tales.

Were he to go, he would be a stranger to Andrés. He wouldn't have his voice, and his human legs would be in agony with every step he took. He’d be at a risk of being found out, at a danger of being killed. And how would he win Andrés’s favour, without their years of careful friendship or his voice to explain himself with?

He kept telling himself that he was entirely too smart to be doing this.

But still. When he listened to the stories, when Andrés told him we'll go for a walk when the sky is black, I'll show you the city lights, have you ever seen fire? It's beautiful, he wanted it.

What was a lifetime of regret compared to a day of joy? What was the pain in his legs to the chance to see the world?

“—honestly, you cannot possibly know what it’s like to sleep in a bed with satin sheets. On a pillow. There is no pleasure quite like it. Well, there is, but—"

Martín smiled a little. He could continue avoiding these offers as long as he wanted, but Andrés was right: his rejection was weak. In all truthfulness, it was a barely concealed, desperate and breathy yes.

They would have their time. Andrés might not see it as the perfect day he always envisioned, and a single day could never be enough for Martín.

But they would have it.

#thank you friend!!! I know I already said but Writing has been a struggle but this one actually interested me #apologies for how I posted this on ao3 like... 14 hours ago it was a missclick I intended to wait for daytime #but maybe it was fate telling me to stop editing #anyway yeah I hope you enjoy (even though you @ Roci already said you did it is about the sentiment--)#there's headcanons I even wrote part of their little dinner date [me writing a dinner date? so off-brand---]#thank you for prompting me things friends please continue to do so I love prompts they're fun!! I hope you like them too #also daily appreciation for Corinna dearest for putting me up to this it continues to be a good thing as do you #have a good day friends <3 and a good rest of this week <3 lots of good vibes <3 #oh I was wondering which tags I forgot to add and turns out: all the sensible one hahaha #ficlets #tumblr prompts #au ficlets #berlermo #lcdp #asks #ao3 needs a 'revert to draft' button I am asking for a friend okay

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bonniebird · 4 years

Photo

Tommy x Reader

Requested by Anon

The new house was large. It still wasn’t fully furnished. There was a bottle whiskey loosely in your had as you walked around the hall, having been let in by a maid, the thought of the Shelby family having a maid was amusing.

“What do you think?” Tommy asked proudly.

“I think it’s a large home which will be very empty. There's more rooms than you could possibly fill Tommy.” You said playfully and he smiled.

“Well, I suppose you could always stay. A couple brothers, fill a few rooms.” He trailed off and laughed when you huffed.

“I see. So you invited me. To see the new home you wanted to invite me to live in.” You accused and he yielded jokingly, accepting the bottle of whisky you offered him.

Your independence had been a novelty to the Shelby boys, an inspiration to Ada and a scorn to Polly, you had no interest in settling for any of her nephews. Though she softened into pride when she realised that you’d rather be alone than with anyone but the Shelbys.

While you knew of the boys less than honest streak, they were all careful to ensure your record was squeaky clean. Though the police were sure to call at you as they broke up whatever mischief they were planning, sending you on your way, reminding you what trouble the boys where.

As you walked through the rooms and looked around it was clear that decorating the house had been a forthaught, while there was still huge spaces and some rooms that simply had no furniture in it. You couldn’t help but think back. The old house had been small and cramped, but that was what gave it such a charm.

Fighting for a place on one of the sofas or chair. The mismatched kitchen chairs shoved around the table as Polly pilled the food high and chaos broke out to grab something to eat.

The cold winters would bite at you as you raced along the road, bursting into the Shelby’s home would be like wrapping in a warm blanket, it was never cold in their home, everyone was welcome.

You imagined that this would be much the same. Or maybe not. It wasn’t hard for you to willingly ignore the Shelby family’s business. But you weren’t deaf. You heard people talk about what they did.

***********************

“I will admit that it’s nice to have the countryside on the doorstep.” You said to Tommy who’d agreed to walk with you.

It had been several hours and although the chill of the morning sank into your bones, neither of you minded, enjoying the peace of the morning.

“Well the offer still stands.” He joked with a smile.

“How can you stand being so out of the way. It’s always so busy in the city, everything happens at once.” You said happily, as you admired the trees that lined the Shelby property.

“It suits us just fine. Better in fact.”

“Ah, yes, less police officers to pull you up when you hooligans steal bikes.” You mused playfully, recalling the time when you were all younger, seeing Tommy and John dragged off by officers.

“Well I suppose that is a perk. But we’re safer here.” Tommy muttered. He frowned when cars started pulling up on the drive. Arthur was out of the door, rushing over to the two of you as he rushed you inside.

“Didn’t know they were showing up Tommy.” He muttered.

Tommy didn’t answer as he dragged you through his office and into a door that seemed to be built into the book shelves. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He muttered as he turned on the lights that hung from the walls and shut the door.

There was a small armchair, a table of alcohol and a few glasses and some books. Of course the booze came before the other luxuries. It wasn’t the first time something shady had happened and you’d been hidden out of sight.

When you pressed against the bookcase you could hear the family talking about whoever was outside. Knowing better than to listen to much you sat down and flicked through one of the books. Tommy’s mother had hoped you’d be a good influence on her boys. Polly claimed it was the mother Mary’s doing that they weren’t a bad influence on them.

Tommy seemed always tasked with charming you. Arhur would bumble about with nervous doting and John’s overconfident bound and the smile on his face was never anything more than brotherly. Arthur had steeled his nerves and John had the common sense to at least pretend he wasn’t gleeful, even when downing pints at the Garrison. Tommy had never grown out of being charming.

“What’re you going to do about (Y/N)? She doesn't want to stay, you can’t tell her why she’s not safe at him!” Polly said sharply. She was close to the door and you could hear her more clearly. Soft footsteps led away and there was a scraping noise at the edges of the bookcase.

“(Y/N)?” Tommy asked as he opened the door. It had been a good few hours since you’d been rushed into the hidden room. He called for you as if he half expected you to have found a way out without his notice.

You wanted to snap at him, shout and breathe him. Point out how much you put up with, be cruel and spit out that he was lucky you were still his friend. Though from the guilty look on his face he already knew all that.

For the first time you realise just how tired he looked. Like it seeped into his bones, draining him of life until he just plodded on like one of Charlie’s old cart horses walking the same track everyday.

“We have a room ready for you upstairs, I’ll show you which one.” Tommy said. That was all he said. There was no explanation, for the men in cars, the panic of the family or the rush to shut you out of sight. Though there never was an explanation with Tommy. Arthur would have exaggerated the danger, John would have bragged of his heroics, Tommy would stay quiet and watch. Tommy never told, he would observe you the way you watched him now. If you tried to question him when he was younger you might have been rewarded with a wry smile that lifted the corner of his lips, only showing in his eyes if he looked at you. You didn’t ask Tommy questions anymore.

He took your hand and led you through the big house. There was a heavy air in the house. A thick uncomfortable feeling, that seemed to choke the delight that had filled it for the last few days, the kind of feeling that stagnated conversation as it settled.

Passing a room you saw Arthur, leaning on a desk with his head in his hands. Another room John was hugging Esme who rubbed his back gently, both looking worried. Ada passed the halls as you passed her. If Tommy hadn’t placed his hand on your back to move you on faster, you might have pulled away, reached for Ada. That was what you wanted more than anything just then. To hug Ada and stop her pacing like a trapped animal, rush on to John and Esme, assure them that if they stuck together they’d be fine. You’d take Arthur's big hands in yours and remind him of the words he’d tell you if he saw you were nervous, that if he was brave enough nothing would stop him.

Walking up the stairs seemed like walking to another world. Leaving the fearing Shelby’s behind to ascend with Tommy to the floor that was filled with rushing housemaids. It was as if the mood couldn’t dig its claws in here. The rushing maids bustled about and disrupted it’s clutch.

“Just ask if you need anything.” Tommy said as he led you to the end of a corridor. He paused outside a door that had fresh flowers set on a table next to it. Sunlight streamed in through the window at the end of the corridor and you could see the woods and lands stretching into the distance. Tommy hadn’t let go of you. Was he waiting for you to demand to go home? He couldn't think you would leave them now. The silence between you had started to become awkward so he let go of your hand and opened the door. As you moved in his hand fell away from you back.

The room was large, lavish and beyond anything you would choose to fill a house with. Ornate and beautiful but for show. As you looked around he stayed in the doorway, as if stepping in would drag in all the chaos going on below and dampen the room.

You turned to thank him, but your words fell short. Feeling more like a captive you weren’t sure if you should thank him. That perhaps doing so would make the pained look, that occasionally played over his face as he watched you, worse.

For the first time since you’d known him, you had no idea how to cheer Tommy up, it set a fluttering nervousness through you.

“I’ll... Try and get everything sorted.” He said quickly. His voice cracked as if his statement was an apology for keeping you there. When he didn’t move you realised he was waiting for an objection, some fight and spirit, a negotiation that ended with you living on as usual with a little interference from the Peaky Blinders. But you couldn’t find it in your heart to fight him. Tommy had always managed to be charming, keep the worry of his world from his face, join his siblings in revealing in your blissfully cheerful world.

With quick steps you walked back towards the door. Before he could step out of your way you crashed into him with the tightest hug you could muster. He let out a breath against your ear that could have been mistaken for the ghost of a fond laugh. His arms wrapped around you and for a moment you stayed that way. Until you spotted a nervous housemaid over his shoulder, staring at her feet so hard she might well burn holes through the floor beneath her, and pulled away.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out. That’s what you’re good at Tommy.” You assured him. His reply was a curt nod as he moved away from the doorway and started off down the hall. You decided to save the housemaid from her statuesque position and invited her into your room, helping with the blankets and spare clothes she was carrying. Tommy paused at the end of the landing and looked back at you, comforting the girl who seemed mortified to have encroached on the moment. He smiled, the smile that you coaxed out of him on occasion, comforted that no matter what went wrong over the next few weeks. He had his own piece of sunshine tucked away for the worst days.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #bonniebird #the peaky blinders #peaky blinders

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raineydaywrites · 3 years

Text

working on from then til now (4/5)

link to part 1 (x), part 2 (x), part 3 (x), ao3 (x)

Taako couldn't explain how, but they got past it. Angus asked for more magic lessons, he hung around with Tres Horny Boys, and he put up with all of their dumb jokes until Taako stopped wanting to flinch every time they spoke.

Taako found himself growing extremely protective of the kid, much to his own dismay. He didn't want to care about this stupid kid. But he kind of already did. He'd cared about him before he'd learned what he'd done, and he'd felt- responsible for him afterward.

He loved this dumb brat, and it was terrifying, and it was amazing.

And then everything changed again.

The deaths at Glamour Springs- they hadn't been his fault at all. Not directly anyway. Not in the way he'd always thought they had been.

It had been Sazed- the fucker- jealous and bitter and taking it out on Taako and his audience.

Taako hadn't done anything wrong. Well, except for everything he did that convinced Sazed to hate him in the first place- but, but that wasn't the same. It wasn't his cooking. It wasn't his magic. It wasn't him.

It was just a dick who went way too far.

Taako wanted to be happy about that, but he couldn't quite bring himself to be. It didn't change anything that had happened, really. The only person that this knowledge benefited was himself, and, like, yeah, it was pretty great to know that he hadn't messed up in that particular way- but was it really all that much better? Still his fault. Still his food. Still his reputation ruined with no way to prove that he hadn't done it.

But he could tell Angus about it. And maybe the kid wouldn't feel so bad about him anymore.

Angus had been really torn up about befriending his parents' supposed killer, Taako knew. Kid was all about justice and fairness, so it was hardly a surprise. He had spent so long wanting to punish the killer, and then suddenly he was trusting him instead. Of course the kid was gonna feel weird about it.

Oh. Wait.

On the other hand, Angus wanted justice. He'd pushed that aside when he'd thought it was Taako, thought it was an accident.

How would he react to knowing that it had been murder after all? What would the kid do about it?

The thought of Angus running headlong after a murderer, especially while emotional and overwrought, sent a spike of fear through Taako's blood. Sazed was a slimy motherfucker that had always known how to act in his own self-interest- how to eliminate loose ends. Taako had appreciated it before, when he hadn't realized that the guy was willing to commit stone cold, premeditated murder. When those talents had been used to his advantage in running the show, and he'd thought Sazed wouldn't do anything worse than skirting some of the less convenient laws.

Sazed had poisoned the food Taako made for a crowd. He had wanted Taako to die in front of an audience, to die painfully and ruin his reputation in the process. Sazed had either not cared about or maybe even hoped for the deaths of the audience members as well. Sazed must have planned it out at least a few days in advance, if not longer, and he had spent that time calmly working with Taako while imagining his death.

Sazed had been the one to suggest running first. Taako knew that he probably would have come to the idea soon enough, but he'd been too frozen in shock in the moment to start moving. The fucker had seen his plan go awry and decided to make Taako look as guilty as possible before ditching him and stealing his shit.

He would have no qualms about killing a kid.

If Angus went after him, he'd be putting himself in danger.

And Angus would go after him. Taako knew him well enough by now to know that. You didn't become a renowned detective by the age of ten by holding back. The kid had no concept of his own limits and a years-long hope for justice.

Taako couldn't let that happen, but he didn't know how he was supposed to protect the kid either. He and the guys could go with him, Taako supposed, but that would still bring Angus into danger by the fact that he would be present with a murderer.

And Taako didn't know enough about Sazed or the situation the guy was currently in to be certain of the threat level. He was sure that he, Merle, and Magnus could take the guy if he was by himself, but what if he had allies? Who even knew where the guy was nowadays?

Taako was going to tell Angus. Of course he would tell Angus, the kid had a right to know.

But he needed to make a plan first. He needed to figure out how to keep Angus safe and still get the justice he so wanted.

Taako tried to make a few discreet inquiries, but 'discreet' wasn't exactly the best skill of THB. And Angus McDonald was a very good detective.

Taako was woken by an urgent eyed Davenport, and he immediately knew that something was wrong. He wasn't sure why exactly the worried look on the dude's face prompted an instinctive alarm, but he had learned to trust his instincts.

"What's happening?" he asked, even though he knew he wasn't going to get much of an answer out of the guy.

"Davenport!" was all the guy offered, his hands moving quickly, but Taako didn't understand enough sign language to actually get it.

He did notice the signs for "Director" and "Angus" though, and he was moving instantly.

"Lucretia in her office?" Taako questioned, only pausing long enough for Davenport to nod before he was pulling on his boots and grabbing the Umbra Staff.

As Taako left, he half-noticed Davenport going to Magnus' and Merle's rooms to wake them as well, but he didn't pay it any mind, moving out of the suite and towards the elevators with a single-minded determination.

By the time he got to the elevators, the other three had caught up with him, and Taako tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Merle and Magnus to get in the damn elevator so they could get a move on.

He said nothing the whole trip to the Director's office, just knowing that something was wrong.

"Taako, there you are," the Director said, voice tight with worry when they got to her office. "When was the last time you spoke with Angus?"

"Yesterday? No, wait, day before," Taako said, stomach sinking with dread. "Why?"

"He left the base very early this morning, telling Avi that he had a family emergency to attend to. Avi had no reason not to believe him or to deny the request, so he sent Angus down planetside. But Angus left me this note-" the Director's voice cut off for a second, and Taako felt his dread increase. "He's in danger, isn't he?"

As the Director handed the note over for them to look at, Taako felt a strange, sickening sense of deja vu. Some part of his mind was screaming that everything was about to go wrong, but he didn't even know why.

The note was longer than Taako had expected, though he supposed it shouldn't be a surprise that the little nerd had babbled on.

Taako read the note as quickly as possible, cursing when he read Sazed's name.

"You two idiots can't keep your fucking mouths shut, huh?" Taako said, glaring between Merle and Magnus, refusing to admit to himself that if Angus had really been listening in for a while, he could have easily heard about it from Taako instead.

"Taako, please, not now," Lucretia said, glancing up from where she had her face buried in hands. She looked tired, and Taako thought about how much she seemed to like the kid and felt a stab of sympathy.

And she was right anyway. Snapping at his friends wasn't going to get them anywhere.

"Fine, whatever. We gotta find Ango," he said, hoping that Magnus and Merle would understand it as the apology it was meant to be. They seemed to.

"Do any of you know who this person is that he's looking for?" the Director asked. "I spoke with him a little while back and he said he was having a personal issue, but he didn't give much detail, and I didn't want to pry. Did he ever say anything to you three? I know he spends a lot of time with you."

Magnus and Merle glanced to Taako, clearly unsure how much he was comfortable revealing.

"Yeah. I know who he's looking for," Taako said. "Where'd Avi send him?"

"Wait- don't you have some way to track him through the bracers? They know where we are right?"

"They don't transmit constantly," the Director said, leaning her head forward in exasperation with herself. "I didn't want to be creepy, spying on my employees, you know?"

"Fuck," Taako said emphatically.

"It was a nice thought, though!" Magnus said, patting the Director on the back comfortingly.

"That could get invasive and weird, yeah, I suppose," Merle mused.

"Yeah, thanks for not being Fantasy Big Sister or whatever, but can we focus?" Taako said. "Where. Did. Avi. Send him?"

"Davenport!" Davenport exclaimed, spreading a map out on the Director's desk and gesturing to it, quickly marking where Avi must have put Angus down.

"Great. We're going," Taako said.

"I've had a team looking for Angus since I discovered that he was missing. They haven't turned up anything yet," Lucretia said. "I'm asking about this individual because I'm hoping that it may offer some insight to where he might be, or where Angus might seek him out."

"Team sweet flips?" Magnus questioned, a bit of excitement entering his voice.

"No, I'm afraid not. As impressive as they may be together, they're not our most- subtle team. I've sent a team of Seekers instead," the Director explained.

Taako stared down at the map, wracking his brain to figure out if he could remember anything useful. He hadn't paid much attention to Sazed, if he was being honest. He didn't know the guy enough to have a clue of where he might be.

But something familiar was whispering at the back of Taako's mind, and he focused, trying to pull it forward.

"There," Taako pointed to a small town a fair but walkable distance from where Avi had sent Angus. "That's Sazed's hometown. That's gotta be where Angus is looking."

The Director didn't question it, instead tapping at her Stone of Farspeech quickly.

"Maya? Have you and your team found anything of note in the town of- Wellspring? I have reason to believe Angus may have sought this individual there," she said.

A voice Taako was unfamiliar with came crackling back. "Yes, we have! I cannot confirm anything, but I'll send you the location information now."

Taako felt a tiny flash of relief, but didn't let it show. This wasn't over yet.

"Great, thank you," the Director said, and Taako saw the same wary hope on her face that he felt in himself.

"Normally, I would send Regulators for a task like this, but I know how much you three care for Angus, and so I ask if you-"

"Yes!" All three Reclaimers spoke before she could even finish speaking.

"Then I wish you good luck," the Director said, smiling softly at them. "Avi is waiting. I'll have Seeker Maya meet with you to explain the situation."

Taako was already leaving, barely taking the time to wave in acknowledgement as he stalked out of the office and toward the transport bay.

As they walked, no one said anything, too furious and worried to feel comfortable goofing too much. This was Angus who was in danger, after all.

The whole way there and into the glass cannon ball, Taako found one thought spiraling around in his head, over and over, somewhat nonsensical all things considered, but unshakeable regardless.

Hold on Angus. I can't lose you too.

part 5 (x)

#taz balance #taako taaco #angus mcdonald #febuwhump #febuwhumpday21 #taz lucretia #taz davenport #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #taako adventurezone #lucretia adventurezone #Davenport Adventurezone #my writing

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