#poor Conrad on the other side of the door man

[monstersareinhumans]

Okay but where’s the Live Slug Reaction to that Rasputin and Oxford scene in ‘The King’s Man’?

#poor Conrad on the other side of the door man #the king's man #kingsman #live slug reaction #live slug meme #the secret service #duke of oxford #conrad oxford

[birdsofparadise747]

Joseph CONRAD -- The Brute

An Indignant Tale

DODGING in from the rain-swept street, I exchanged a smile and a glance with Miss Blank in the bar of the Three Crows. This exchange was effected with extreme propriety. It is a shock to think that, if still alive, Miss Blank must be something over sixty now. How time passes!

Noticing my gaze directed inquiringly at the partition of glass and varnished wood, Miss Blank was good enough to say, encouragingly:

"Only Mr. Jermyn and Mr. Stonor in the parlour with another gentleman I've never seen before."

I moved towards the parlour door. A voice discoursing on the other side (it was but a matchboard partition), rose so loudly that the concluding words became quite plain in all their atrocity.

"That fellow Wilmot fairly dashed her brains out, and a good job, too!"

This inhuman sentiment, since there was nothing profane or improper in it, failed to do as much as to check the slight yawn Miss Blank was achieving behind her hand. And she remained gazing fixedly at the window-panes, which streamed with rain.

As I opened the parlour door the same voice went on in the same cruel strain:

"I was glad when I heard she got the knock from somebody at last. Sorry enough for poor Wilmot, though. That man and I used to be chums at one time. Of course that was the end of him. A clear case if there ever was one. No way out of it. None at all."

The voice belonged to the gentleman Miss Blank had never seen before. He straddled his long legs on the hearthrug. Jermyn, leaning forward, held his pocket-handkerchief spread out before the grate. He looked back dismally over his shoulder, and as I slipped behind one of the little wooden tables, I nodded to him. On the other side of the fire, imposingly calm and large, sat Mr. Stonor, jammed tight into a capacious Windsor armchair. There was nothing small about him but his short, white side-whiskers. Yards and yards of extra superfine blue cloth (made up into an overcoat) reposed on a chair by his side. And he must just have brought some liner from sea, because another chair was smothered under his black waterproof, ample as a pall, and made of three-fold oiled silk, double-stitched throughout. A man's hand-bag of the usual size looked like a child's toy on the floor near his feet.

I did not nod to him. He was too big to be nodded to in that parlour. He was a senior Trinity pilot and condescended to take his turn in the cutter only during the summer months. He had been many times in charge of royal yachts in and out of Port Victoria. Besides, it's no use nodding to a monument. And he was like one. He didn't speak, he didn't budge. He just sat there, holding his handsome old head up, immovable, and almost bigger than life. It was extremely fine. Mr. Stonor's presence reduced poor old Jermyn to a mere shabby wisp of a man, and made the talkative stranger in tweeds on the hearthrug look absurdly boyish. The latter must have been a few years over thirty, and was certainly not the sort of individual that gets abashed at the sound of his own voice, because gathering me in, as it were, by a friendly glance, he kept it going without a check.

"I was glad of it," he repeated, emphatically. "You may be surprised at it, but then you haven't gone through the experience I've had of her. I can tell you, it was something to remember. Of course, I got off scot free myself -- as you can see. She did her best to break up my pluck for me tho'. She jolly near drove as fine a fellow as ever lived into a madhouse. What do you say to that -- eh?"

Not an eyelid twitched in Mr. Stonor's enormous face. Monumental! The speaker looked straight into my eyes.

"It used to make me sick to think of her going about the world murdering people."

Jermyn approached the handkerchief a little nearer to the grate and groaned. It was simply a habit he had.

"I've seen her once," he declared, with mournful indifference. "She had a house --"

The stranger in tweeds turned to stare down at him, surprised.

"She had three houses," he corrected, authoritatively. But Jermyn was not to be contradicted.

"She had a house, I say," he repeated, with dismal obstinacy. "A great, big, ugly, white thing. You could see it from miles away -- sticking up."

"So you could," assented the other readily. "It was old Colchester's notion, though he was always threaten- ing to give her up. He couldn't stand her racket any more, he declared; it was too much of a good thing for him; he would wash his hands of her, if he never got hold of another -- and so on. I daresay he would have chucked her, only -- it may surprise you -- his missus wouldn't hear of it. Funny, eh? But with women, you never know how they will take a thing, and Mrs. Colchester, with her moustaches and big eyebrows, set up for being as strong-minded as they make them. She used to walk about in a brown silk dress, with a great gold cable flopping about her bosom. You should have heard her snapping out: 'Rubbish!' or 'Stuff and non- sense!' I daresay she knew when she was well off. They had no children, and had never set up a home any- where. When in England she just made shift to hang out anyhow in some cheap hotel or boarding-house. I daresay she liked to get back to the comforts she was used to. She knew very well she couldn't gain by any change. And, moreover, Colchester, though a first-rate man, was not what you may call in his first youth, and, perhaps, she may have thought that he wouldn't be able to get hold of another (as he used to say) so easily. Anyhow, for one reason or another, it was 'Rubbish' and 'Stuff and nonsense' for the good lady. I overheard once young Mr. Apse himself say to her confidentially: 'I assure you, Mrs. Colchester, I am beginning to feel quite unhappy about the name she's getting for herself.' 'Oh,' says she, with her deep little hoarse laugh, 'if one took notice of all the silly talk,' and she showed Apse all her ugly false teeth at once. 'It would take more than that to make me lose my confidence in her, I assure you,' says she."

At this point, without any change of facial expression, Mr. Stonor emitted a short, sardonic laugh. It was very impressive, but I didn't see the fun. I looked from one to another. The stranger on the hearthrug had an ugly smile.

"And Mr. Apse shook both Mrs. Colchester's hands, he was so pleased to hear a good word said for their favourite. All these Apses, young and old you know, were perfectly infatuated with that abominable, dan- gerous --"

"I beg your pardon," I interrupted, for he seemed to be addressing himself exclusively to me; "but who on earth are you talking about?"

"I am talking of the Apse family," he answered, courteously.

I nearly let out a damn at this. But just then the respected Miss Blank put her head in, and said that the cab was at the door, if Mr. Stonor wanted to catch the eleven three up.

At once the senior pilot arose in his mighty bulk and began to struggle into his coat, with awe-inspiring upheavals. The stranger and I hurried impulsively to his assistance, and directly we laid our hands on him he became perfectly quiescent. We had to raise our arms very high, and to make efforts. It was like caparisoning a docile elephant. With a "Thanks, gentlemen," he dived under and squeezed himself through the door in a great hurry.

We smiled at each other in a friendly way.

"I wonder how he manages to hoist himself up a ship's side-ladder," said the man in tweeds; and poor Jermyn, who was a mere North Sea pilot, without official status or recognition of any sort, pilot only by courtesy, groaned.

"He makes eight hundred a year."

"Are you a sailor?" I asked the stranger, who had gone back to his position on the rug.

"I used to be till a couple of years ago, when I got married," answered this communicative individual. "I even went to sea first in that very ship we were speaking of when you came in."

"What ship?" I asked, puzzled. "I never heard you mention a ship."

"I've just told you her name, my dear sir," he replied. "The Apse Family. Surely you've heard of the great firm of Apse & Sons, shipowners. They had a pretty big fleet. There was the Lucy Apse, and the Harold Apse, and Anne, John, Malcolm, Clara, Juliet, and so on -- no end of Apses. Every brother, sister, aunt, cousin, wife -- and grandmother, too, for all I know -- of the firm had a ship named after them. Good, solid, old-fashioned craft they were, too, built to carry and to last. None of your new-fangled, labour-saving appliances in them, but plenty of men and plenty of good salt beef and hard tack put aboard -- and off you go to fight your way out and home again."

The miserable Jermyn made a sound of approval, which sounded like a groan of pain. Those were the ships for him. He pointed out in doleful tones that you couldn't say to labour-saving appliances: "Jump lively now, my hearties." No labour-saving appliance would go aloft on a dirty night with the sands under your lee.

"No," assented the stranger, with a wink at me. "The Apses didn't believe in them either, apparently. They treated their people well -- as people don't get treated nowadays, and they were awfully proud of their ships. Nothing ever happened to them. This last one, the Apse Family, was to be like the others, only she was to be still stronger, still safer, still more roomy and comfortable. I believe they meant her to last for ever. They had her built composite -- iron, teak-wood, and greenheart, and her scantling was something fabulous. If ever an order was given for a ship in a spirit of pride this one was. Everything of the best. The commodore captain of the employ was to command her, and they planned the accommodation for him like a house on shore under a big, tall poop that went nearly to the mainmast. No wonder Mrs. Colchester wouldn't let the old man give her up. Why, it was the best home she ever had in all her married days. She had a nerve, that woman.

"The fuss that was made while that ship was building! Let's have this a little stronger, and that a little heavier; and hadn't that other thing better be changed for something a little thicker. The builders entered into the spirit of the game, and there she was, growing into the clumsiest, heaviest ship of her size right before all their eyes, without anybody becoming aware of it somehow. She was to be 2,000 tons register, or a little over; no less on any account. But see what happens. When they came to measure her she turned out 1,999 tons and a fraction. General consternation! And they say old Mr. Apse was so annoyed when they told him that he took to his bed and died. The old gentleman had retired from the firm twenty-five years before, and was ninety-six years old if a day, so his death wasn't, perhaps, so surprising. Still Mr. Lucian Apse was con- vinced that his father would have lived to a hundred. So we may put him at the head of the list. Next comes the poor devil of a shipwright that brute caught and squashed as she went off the ways. They called it the launch of a ship, but I've heard people say that, from the wailing and yelling and scrambling out of the way, it was more like letting a devil loose upon the river. She snapped all her checks like pack-thread, and went for the tugs in attendance like a fury. Before anybody could see what she was up to she sent one of them to the bottom, and laid up another for three months' repairs. One of her cables parted, and then, suddenly -- you couldn't tell why -- she let herself be brought up with the other as quiet as a lamb.

"That's how she was. You could never be sure what she would be up to next. There are ships difficult to handle, but generally you can depend on them behaving rationally. With that ship, whatever you did with her you never knew how it would end. She was a wicked beast. Or, perhaps, she was only just in- sane."

He uttered this supposition in so earnest a tone that I could not refrain from smiling. He left off biting his lower lip to apostrophize me.

"Eh! Why not? Why couldn't there be something in her build, in her lines corresponding to -- What's madness? Only something just a tiny bit wrong in the make of your brain. Why shouldn't there be a mad ship -- I mean mad in a ship-like way, so that under no circumstances could you be sure she would do what any other sensible ship would naturally do for you. There are ships that steer wildly, and ships that can't be quite trusted always to stay; others want careful watching when running in a gale; and, again, there may be a ship that will make heavy weather of it in every little blow. But then you expect her to be always so. You take it as part of her character, as a ship, just as you take account of a man's peculiarities of temper when you deal with him. But with her you couldn't. She was unaccountable. If she wasn't mad, then she was the most evil-minded, underhand, savage brute that ever went afloat. I've seen her run in a heavy gale beautifully for two days, and on the third broach to twice in the same afternoon. The first time she flung the helmsman clean over the wheel, but as she didn't quite manage to kill him she had another try about three hours afterwards. She swamped herself fore and aft, burst all the canvas we had set, scared all hands into a panic, and even frightened Mrs. Colchester down there in these beautiful stern cabins that she was so proud of. When we mustered the crew there was one man missing. Swept overboard, of course, without being either seen or heard, poor devil! and I only wonder more of us didn't go.

"Always something like that. Always. I heard an old mate tell Captain Colchester once that it had come to this with him, that he was afraid to open his mouth to give any sort of order. She was as much of a terror in harbour as at sea. You could never be certain what would hold her. On the slightest provocation she would start snapping ropes, cables, wire hawsers, like carrots. She was heavy, clumsy, unhandy -- but that does not quite explain that power for mischief she had. You know, somehow, when I think of her I can't help remembering what we hear of incurable lunatics breaking loose now and then."

He looked at me inquisitively. But, of course, I couldn't admit that a ship could be mad.

"In the ports where she was known," he went on,' "they dreaded the sight of her. She thought nothing of knocking away twenty feet or so of solid stone facing off a quay or wiping off the end of a wooden wharf. She must have lost miles of chain and hundreds of tons of anchors in her time. When she fell aboard some poor unoffending ship it was the very devil of a job to haul her off again. And she never got hurt herself -- just a few scratches or so, perhaps. They had wanted to have her strong. And so she was. Strong enough to ram Polar ice with. And as she began so she went on. From the day she was launched she never let a year pass without murdering somebody. I think the owners got very worried about it. But they were a stiff-necked generation all these Apses; they wouldn't admit there could be anything wrong with the Apse Family. They wouldn't even change her name. 'Stuff and nonsense,' as Mrs. Colchester used to say. They ought at least to have shut her up for life in some dry dock or other, away up the river, and never let her smell salt water again. I assure you, my dear sir, that she invariably did kill someone every voyage she made. It was perfectly well-known. She got a name for it, far and wide."

I expressed my surprise that a ship with such a deadly reputation could ever get a crew.

"Then, you don't know what sailors are, my dear sir. Let me just show you by an instance. One day in dock at home, while loafing on the forecastle head, I noticed two respectable salts come along, one a middle-aged, competent, steady man, evidently, the other a smart, youngish chap. They read the name on the bows and stopped to look at her. Says the elder man: 'Apse Family. That's the sanguinary female dog' (I'm putting it in that way) 'of a ship, Jack, that kills a man every voyage. I wouldn't sign in her -- not for Joe, I wouldn't.' And the other says: 'If she were mine, I'd have her towed on the mud and set on fire, blamme if I wouldn't.' Then the first man chimes in: 'Much do they care! Men are cheap, God knows.' The younger one spat in the water alongside. 'They won't have me -- not for double wages.'

"They hung about for some time and then walked up the dock. Half an hour later I saw them both on our deck looking about for the mate, and apparently very anxious to be taken on. And they were."

"How do you account for this?" I asked.

"What would you say?" he retorted. "Reckless- ness ! The vanity of boasting in the evening to all their chums: 'We've just shipped in that there Apse Family. Blow her. She ain't going to scare us.' Sheer sailor- like perversity! A sort of curiosity. Well -- a little of all that, no doubt. I put the question to them in the course of the voyage. The answer of the elderly chap was:

"'A man can die but once.' The younger assured me in a mocking tone that he wanted to see 'how she would do it this time.' But I tell you what; there was a sort of fascination about the brute."

Jermyn, who seemed to have seen every ship in the world, broke in sulkily:

"I saw her once out of this very window towing up the river; a great black ugly thing, going along like a big hearse."

"Something sinister about her looks, wasn't there?" said the man in tweeds, looking down at old Jermyn with a friendly eye. "I always had a sort of horror of her. She gave me a beastly shock when I was no more than fourteen, the very first day -- nay, hour -- I joined her. Father came up to see me off, and was to go down to Gravesend with us. I was his second boy to go to sea. My big brother was already an officer then. We. got on board about eleven in the morning, and found the ship ready to drop out of the basin, stern first. She had not moved three times her own length when, at a little pluck the tug gave her to enter the dock gates, she made one of her rampaging starts, and put such a weight on the check rope -- a new six-inch hawser -- that forward there they had no chance to ease it round in time, and it parted. I saw the broken end fly up high in the air, and the next moment that brute brought her quarter against the pier-head with a jar that staggered everybody about her decks. She didn't hurt herself. Not she! But one of the boys the mate had sent aloft on the mizzen to do something, came down on the poop-deck -- thump -- right in front of me. He was not much older than myself. We had been grinning at each other only a few minutes before. He must have been handling himself carelessly, not expecting to get such a jerk. I heard his startled cry -- Oh! -- in a high treble as he felt himself going, and looked up in time to see him go limp all over as he fell. Ough! Poor father was remarkably white about the gills when we shook hands in Gravesend. 'Are you all right?' he says, looking hard at me. 'Yes, father.' 'Quite sure?' 'Yes, father.' 'Well, then good-bye, my boy.' He told me afterwards that for half a word he would have carried me off home with him there and then. I am the baby of the family -- you know," added the man in tweeds, stroking his moustache with an ingenuous smile.

I acknowledged this interesting communication by a sympathetic murmur. He waved his hand carelessly.

"This might have utterly spoiled a chap's nerve for going aloft, you know -- utterly. He fell within two feet of me, cracking his head on a mooring-bitt. Never moved. Stone dead. Nice looking little fellow, he was. I had just been thinking we would be great chums. However, that wasn't yet the worst that brute of a ship could do. I served in her three years of my time, and then I got transferred to the Lucy Apse, for a year. The sailmaker we had in the Apse Family turned up there, too, and I remember him saying to me one evening, after we had been a week at sea: Isn't she a meek little ship?' No wonder we thought the Lucy Apse a dear, meek, little ship after getting clear of that big, rampaging savage brute. It was like heaven. Her officers seemed to me the restfullest lot of men on earth. To me who had known no ship but the Apse Family, the Lucy was like a sort of magic craft that did what you wanted her to do of her own accord. One evening we got caught aback pretty sharply from right ahead. In about ten minutes we had her full again, sheets aft, tacks down, decks cleared, and the officer of the watch leaning against the weather rail peacefully. It seemed simply marvellous to me. The other would have stuck for half-an-hour in irons, rolling her decks full of water, knock- ing the men about -- spars cracking, braces snapping, yards taking charge, and a confounded scare going on aft because of her beastly rudder, which she had a way of flapping about fit to raise your hair on end. I could- n't get over my wonder for days.

"Well, I finished my last year of apprenticeship in that jolly little ship -- she wasn't so little either, but after that other heavy devil she seemed but a plaything to handle. I finished my time and passed; and then just as I was thinking of having three weeks of real good time on shore I got at breakfast a letter asking me the earliest day I could be ready to join the Apse Family as third mate. I gave my plate a shove that shot it into the middle of the table; dad looked up over his paper; mother raised her hands in astonishment, and I went out bareheaded into our bit of garden, where I walked round and round for an hour.

"When I came in again mother was out of the dining-room, and dad had shifted berth into his big armchair. The letter was lying on the mantelpiece.

"'It's very creditable to you to get the offer, and very kind of them to make it,' he said. 'And I see also that Charles has been appointed chief mate of that ship for one voyage.'

"There was, over leaf, a P.S. to that effect in Mr. Apse's own handwriting, which I had overlooked. Charley was my big brother.

"I don't like very much to have two of my boys together in one ship,' father goes on, in his deliberate, solemn way. 'And I may tell you that I would not mind writing Mr. Apse a letter to that effect.'

"Dear old dad! He was a wonderful father. What would you have done? The mere notion of going back (and as an officer, too), to be worried and bothered, and kept on the jump night and day by that brute, made me feel sick. But she wasn't a ship you could afford to fight shy of. Besides, the most genuine excuse could not be given without mortally offending Apse & Sons. The firm, and I believe the whole family down to the old unmarried aunts in Lancashire, had grown desperately touchy about that accursed ship's character. This was the case for answering 'Ready now' from your very death-bed if you wished to die in their good graces. And that's precisely what I did answer -- by wire, to have it over and done with at once.

"The prospect of being shipmates with my big brother cheered me up considerably, though it made me a bit anxious, too. Ever since I remember myself as a little chap he had been very good to me, and I looked upon him as the finest fellow in the world. And so he was. No better officer ever walked the deck of a merchant ship. And that's a fact. He was a fine, strong, upstanding, sun-tanned, young fellow, with his brown hair curling a little, and an eye like a hawk. He was just splendid. We hadn't seen each other for many years, and even this time, though he had been in England three weeks already, he hadn't showed up at home yet, but had spent his spare time in Surrey somewhere making up to Maggie Colchester, old Captain Colchester's niece. Her father, a great friend of dad's, was in the sugar-broking business, and Charley made a sort of second home of their house. I wondered what my big brother would think of me. There was a sort of stern- ness about Charley's face which never left it, not even when he was larking in his rather wild fashion.

"He received me with a great shout of laughter. He seemed to think my joining as an officer the greatest joke in the world. There was a difference of ten years between us, and I suppose he remembered me best in pinafores. I was a kid of four when he first went to sea. It surprised me to find how boisterous he could be.

"'Now we shall see what you are made of,' he cried. And he held me off by the shoulders, and punched my ribs, and hustled me into his berth. 'Sit down, Ned. I am glad of the chance of having you with me. I'll put the finishing touch to you, my young officer, providing you're worth the trouble. And, first of all, get it well into your head that we are not going to let this brute kill anybody this voyage. We'll stop her racket.'

"I perceived he was in dead earnest about it. He talked grimly of the ship, and how we must be careful and never allow this ugly beast to catch us napping with any of her damned tricks.

"He gave me a regular lecture on special seamanship for the use of the Apse Family; then changing his tone, he began to talk at large, rattling off the wildest, funniest nonsense, till my sides ached with laughing. I could see very well he was a bit above himself with high spirits. It couldn't be because of my coming. Not to that extent. But, of course, I wouldn't have dreamt of asking what was the matter. I had a proper respect for my big brother, I can tell you. But it was all made plain enough a day or two afterwards, when I heard that Miss Maggie Colchester was coming for the voy- age. Uncle was giving her a sea-trip for the benefit of her health.

"I don't know what could have been wrong with her health. She had a beautiful colour, and a deuce of a lot of fair hair. She didn't care a rap for wind, or rain, or spray, or sun, or green seas, or anything. She was a blue-eyed, jolly girl of the very best sort, but the way she cheeked my big brother used to frighten me. I always expected it to end in an awful row. However, nothing decisive happened till after we had been in Sydney for a week. One day, in the men's dinner hour, Charley sticks his head into my cabin. I was stretched out on my back on the settee, smoking in peace.

"'Come ashore with me, Ned,' he says, in his curt way.

"I jumped up, of course, and away after him down the gangway and up George Street. He strode along like a giant, and I at his elbow, panting. It was con- foundedly hot. 'Where on earth are you rushing me to, Charley?' I made bold to ask.

"'Here,' he says.

"'Here' was a jeweller's shop. I couldn't imagine what he could want there. It seemed a sort of mad freak. He thrusts under my nose three rings, which looked very tiny on his big, brown palm, growling out --

"'For Maggie! Which?'

"I got a kind of scare at this. I couldn't make a sound, but I pointed at the one that sparkled white and blue. He put it in his waistcoat pocket, paid for it with a lot of sovereigns, and bolted out. When we got on board I was quite out of breath. 'Shake hands, old chap,' I gasped out. He gave me a thump on the back. 'Give what orders you like to the boatswain when the hands turn-to,' says he; 'I am off duty this afternoon.'

"Then he vanished from the deck for a while, but presently he came out of the cabin with Maggie, and these two went over the gangway publicly, before all hands, going for a walk together on that awful, blazing hot day, with clouds of dust flying about. They came back after a few hours looking very staid, but didn't seem to have the slightest idea where they had been. Anyway, that's the answer they both made to Mrs. Colchester's question at tea-time.

"And didn't she turn on Charley, with her voice like an old night cabman's! 'Rubbish. Don't know where you've been! Stuff and nonsense. You've walked the girl off her legs. Don't do it again.'

"It's surprising how meek Charley could be with that old woman. Only on one occasion he whispered to me, 'I'm jolly glad she isn't Maggie's aunt, except by marriage. That's no sort of relationship.' But I think he let Maggie have too much of her own way. She was hopping all over that ship in her yachting skirt and a red tam o' shanter like a bright bird on a dead black tree. The old salts used to grin to themselves when they saw her coming along, and offered to teach her knots or splices. I believe she liked the men, for Charley's sake, I suppose.

"As you may imagine, the fiendish propensities of that cursed ship were never spoken of on board. Not in the cabin, at any rate. Only once on the homeward passage Charley said, incautiously, something about bringing all her crew home this time. Captain Colchester began to look uncomfortable at once, and that silly, hard-bitten old woman flew out at Charley as though he had said something indecent. I was quite confounded myself; as to Maggie, she sat completely mystified, opening her blue eyes very wide. Of course, before she was a day older she wormed it all out of me. She was a very difficult person to lie to.

"'How awful,' she said, quite solemn. 'So many poor fellows. I am glad the voyage is nearly over. I won't have a moment's peace about Charley now.'

"I assured her Charley was all right. It took more than that ship knew to get over a seaman like Charley. And she agreed with me.

"Next day we got the tug off Dungeness; and when the tow-rope was fast Charley rubbed his hands and said to me in an undertone --

"'We've baffled her, Ned.'

'"Looks like it,' I said, with a grin at him. It was beautiful weather, and the sea as smooth as a millpond. We went up the river without a shadow of trouble except once, when off Hole Haven, the brute took a sudden sheer and nearly had a barge anchored just clear of the fairway. But I was aft, looking after the steer- ing, and she did not catch me napping that time. Charley came up on the poop, looking very concerned. 'Close shave,' says he.

"'Never mind, Charley,' I answered, cheerily. 'You've tamed her.'

"We were to tow right up to the dock. The river pilot boarded us below Gravesend, and the first words I heard him say were: 'You may just as well take your port anchor inboard at once, Mr. Mate.'

"This had been done when I went forward. I saw Maggie on the forecastle head enjoying the bustle and I begged her to go aft, but she took no notice of me, of course. Then Charley, who was very busy with the head gear, caught sight of her and shouted in his biggest voice: 'Get off the forecastle head, Maggie. You're in the way here.' For all answer she made a funny face at him, and I saw poor Charley turn away, hiding a smile. She was flushed with the excitement of getting home again, and her blue eyes seemed to snap electric sparks as she looked at the river. A collier brig had gone round just ahead of us, and our tug had to stop her engines in a hurry to avoid running into her.

"In a moment, as is usually the case, all the shipping in the reach seemed to get into a hopeless tangle. A schooner and a ketch got up a small collision all to themselves right in the middle of the river. It was exciting to watch, and, meantime, our tug remained stopped. Any other ship than that brute could have been coaxed to keep straight for a couple of minutes -- but not she! Her head fell off at once, and she began to drift down, taking her tug along with her. I noticed a cluster of coasters at anchor within a quarter of a mile of us, and I thought I had better speak to the pilot. 'If you let her get amongst that lot,' I said, quietly, 'she will grind some of them to bits before we get her out again.'

"'Don't I know her!' cries he, stamping his foot in a perfect fury. And he out with his whistle to make that bothered tug get the ship's head up again as quick as possible. He blew like mad, waving his arm to port, and presently we could see that the tug's engines had been set going ahead. Her paddles churned the water, but it was as if she had been trying to tow a rock -- she couldn't get an inch out of that ship. Again the pilot blew his whistle, and waved his arm to port. We could see the tug's paddles turning faster and faster away, broad on our bow.

"For a moment tug and ship hung motionless in a crowd of moving shipping, and then the terrific strain that evil, stony-hearted brute would always put on everything, tore the towing-chock clean out. The tow-rope surged over, snapping the iron stanchions of the head-rail one after another as if they had been sticks of sealing-wax. It was only then I noticed that in order to have a better view over our heads, Maggie had stepped upon the port anchor as it lay flat on the forecastle deck.

"It had been lowered properly into its hardwood beds, but there had been no time to take a turn with it. Anyway, it was quite secure as it was, for going into dock; but I could see directly that the tow-rope would sweep under the fluke in another second. My heart flew up right into my throat, but not before I had time to yell out: 'Jump clear of that anchor!'

"But I hadn't time to shriek out her name. I don't suppose she heard me at all. The first touch of the hawser against the fluke threw her down; she was up on her feet again quick as lightning, but she was up on the wrong side. I heard a horrid, scraping sound, and then that anchor, tipping over, rose up like something alive; its great, rough iron arm caught Maggie round the waist, seemed to clasp her close with a dreadful hug, and flung itself with her over and down in a terrific clang of iron, followed by heavy ringing blows that shook the ship from stem to stern -- because the ring stopper held!"

"How horrible!" I exclaimed.

"I used to dream for years afterwards of anchors catching hold of girls," said the man in tweeds, a little wildly. He shuddered. "With a most pitiful howl Charley was over after her almost on the instant. But, Lord! he didn't see as much as a gleam of her red tam o' shanter in the water. Nothing! nothing whatever! In a moment there were half-a-dozen boats around us, and he got pulled into one. I, with the boatswain and the carpenter, let go the other anchor in a hurry and brought the ship up somehow. The pilot had gone silly. He walked up and down the forecastle head wringing his hands and muttering to himself: 'Killing women, now! Killing women, now!' Not another word could you get out of him.

"Dusk fell, then a night black as pitch; and peering upon the river I heard a low, mournful hail, 'Ship, ahoy!' Two Gravesend watermen came alongside. They had a lantern in their wherry, and looked up the ship's side, holding on to the ladder without a word. I saw in the patch of light a lot of loose, fair hair down there."

He shuddered again.

"After the tide turned poor Maggie's body had floated clear of one of them big mooring buoys," he explained. "I crept aft, feeling half-dead, and managed to send a rocket up -- to let the other searchers know, on the river. And then I slunk away forward like a cur, and spent the night sitting on the heel of the bowsprit so as to be as far as possible out of Charley's way."

"Poor fellow!" I murmured.

"Yes. Poor fellow," he repeated, musingly. "That brute wouldn't let him -- not even him -- cheat her of her prey. But he made her fast in dock next morning. He did. We hadn't exchanged a word -- not a single look for that matter. I didn't want to look at him. When the last rope was fast he put his hands to his head and stood gazing down at his feet as if trying to remember something. The men waited on the main deck for the words that end the voyage. Perhaps that is what he was trying to remember. I spoke for him. 'That'll do, men.'

"I never saw a crew leave a ship so quietly. They sneaked over the rail one after another, taking care not to bang their sea chests too heavily. They looked our way, but not one had the stomach to come up and offer to shake hands with the mate as is usual.

"I followed him all over the empty ship to and fro, here and there, with no living soul about but the two of us, because the old ship-keeper had locked himself up in the galley -- both doors. Suddenly poor Charley mutters, in a crazy voice: 'I'm done here,' and strides down the gangway with me at his heels, up the dock, out at the gate, on towards Tower Hill. He used to take rooms with a decent old landlady in America Square, to be near his work.

"All at once he stops short, turns round, and comes back straight at me. 'Ned,' says he, I am going home.' I had the good luck to sight a four-wheeler and got him in just in time. His legs were beginning to give way. In our hall he fell down on a chair, and I'll never forget father's and mother's amazed, perfectly still faces as they stood over him. They couldn't understand what had happened to him till I blubbered out, 'Maggie got drowned, yesterday, in the river.'

"Mother let out a little cry. Father looks from him to me, and from me to him, as if comparing our faces -- for, upon my soul, Charley did not resemble himself at all. Nobody moved; and the poor fellow raises his big brown hands slowly to his throat, and with one single tug rips everything open -- collar, shirt, waistcoat -- a perfect wreck and ruin of a man. Father and I got him upstairs somehow, and mother pretty nearly killed her- self nursing him through a brain fever."

The man in tweeds nodded at me significantly.

"Ah! there was nothing that could be done with that brute. She had a devil in her."

"Where's your brother?" I asked, expecting to hear he was dead. But he was commanding a smart steamer on the China coast, and never came home now.

Jermyn fetched a heavy sigh, and the handkerchief being now sufficiently dry, put it up tenderly to his red and lamentable nose.

"She was a ravening beast," the man in tweeds started again. "Old Colchester put his foot down and resigned. And would you believe it? Apse & Sons wrote to ask whether he wouldn't reconsider his decision! Anything to save the good name of the Apse Family.' Old Colchester went to the office then and said that he would take charge again but only to sail her out into the North Sea and scuttle her there. He was nearly off his chump. He used to be darkish iron-grey, but his hair went snow-white in a fortnight. And Mr. Lucian Apse (they had known each other as young men) pretended not to notice it. Eh? Here's infatuation if you like! Here's pride for you!

"They jumped at the first man they could get to take her, for fear of the scandal of the Apse Family not being able to find a skipper. He was a festive soul, I believe, but he stuck to her grim and hard. Wilmot was his second mate. A harum-scarum fellow, and pretending to a great scorn for all the girls. The fact is he was really timid. But let only one of them do as much as lift her little finger in encouragement, and there was nothing that could hold the beggar. As apprentice, once, he deserted abroad after a petticoat, and would have gone to the dogs then, if his skipper hadn't taken the trouble to find him and lug him by the ears out of some house of perdition or other.

"It was said that one of the firm had been heard once to express a hope that this brute of a ship would get lost soon. I can hardly credit the tale, unless it might have been Mr. Alfred Apse, whom the family didn't think much of. They had him in the office, but he was considered a bad egg altogether, always flying off to race meetings and coming home drunk. You would have thought that a ship so full of deadly tricks would run herself ashore some day out of sheer cussedness. But not she! She was going to last for ever. She had a nose to keep off the bottom."

Jermyn made a grunt of approval.

"A ship after a pilot's own heart, eh?" jeered the man in tweeds. "Well, Wilmot managed it. He was the man for it, but even he, perhaps, couldn't have done the trick without the green-eyed governess, or nurse, or whatever she was to the children of Mr. and Mrs. Pamphilius.

"Those people were passengers in her from Port Adelaide to the Cape. Well, the ship went out and anchored outside for the day. The skipper -- hospitable soul -- had a lot of guests from town to a farewell lunch -- as usual with him. It was five in the evening before the last shore boat left the side, and the weather looked ugly and dark in the gulf. There was no reason for him to get under way. However, as he had told everybody he was going that day, he imagined it was proper to do so anyhow. But as he had no mind after all these festivities to tackle the straits in the dark, with a scant wind, he gave orders to keep the ship under lower topsails and foresail as close as she would lie, dodging along the land till the morning. Then he sought his virtuous couch. The mate was on deck, having his face washed very clean with hard rain squalls. Wilmot relieved him at midnight.

"The Apse Family had, as you observed, a house on her poop..."

"A big, ugly white thing, sticking up," Jermyn murmured, sadly, at the fire.

"That's it: a companion for the cabin stairs and a sort of chart-room combined. The rain drove in gusts on the sleepy Wilmot. The ship was then surging slowly to the southward, close hauled, with the coast within three miles or so to windward. There was nothing to look out for in that part of the gulf, and Wilmot went round to dodge the squalls under the lee of that chart-room, whose door on that side was open. The night was black, like a barrel of coal-tar. And then he heard a woman's voice whispering to him.

"That confounded green-eyed girl of the Pamphilius people had put the kids to bed a long time ago, of course, but it seems couldn't get to sleep herself. She heard eight bells struck, and the chief mate come below to turn in. She waited a bit, then got into her dressing- gown and stole across the empty saloon and up the stairs into the chart-room. She sat down on the settee near the open door to cool herself, I daresay.

"I suppose when she whispered to Wilmot it was as if somebody had struck a match in the fellow's brain. I don't know how it was they had got so very thick. I fancy he had met her ashore a few times before. I couldn't make it out, because, when telling the story, Wilmot would break off to swear something awful at every second word. We had met on the quay in Sydney, and he had an apron of sacking up to his chin, a big whip in his hand. A wagon-driver. Glad to do anything not to starve. That's what he had come down to.

"However, there he was, with his head inside the door, on the girl's shoulder as likely as not -- officer of the watch! The helmsman, on giving his evidence afterwards, said that he shouted several times that the binnacle lamp had gone out. It didn't matter to him, because his orders were to 'sail her close.' 'I thought it funny,' he said, 'that the ship should keep on falling off in squalls, but I luffed her up every time as close as I was able. It was so dark I couldn't see my hand before my face, and the rain came in bucketfuls on my head.'

"The truth was that at every squall the wind hauled aft a little, till gradually the ship came to be heading straight for the coast, without a single soul in her being aware of it. Wilmot himself confessed that he had not been near the standard compass for an hour. He might well have confessed! The first thing he knew was the man on the look-out shouting blue murder forward there.

"He tore his neck free, he says, and yelled back at him: 'What do you say?'

"'I think I hear breakers ahead, sir,' howled the man, and came rushing aft with the rest of the watch, in the 'awfullest blinding deluge that ever fell from the sky,' Wilmot says. For a second or so he was so scared and bewildered that he could not remember on which side of the gulf the ship was. He wasn't a good officer, but he was a seaman all the same. He pulled himself together in a second, and the right orders sprang to his lips without thinking. They were to hard up with the helm and shiver the main and mizzen-topsails.

"It seems that the sails actually fluttered. He couldn't see them, but he heard them rattling and bang- ing above his head. 'No use! She was too slow in going off,' he went on, his dirty face twitching, and the damn'd carter's whip shaking in his hand. 'She seemed to stick fast.' And then the flutter of the canvas above his head ceased. At this critical moment the wind hauled aft again with a gust, filling the sails and send- ing the ship with a great way upon the rocks on her lee bow. She had overreached herself in her last little game. Her time had come -- the hour, the man, the black night, the treacherous gust of wind -- the right woman to put an end to her. The brute deserved nothing better. Strange are the instruments of Providence. There's a sort of poetical justice --"

The man in tweeds looked hard at me.

"The first ledge she went over stripped the false keel off her. Rip! The skipper, rushing out of his berth, found a crazy woman, in a red flannel dressing-gown, flying round and round the cuddy, screeching like a cockatoo.

"The next bump knocked her clean under the cabin table. It also started the stern-post and carried away the rudder, and then that brute ran up a shelving, rocky shore, tearing her bottom out, till she stopped. short, and the foremast dropped over the bows like a gangway."

"Anybody lost?" I asked.

"No one, unless that fellow, Wilmot," answered the gentleman, unknown to Miss Blank, looking round for his cap. "And his case was worse than drowning for a man. Everybody got ashore all right. Gale didn't come on till next day, dead from the West, and broke up that brute in a surprisingly short time. It was as though she had been rotten at heart."... He changed his tone, "Rain left off? I must get my bike and rush home to dinner. I live in Herne Bay -- came out for a spin this morning."

He nodded at me in a friendly way, and went out with a swagger.

"Do you know who he is, Jermyn?" I asked.

The North Sea pilot shook his head, dismally. "Fancy losing a ship in that silly fashion! Oh, dear! oh dear!" he groaned in lugubrious tones, spreading his damp handkerchief again like a curtain before the glowing grate.

On going out I exchanged a glance and a smile (strictly proper) with the respectable Miss Blank, barmaid of the Three Crows.

[where-dreamers-go]

James Conrad x Fem!Reader (Soulmate AU) Part One

(A/N: I wanted to experiment with another soulmate alternative universe. Predominantly in James’ point of view. This has been (slowly) in the works for a long while. Again, I went back to this now in 2021 when this was typed from a notebook in 2019. I kind of forgot about this one…my bad. So this is for @girl-next-door-writes Bingo Challenge~! Yeah, I know I have a few other insert readers that I’m working on, but this one was basically finished and I can’t believe I forgot about it. Part One, Erica? Yeah, I know...we get there when we get there. Bingo Card: Soulmates Warnings: Brief and vague mentions of people not surviving on Skull Island. Word Count: 3,246 words )

A world with ancient creatures long forgotten and slowly being remembered was an intricate puzzle. There were believers, those who were neutral, and those who spit negativity at the notion of something against their beliefs.

A society and world where soulmates could found one another on their own was exciting for the hopeful. Bioluminescent glow of the skin acted as a compass with one’s soulmate in place of North. A part of the body closest to the direction of one’s soulmate would glow. It could be the tip of a nose, an extended elbow, or any small pinpoint glow unless one’s soulmate was closer. The more near to one’s soulmate, the larger the glowing area. 

✧ ✧ ✧

James’ skin never glowed more than the size of a small coin. He had traveled more than the average citizen. He had been a captain, Special Operations, but was a civilian once more as a hirable tracker. Yet agreeing to go aboard his last job changed everything. What he knew about the world and her creatures was altered. Skull Island was only a part of it all.

On top of being forced into Monarch’s containment and learning that there were other monsters out there around the world—his skin was glowing in large patches. It was distracting for himself and those with him. The others were getting quite interested and offering to help. As it had been glowing more noticeably since he and Mason were briefed on the ancient super species.

“I can handle it. Let’s stay on topic, shall we?” James asked, as he walked out of the concrete holding room.

“Are you sure? Because—,” the boy, Houston, swallowed his words at the quick glance from James. “Right.”

It was no secret that the two scientists, Houston Brooks and San Lin, found James’ glowing skin to be a big deal. Seeing someone’s skin glow about the size of their hand was nothing to ignore. Yet that was what James intended to do. There were larger situations to consider, especially as the two scientists took Mason and James to another area—finally—once they were on board.

“More of your skin is glowing,” said Mason, her voice hushed.

“I know.” James stated, but not as flatly as he intended to end the conversation.

“I wonder who it is,” Houston stated.

“Someone in Monarch definitely,” San added.

“Again, may we stay on topic?” James looked pointedly at each of his companions.

“Sorry.”

“Yes.”

He did not have a clear idea where they were being lead in the government building, but he did know it would lead to more information on the matters Monarch was involved in.

✧ ✧ ✧

Work had been left ignored, procrastinated for hours. Your eyes studying your own skin as its bioluminescence when you had walked through the compound and as you sat in your small office.

You were brought into Monarch almost a year ago with promises of knowledge and helping others. Your curiosity had sucked you in. It was a home, workplace, and life like no other. There were many surreal moments, definitely, considering ancient creatures not being just legends. Something a zoologist like yourself dove into researching.

You were happy. You had a purpose of helping others. The more you learned and researched, the more you felt actually fulfilled. Also, the more paperwork and notes you had pinned to the wall and filed onto your desk.

Seeing your skin’s soulmate glow broaden in size seemed more otherworldly than writing down a wingspan for Mothra.

Sighing, you rotated your forearm as the glow spread to your bicep.

This week just keeps getting more intense, you thought. First an expedition on Skull Island, now—

Knock knock

You quickly rolled down the sleeves of your shirt.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Houston walked in through the open doorway, “got a minute?”

“Sure.” You answered, standing from your seat.

Three more people walked into your office, one of which you recognized as San.

“May I help you?” You asked as you made an effort not to make any direct eye contact with the newcomers for at least a moment longer.

“Ah…” His eyes were on the man he had brought with him.

“Houston?”

He coughed before speaking and turning his attention elsewhere, “This is Mason Weaver—.”

“Hi.” Mason waved, a woman with dirty blonde hair.

“Hi,” you smiled and waved in return. The glow appearing out of your hand. You quickly tucked your hands behind your back. A glow then brightening your face.

“—And…this is James Conrad.”

“Hi.” The tall man swallowed dryly, his face and neck glowing warmly. Extremely obviously.

Oh, dear, you thought.

Clearly, out of everything that happened in the past week, he was not prepared for meeting his soulmate. Neither were you.

“Hi.” Your voice lacked the strength you were hoping to pull out of yourself for one second away from your work. Although it did not seem to hurt any of the introductions.

Quiet quickly took over your small office. Multiple pairs of eyes looked between you and the Mister Conrad. With your desk behind you, you were a cornered little mammal.

“So, what’s your job here?” Mason asked, breaking through the other’s silent stares.

“I’m a zoologist and here at Monarch I try to figure out how these species live—survive in their environments. Hoping to learn about their evolution and habits. Basically the animal kingdom.” You answered, your shoulders slacking some.

“She also has an interest in mythology, which is a great help to us,” Houston piped up.

“If I was more into cryptology it would make this a little more fun. If not give me a small head start when I first came here.”

“Speaking of head start…How much time do you think we have?” Mason asked.

“Time… Uh. Considering we survived this long as a species, how technology is progressing, and how your expedition unearthed some of the creatures….I would say that we still have time before the world—our society as a whole—knows them as facts. That much can be said.”

“That’s good news.”

“But that doesn’t mean all humans or even our technology will be prepared for their arrival or even living amongst them.”

“I’m not sure I want to live next door to one of them,” Houston pointed out.

“The creatures already live here. They were here first.” San added.

“We are the ones who must adapt.” James said, arms crossed over his chest.

Your breath came in quickly as your eyes reminded you of the man’s own bioluminescence. It covered all of his arms’ skin that was visible from his short-sleeve shirt. Mesmerizing you in thoughts that seemed too supernatural and much too distracting for the topic at hand.

“Are we not gonna talk about you two’s skins glowing?” Houston asked, jolting you out of your thoughts.

You straightened up hastily.

“Learning all we can about ancient creatures that could possibly destroy the human race and other creatures of the world comes first.” You said, though perhaps more to yourself. It wasn’t entirely a ‘no’.

“Agreed.” James stated, arms still crossed and glowing.

You had only taken a glimpse at him from the corner of your eye.

“Alright,” Houston drew out the word. “The world is top priority.”

“As it should,” San added. “And we should show Mason and James the other wing. Show them their rooms and where they can eat.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Mason said as she turned towards the door.

“Likewise,” you smiled.

“A pleasure,” James said shortly before leaving just before Mason.

Houston and San gave their short goodbyes as they left you to your work.

You plopped down onto your chair. Heart thumping loudly in your chest, you shuttered as you let out a breath of air.

“He’s here.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Mason and James were shown more of the facility on the way to the living area. A whole opposite wing inside of the secret facility where those in Monarch could stay. It was impressive. Their separate rooms would be the final stop on the tour.

James wondered if there would be no leaving that place. After time, would he want to?

I’m going to have to help people. I’m alright with that. If they need help—the world, I’ll do what I can. He thought as he counted off the doors they passed.

Houston and San lead the way.

“I can’t believe you didn’t stay and talk with her,” Mason declared from beside James. “Actually I can. Nevermind.”

“There’s no time.” James said.

“That’s a poor excuse for someone who just heard that we do have time. Years even.”

“But would it be worth it?” He countered.

“That’s up to you and her. You could also learn a lot more about this place.”

“I think I’ve heard enough about this place for one day.”

He knew that Mason was trying to bait him, but also to genuinely help. It wasn’t an everyday thing to hear about someone finding their soulmate; let alone see it happen.

It had to happen this way, didn’t it?

When night fell and James was finally alone, he was reminded of everything he had pushed to the back of his mind. Well fed and cleaned up, he laid in bed. He could not help but to stare at the glowing of his skin on his left side. It meant that you did not leave the facility either. Could you though? He reached out his left arm and watched as his entire hand glowed. Bright whites and warm yellow tones. Even when he was in the UK his skin never glowed more than the size of his thumb. His soulmate was there. Alive and healthy.

He sighed.

Normally he would not even think about his soulmate or even remember about a glowing patch of his skin because it was always out of sight or not enough to notice. Too many changes and discoveries. Then he met you. However brief of a meeting, James had felt something spark in his mind and his veins. Somewhere in him, he felt a connection. An interest that rooted itself inside of him where he could not see.

Closing his eyes, James settled with his thoughts.

She’s safe. That’s what’s important.

✧ ✧ ✧

James awakened from his half-sleep state from a knocking on the room’s only door. Rolling out of bed, he walked to see who needed to see him. It was not until his entire front was glowing brighter than yesterday did he know for certain who was behind the door. He flicked on the room light. Sleep faded from his mind completely.

He took a breath in.

Upon opening the door, he did not mind greeting who he saw.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you smiled all tense with your face all aglow.

A small smile curled his lips.

Guess it didn’t take her long to figure out which room I was in.

“I’m sorry if it’s too early.” You said, voice hushed.

“It’s fine. Truly.”

“I was just…wondering if you were okay.”

He could of laughed at the statement, but he chose against it.

“Considering I was lucky to return alive from an island full of monsters, was taken against my will to be brought here, was shown a presentation of other monsters on the planet, and still haven’t left this place—I would have to say that simply ‘okay’ doesn’t quite fit.”

Silence filled the hall.

James felt a twinge of guilt seeing the mixture of hurt on your face unfiltered. Your fingers intertwined tightly. He waited to hear what you would say.

You finally found words you wanted to share, “Monarch tends to be a bit dramatic and secretive, but I think that’s because it’s difficult for Monarch as a whole to find people they can trust.”

“They seem to trust you a great deal.”

“I’ve just gathered information. I’m a zoologist and I also want to make sense of what our world really is—but that doesn’t mean I’ll figure out everything we should even know about one of these creatures. I do my best. I don’t go out recruiting or anything. I haven’t even been out in the field in months.”

He saw more than he had yesterday how the subjects at hand were making you distressed. Seen from how your eyes looked panicked and you hid your hands in the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry for what you went through on the island. No one should have gotten hurt or…,” your voice trailed off.

“Each of us knew the risks—to a degree.”

“But you weren’t told the truth. It wasn’t fair.”

James leaned against the doorway. New thoughts coming forward in his mind.

“Were you available to go to Skull Island?”

“I—,” you cocked your head at him before your eyes glanced elsewhere. “Bill Randa told me to look over my research. Basically like writing a second draft to a paper. He told me that I was missing something. But…we didn’t have any new information coming in at the time.”

“Any chance he was wary of whether or not you would have told those he hired why we were really there?”

That would have been helpful. But Houston and San did not say anything either.

“I…I don’t know. I’ve never told a secret before. Not that any of this is really a secret. It’s more like myths and stories that people wouldn’t likely believe at first glance.”

He watched as you rubbed your arms still deep in thought.

James straightened up.

“Would you care to come in? I think we’ve stood out here long enough.” He smiled.

You smiled kindly in return.

“Would it be alright if we talked about something other than monsters?” You inquired.

“Sure. Did you have anything in mind?” He dearly hoped you were not going to ask about the War or that part of his past that interested most others.

No doubt she had heard something from Houston or San. Or she asked.

To his surprise and only partial relief, you held up a single glowing finger.

Right. That.

James’ chest rose and fell before he nodded in agreement. The man moved back inside the room given to him and held the door open as you gingerly entered.

As you passed him the side of your face glowed a bright white that his eyes seemed to follow without a second thought.

Seconds ticked by and you were both still standing around and not sure what to do as you both glowed, keeping a distance.

You rose your eyebrows, amused with the silence.

One of us has to say something, he thought.

What was there to say? It was not the most ideal of circumstances around.

“I…I must apologize for being so blunt when we met.” James said. “Everything has just been adding up and piling on more information. I didn’t want to put any of that emotion towards you. None of this was expected.”

“It’s alright. I mean, I always figured I’d miss my chance at meeting my—uh, you know…”

James nodded.

“Because of my work and usually being inside or one place. Not really moving around. Plus I figured I’d somehow walk right passed or something and not notice because I’m focused on other things.”

“Your work is important to you. That’s good.”

“Yeah,” you smiled a bit as you rested your hands on your hips. “Nothing like good work ethic in something your interested in. Though right now it’s quite the topics.”

Narrowing his eyes for a moment, James figured you were talking about more than just monsters. About him, perhaps?

We keep dancing around the soulmate subject. What do we even want? What do I want?

“It’d been nice to focus on other things.” You said.

What?

The corner of your lips quirked up as you looked at him.

“Things about what other people do or are interested in.” You clarified. You had read his expression well enough.

“I’m not sure what information I could offer.” James stated softly. “I was still a tracker for hire when Monarch offered me the job.” He had not entirely wanted to bring that up to you, however there was not much else. How personal did he want to be? This was the most time he had spent in your presence since meeting you the day before. To him, you did not seem the radical type like those he encountered while on Skull Island. Time would tell when he would open up more to you. Even the whole soulmate subject was a heavy topic.

You seemed determined enough to push through the conversation.

“Could…,” you pressed your lips together in a tight line. Eyes no longer meeting his. “This is probably extremely personal, but—if you wanted to…would you had been able to find me on your own?”

“The glowing would had made it exceedingly easier. Yes.”

You nodded, taking in his words.

“Would you?” He asked.

Eyes returning to his, your shoulders perked higher. You shook your head.

“Even working for Monarch, I couldn’t.” You said quietly. “I think it worked out though.” You shrugged, trying to defend your happiness of meeting James.

She really is happy to have met me. Finding me though…That’s what I figured, he thought. She can’t travel the world with her expertise without support. She couldn’t have been able to find me in Vietnam. Seeing her office, she probably would had been helpful on the trip. He froze at his thoughts. No. That would had been terrible.

“I know that we agreed not to speak about any more monsters, however,” he inhaled visibly, “I am glad that you were not on that expedition.”

“Why?” Your question was out of curiosity not pride.

“Your presence would had made it more complicated. None of it would have been of your own doing. Rather, uh, the stakes would have been higher. Greater.”

Just the start of his mind thinking about if you there bothered him. The creatures, the people, unknown environment they found themselves in, and the secrets that were held.

“Oh…that sort of makes sense.”

“Sorry,” he took a step closer to you. “It’s just there were guns being pointed to anyone who disagreed with the Lieutenant Colonel. And if you were there I’m sure he would have used you as leverage or had threatened you or worse. Our glowing skins would have made us easy targets.”

“Not to forget the wildlife as I heard briefly.”

“That too. I’m so glad you weren’t there and I say that with much respect to you.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

That didn’t sound forward, did it?

“At least this is a much more safer environment to get to know one another.” James said.

At the closer proximity he could see that even the tip of your nose was glowing. He had never seen someone’s entire face illuminated before. To know it was from his presence, gave him an emotion he could not immediately place.

“How long do you plan on staying?”

The question struck him deep. James had not even left Vietnam when the war was over and even in Monarch he was not sure where he would stay. Was there a place for him in Monarch? He was a tracker and they were discovering monsters who lived below the Earth’s surface. He could find work there, but could he find a life there?

“As long as I am needed.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

James Conrad Tags: @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#James Conrad #James Conrad x reader #James Conrad x fem!reader #James Conrad fanfiction #Kong: Skull Island fanfiction #where dreamers go #Captain James Conrad #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #soulmate au #James Conrad soulmate au #well this took me a few years to finally upload

[kippykasey]

Snowdrop Chpt 2

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3503

Series Summary: Bringing Zemo in to help fight against the rise of the new group of super soldiers brings in a new, yet familiar face into the mix.

Chapter Summary: The group make it to Madripoor for a meeting with Selby.

Chapter Warnings: None? Unless you classify episode level violence

A/N: Ahhhhh here we go! Chapter two is here and it includes my writing foe, action. I hope I did an alright job during the fight scenes. Big shout out to @darke-15 for the advice on action scenes.

Disclaimer: All languages that are not English were provided by Google translator with the translations following in bolden italics. Gifs used were found under the gif tab provided by tumblr.

Catch up on Snowdrop here: (1)

The sun was already gone and the dark city was aglow from neon and other lights. Zemo was dressed in black with his fur lined collar jacket, Bucky was in a modern version of his old Winter Soldier outfit, the new black and gold arm clear on display, Sam was dressed in a fairly expensive suit that matched the character he was meant to play, and (Y/N) was feeling the chill night air being in the least amount of clothing, a simple black dress that hugged her in all the right places but kept a knife strapped to her inner thigh hidden from sight with strappy heels to make her look the part. “When this is over I’m putting on pants.” She mumbled with her arms crossed in front of her to try and maintain warmth.

We have to fix this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp and poor (Y/N) looks like one of my girls.” Sam complained as he fussed over the suit given to him. “Only an American would assume a fashion forward black man looks like a pimp.” Zemo corrects him, not taking his attention off the destination they were walking to. “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. Besides, Snowdrop knows she is safer dressed like that.” The woman walking between Zemo and Bucky huffs the clicking of her shoes nearly echoing across the bridge. “Don’t call me that. Besides, people just see me and get nervous. But seeing me and then seeing him,” She gestures to Bucky who had a straight face, “in the same room...they will be on alert.” Sam looked over at them a bit confused.

“The man you are playing is a sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.” Zemo pulled attention back as he passed a phone to Sam to prove his point. “He even has a bad nickname,” Sam comments while taking the phone. “But hell he does look like me though.” The only woman in the group scrunches up her nose at the smell that was now present in the area. “Smell that?” Sam hums since she couldn’t see him nod, “Yeah, what is that? Acid?” A car was at the other end headlights facing them. “Madripoor.” It was a second before Zemo gave a warning, “No matter what happens. We have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error. The car was slowly turned as it prepared to receive its passengers. “Over there is High Town. Not a bad place if you want to visit, but Low Town’s the other way.” Zemo opened the front passenger side door to get in the car while Bucky opened the back offering a hand to help (Y/N) in first. Sam crossed to the other side of the car to get in, “Let me guess. We don’t have any friends in High Town.”

The doors closed just in time for thunder to roll through the sky. The female now in the middle of the back seat rolled her shoulders to release the tension. Her hand settled between her, resting just over the metal plates of Bucky’s while her other hand remained on her lap. A finger unconsciously running over the smooth metal. Blue eyes watched her fingers move over the metal so delicately. His eyes traveled up the hand and arm to her neck and finally he was peering at her profile out of the corner of his eye. She seemed anxious as she rubbed her fingers over his metal hand. With the smallest turn of his wrist he gently grabbed ahold of her hand rubbing the metal of his thumb over her knuckles. There was a small tick of a lift in the corner of her mouth from his action. The car was flanked by motorcycles on all sides, Bucky glanced out his window as Sam shifted to look. “The welcome party has arrived,” (Y/N) hummed, not moving to look.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

It was time. The car was parked and the four were walking through the streets of Low Town. Zemo leading the way, followed by Sam who kept a secure hold around (Y/N)’s waist (he wasn’t just using it to play the part but her being close was partly a comfort plus he was making sure she didn’t get caught in any of the grating with her heels), and broadening Bucky stood tall as he constantly scanned the crowds. “Here.” Zemo said over his shoulder walking into a bar. Heads turned upon their entry. Zemo asked if Bucky, although referring to him as the Winter Soldier, will comply. “Is that the Winter Soldier? And Snowdrop?” The question was whispered by someone in the crowd as they passed. Sam gave the girl a slight squeeze on the hip where his hand had settled naturally. They made it to the bar, Sam placing the female of the group between him and Zemo while Bucky leaned against the bar on the other side of Zemo.

“Hello, gentlemen, and lady. Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.” The bartender greeted them. Zemo nodded his head towards Sam as he answered for him, “His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby. The former lieutenant caught the glances from other bar patrons and even someone shifting away from them. Her eyes bat innocently when someone catches her making her turn her attention back towards Sam with a smile. “Usual?” The bartender asks with a nod of his head towards Sam who instead of speaking nods in agreement. Bucky turned his head away from the bar as he looked out over the crowd. “I can’t watch this part.” She whispered under her breath. Sam glanced at her curiously as she turned her body away from the bartender who set down a dead snake and began cutting into it. Zemo sighed like he was proud of something and the nurse had to control her facial expression so she didn’t convey any disgust.

“Smiling Tiger, your favorite.” Zemo states pulling the man’s attention away from the snake. Bucky glanced at the snake before glancing away, his eyes glancing at the woman who had her eyes partly closed but he could see them moving, sweeping over the crowd. Zemo was given a shot alongside the specialty shot that Smiling Tiger would drink. “Cheers Conrad.” The Baron clinked their shots together and watched Sam’s pinched face. Zemo downed his shot and Bucky gave a nod of his head when Sam seemed to have downed the shot given to him. Spotting a few members coming their way (Y/N) tapped her heel on the floor catching Bucky and Sam’s attention. Zemo didn’t turn until a man was right behind him.

“Got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.” A bald man said standing a foot away from Zemo. Bucky’s eyes were locked on him, Sam’s was watching closely, and (Y/N) shifted on her feet as she eyed the men behind the bald one. “I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me..” Zemo gave a pointed look towards Bucky. The bald man gave a look at the ‘Winter Soldier’ who was watching him with a hard stare. “New hair cut?” He asked as if to get a response but all he heard was the small hiss-like noise that came from ‘Snowdrop’. The bald man’s head turned to glance at the woman before Zemo brought his attention back to him. “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The men backed off and left. Once they were cone Bucky spoke in a low tone void of any emotion, “Power Broker? Really?” Sam leaned closer to hear their conversation. “Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.” Sam, hiding his actions by pretending to talk to the girl next to him, asked, “Do you know him?” Zemo shook his head. “Only by reputation.” The German turned around to face the crowd, “In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner.” The sound of (Y/N)’s heel clicking on the floor brought an end to their conversation. “Zimniy Soldat,” Zemo said, turning to Bucky who looked right at him, “ataka.” Winter Soldier, attack.

A hand slapped down on the baron’s shoulder closest to Bucky, who sprung into action using the metal arm to grab the man’s hand in a grip that probably broke his hand. Bucky walked forward as the man walked backwards. Zemo simply looked over his shoulder, Sam taking a small step forward concerned for his friend. Cracking could be heard as Bucky hit the man’s shoulder, most likely dislocating it. In a flash he let go of the man’s hand holding his arm out to knock the guy off his feet onto the floor. (Y/N)’s eyes scanned over the forming crowd, she didn’t miss the smirk-like grin on Zemo’s face but she ignored it for the more serious business.

Another man charged at Bucky from in front of him, trying to aim a punch to the ‘soldat’. Sam didn’t even notice it until he saw Bucky’s body shift, pushing his new fight back but there behind the dark haired man was the woman he thought was at his side. Her arm swinging to hit a man in the nose, a sickening crunch was mad on contact. She didn’t step back though. While Bucky was focused on the man in front of him, she was effortlessly moving around him, watching and covering his blind spots. Bucky leaned back to lift his leg up and kick the man away, she leaned forward with only the smallest brush of their shoulders. Bucky kicked back and she moved away, it was like a rhythmic dance but with grunts of pain. Zemo pushed another man into the mix, (Y/N) heard the sound of metal on metal and her eyes flashed to the metal arm attached to Bucky and then to the man wearing a chain falling to the floor from a jaw breaking punch from the metal fist. Another man tried sneaking into the fight from behind, the woman, tucked under the outstretched metal arm, around the solid body in time to swing her leg and hit a man behind the knee. Grabbing the back of his head she brought it down while bringing a knee up into his face. Stepping back she got sucker punched in the face. Bucky moved past her grabbing the hat wearing man by the neck and slamming him onto the bar, holding him there.

The sound of a gun cocking was clear in (Y/N)’s ears and it was followed by several others. She glanced around the bar seeing quite a few being drawn. Sam’s hand grab’s Bucky’s arm to stop him but his wrist was grabbed rather tightly by the woman who was now back at his side. “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” She hissed out in a low voice playing it off like a warning. “Molodets, soldat ... podsnezhnik.” Well done, soldier...snowdrop. Zemo’s Russian made Bucky’s hold loosen but he didn’t move. “Selby will see you now,” the bartender informed the four of them. The man groaned as Bucky slowly pulled back, his eyes looked far off and haunted. “Thank you.” Zemo gave a small nod to the bartender. “You good?” Sam asked his friend as (Y/N) reached over the bar to grab a napkin to wipe the blood from her lip. Bucky never replied but he exhaled sharply, before turning to follow Zemo. Sam looked at the woman who shrugged her shoulders. “He’ll be better.” She offered hoping it would make him feel better.

With Zemo leading the group they walked through the back, passed a room filled with what looked to be money. Still on edge from the bar fight, (Y/N)’s eyes were constantly moving, unlike Bucky who usually had a locked target, she was trained to have constant vigilance. That’s how she noticed that at any given time there would be four guns in a room. “You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” Selby began to speak to Zemo upon entry to her back room without so much as turning her head. “Not a demand, an offer.” Zemo corrects as he takes a seat across from her. Bucky stood back towards the wall on one side of Zemo while (Y/N) did the same, her eyes taking a look through the room to make a mental inventory of what they were dealing with if things went south.

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby looked from Zemo to both the ex assassin and the nurse behind him. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison.” The elder woman in the room raised her eyebrows at the knowledge, “How did you escape?” The baron just shrugged his shoulders slightly and gestured to himself then to Selby, “People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.” Without turning her head she points a finger over towards Sam, “You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” At her finished statement she turned her head towards Sam, she seemed almost skeptical. Sam simply nodded his head in response. Selby let out a creepy purr as she pawed her fingers in his direction. From the corner of her eye she could see the slight glimmer of amusement pass through the blue eyes of the stiff man next to her.

A smile now on her face Selby turned back towards Zemo. “What’s the offer?” “Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum,” Zemo stood and walked over towards Bucky, “And I give you him.” (Y/N)’s made a sound of protest from where she stood. “And of course wherever he goes Snowdrop follows. Plus the code words to control him, of course.” Zemo walked around the still man, presenting him like a prize, stroking his jaw, “He will do anything you want and as long as you have him she will be obedient as well.” Zemo glanced over towards the nurse whose eyes were locked onto Bucky’s form.

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right.” Selby spoke with a smile as Zemo moved back to his seat. “The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or..” She glanced towards the ‘asset’ “condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but things didn’t go as planned.” The only other female in the room tucked her arms behind her back to hide her clenching and unclenching fists. That stupid serum caused so much damage. “Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo asked curiously. “Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron.” Selby stood for the first time since they entered the room. “And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby walked past Sam towards Zemo. Just as she passed a loud vibrating noise came from Sam’s inner jacket pocket, his phone. Bucky glanced over at her as he heard her heel click. From working together he knew she was already seeing this turn into a fight.

The second vibration made Bucky’s head turn towards the man across from them, a hard stare from both ex HYDRA members and Zemo’s internal cursing that Sam hadn’t just turned his phone off. “Answer it. On speaker.” Selby ordered, pointing to one of her men making him step forward. Sam looked back at him, noticing the gun in his hands. His eyes looked back at the woman they were dealing with. It was his sister on the phone and he really didn’t want to bring her into this nor did he want this to blow their cover. “Bud' gotov, zima,” (Y/N) whispered soft enough that no one but Bucky would hear. Be ready, Winter. She heard a low hum in response from him as they both watched as Sam answered the phone with a firm ‘hello’.

“Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It’s been driving me nuts” A female’s reply said through the phone speakers. For a moment there was hope he could play if off. “What situation exactly are you talkin’ about?” Sam’s eyes were still on Selby as she now circled the former Winter Soldier. “‘Are you high? You know what situation, it’s the only situation me and you have.” (Y/N)’s eyes were following Selby also. “Don’t touch.” She warned softly, earning a playful smile from the older woman. “What situation, Sarah? Say it.”

“The damn boat. And watch your tone. Okay? I let you slide at the bank.” Sam should have ended the phone call by now. Not to mention stating a name could be used against him. He would need to learn a few things. The over dramatic reply made Snowdrop's hand twitch as she wanted to face palm at him. She glanced at the soldier next to her with an expression of ‘Is he for real?’. Of course all she received in return was a small twitch at the corner of his mouth that would form into a ghost of a smile given different circumstances. With Sarah’s response the younger looking woman clicked her tongue and made a small gesture to Sam to end the call.

The call didn’t end in time before Sarah gave away Sam’s true identity. Selby gave the order for the four to be killed. Before the order could be followed through a window shattered as a bullet pierced through hitting Selby. Sam acted quickly fighting the man next to him for the gun in his hands. A shot was fired at Bucky but it hit the metal arm, Bucky grabbed the end of the gun pushing the machine up and back until he was able to hit the original holder in the side of the head with it. (Y/N) drew her knife while covering Zemo’s back as they moved towards an exit. Bucky, still holding the gun he took, leaned slightly behind a wall ready to fire. “They’re gonna pin this on us.” Sam comments breathing heavily. “We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.”

A ping sounded in rounds all around. “Yeah. Well I bet that’s the bounty being placed on our head.” The nurse scoffed as she tucked the knife into Bucky’s pocket. At least they wouldn’t be completely defenseless. They all quickly walked through the streets trying to escape. An exotic dancer in a window motioned a gun shooting at them. Then suddenly lights went out, the town turned nearly silent before shots rang out through the air. “Damn it.” (Y/N) growled as she grabbed the bottom hem of her dress and gave a tug ripping the fabric giving her more mobility as they began to run from their shooters.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yelled as he struggled to run in the shoes given to him for the outfit. “Speak for yourself birdbrain!” The female next to him called back from next to him, one of her heels had just broken off in their stumbled run leaving. “We have company.” She called out as motorcycles turned the corner. Turning a corner, tree shots broke through the air each hitting someone after them. (Y/N) stumbled as she stopped running, taking the moment of pause to kick off not just the broken heel but the other one as well. “Stupid shoes.”

“You seem to have a guardian angel.” Zemo comments.

A figure appears a few yards away, a hood covering their face from view. “Or someone who really wants that bounty,” (Y/N) muttered, tense from the fighting. She had clearly noticed her weaknesses from being out of practice and it made her uneasy. Especially now with someone holding a gun just a few short yards away. The two ex HYDRA partners shifted just slightly, Bucky was in front with his metal hand clasped shut ready to raise it to block any fired bullets while (Y/N) fell in perfectly in the right side just behind him where she had been trained to cover his ‘weaker’ side.

“Well this is too perfect.” A female voice came from the hooded figure. Zemo turned around, The female sounding figure, while pointing the guy towards Zemo, reached up and pulled down the hood. The face revealed was familiar, at least to most of the group. “Drop it, Zemo.” Zemo set down the gun he had in hand while Bucky stepped forward looking confused. “Sharon?”

#Snowdrop #bucky x f!reader #Bucky x reader #fatws fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n

[literatehiss]

Trust Fall - Blood & Family

cw: Physical Violence & Injury The Lukas’s are upset with Peter over the failure of his ritual, Simon and Elias are displeased with their reaction. Read on AO3 here That fucking Archivist.

Peter coughed, wincing at the pain in his ribs and the blood that bubbled up between his lips.

Damn Eye bastards could never leave well enough alone could they? His ritual could have worked, it should have worked. All it took was one bitter old woman to ruin it.

It had cost so much money.

It was by no means enough to really disrupt the families finances, but it was enough for them to notice, to be irritated. If he bothered to do the maths it would have only really been a few years worth of his allowance. It didn’t matter. He had wasted all that money and they were angry.

He was always a disappointment, they had hoped he would be a good choice for the head of the family when he was young, the powers of their patron had come so naturally to him, but he just wasn’t quite good enough. A few scattered friendships, his relationship with James or Elias as he was now calling himself, a too cheery disposition. It all weighed on him as proof that he was useless, just like his uncle had said, over and over again as the men he had hired took their time making sure he was ‘properly regretful’ for what had happened.

Peter was lucky really. They didn’t really care. He had received his punishment and everyone would be back to ignoring him as per usual by the end of the week. If he lasted that long. Well, ok, now he knew he was being morbid, he had survived worse after all.

He was aware that he was leaving smears of blood on the walls of the apartment hallway as he stumbled and dragged himself to the flat he sometimes shared with Elias. His on-again off-again husband wouldn’t be at home, it was the middle of the work day after all and Peter had dragged the fog of the Lonely around himself like a thick blanket, enough to keep himself from Elias’s ever present gaze. His fingers were numb with cold and blood loss as he fumbled with his keys.

The apartment was cold, sterile. It wasn’t due to any real aesthetic reason, they were both simply not at home enough to both making any personal touches. A spark of hot pain lanced up his side and he fell into the wall, his teeth gritting as he dragged himself pitifully to the large black sofa that sat in the living room.

He had never been so glad Elias had convinced him not to go with the white sofa, they would never have got the blood stains out of it.

He slumped onto the leather with a huff as the impact winded him. Peter closed his eyes to block out the sunlight streaming in through the huge windows that took up the entirety of the eastern wall of the apartment. Exhaustion hit him quickly after that and he drifted off to sleep, arm still clutched around his chest protectively, unaware of the being stood at the window.

Half-way across London, Elias Bouchard received a phone call.

“Why is Peter lying half dead in your apartment Elias?” He couldn’t be sure whether it was the words or the fact that Simon Fairchild sounded so serious, that made his blood chill.

“What?!”

“Oh so it wasn’t you. Thank goodness, I was thinking of having to do something quite unfortunate.” The phone clicked off abruptly.

“Wait. What?”

Simon really wished he had bothered to get a key for Peter’s new flat, he had always had one for all his other places, just made it easier, and these weren’t the sort of windows you could just keep cracked open ‘just in case’. But Elias ‘liked his privacy’ which was the funniest joke the other man had ever made as far as Simon was concerned. Multiple lifetimes with varying interests had lead him to have at least a passing knowledge of how to break open locks but it still took him far to long to get the door open. He could barely see Peter through the fog the other man had summoned around himself, but he could see the blood pooling on the couch and dripping slowly onto the floor. The bright red a shock against the monochrome of the apartment.

Simon waded through the mist, placing a nervous pair of fingers to Peter's pulse. Alive, if weak. His presence probably wasn't helping matters, the Forsaken could heal Peter far faster than any vague attempt on his part to give him medical attention could ever provide. He couldn't just leave him though. Couldn’t just abandon the young man he had seen grow from a scared little child to a depressed and irritable teenager to a proud and confident adult that had enough power to be able to attempt his own ritual, even if it had been disrupted and failed so spectacularly.

Simon had always been so very proud of him.

He levered Peter up to slip his coat off him, throwing it in the sink with water and salt, might as well try and stop the blood staining the thing, god knows how fond Peter was of that coat. Blood had clotted and dried into his shirt and jumper and Simon ended up rummaging through the practically unused kitchen for scissors to cut them off him. Peter winced and shifted as he tried to gently pull the fabric away from his wounds.

Wiping away the blood proved to be a trial all of its own, immediately flowing again each time he managed to wash it away. A palm to his lad’s forehead proved him to be burning up, by which he was starting to reach the same warmth as someone who hadn’t accepted the Forsaken into their heart, which was a startling difference in temperature. He kept the floor to ceiling windows open and made a stiff breeze flow into the room. Far too cold for the average person but it should keep Peter at just the right level of corpse-like cold. He felt the skin under his fingers suddenly shift as Peter’s ribs snapped back into place. A disconcerting sensation but one that Simon was thankful for, knowing it meant that Peter was healing. The fog was starting to fade, the most life-threatening of the injuries having fixed themselves.

He knew the Lukas’s would be upset with Peter but this was a bit much surely? He had never wished so fervently that he had tried to persuade Peter over to the beautiful Vast when he was younger, before it became too late. He couldn’t imagine hurting any of his own protege’s, not like this, not even if they had truly disappointed him. He was just about to consider dragging Peter into a cold bath when the front door of the apartment violently slammed open, crashing against the wall with an almighty bang. A panting and sweating Elias stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, eyes wide in alarm.

“What happened?”

Elias was panicking. He really wasn’t expecting to get a call from Simon on a Wednesday afternoon accusing him of attacking Peter. Apart from the mild hilarity of the thought of him being able to take down a man double his size and weight, he was also alarmed that he hadn’t noticed anything. He rushed out of his office, flying down the steps towards the lobby of the Institute. A body slammed into his own, the form of his Archivist standing in front of him, faux concern and sharp interest glittering in her eyes as she stopped him.

“Elias you seem to be in quite the hurry. Is there a problem?”

He pushed forward and grabbed her shirt

“Gertrude if I find this was you I will kill you myself. I didn’t do anything about you destroying his ritual but this is just unnecessary.” She frowned and he immediately was shown that she wasn’t the cause of Peter’s injuries. He pushed her to the side, her own surprise the only reason he was capable of doing such a thing. Elias stormed past, ignoring the calls of Gertrude and Rosie behind him.

London was a miserable place to travel through if you were trying to get anywhere in a hurry. He had a car but the thought of using it to get home in any sort of reasonable time at this hour was laughable in this traffic so he pushed his way to the nearest tube station, something he normally only did when his car broke down or he was particularly hungry. There was nothing like being packed in with so many people for sucking up all their trauma.

Right now all the people were getting on his very last nerve.

His jacket got caught on the door of the tube as he ran out and rather than stop he just pulled and pulled until the fabric ripped. Slinging it over his arm, he ran towards his rarely used flat, finding the door already unlocked he slammed it open.

Fog curled around his feet, emanating from the figuring lying on the couch and staining it with his blood. Simon was sat next to him, a handful of fabric pressed against a wound on Peter’s side.

“How is he? What happened?”

“I have no idea to be honest Elias. I thought it might be Gertrude but we both know he wouldn’t be alive if it was her”

“No it wasn’t her. I think it was the Lukas’s, probably Nathaniel organised it.”

“Oh dear. Yes I thought as much.” Simon said with an exasperated sigh that said a lot for how long he had been allied with the Lukas’s.

Elias reached for the Eye to tell him how Peter was doing but it just pushed back against him, angry of him using his powers to help someone rather than just watching, observing.

It took two days for Peter to wake up. the Forsaken protesting against their intrusive presence. Elias took time off work for the first time in a decade to watch over him. When his cold blue eyes eventually pried themselves open, it was to see Simon sat on the floor next to him, playing with something on his phone while he could hear Elias complaining down a phone to some poor employee.

“S’mon?” he mumbled, the fog of the Lonely already trying to whisk him away, misty tendrils wrapping around him.

“I’m here lad, don’t worry.”

“Hurts”

“I bet. Nathaniel? Conrad?” A shrug.

“Th’ watched. All of ‘em. Hired people.”

“Didn’t even have the balls to it themselves I see.” This was spat angrily from over his shoulder by Elias. A familiar ringed hand came over the back of the sofa and stroked fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and rested in the company of his two favourite people. Not that he would ever tell Elias that, the man’s ego didn’t need the boost, he would get simply unbearable. He listened to their hushed talking before slipping back to sleep.

The Lukas’s never knew that anyone found out what they did to Peter. They never linked the sinking of so many of their ships or the dropping of so many of their investments to that day. When a cousin that was brought before Court suddenly found a rush of evidence against him, well he should have been more careful. It wasn’t as if their longest allies would turn on them like that. They weren’t the type to keep in contact so if the hired men they had used went missing? Well that was none of their business. What happened to those men? Well Elias and Simon would never say, but the only one who was ever found was curled up crying at the top of Everest with his eyes clawed out. Peter stood at the stern of the Tundra, smiling as he watched one of the Fairchild’s ships pass his own as he pressed a kiss to his newest wedding ring.

#Peter Lukas #Simon Fairchild #Elias Bouchard #LonelyEyes #NaNo 2020

[companionjones]

You Just Wanted A Nap

Requested by: @theradkid​

Request: Hey, if you are accepting requests- could you write an imagine with Conrad Hawkins x reader? Maybe something about the reader being a total badass and they work at the same hospital? xo

Pairing: Conrad Hawkins x Reader

Fandom: The Resident (FOX)

Warnings: Extreme violence, hospital shooting, dead body, blood

*******

    “Are they still going?” Conrad wondered as he came in for his morning shift at Chastain.

    Devon nodded with a look of amused appreciation that mirrored the resident. “They’ve been non-stop since last night.”

    “Jeez,” Hawkins chuckled, “You know where they are now?”

    Pravesh answered, “They’re just finishing up in OR2.”

    Conrad smiled, “Thanks,” and headed off to find you.

    “Whatever it is, I’m not available,” you notified your boyfriend as you were washing your hands and he came into view. “I just finished a triple shift. I’m dead on my feet. I’m going to take a nap.”

    Again, the resident chuckled. “I know, I’m not here to ask you to do anything...except maybe this--” He pulled you in by the hips and kissed you.

    Your hand went up to circle around his neck, and Conrad brought you closer. The kiss ended some odd moments later. Not that either of you could tell. Both of you had gotten lost in the embrace.

    Once the two of you parted, you sighed, “Alright, unless you want to carry my unconscious body to the nearest bed, I think it’s time for me to go.”

    “Who says I wouldn’t be up for carrying you?” Hawkins wondered cheekily.

    “Me and my professionalism,” you responded with some laughter.

    Conrad gave you one last kiss, and he let you out of his arms.

    The on-call room you found was empty and dark enough for you. You would’ve gone to the apartment you shared with Conrad if you weren’t so tired. You fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

    “Hhhgghh...Why am I being paged now? Haven’t you people had enough of me?” you mumbled to yourself as you blindly reached for your pager.

    Your whole demeanor changed once you saw the code on the screen. Suddenly, you were wide awake. The code meant that there was an active shooter in the building.

    A million thoughts raced though you head. Was Conrad okay? Were your patients okay? Were your friends okay? Protocol told you to secure yourself in whatever room you were currently in, but when you went to block the door, gunshots sounded from the other side of it. You finished your task, backed up, and hid yourself.

    Screams and violence sounded for what seemed like a very long time to you. Shakily, you crawled to the door so you could look through the small crack under it. Three people were in your line of sight. You couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead. One of them moved. She was begging a man (you could only see his feet) to spare her. He shot her in the head.

    The man walked toward your door. You held your breath. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to the room. The mystery murderer just continued down the hallway.

    As soon as his footsteps faded from your hearing, you went to work. You opened the door and raced to the injured. Only the woman that you witnessed being shot was dead. You did your best to focus on your job. Once everyone else was stable and hidden, you got really dizzy. You knew it was the adrenaline in you going no where. Taking a deep breath, you settled on what you needed to do. You followed the shooter’s path so you could “clean up” after him and hopefully save some lives.

    Meanwhile, Conrad was locked in a room with one of his patients, as per protocol. You occupied most of his thoughts. Poor Conrad had no idea where you were or if you were okay.

    He was used to what was happening because he had been in Afghanistan. You, on the other hand, had never seen any of what was going before. He could only hope that you were somewhere safe.

    Suddenly, gunshots flew though the air on the other side of Conrad’s door. Conrad immediately moved to comfort his patient.

    “I know why you’re doing this!”

    Conrad froze at the sound of your voice on the other side of his room’s door.

    “I know why you’re doing this,” you repeated with your hands up in surrender. “Can we talk about it?”

    The killer shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. She’s dead. You idiot doctors killed her!”

    “That’s awful. You must be furious.”

    He nodded, “I am. I loved Lyla more than anything in this world. And you took her from me.”

    “Okay, listen. I understand you’re in pain, but you have to remember...only a few of the doctors in this hospital worked on Lyla. I wan’t one of them, and neither were any of these doctors in this area right now. I can take you to--”

    The shooter angrily interrupted you, “No, no! Everyone is responsible. Anyone could have saved her, and nobody did! You’re all responsible!”

    Conrad couldn’t breathe. Hearing you talking to a confused and devastated man with a gun in his hand was killing Conrad. He needed to be out there with you, but Conrad was terrified that stepping out there would set the shooter off and get you hurt.

    However, the shooter was getting more agitated. Conrad felt that it was becoming true that you would get hurt no matter what. He stepped out of the patient’s room. “Don’t shoot! Don’t hurt them!”

    Conrad entering the situation scared the gun man. A shot rang out, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It was headed toward Conrad.

    “No!” you screamed, and charged at the shooter.

    Everything happened so fast after that. The next thing Conrad remembered was being swarmed by a bunch of doctors. He sat up. “I’m fine. I’m fine! Where are they?”

    Devon, who was luckily present, answered, “Y/n’s over there. They’re not hurt. Unlike you! Your arm was just shot! Conrad!” The intern yelled after the resident when Conrad got up to go see you.

    When your own group of doctors parted, Conrad saw you, bloody and in shock, clutching a bloody scalpel. The dead shooter was laying some distance away with several stab wounds in his torso.

    “Hey,” Conrad greeted softly as he knelt down next to you.

    “Hey,” you responded, deep in shock. “Are you okay?” You gazed at his bandaged arm in extreme concern.

    Dr. Hawkins shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. How about we focus on your breathing?”

    “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

    For a few moments, it was just you and Conrad. He leaned his forehead on yours. Your breathing didn’t slow down right away. In fact, it sped up. You were finally processing what had happened. But Conrad was there with you. He held your hand and kept you close. It took some time, but you calmed down.

    “Excuse me, Doctor.” An emergency tech placed his hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “But we need to take Dr. L/n--”

    “I know,” Conrad cut off, but it wasn’t malicious. He kissed your knuckle.��“I’ll see you in a few hours, okay? Then maybe we can finally take that nap.”

    The joke pulled a small smile from you. “I love you.”

    “I love you, too.” Conrad kissed you on the cheek and he disappeared into the crowd of doctors.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I also would love a comment if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics on The Resident over on my page. You should check it out. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I take requests for one-shots, drabbles, multi-chapters, headcannons and preferences. No smut, please. I write for a variety of fandoms. If you’re wondering if I write for a specific fandom, please ask me. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you.<3

#the resident #the resident fox #conrad hawkins #conrad hawkins x reader #the resident x reader #the resident fox x reader #dr conrad hawkins #dr conrad hawkins x reader #the resident conrad hawkins #matt czuchry #you just wanted a nap

[bittybattybunny]

☕that one silly ay were ru is a monster under the bed? If no then wave breaker? or any other :3

I think I posted all i had for that au and I don't have wave breaker typed up, its actually in a notebook I need to transcribe over eve;; *has been writing in their notebooks at work and being lazy about typing*

*looks around* uhhh hrm. Enjoy this one of “Lost Nightingale” it’s all I have typed for it so far (as a treat since I didn't have what you actually wanted). Basically it’s a non magic based one where Eclipse is an ex-idol who had an injury to her neck and Ru is a fan who’s younger sister is in the hospital!

“No no no!!” he panicked as the cd fell from the case and began to roll down the street. He chased after it as he saw someone bending to grab it, “Ah! That---” he gasped when he tripped on his shoelace and went toppling into her.

“Ow…” he winced as he moved to get up. He looked down at the poor girl he’d accidentally tackled as she stared up at him with large black and blue eyes. He gulped as she pushed up on his chest. People began to gather and murmur.

“Y-You’re causing a scene.” her voice was raspy and quiet. If he hadn’t been so close he may not have heard her. 

He blinked and gasped, scrambling to stand up, “S-Sorry!” he held a hand to help her up. She dusted her violet scarf off and smoothed her skirt. She looked at the cd with a frown.

“It’s all scratched. Sorry.” she held it to him as he looked at it with a big sigh.

“Damnit… It was so hard to even find this…” he hung his head sadly, he bit his knuckles he stared at the unreadable disc. He furrowed his brow as he grumbled.

“Was it important?” she asked seeing his face. “I know an old record store. May have it. What CD is it?” she coughed and pulled a bottle of water out, “sorry talking is rough on my throat.” she apologized.

“It’s a Nightingale ---” she spurt the water and coughed making him gasp, “A-Are you okay?”

She wiped the water from her chin, “F-Fine. Caught off guard. You don’t hear that name often.”

“Oh well..” he turned red, “I really liked her when she came out and I listened to her a lot but I wore out my CD and my sister wanted to listen to her but it’s hard to find them.” he scratched his cheek sheepishly, “like all her music is offline and her music is hard to find in store.” he sighed, “that CD took me forever to locate. I just wanted something that could help harriet in the hospital...”

She sighed, “I know where you can get one. If it’s that important.” she took his hand and began to walk, “Nightingale pulled her music because it’s painful.” her hand pulled on her scarf as she led him down the street towards the subway, “you’re lucky I was heading to Dead Bird already.”

‘Oh um!!” he blinekd confused as she shoved him onto the train and swiped her trian pass. He held his bag confused as she stood by the door and fumbled with hsi scarf.

“They should have a box of them. What album was it?” she asked as the train went along the tracks. She chewed her nail.

“It’s the live album from her last concert.”

“They have those for sure. A box.” she sighed as she pulled him off the next stop and lead him towards the back allies and down some steps. He stared at the very much not looking like it was a shop or even open store as she pushed the door open.

“DJ-- Conrad!” she coughed as she raised her voice, “I’m here!”

“Ah, Ammy!” A tall man grinned as he heard her, “how’s your throat?” He apused as he noticed the young man and raised a brow.

“We still have ‘nighitngale’ cds in back right?” she asked using air quotes.

“We do, I don’t really wanna get rid of them. I thought---”

“His got scratched. He wants it for a sick kid.” she sighed and waved him after her.

“You work here?” Arulius asked as he followed her.

“Oh. no. he’s just my dad.” she explained with a dry laugh. She pushed the back door open, “Conrad.” she nodded to the short man who was moving some crates around. 

“Hey lassie… who’s this?”

“Rando, he scratched his CD so I’m replacing it, where are the nightingale boxes?” she did the thing with air quotes again as she said nightingale. Arulius tilted his head confused.

“Do you not like Nighitngale?” he asked.

She turned and looked at him with a small pout, “Far from it. I just find it depressing she can never sing again.” her hand went to her scarf and she scowled, “Never ever will the caged bird sing.”

“W-what i thought she was just on a temporary leave?” he gasped as she grabbed a box to rummage through.

“N-o-p-e. Do you not keep up? Her agent put it out. No more singing for her. Ever.” she held up a cd case, “here.”

“Lassie she can still sing, it just won’t be the same.” Conrad frowned.

“And that’s why i say she won’t sing again.” she sighed.

Arulius took the cd with a frown, “should you just be giving this to me?”

“It’s her box to do as she wants with.” Conrad shrugged and shook his head side to side.

“Oh.” Arulius looked at the cd with a big grin, “this is going to make hattie smile a lot.” he grinned.

She smiled as she looked at him, “then that’s good enough. I hope she enjoys it!” She paused in thought and held her hand out, “actually. I have a signed on upstairs, let me swap that.”

“W-what?! Really?!” he gasped, “no way?! You’d give that to a stranger?!”

“Mmhm.” she took the cd back and headed up stairs leaving him with conrad. He pulled his phone out to text his parents as he grinned.

“Ya like Nighitngale?” Conrad leaned on the boxes.

“Love her! I went to her last concert actually. I wish I had paid the extra for the meet and greet but I didn’t know it was her last.” he sighed in regret.

“No one knew.” Conrad huffed, “Car accidents do that.”

Arulius’s eyes went wide, “I-Is that what happened?”

“Aye. Semi. took out the lassie’s father, mother and injured her and her brother.”

“Here.” she hopped back down with the signed cd, “Enjoy.”

He looked at it with a girn, “thank you!!!! Ah do you um mind if I took a picture so my sister can know who gave her this?”

She blinekd confused, “i’m just a random girl?” she alughed but sighed, “Sure.”

“Great! Well Hattie would give me lots of questions if I didn’t is all. She does it everytime I bring something from someone.” he explained and pulled his phone out. He leaned back as she stuck her tongue out and gave a peace sign as he took the selfie. He chuckled. “Thanks so much! Oh! I’m Arulius Law!”

“Amaris Grooves.” she shook his hand as he grinned and carefully put the cd in his bag. He checked the time and gasped, “I-I gotta run! Visitor hours at the children hospital are weird! Thank you so much!”

He ran from the shop as DJ headed back with a huff.

“Seems like a weirdo.” He noted as the door slammed shut. He looked at the teen as she took her scarf off and the scar around her neck showed, “you really fine with giving out one of your cds?”

“It’s for a sick kid. I don’t mind. It’s gonna collect dust and and I doubt he’s gonna black market it.” she shrugged. She coughed and rubbed her neck, “if I can make a kid happy with that caged song so be it. Do you want help in the shop?”

“Why don’t you go make some tea first. Then we’ll work.” Conrad laughed.

[norabrice1701]

An Offer Received - Part III.2

A Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston Character (Thomas Conrad) fanfic

Pairing: Thomas Conrad x Fem!reader

Summary: Part III.1 & III.2 - You spring Mr. Conrad’s trap and he has you. You’re his.

Rating: Part III.1 & III.2 -  Explicit sexual content NSFW smut (please be ye warned and do not proceed if not your cuppa), controlling behavior, threats of violence, f-bombs, scalpel violence, Dark!Conrad

Previously: Part III.1 - 5 Months

A/N: Here we go, and I’m gonna go hide now (promise more updates are coming, but there will be another life delay). 

GIF credit to the original poster via the Tumblr search! (just, you know, swap the suit for his bespoke tuxedo) 

Part III.2 - 5 Months

The cabin door opened, ushering in the noise of the rotor, and Conrad slipped out with fluid grace. He extended his hand and you drew a deep, steadying breath, taking it to step out into the cold night. 

The mansion looked even bigger now that you stood before it. You couldn’t say where you were outside the city, but this had to be quite the neighborhood for this property to have its own helipad. 

Conrad tucked your arm through his, resting his other hand atop it as he steered you up the wide, sweeping stone staircase. Of course, the doorman took Conrad’s name without question and divested you of your velvet coat just as quick. Even though this was a glorified house party, the men all wore crisp, tailored tuxedos, and women dripped in evening finery and priceless jewels. 

A glass of champagne materialized in your hand as Conrad expertly navigated the sea and flow of people, exchanging greetings in passing, his face alight with the smile that you recognized from his press releases. The smile perfected to charm and disarm. But you knew the truth…the terrifying, bewildering truth that…

Dammit, why couldn’t he have just been a handsome controlling bastard, and not a handsome controlling bastard bent on world domination? Then, maybe you could let yourself surrender to every natural instinct within you that flared to life in the helicopter. The instincts that demanded you have him - preferably above you, preferably deep in you. 

Still on his arm, Conrad’s appeal was near impossible to ignore. But the weight of surrounding, curious stares helped. You wore a cordial smile, glancing among the sea of unfamiliar faces, making introductions and sipping your champagne as you approached the night’s host.

Thaddeus Ross stood with a regal bearing, face warm with his own two-faced, politician’s smile. “Good evening, Thomas,” he reached for Conrad’s hand in a solid shake, “glad you could attend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary.” Conrad’s smile filled to full megawatt. “I’m glad to see you look fighting fit. The gossip mill had painted a rather bleak tale of your shoulder surgery.”

“Yes. The recovery was more arduous than anticipated, but I’m cleared to resume squash after the start of the new year.”

Conrad nodded, obviously pleased. “Splendid. Then, we shall have to arrange a court time.” He turned his disarming smile on you. “The Secretary here has one of the meanest backhands I’ve ever encountered.”

Ross scoffed. “Always the charmer, Thomas. It’ll get you in trouble one day. Now, who is this lovely woman at your side?”

Introductions passed in a flurry. Ross’ face pinched with vague recognition on your name. “You know, I recall your name…direct from Thomas’ office, correct? His administrative assistant?”

The corners of your moth pinched with irritation. “Not entirely, sir. I’m involved with the business operations of the company –“

“You know, Thomas,” Ross barreled ahead, not paying you any mind, “I’ve just received a case of 25-yr Pappy Van Winkle. What’s say we crack it open?”

“Splendid idea, sir.” Conrad turned towards you, swooping in to peek your cheek. “I shan’t be long, darling.” He released your arm and stepped away, his conversation with Ross fading into the din of the party.

Your cheeks flushed, mouth pinched tight, wanting only to yell after him. 

You weren’t just some eye-candy secretary on Conrad’s arm to be so easily tossed aside. He had chosen you for the role. He had given you nearly every key in the company. And it wasn’t because you were a brainless, easy fuck.

You fumed, taking a sip of champagne. 

“You’ll have to forgive Mr. Ross,” a regal alto voice said over your shoulder. You turned to see a stunning woman with raven hair in a bold, red gown that screamed money and taste. “He still thinks a woman’s place is bent over a stove, a Xerox machine, or his cock.” 

You couldn’t stop a soft, unsure laugh as you nodded slowly. “He does give that impression.” 

The woman eyed you with a shrewd, amused edge as she held out her hand. “Amelia Young.” 

You returned her handshake, offering your name in return. As you drew your hand back, you couldn’t help but notice a group of women, three or four strong, nodding in your direction and trying, but failing, to not stare so directly. 

Amelia laughed slow at your side. “Just ignore them.” She looped her arm through yours, steering you away. “They’re just jealous, watching you waltz in on Tom’s arm. Wearing his diamonds.” She sighed almost wistfully. “He’s always had such impeccable taste.” 

Your eyebrows climbed to your hairline. You’d never known anyone to call him Thomas before tonight, let alone Tom. You shook your head, blinking in disbelief. “That’s…rather forward of you.” 

“Ex-lovers have every right.” 

“Well, that’s not…not what he and I are.” 

“Well, not ‘ex’ certainly -” 

“I mean lovers.” You turned to Amelia with a hard gaze, fed up with the assumptions. “We’re not lovers.” 

She hummed low, the sound full of secrets you couldn’t begin to unravel. “He won’t let you take off those diamonds until he’s had you six ways to Sunday. You’re not stupid, so I’m sure you know he’s a very strategic man.” Her matching red lips curled around the rim of her champagne glass as she nodded across the room. 

You followed her gaze, easily spotting Conrad. He stood among a group of five men with that wide, boyish smile on his face as the group laughed around him. His eyes found yours effortlessly, his smile shifting for the briefest of seconds to something sharp, dangerous - then it flashed back to light playfulness. The seamless transition raced a shiver down your spine. 

Those poor fools. If only they knew they had a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

And no, not a wolf. A fucking crocodile. 

Amelia sighed lightly. “May I also caution another word of wisdom?” She didn’t wait for your response. “You needn’t bother trying to defend what you do at LOKI. The minute Tom dropped Galinda for his secretary, it became the hottest gossip of the scene –“

“I am not his secretary.”

“You won’t convince anyone here differently. Especially not when Secretary Ross perpetuates it for all to see.”

“What about you?” You leveled her with a hard look. “You’re obviously intelligent, successful. Mr. Conrad doesn’t cheat himself on brains or beauty.”

Amelia chuckled, low and rich. “How telling that you still call him ‘Mr. Conrad’. But you’re not wrong – I’m an equity partner at a firm in the city. Cross, Young and Pine – perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

Of course, you’d heard of it. Cross, Young and Pine was the largest law firm in the city.

“That’s why I just can’t riddle it out,” Amelia continued, “Tom’s always set his sights on a partner suitable for his position, capable of presenting just the image he wants. Take Galinda, for example – award-winning and gorgeous. What do you possibly have to compete with that?” She glanced around the room. “That’s the exact question on everyone’s mind right now. What did you do to be worthy of those diamonds?

“I did my job. I’m still doing my job. If helping chart record-setting revenue each quarter, expanding the world’s already largest tech giant, further cementing Mr. Conrad’s successful legacy isn’t enough for you – and this room – then…perhaps something in this room needs to change.”

Oh, god. Were those truly your words? Or…his?

Your gaze narrowed ever so slightly, wondering. Surely…surely Amelia wasn’t also recruited? Surely, he knew better than to fold in lovers. Lovers presented impossible to control emotional risk. Far better to stick to the impersonal rationale of business logic as a recruitment basis, in your mind.

Your stomach churned on the thought. God, just one conversation in a helicopter and you were already starting to see…. But that’s when you wondered – was Amelia a deliberate plant? You knew Conrad planned his moves five steps ahead – had he told Amelia to orchestrate this conversation to sway you into accepting his recruitment?

Something in Amelia’s upturned mouth and upset gaze told you different, though. No, it looked more like she was just a jealous ex, out to needle the next in line. “You’re right, something does need to change,” she shook her head, the movement disparaging, “I’ll have to have a word with Secretary Ross about allowing esteemed guests to bring their office trash to such a function.”

“Careful, Amelia,” you snapped, “that didn’t used to mean me. Someday, that  might just include you, too.”

You turned from her, weaving through the crowd, not wanting to hear another word. No one seemed to pay any mind to your departure and Amelia didn’t follow you. You spied doors leading to an expansive terrace, stepping out into the night to escape the cheery suffocation.

The winter wind bit at your skin, rippling shivers down your spine, but you paid it little mind. Amelia’s words echoed in your mind, incensing you further. You were sick of it – all the assumptions, all the gossip. You were worth far more than what you had under your dress, and if that entire room thought you only got to where you were because you let him fuck you…. 

How you wanted to set the record straight. How you wanted to prove them all wrong.

Intransigent misogynists.

Of course, you partly blamed Conrad, too. He hadn’t bothered to speak in your favor when Ross steamrolled you earlier. In fact, he’d been quick to jump on the Secretary’s suggestion to adjourn for bourbon. You had quite a fondness for bourbon and would have enjoyed it, had you been seen as more than just the office piece of ass.

Your hands clenched against the freezing stone railing as your lips curled. You wanted to scream out into the night, to let it all go, to let loose the immense frustration of the last six hours. 

Heavy warmth fell around your shoulders, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of Conrad’s cologne. You hung your head, instinct compelling you to further burrow into the warmth, drown yourself in something so enticing.

His voice was soft in your ear. “Do you really prefer the winter’s chill to the party inside?”

“Are you kidding?” You took a deep breath. “It’s warmer out here than that crowd inside.”

He huffed an amused breath. “An astute observation.”

“Is Amelia one your recruits?” You turned to him, hoping to discern the truth. His face, half-lift from the party inside and half-shadowed from the dark night, nearly took your breath away. The soft glow smoothed the hard angles and lines of his face, his azure eyes stunning in their clarity. 

Why did he have to be so painfully handsome?

He moistened his lips against the winter breeze, his eyes fixed to yours. “No. She has her own ideologies that are ill-suited to my purpose. Our liaison ran its course but is best left in a past that does not concern you.”

“Doesn’t concern me?” You scoffed. “You’re asking me to join your grand scheme; you’ve placed god knows how many thousands of dollars of diamonds around my neck – which I can read through the lines, means you expect me to sleep with you tonight – and if you want any of that, then you better fucking start being more forthcoming.”

Pride flashed in his eyes for the briefest second before it vanished, replaced by something stern, commanding, displeased. “While I admire your boldness, you would do better to mind your reckless behavior.” He stepped closer, and you wanted to take an instinctive step back. “Loose lips sink ships, as the saying goes. You know all that you need to know, and nothing more. Pressing for more information will only serve to annoy, and I’d much prefer more pleasurable courses of action in your company – as you so crudely alluded to.”

Despite the winter’s chill, you felt heat rise in your cheeks, forcing a hard swallow. “Nearly everyone assumes I fucked you to get this job.”

“And how gloriously wrong they all are.” His lips curled with a wicked edge. “Gives you the advantage.”

“Is that what you call it? The endless frustration of being regraded as little better than a ladder climber who’s not above fucking her way to the top?”

“I told you the world needed to change.”

The intensity of his gaze lit your insides on fire. God, how you wanted to stay the focus of that sharp, precise intensity. How you wanted to feel it against your lips, your skin. How would wanted that voice, low, sinful, filthy in your ear.

You tore your gaze from his, looking out over the dark lawn at the idle helicopter, as you drew a deep breath. You didn’t even realize how heavy your breathing had become in his close proximity.

The weight of his arm wrapped around your back, tucking you against his side. “Come along, darling,” he purred softly, “we’ve accomplished all that we can here.”

He lead you down the terrace stairs, out to the main lawn. All too late, you realized that you didn’t have your velvet coat, but he dismissed it, instead ushering you towards the waiting helicopter.

Ensconced in the cabin, still draped in his jacket, your frustration did little to ebb. Conrad’s suave, tempting, infuriating presence did nothing to help as the helicopter lifted off and sped across the sky.

He sat next to you, calm-as-you-please, sipping from a gold-rimmed teacup and saucer. Somehow, a tea service had materialized in the cabin between your arrival and departure from Secretary Ross’ house – you shouldn’t be surprised. Especially now as he sat, looking unfairly dignified in just his crisp dress shirt and black braces, his bow tie still perfect at this throat.

At length, you nodded at the tea service. “Let me guess. Another of your recruits?”

“If you’re going to insist on guessing who is and isn’t recruited to my cause, then keep such musings to yourself. Not everyone who works for me knows the true endgame.” He glanced over with a slight curl to his lips. “And if you’re so determined to either remain silent or pick a fight for the duration of our journey, we can dispense with the rest of foreplay, and I’ll just have you right here.”

Breath punched out of your lungs, arousal slamming full throttle through you. He had no right to make it sound so easy, so definitive. Unconsciously, your legs twitched together as heat flushed your cheeks.

Of course, his perceptive gaze missed none of your reaction. He tipped his teacup back, lazily finishing the contents before setting it back on the tea tray. With the same grace as earlier, he slid from his chair, taking a knee in front of you.

You turned your head away, fighting to keep a clear head. That’s what you wanted, right? You didn’t want to fall into his arms, into his bed – you couldn’t possibly surrender to his control. To his crazed plan for world domination that you knew nothing about.

Right?

His breath rumbled low, so close to your skin. “I do hate seeing you so frustrated, darling.”

“You’re goddamned right I’m frustrated,” you grumbled, “but you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Sure, it was risky mouthing off to him. But could you let yourself cross that line? The minute you fell into his bed was the minute everyone became right about you – sleeping with the boss, and for what?

Because you want, a traitorous voice whispered. Oh, how you wanted.

Soft lips fell to your turned cheek, infusing you with a new wave of his cologne mixed with evening-worn exertion. “No matter what you tell yourself in that pretty head of yours, the truth of your desire is undeniable.” The tip of his nose dragged along the skin of your jaw. “The way your breath hitches when I draw near. I suspect my cologne pleases you.” A kiss pressed to the underside of your jaw, followed by another, and your head tilted instinctively back. “The way your eyes darken with hunger the longer you gaze upon me. Mirrors my own, I would imagine.” His strong hand fell to your knee and you jolted under the delicate touch as he continued to nuzzle the skin of your jaw. “You’re positively trembling, love. Why torture yourself so?”

You breathed shakily. “Everyone already thinks I’m a power-hungry whore, and falling into bed with you does nothing to prove them wrong.” You gasped as his steady fingers teased up the inside of your thigh, sliding against soft fabric. “From earlier, I know enough now that I’m surely a liability to you – you can’t afford to not control me – just as you’ve fucking done since we first met….” You forced a hard swallow against a nibble over your racing pulse. “And despite knowing all of that – it’s fucking maddening that I still want you to fuck me until I can’t see straight.” 

His hot breath rushed against your skin in a noise of wild satisfaction. Of victory. His fingers tightened on your thigh in a possessive, dominating hold. 

He had you. And you both knew it. Worse yet, you wanted it. Ached for it. 

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, anticipating his next move. Waiting for his devouring kiss, hovering on the edge of his touch on your thigh that refused to seek out the ache between your legs. Your breath came in shallow draws, every nerve-ending screaming for more, for anything, for everything. 

“Oh, my darling.” His voice rumbled, low and unbearably smug, as the tip of his nose nuzzled your cheek. “I will have you be mine - all mine.” His nose pressed along yours, and your head tilted, driven on pure instinct. Enticing lips hovered just above yours, breathing the same electric air. 

The helicopter jolted with a gentle settling motion, punching through the cloud of arousal. You turned to the window with wide, stunned eyes, startled to see the helipad and city lights surrounding you. How had the ride gone by so fast? 

Conrad didn’t give you time to think. He pulled you from the helicopter, keeping you close at his side with the surprising strength concealed in his lithe form. The elevator doors hadn’t even closed before your back was against the mirrored wall and he engulfed you. Still, his kiss eluded you - just a teasing, out of reach promise, as he let the full length of his body press to yours, against the stiff outline of your corset, torquing your desire higher. 

His teeth closed over your earlobe and you whimpered, unable to hold back the needy sound. A feral gasp tore from his throat, rushing more heat through you. The thought of this man coming undone by you, because of you exhilarated you.

The elevator chime sounded over the blood pounding in your ears, and you found yourself pressed against him as the doors opened to reveal the lobby exclusive to his apartment. He folded you against him, your back pressed tight to the furnace of his chest. The brush of his hard, straining arousal against your backside derailed your sensible thought. 

“I wasn’t untruthful earlier - you’ve looked gorgeous all evening.” His words rumbled against your skin, deep and smooth as he navigated you through his low-lit apartment. “This dress reveals your best assets, yet keeps all your secrets.” 

You sighed, the reality of your situation sinking in your stomach as his fingers toyed along the side-zipper of your dress. Turning your head, you nuzzled against as much skin as you could reach, breathing him in. “My secrets are yours tonight.” 

He growled his approval, tugging on the zipper. “Tonight, tomorrow - whenever I desire.” 

Yes, yes, your body cried out, but you choked the words off, mouthing at his skin. You couldn’t fully give him that satisfaction. His fingers slipped inside, skimming over the ridges of your corset, and his arousal twitched in approval. The sensation pulled an instinctive thrust of your hips, chasing the feel of him against you. 

His chuckle dripped with molten desire. “We’ll get to that, darling. You’re…so much more responsive than I anticipated.” 

Your hands reached back behind you, desperate for purchase. To clench in the fine fabric of his dress shirt, to tear at the catch of his trousers, to rip the braces from his shoulders. But the journey of his hand, up and over a breast, kneading the skin that mounded at the corset’s top made you further melt into him. He held you firm at his mercy, trailing that hand down your front, teasing down until he brushed the smooth silk of your underwear. God, there would be no hiding from him now. 

His clever fingers pried the delicate fabric aside, groaning deep and feral. You didn’t know if he expected you to be shaved or not, but his fingers sweeping against bare skin obviously pleased him. Another whimper tore from your throat as his fingers slipped through your folds, easily aided by what he found. 

He exhaled hard, his body shaking with the last vestiges of control. “You’re fucking soaked for me, love…how callous of me to make you wait all evening for something you so obviously want.” He thrust his hips forward as his fingers set to work in earnest, teasing both inside and out. 

You threw your head back to his shoulder, surrendering to his touch, to every sensation he flooded through your body. Your lips moved against his skin, drunk on his cologne, drunk on him. “Please, sir…please….” 

“Soon. So very soon.” His fingers fell away, abandoning the smooth fabric of your undergarments and returning to the zipper. He stepped back to further work the dress from your body until the fine fabric puddled at your feet. “Now, to the bed,” his voice conveyed full, dark authority, “and for each step, you will abandon another article, leaving the diamonds for last.” 

A nervous swallow worked down your throat as you noticed you now stood in his bedroom. A strip-tease? You’d never done that before…would - what would he consider sexy? A teasing show? Or simply pulling things off? 

His hand lightly smacked against the swell of your backside, startling you back. “Stop overthinking it. I want you naked in my bed, and I want you to unravel for me. Now…may I suggest shoes first?” 

Without further protest, you looked down to your feet, stepping out of one heel, than the other. Certainly, it wouldn’t be sexy to unevenly hobble across the floor. You took a step forward, approaching the luxurious bed as you settled a hand to the hooks of the corset. The constricting fabric eased its hold and your breasts fell free as you dared to glance over your shoulder at him. 

Thought abandoned you at the sight. His dress shirt now hung half unbuttoned from his strong shoulders, a mouthwatering swath of finely haired skin on display. With the fallen braces and the catch of his trousers undone, they slumped low on his hips, teasing the promise of such sweet fulfillment. 

You turned back for the bed, continuing to work the hooks of your corset. It fell to the floor with a solid thump and you took another step towards the bed. You could just hear the sounds of rustling, shifting cloth behind you but you didn’t look back. Raising your hands, stretching out the line of your back, you reached up for the pins in your hair. 

A solid weight crashed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Strong fingers tore at the silk of your underwear, the delicate fabric ripping audibly as you fell forward onto the bed under the hot, solid weight of what you now realized was him. All of naked him. 

You had to see him. Twisting against him, you struggled to roll onto your back but he held you fast against the soft bed covers. God, you could feel it - the weight of his heavy cock against your thigh, and you couldn’t help but grind back into him, desperate to just feel him. His lips trailed along the back of your neck, nipping along the line of your shoulders. You’d never thought you were much of one for being dominated…but everything within you burned at his prowess.

A low chuckle rumbled his chest against your back. “Quite the compliment, darling, and we’ve barely begun.” 

Good god, had you actually said that aloud? 

He answered with another chuckle, clearly reading the shocked realization on your face. “You needn’t hide from me. Not any more, and certainly not now.” Warm, steady fingers fell to the outside of your leg, guiding and molding, contorting your back such that your legs lay parted for him, hips angled while your chest still rested against the mattress. “Let me hear you, love. Every feeling I give you.” 

Your body jolted as his fingers brushed feather-light along your dripping need. There was no need to pretend - no brain power left to censor your reactions to his touch. Nimble and delicate, his fingers settled into a rhythm - those pianist’s fingers playing you masterfully. A sudden gust of hot breath was your only warning before the flat of his tongue licked a maddening stripe that nearly catapulted you into orbit. 

Your heart was surely going to explode, twisting in his hold, surrendering everything your body had to him. His movements rolled you over onto you back, exposing yourself fully to him as he devoured you with his fingers curled deep and his tongue swirling the most exquisite patterns. Words fell from your lips, thought drowned by the onslaught of his relentless pursuit. “Oh, god…please, sir! Fuck…oh, fuck….” 

A dragging pinch of his teeth broke the dam. White hot release exploded within you, your legs tightening around him as you rode the shockwaves. His mouth closed over you, chuckling in wicked satisfaction, as his fingers continued their strokes. You gasped as lingering pleasure turned to overstimulated discomfort.

You squirmed under his continuing ministrations, trying to find some relief. But he kept pace with you, mouthing an easy, lazy design as his fingers moved. “Sir…,” you gasped, hands clenching in the sheets at the continued discomfort, “sir, please…it’s - it’s too much, too soon.” 

He lifted his gaze, breaking away for the briefest moment of respite. “Is that anyway to say thank you? You can take it, love…and when you’re ready to break, I’ll give you what we both want you to have.” His hips rolled against your thigh, tearing a moan from you. 

His mouth descended with a vengeance. Only now did you realize how gentle he was after your first release, but now - he was a man possessed. You barely recognized the sounds passing your lips as he worked you ever steadily higher. Your wayward hand landed in his hair, gripping the natural waves until a vice-like grip wrenched it free, forcing it down to the mattress. A burning knot of pleasure grew at the base of your spine, so close to the edge, teetering just there. 

His fingers and mouth withdrew, leaving you aching and bereft. A trembling gasp tore from your throat, forcing your eyes open to watch him slither up your body. His lips, tangy and wet, found yours as you folded around him. You rolled your hips, cradling his between your spread thighs as he braced on a forearm. Thick, blunt pressure rested where you wanted it most, hooking your leg around his backside to push him forward. 

He groaned low in his throat, teeth tugging your bottom lip. “Hmmm, what do we say, love?” 

You knew what he wanted to hear. “Please, sir…,” you couldn’t bring yourself to care, “please fuck me, sir.” 

He sighed in pleased satisfaction as he slammed his hips forward. A cry tore from you as you felt your body nearly split in two from the intrusion. You didn’t want to admit how long it had been since your last lover, and the sudden invasion took a moment of adjustment. But he spared you no moment to breathe, picking up where his fingers and tongue left off. It shouldn’t feel so good - the ebbing discomfort, the escalating pleasure - but you’d never felt anything more perfect. 

“Want you to feel this for days,” he punctuated his words with sharp, precise thrusts, “want you to remember who made you feel this way. Who made you cry out at the feel of his cock inside you.” 

Each filthy word in that sinful voice torqued you higher. You gripped his shoulders tight, doing your best to meet him, feeling him strike that elusive place deep within you each and every time. 

“Want you to come for me now,” he gasped, rough and serrated, “want to feel you so fucking tight on my cock. Come now, my darling.” 

Your body helplessly obeyed, convulsing around him, dragging him down to his own euphoric release. 

Sweat beaded along your forehead as you struggled to breathe. Your hand trembled as you trailed down his spine, swiping through the moisture that spotted the skin. It was easy, so easy to sink into the mattress under his weight, boneless and drifting. 

You licked your lips, debating the merit of your next words. But what would they really cost you? You pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering softly, just for him. “Thank you, sir.” 

He turned, his eyes all-consuming and impossibly dark in the close proximity. “If you think we’re done here, then you’re sorely mistaken.” 

When he finally relented and you both slumped against the mattress, spent from your fourth release and his second inside you - you’d never known a more peaceful, mindless sleep. 

Until…his lilting voice drifted in your, luring you back to consciousness. 

“Darling…come on now, darling.”

Slowly, you stirred against the sheets, drawing a deep breath. Everything in you hummed with sleepy, boneless contentment. Even the twinge in your muscles was pleasant.

You opened you eyes, stretching against the soft pillow, arching against the warmth of him. Rolling over, the long line of him stretched against you and distant city light played off his pale skin. He was the picture of comfortable perfection, with his head propped on a hand as he gazed down at you. It should probably unnerve you, if he was watching you sleep.

He leaned down, brushing his lips to your forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm, absolutely sated.”

He purred, pressing another kiss to your skin. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Darkness still filled the room and you couldn’t help but wonder the time. Why had he woken you up exactly? You tilted your head, pressing your lips to the nearest available skin. “Did you want something?

His mouth curled with a dark, wicked edge as he gathered you closer to him. “You’re mine now. Here, in my bed – your body. In my office – your mind. And there’s so much that lies ahead…so much yet that we haven’t even begun to explore…” His fingers trailed over your flank, pulling an involuntary shiver from you. His face softened with approval. “So responsive, so good for me….”

Your heart accelerated at the possessive tone of his voice. None of it sat well with you, but you’d made your bed. Literally. What else could you do but lay in it? Especially since you wanted to keep on living.

His forehead rested against yours, breath hot against your lips. “So good for me,” he repeated, brushing your lips, “say it for me, love.”

You sighed, moistening your lips. “So good for you.” The words sunk like lead in your stomach. It felt like the point of no return. The ultimate surrender.

The tug of his smile pulled against your lips as he placed a lingering kiss. He pulled back with a sigh. “Rest now, darling. May I bring you anything?”

The simple offer tugged a smile to your face, a fluttery feeling erupting in your stomach. “No, thank you…that’s kind of you to offer.”

Nothing on his smile changed as he pulled back and you rolled over on your side, settling back against the pillow. The sheet shifted as he moved, the bed dipping as he pulled away to sit up. You didn’t think anything of it, letting yourself drift off in the haze of sweet exhaustion. He shifted again, the bed moving down by your feet, warm fingers caressing your ankle.

Sharp, searing pain exploded on the heel of your left foot. A cry ripped from your throat as the pain flooded you, jerking you back to reality. The solid weight of his body descended on your leg, firmly holding your foot in place as another white-hot line of pain erupted on the bottom of your foot.

“Stop! Stop!” You feebly clawed at him, crying out in another wave of agony. If he bothered to respond, you couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in your ears and your own anguished cries.

At last, the sharp pains receded, leaving a heavy, aching throb in its place. Tears streaked your face as you lay, gasping against the sheets. He shifted off your leg and you caught the gleam of a sharp metal scalpel as he withdrew to the edge of the bed.

“What…what did you do to me?” Hands shaking with adrenaline, you tried to push yourself up.

His fingers wrapped around your arm in a supportive gesture, his face the picture of serene calm. As if he hadn’t just mutilated the bottom of your foot. “You’re marked as mine now. Like so many others.”

Your eyes widened, horrified. “I don’t…don’t understand.”

“See for yourself.”

You tore your gaze from his, down to your foot bleeding over the bed linens. If he cared about the mess made of his bed, he didn’t show it. Sniffling back more tears, wincing at the tender pain, you bent your leg, angling to see.

The heel of your foot bled freely from neat lines carved into your skin. Lines designed to scar. Lines designed to identify. Your crimson blood stood in stark contrast to the color of your skin, and you could clearly make out the carved symbol. 

VI

The roman numeral for 6. You gulped as your head dropped to your chest. 

How many great empires did he say the world had known?

He hummed with pride, the sound rumbling his lips when they pressed against your bare shoulder. “Do you recognize it?”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “The number six. You…earlier you said the world has only known five truly great empires, so far.”

“Your intelligence never disappoints me.” He dropped another kiss to your shoulder, edging forward to press your back to his firm chest. “The marking of foot soldiers is as old as civilization itself. Why, the commanders of the Roman Legions could always tell when their men betrayed them to the enemy by the casks of severed feet, each one emblazoned with the mark of the foot soldier.”

The thought made you shudder, and he held you tighter, a play at a comforting, lover’s embrace. You shook your head, forcing a swallow. “You don’t need to continue. I understand your point.”

An effective insurance policy. A means to identify you as a player in his quest to create the sixth greatest empire. A means to ensure your silence or identify you as a traitor. 

“I had every expectation.” His lips pressed to the side of your neck. “Now, let’s get you cleaned and bandaged - infection just won’t do. After that, you’re welcome to stay until late morning, or your car’s waiting for you in the parking garage, stall 45B. Your choice.”

Up Next: Part IV - 5 Minutes

#tom hiddleston #villain #the art of villainy #hiddlesedit #good to be bad #world domination #loki #avengers reference #fanfic #an offer received #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #not rpf #wannabe writer

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

“Ready to go?”

“Poor handsome man in his suit… And that was a random compliment,” she giggles, taking his hand and kissing the back of it. “Yes, please, let’s go back to our temporary home. I’m still chilly and very sleepy and I want cuddles from my man.”

"I am more than willing to cuddle." he responds with a smile.

James notices Anne yawning and she leans heavily on his side for the elevator ride down to the lobby and through the doors to the street. He quickly grabs and taxi and gives the driver directions to drop them off at the Savoy. By the time the cab has pulled away from the curb, Anne is asleep on his shoulder. Conrad folds up his suit jacket and tucks it under her head to act as a pillow.

When they arrive at the hotel, he contemplates waking her but can't bear the thought, so instead he gently lifts her out of the car and carries her into the hotel lobby. He sees a familiar face at the front desk.

"Amelia, could you help me with the doors?" he smiles. The young girl nods and follow James, still cradling Anne in his arms to the elevator, punching the buttons for him. The ride up is awkward with Amelia finally clearing her throat.

"The resemblance really is..."

"... striking?" James raises an eyebrow and grins. "So I have been told."

"She's lucky to have you." Amelia smirks as Anne tucks herself against Conrad's chest.

He sighs looking down at her. "It is rather the opposite, Amelia. I am lucky to have her. So very lucky."

The doors slide open and with swift steps he carries Anne down the hall. Amelia opens the door with a key and Conrad pushes it open with his shoulder. "Thank you, Amelia. For everything."

"My pleasure. If you need any additional assistance..."

"... I'll give you a call."

The door clicks shut and James moves to lay Anne on the bed, stripping her dress off and carefully dressing her in pajamas. "Sleep well, darling." He tucks the covers around her and kiss her forehead and lips before readying himself for bed, slipping under the sheets himself and pulling Anne's back tight against his chest. - J.C.

The next morning she stirs with a groan, shifting slightly in bed. Bed? Confusion furrows her brow as she opens her eyes to see that somehow she made it into the hotel room. Anne doesn’t remember that journey at all; the last thing she recalls is climbing into a cab with James.

But James is so comfortable tucked against her back and legs, willing her muscles to relax with the heat of his body seeping through her pajamas. It was rare that she even slept with those considering how quickly and often they jumped each other’s bones. Her heavy eyes close and she reaches behind her to gently rub his hip, trying to rouse him just enough to extract herself from his grip without waking him up.

“Handsome man... You gotta let me go so I can order us breakfast,” she hums in a soft sing-song, truly not wanting to move but knowing they can’t spend the entire day in bed. And her body is desperately crying out for a glass of water.

#rp #jc anon #james conrad rp #okay thay exchange was absolutely adorable #and so heartwarming #i am so soft right now #so many warm and fuzzies

[yespolkadotkitty]

Breathless, pt 11

Part 10 here

The moon hung, heavy, waxy in the sky, as you watched Conrad check and load two weapons.

“Where did you get those?”

He smiled over at you, his gaze enigmatic. “If you know where to look, who to ask, it’s not so hard.”

The man was a master of understatement.

He offered you what looked, to your untrained eye, like the sort of handgun they used in spy films.

“This is a Glock. Do you know how to shoot?”

You took it carefully, looking at it like it might bite you. “Uh… point and pull the trigger?”

His lips curved, a little. “Aim, too.”

You chuckled; he was lifting the mood again, curling the fear out of you a little, bending it so it didn’t bite so much. “Yes, Sir.”

His gaze darkened ever so slightly, and you thought, pulse kicking up, I’ll dig a bit deeper into that if we survive whatever happens now.

You both dressed quickly, leaving surplus belongings in the room. You’d come back for them, if you were able.

Conrad pulled you in for a quick, hard kiss by the door, and you drank him in, your fingers tangling in his short, thick hair, your tongue dancing with his. You spread your arms over his back, hugging him tightly, trying to compress the feel of his lean, solid warmth into your muscle  memory.

When he let you go, you saw sadness in his gaze.

“Whatever we find, we’ll still have each other?” he asked, cupping your chin.

“Always.” You had no idea how he would fit into your life, but you would make any sacrifice for it to happen. To have him would be to need little else.

You left the little hotel. All was quiet; the ferry didn’t run this time of night. Animals chattered in the darkness as you passed a fast food outlet with a few tourists milling around outside, drinking beer. The moon shone down as you crossed the bridge together, the temple illuminated by small floodlights by the pillars, likely places for tourists who came by in the evenings or early in the morning.

The steps to the temple were wide, not too steep. Conrad held up a hand, and you recognised him put on what you thought of as his game face. Eyes like a hawk, all senses alert. He crept up the steps to where the huge, heavy wooden doors, ornately painted, stood open. The darkness yawning between them like a tomb.

Your own heartbeat sounded loud in your ears as you followed Conrad up the steps. The courtyard through the huge, ornate doors waited, empty. At the right side a little gate had been left ajar. Conrad jerked his head towards it, silent. You nodded agreement. The night here was so still, like a heavy cloak, you were almost afraid to breathe out.

You both slipped through the gate. The Glock felt heavy, tucked into the waistband of the back of your jeans. You hadn’t been sure where else to put it, where it wouldn’t be completely obvious. Maybe it was, anyway, as you weren’t used to firearms.

Neither was your kid brother. Or was he?

Beyond the gate, more steps led to a smaller temple. You looked up. Conrad held up hand up, fist clenched. 

“I see movement,” he whispered.

Your stomach freewheeled for a moment.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, although you had no idea what would greet you.

In the end, your worst fears both were and were not realised. In the smaller temple, Ben and Trish sat on one of three low wooden benches. Ben stood when you entered the doorway, his hair tousled. A few days’ worth of stubble hugged his jaw, and he looked so much like your dear, departed father that a sob escaped your lips.

Conrad glanced at you, concerned.

A few days ago, you’d have run into Ben’s arms, held him tight, cried for his safety. Now you stood stock still. 

He looked…. Fine. Not trapped or co-erced.

Wearing a Malay tie-dye dress, Trish smiled coldly.

“Hey, sis,” Ben said, his tone flat. “You can call off your attack dog.”

Anger rose inside you at his words. “I don’t think I will, yet. Why all this cloak and dagger stuff?” you demanded. 

You let your gaze trail over him in the darkness. He was still your brother, and yet… not. A stranger clothed in your brother’s body, speaking with Ben’s voice.

“Why do you think?” he asked, lazily.

You had the feeling that the rug was about to be pulled from under your feet. “I really don’t know, Ben,” you hissed, struggling for calm. “I’ve wasted a lot of money, trying-”

“Money! It’s always about money with you, isn’t it?” He exploded, eyes shooting daggers. “And control of it.”

Trish glared silently.

You opened your mouth and shut it again, speechless. Finally you asked, “What? If you needed money, I’d have given it to you.”

“Would you? I get an allowance. Like a child. You control it, and me. I’m a grown man, I don’t need to be kept like a dog on a leash by my sister,” he seethed.

What? It was late, you were tired. “I don’t..”

“Of course you don’t, you stupid bitch. Mom and Dad doted on you. The super smart, pretty first child. Left everything to you, left you in control of what I did. I had to go to Harvard to get the allowance, had to do everything by the book, while you got to run free.”

You listened, aghast. “But Dad’s will… that wasn’t anything to do with me, Ben.”

“The hell it wasn’t! You all wanted me to be the perfect image of a well mannered, polite little rich boy, without my own free will. I want to be truly free.”

You glanced at Trish. Had she orchestrated this? It was hard to say. 

“Why lure me here?”

“I had to get you away from all of it.” He gestured to Trish and she slid a small laptop out of a canvas bag. “Make you see sense. I just want freedom, sis. To be myself, with Trish. Money would help.”

Trish opened the laptop and tapped a few buttons.

“Just transfer some of the Trust fund to me.”

You gaped, then shut your mouth, hearing the click of your teeth. “I…. I can’t.”

Ben glanced across at Trish.

“Of course you can,” she snapped. 

“No, I really can’t.” Your hands itched to reach for the gun, but what good would it do? “What’s this about, Ben?”

He sighed dramatically. “You think it’s easy? To live in your fucking shadow? Dad’s shadow? To be told at Harvard - oh, your father would’ve known how to behave. Your father would have done it like this. I’m not my father!”

He roared the last bit, and tears burned the back of your eyes. “I miss him too, Ben. But you can’t just escape-”

“Yes, I can. Trish and I are going to have big adventures where no one cares who my father was or what my last name is. I can be free of his judgement.”

Your heart pounded. “You can’t know-”

“I know that you took over after they died. Did everything. Poor Ben, Ben is so sad, he needs help-”

“You did need help!” you shout back. “Anyone would have!” Any reservations you might have had about Conrad seeing your family drama play out had disappeared with your fears for Ben’s mental health. “Just take a step back, Ben. Please. I can help.”

“I’ve had enough of your help,” he quavered, pulling a gun from the back of his own cargo pants. Your heart just stopped. “Just do it.”

“I can’t. You can have all my money-”

“I want mine!” he snapped, the gun wavering. 

“Ben,” Conrad began. “Losing loved ones is very hard on anyone, let alone losing a parent.”

“Shut up!” His hair and eyes wild, Ben shook the gun. “What do you know? You’re just a rottweiler for hire.”

Conrad stood perfectly still, not rising to the bait.

Trish took the laptop down to you, holding it out. “It’ll take seconds.”

Your heart jumped. Sweat trickled down the back of your neck. “I really can’t. I want to help you, Ben, but-”

“You’re just like Dad!” he shouted. “He wanted to help. But what happened? He left you in charge.”

“What are you not telling me?” you asked, your voice low, but carrying across the near-silent temple floor.

“I told Dad I wanted to be free. Didn’t want to go to Harvard. Wanted to explore for a few years. He said I should be more like you. Responsible. Make something of myself. But I was sick of living in your shadow.”

Your stomach sank like a stone. “Did you….”

He laughed, a hollow sound. “Did I kill them? Fuck, no. I loved them. But they didn’t understand me. I’m not a lawyer, or a congressman. I just want to be free. And then their deaths sealed my fate. I wouldn’t get any money unless I graduated.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I’m failing, okay? I can’t make the grade. And Dad’s lawyer came to tell me there’d be no trust fund money in three years’ time unless I graduate.”

Oh. You hadn’t known that. “You can have my money.”

Ben’s gun hand stopped shaking for a moment. “Another handout from you? Wouldn’t that make you happy?”

“No, Ben, it wouldn’t,” you sob. “I don’t have access to the funds. I really don’t.”

He lifted the gun, and you realised that he was probably having a fully fledged nervous breakdown. Did Trish know? Was she using it? Had she known all along?

“Please, don’t make me do this. If I die, you don’t get anything.”

He smiled grimly. “Surely if you die, I’m the sole heir.”

Oh, God.

You held a hand out.

“If you pull that trigger, I will put a bullet in you,” Conrad told Ben, voice eerily calm.

“It’ll be over, either way,” Ben said softly, his eyes wet.

Everything happened at once. Two shots, Ben’s body on the ground, Trish’s, too. The laptop screen shattering into a thousand shards. And Conrad shouting.

****

You came to in a stark white hospital bed, your vision blurry. When you blinked, clearing it, you saw Conrad sitting next to you. You jerked fully awake.

“Ben! Ben?”

“He’s alive,” Conrad told you softly.

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and fresh, sea air.

“We’re in Kuala Lumpur,” he added.

“What happened?”

“Easy. You’ve got a concussion from where you fell. You’ll hardly believe this, but it seems that Bill grew a conscience from when I saved his life. He’d had us followed. When Ben pulled the trigger, I jumped at him, pushing him in time for the shot to go wide and hit Trish. It only grazed her arm. She’s in another room. You fell back on to the stone floor. A second later, Bill and two of his…. Associates arrived in the temple, and thank Christ they did, as three of us needed medical attention.”

You breathed in deeply. “He’s not well, Conrad.”

“I quite agree. I’ve had a long chat with Trish.”

You winced on Trish’s behalf, angry with her, but knowing that a chat with Conrad would have been fairly terrifying. “And?”

“She’ s harmless. Along for the ride, and the wealth. A groupie,” he said sadly. 

Your heart ached. “I think a long visit with a doctor is on the cards for Ben. Does he hate me?”

“If he does, you’ve done nothing to deserve it,” Conrad reassured

“How was Bill involved?”

“Ben promised him a big cut of whatever you transferred,” Conrad growled. “I guess in a way, following us was, in his mind, protecting an investment.”

Tears burned your eyes. “Oh, Ben. I should have paid more attention.”

Conrad soothed you, kissing your forehead. “You only loved him. What he did with that was his business.”

You lay back on the pillows. “All that’s left now is to go back and pick up the pieces of my life. I guess.”

Conrad stroked your hair back. “Our life, I rather hope?”

Love bloomed in your chest. “I don’t know how we’ll fit together, Conrad. Do you?”

He stood up from the chair and pulled something from his pocket. A little piece of card. He unfolded it to reveal a single pressed flower from the Botanical Gardens, the stem long. As you watched, confused, he took your hand and tied the long, soft stem around your ring finger. His blue eyes lit with mischief. “I don’t have all the details yet, love. But I hope you’ll let me spend a lifetime figuring them out with you.”

THE END.

Thanks to @hopelessromanticspoonie​ for the beta!!

And thanks to EVERYONE for coming on this journey with me. I hope the ending was OK.

Tagging: @just-the-hiddles​ @lotus-eyedindiangoddess​ @peacope​ @lady-loki-ren​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @amarisyousei​ @jessiejunebug​ @villainousshakespeare​ @arch-venus25​ @myoxisbroken​ @xxloki81xx​ @wiczer​

#james conrad fic #imagine james conrad

[lookslikechill]

WIP Intro: Between His Fingers

➤ Title: Between His Fingers ➤ Genre: Historical Fiction, Murder Mystery, Romance ➤ Tense: Close Third Person  ➤ Status: First Draft/Planning ➤ Setting: Port Cassandra, Northern Coastal California, USA//late 1940′s ➤ Rating: 18+ for sexual content, violence, and just some heavy-ass content. ➤ Themes: personal struggle & growth, PTSD/mental illness, internalized homophobia, institutionalized homophobia, toxic masculinity, flawed/ineffective government/police, police accountability, familial relationships, gay male romance, secret relationship, murder mystery.   ➤ Featuring: secrets & mysteries - old city - underfunded police force - different kinds of romantic relationships - The Ocean & The Forest - car troubles - men being stupid - Angst(tm) - Passion - drunken nonsense - Everybody Smokes(except Miles) - And Swearing

➤ One Line: Two cops in late 40′s coastal California try to solve crimes while also being secretly super gay for each other.

➤ Summary:  

With state of his knee, damaged in the war and making it impossible for him to pursue anybody or anything on foot, Alistair James Sheep is lucky to be an officer with the Port Cassandra Police Department in the first place, never mind the anxious state of mind he keeps tucked under the rug.  He is unlucky to be divorced, a fairly uncommon status in the late 1940′s.  The matter of luck is a bit more complicated when it comes to the forbidden relationship he somehow managed to slip into with Miles Crawford, his very male crime-solving partner of almost two years.  

The modest city of Port Cassandra had not been the most squeaky-clean, crime-free place since Alistair had lived there, but a sudden spike of murders and arson cases has the city on its toes.  It wouldn’t be that much of a problem, if it wasn’t for the department’s outdated and old resources, lack of organization, and dismissive and ineffective Captain.  If that wasn’t enough, some of Miles and Alistair’s fellow officers seem to be more interested in causing more problems than solving them.  

➤ Characters:

Alistair Sheep(pov), 28, male(he/him); reserved & sharp-tongued, anxious & paranoid, mechanically inclined, introverted, detail-oriented, always the driver, great shot, bad at emotions and sharing.

5′10″, white man with a build on the narrower side of things, lean, very dark brown, wavy hair and a short, full beard, modest, blunt eyebrows, brown eyes, sharp/pronounced jawline, subtly bumpy nose with a slight curve to the left,  straight & alert posture/stance, tends to rest his weight to the left, resting asshole face.  

Alistair arrived home before the war ended, in 1944, due to the injuries that left him with a permanent limp and an inability to run effectively.  He doesn’t (refuses to) use a cane most of the time now, but most likely will have to give in as he gets older.  He and his then-wife and childhood friend, Emily, moved to Port Cassandra in very early ‘46 in a last-ditch effort to save their crumbling marriage, which obviously failed.  With the issue of his mobility, he joined Port Cassandra’s Police Department under the condition that he would always have another Officer, capable of running, with him when he was on duty outside of the Station.  

Miles Crawford, 24, male(he/him); gentle & compassionate, capable & confident, prone to singing, whistling and humming, a big picture man, the runner of the pair, can be too willing to forgive and lacks skepticism. 

5′8″, white man with a sturdy, thick build, bit of a belly, wide through the shoulders, short, curly brown hair, clean-shaven, wide-set dark brown eyes, slightly freckled, round face, thick, tapered eyebrows, small ears, nose small & rather rounded, standing stature usually squared but relaxed through the shoulders, expression open and relaxed on average, smiles often.  

Miles grew up in Port Cassandra, in one of the cabins in the woods by the beach on the outskirts of Port Cassandra.  He never knew his mother, and his father was neglectful, at best, physically abusive, at worst.  He left home at 15 and spent the rest of his childhood living with the PCPD’s second-in-command, Joseph Sawtelle, and his family.  He joined the city’s Police Department as soon as he was able, and Sawtelle acted as his mentor throughout the first few years of his service.  

➤ Links:

Port Cassandra Location Intro Valentine’s Day Special Playlist & Excerpt Excerpt - Startled FFF: The Move Character Aesthetic - Alistair Sheep Character Aesthetic - Tobias Rigby Character Aesthetic - Daniel Morrin Character Aesthetic - Alistair Sheep - by Farrradays Art & Playlist - Alistair Sheep - by cr0wfood Worst Tag Game Intro - Alistair Sheep Miles Crawford Character Intro Alistair Sheep Character Intro

Excerpt, Cont. Character List, and Taglist below the cut!

Content Warnings:  Sexual content, physical violence, gun & weapon violence, police violence (mostly cop on cop), unhealthy coping mechanisms re: abuse of cigarettes and alcohol, avoidance, repression.  Homophobic language & violence.  Abuse re: neglect, physical abuse, bad dads in general.  Also war imagery & mentions.  Murder, blood, and gore, of course. Fire, as well.  

➤ Excerpt:

Alistair rotated the wheel and pulled into the thin dirt driveway to the left of the shack of a house they had been called to.  The house  appeared to sink into the forest that surrounded it, the look of it was so raw, wooden, and narrow.  It looked like it belonged there, except for the glaring lights in the windows that cut through the twilight gloom.

It would almost be a peaceful sight, worthy of a postcard, if there weren't first responders hanging out on the front porch.  An ambulance in the driveway.  And now, the police cruiser he sat behind the wheel of.  In the passenger seat, Officer Crawford, Miles, was looking at him again.  Alistair straightened his back and cleared his throat.

"What?"

"Nothing.  You just, you know, you looked like you had something on your mind."

"I assure you nothing is ever on my mind," Alistair said without thinking, and scowled when Miles immediately looked amused.

"Sure.  Why don't we head in before they come looking to see whether we've died, too?"  He said, tilting his head in the direction of the house.

"That joke is in extremely poor taste, Officer Crawford," Alistair drawled as he cut the engine and popped the car door open.

➤ Cont. Character List:

Emily Castaldi, 28, female(she/her), Alistair’s ex-wife, and childhood friend, with whom he still maintains an awkward and erratic relationship. perceptive, clever/witty, independent, works as a housekeeper at one of Port Cassandra’s struggling hotels.

Arthur Pimento, old(60′s?), male(he/him), Captain of the Port Cassandra Police Department, he was a very successful, heroic officer as a young man and won’t admit those days are gone. proud, strict, close-minded, sophisticated, unwilling to admit he’s not as capable as he used to be, married with adult children.

Joseph Sawtelle, mid-40′s, male(he/him), PCPD’s second-in-command, doesn’t feel as if he has as much of a sway over the department as he should. tired, resigned/reluctant, quiet, bitter, married with two feisty teenage daughters, mentor and parental figure to Miles.

Gentry Sinclair, late 30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, family man who just wants to be friends with everybody. bright/cheerful, asks a lot of questions, wants to know the people around him well, Ken doll attractive, married with three young children, he will show people pictures of his family and babble about them.

Daniel Morrin, early 30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, cocky with an ego the size of Texas and not above bullying behavior to get things his way. selfish/self-absorbed, very big and knows it(loves it), takes up way too much space and gets way too close, kind of an asshole all around, picks on everybody(”jokes”), gets along best with Rigby and Sinclair. 

Tobias Rigby, late 20′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, served in the war and has never been seen with a woman he wasn’t related to.   extremely reserved/quiet, says very little, very blunt and straightforward when he does open his mouth, short/small but can definitely kick your ass, frowny & mysterious.

Conrad Fitzgerald, early to mid-30′s, male(he/him), PCPD Officer, served in the war but was a Prisoner of War for most of it. a bit erratic, brazen, talks a lot, boxes in his spare time, has been seen by Alistair entering and leaving underground gay bars yet to be raided, charismatic in a relaxed way, married without kids.

Rosemary Fitzgerald, mid 30′s, female(she/her), Conrad’s wife. like her husband, considered a bit odd, smiles too much and talks too fast, paints skulls, only seen wearing dark colors, stubborn, comes to the Station too much.  

➤ Taglist:  @livingdeadwriteblr -  @cawolters - @agnesfagen - @the-real-rg - @balletshoe-punk - @lie-hart - @phloxxiing - @teacupwriter - @newdivinities - @omgbrekkerkaz - @soul-write - @elisabethrosewrites - @cirianne - @ladywithalamp (ask to be added or removed!)

➤ Tagged: #Between His Fingers, #bhf, #bhf:wip

#mlm romance #romance #murder mystery #historical fiction #wip intro #Between His Fingers #bhf #bhf:wip #my writing #my wips #alistair sheep #miles crawford #emily castaldi #arthur pimento #joseph sawtelle #gentry sinclair #tobias rigby #daniel morrin #conrad fitzgerald #rosemary fitzgerald #wipshelves

[shirtlesssammy]

14x15: Peace of Mind

Then:

Dean’s afraid to like snakes, folks. ;)

Now:

A man runs down a dark and empty street to Harrington’s, the local malt shop. He pounds on the closed door and calls out for “Sunny”, and she answers. He tells her he doesn’t want to go alone, but she tells the man, Conrad, to go. She made a promise to stay. The romantic music swells, they kiss goodbye, he tells her that he loves her and then runs away.

Conrad runs as hard as he can away from town. He arrives at a gas station when ringing starts to affect him. He demands and then steals the phone from the attendant. Before the attendant can call 911 or Conrad can make a call, his head explodes. “Dude?” Griffin, the gas station attendant is quite the cutie, and in WAY over his head. Cue the vomiting.

At the bunker, Cas finds Jack with his new BFF, Felix the snek.

The snake isn’t feeling well and Jack is worried about him. Cas is worried about Jack. Cas asks Jack about his powers. Jack does the old pencil trick to show that his powers are, indeed, back.

He feels different though, so Cas asks about Jack’s soul. Pencil Drop. Jack doesn’t know how much of his soul he has left, and he doesn’t think about it. Well, I’ll just be over here huddled in the corner thinking about it for a long, long time. JACK!

Cas heads to the kitchen to talk with Dean. Dean has made himself one heck of a Scooby sandwich (with vegetables on it!). I love hunter husbands checking in with each other. So domestic.

Meanwhile, Sam is having horrible trauma flashbacks to all the hunters Michael killed in the bunker. Like, I don’t want to see this, but it’s also amazing that we’re seeing this! Sam isn’t dealing. (AGH, his instant look to his tablet after the flashes? Break my heart.) In fact, he isn’t dealing with it so much that he has another case, tells Dean and Cas about it, and ultimately tells them he’s leaving in 10. Cas confers with Dean about going with Sam to help him. He instructs Dean to stay with Jack to help him.

Cas and Sam arrive at the gas station where Conrad lost his head. Griffin is there and tells them to check out Charming Acres, a town about 5 miles down the road.

Cut to Charming Acres, and what appears to be a scene right out of Saturday Evening Post (Cas reads it when the others have gone to bed. #blessthisangel) They run into Justin and Cindy Smith. They tell them to check out Harrington’s. Justin then notices Sam’s cell phone. He’s never heard of one and Cindy whisks him away before he can inquire further.

For Pornographic Science:

They head inside Harrington’s, and it feels like every new move they make, they fall further and further into the past. Like, this isn’t 1985 Back to the Future. This is 1955 Back to the Future. It was old feeling in 1985. (Sidenote: Time is really weird and I’m creeped out by it.) “This is weird,” Cas notes the obvious. They sit at the lunch counter and are instantly greeted with complimentary milkshakes. Sam digs in. SAM DIGS IN. Like, Sam “Mr. Salad” “We might be dealing with something Supernatural” Winchester just digs in. He really likes it though, and he deserves a milkshake so I’ll let it pass (especially in retrospect when the problem turns out to NOT be the milkshakes. Also, I love that Cas will drink alcohol but will pass at milkshakes.) 

They talk to Chip, the owner, about Conrad’s death. Sunny listens in with great interest. Chip points the “flatfoots” in the direction of where Conrad was staying, a boarding house in town.

Once at the boarding house, they’re instantly greeted by Ms. Dowling, the owner.

At the bunker, Jack is trying to get Felix to eat, but is having no luck.

Dean suggests bacon (DUDE, do you want to give Felix pancreatitis?) Dean also suggests a field trip for the fam. Jack agrees.

At the boarding house, the proprietor shows Sam and Cas Conrad’s room. She then mentions that she only rents to men. “You got to have morals.” She looks at Cas and says, “You know.” Both Natasha and I read that as she could see that he was an angel, but I guess she could just see his “otherness”. Sam asks for tea. While searching for hex bags, Cas finds surprisingly passionate love letters from Sunny to Conrad. (Cas’s hand gesture when describing “the shape and the heft”, OMG.) Sam suggests checking things out tomorrow. Cas is confused. Sam insists that he really is tired.

At Justin and Cindy’s home, Justin continues to focus on “cell phone”, until he remembers what one is, and realizes that he’s not supposed to be where he’s at.

He runs from the home, and his head explodes. Oh dear.

On the road, Dean gives Jack some snacks for the snek --angel food cake or devil’s food cake. DEAN. All of life’s problems cannot be solved with cake.

(Ok, MAYBE if you indulged in a little cake, you’d feel better. Ahem.) Jack chooses Angel food cake, and all is right in the world.

The next morning, Cas goes to find Sam and he’s nowhere to be found. Ms. Dowling is anachronistically listening to headphones while carpet sweeping the floor. She seems dismissive of Cas, but tells him that Sam went for a walk and “a milkshake.”

Cas pulls up to the malt shop with (symbolic?) bird poop darkening his car window. Cas:  keepin’ it real. Sunny is setting up the parlor for the day to the tune of “Pink Shoelaces”, the same music the Ms. Dowling owner was listening to playing over the speakers. NEFARIOUS. Cas asks after “the very tall man” and is about 100% done with all the weird evasion in the town.

At the Smith’s house, Cas investigates the most recent death. Mrs. Smith is all sunny yellow and lace, offering Cas a morning martini.

Cas tries to settle on a chair to talk through the case and Mrs. Smith freaks the fuck out!

Let’s all take a moment to pat poor, traumatized Mrs. Smith. Cas just manages to avoid telling her that her husband Justin’s head exploded. LOL, no he didn’t, Mrs. Smith tells Cas. Because he’s right behind her! It’s Sam, I mean...It’s Justin Smith!

Sam a.k.a Justin asks his wife to make him a martini and Cas confronts him. Sam’s deep in the fantasy. He’s happily married, and the mega-dork in the relationship who can’t even “RAWR” seductively. “Your name is Sam Winchester,” Cas tells him aggressively. “You will SNAP THE HELL OUT OF IT!” Sam tells Cas and his potty mouth to “skedaddle.”

Meanwhile, Dean and Jack arrive at Donatello’s house. Donatello, lacking a soul, is the perfect person to talk to about the issue with Jack. Uhhh….I’m not convinced. Dean stays outside to keep an eye on Felix.

Inside, Donatello putters around, making coffee and talking about that one time he had his soul eaten by an ancient celestial being. He describes himself as a galaxy, “bright and shiny and spinny” with a very large black hole in the center where his soul should be. He’s not bad or good, he’s just empty.

Jack looks within himself. He doesn’t feel nothing, but he’s not sure what nothing feels like. He wants a little space to figure himself out. Donatello tells Jack that he ascribes to the “What would Mr. Rogers do” maxim. Jack decides that he’ll do “What would the Winchesters do,” which is a TERRIBLE PLAN. Have you SEEN this show?

Outside, Dean checks in with Donny about the verdict: soul or no soul? “I suppose the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a soul?”

Dean, it’s a SALIENT question! Donatello tells Dean that Jack is fine, totally fine, “the most powerful being the universe,” an enigma. Thanks, Donny.

Cas shows up at the shake shop with his smiting face on.

He accuses her of being a witch who has taken over the town. He pulls out her “steamy, erotic” letters to Conrad. 

She denies what he’s implying and Cas goes full angel on her. “Tell me or I’ll rip it from your mind.” DAMN, CAS!

Panicked, she denies involvement and the Mayor interrupts. He’s arrived with his posse (including Sam). He’s always been able to dig into people’s minds. One day the mill shut down and the town started to go downhill (in his opinion). He heard voices and he shouted at them to make the world better. When he started to imagine that his soda shop was more popular - and it happened - he realized he could affect that change on the rest of the town as well. It turns out that it’s not witchcraft. He’s a “mind control psychic” who is playing with the people of the town like they’re dolls. Anybody who wouldn’t accept his happiness would be killed.

“You,” the Mayor wonders about Cas. “Why can’t I change you?” He’s an angel, you ass! It’s fightin’ time.

Excuse me, while I fan myself while Cas uses various soda shop accessories to nonlethally fight off the Mayor’s goon squad.

Outside, Sunny confronts her father about him murdering Conrad. He tries to convince her that Conrad’s death was her fault, because she told Conrad the truth. What a dick.

Inside, Sam tackles Cas and manages to grab his blade from his sleeve.  

Cas tells Sam to snap out of it but Sam protests that he’s super happy. “I know you wanna be happy,” Cas says. “And I know what it’s like to lose your army. I know what it’s like to fail as a leader, Sam. But you can’t lose yourself. You have to keep fighting. You can’t lose yourself. Because if you do you fail us. You fail all of those that we’ve lost. You fail Jack. Sam! You fail Dean!” Cas’s plea breaks Sam out of the mind-control trap. Phew! Good work, babes.

Sunny tells her dad that, although she promised her mom to stay by his side, he’s a monster and she can’t do it anymore. Too bad, the Mayor says, because he’s a god in this town. Sam and Cas intervene. The Mayor is no god (and they’ve met God). “God has a beard,” Cas shouts defiantly, and god bless Misha for delivering this line so seriously.

The Mayor starts to explode Sam, but Sunny busts out her own mind mojo. She overpowers her father. “You wanna be happy?” Sunny asks her father before jamming him with a mind-whammy. He freezes.

Cas checks the Mayor’s head, where he’s sitting catatonic. “She made him happy,” he tells everyone. Sunny trapped him in his head, in a beautiful world, where he can live out his life away from other people. (Thinks about Hunter Heroici and how the best trap for a dangerous psychic appears to be their own mind. Is this a salient point???)

Back at the bunker, Dean and Jack reflect on the trip.

“It was illuminating,” Jack says mysteriously. Cas and Sam arrive. Arkansas was...weird.

“Heard you wore a cardigan,” Dean says.

At Sam’s accusatory look, Cas says, “Yeah I told him about the cardigan.” Oh, and also the wife and the whole drank-the-koolaid shebang. Husbands, amirite?

Sam and Dean reflect on the false happiness of the town, and the grim reality in the bunker. Sam hates the bunker after what happened. It’s their home, but he needs time to process it all. Great! Everybody just needs time to heal.

Except...in Jack’s room he talks to Felix. The snake misses his friend terribly, Jack thinks. “Sam and Dean would help you,” he says. So he’ll help him see his friend again. I steel myself for Noah’s resurrection but instead what happens is worse. Jack turns the snake to ash so it can find his loved one in Heaven. A) Wouldn’t Noah be in Purgatory and 2) What Would the Winchesters Do is the WORST PLAN.

Do Quotes Like Bacon?

He says he’s good

I thought you were gonna sleep until the cows dragged you home

It’s like we’re stepping into a Saturday Evening Post. I look at them sometimes after you fall asleep at night. They’re very soothing

You must be the flatfoots I keep hearing about

Oh no, his head exploded. Like a ripe melon on the sun

Do snakes like bacon?

He has beautiful hair

Have you already had your martini today?

Using language like H - E - Double Hockeysticks. You should have your mouth washed out with soap

“You know what happened next?” “No, but I have a feeling you’ll tell me.”

God has a beard!

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

#spn recap #spn 14x15 #peace of mind #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #jack kline #donatello redfield #supernatural season 14

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Camp Beaverbrook | 011

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter has a lot of blood in it, but also, so do the rest of them. 

Hey Mom,

Emily here. Who else would it be, though? I’m sure you’re expecting a phone call at some point but I don’t think I can bring myself to go in there. Not when Aubrey thought… It doesn’t matter. I got to meet Jane’s parents. They’re nice people. Normal people. Miss Eide has a job as a bank teller and I think Mr. Eide sells water heaters. They’re both taking breaks from that, though. Understandably. Maybe I’ll be seeing you a lot sooner than summers end.

Emily

The scent of blood wasn’t something Emily Junk had ever paid much mind to. When she was seven years old, she was dared by Nellie Zeeman to jump off the swings when the chains had creaked to their longest point, and she could practically touch the sky.

Emily had jumped off without a second conviction and she remembered the exact moment she landed in the mulch. She could technically taste the dirt that filled her mouth, the blood that mixed into an insane cocktail against her tongue. She had scraped her knee and red dripped down her bare leg. Nellie Zeeman ran the opposite direction before Emily’s lower lip quivered and she wailed. She could smell blood then.

She could smell blood now too.

It clawed at her throat like it had been slit with edging poison. It made her swallow roughly and it darkened her eyes to a different degree; Aubrey Posen was sat on the edge of a springy bed with a limp olive-green blanket that wasn’t tucked in all the way. Her hair was damp, and it clung to her shoulders.

The yellow shirt she wore was wet in different variants: where her locks fell, where her skin hadn’t dried, where a thick sanguine fluid wicked its way into the fabric of the tank top that had been woven in a factory somewhere in Ohio. Her hand was coated in rust and she shifted uncomfortably at the sound of the door opening. Emily panted, stunned.

She felt naïve at the thought that this was over, that it had stopped at one death. Maybe Jane had gotten lost in the woods and nature overtook every inch of the poor girl’s body until she had sunk into the soil herself. Emily hadn’t read the ME report. She hadn’t seen the body. She was foolish. Foolish and in overdrive.

“Oh my god, Aubrey.” Her words pushed through the thorns in her throat.

Emily had dropped down to her knees easily, not regarding the pain that shot through them as she carefully took Aubrey’s fingers. It was familiar, and Aubrey’s touch was chilled and clammy.

“No,” The blonde whispered stopping Emily by applying pressure to her stance, she pulled her onto the bed, their knees touching.“Don’t.”

Emily nodded and let Aubrey breathe in softly. The air in the cabin was musty. There were posters on the wall, boy bands that Emily had admittedly plugged into her cassette player in an attempt to enjoy the static-filled sound. Her mother refused to give her a disc man, but now that the little plastic boxes were dying out, she had no reason not to invest in one. This had to be Chloe’s cabin.

Chloe who had pulled her from her thoughts and her sleep when she rushed in to grab clothes for Aubrey in the first place. She didn’t’ bat an eye at her, instead, telling her where to find Aubrey. She was going to run towards Gail, sweet Gail, who had yet to pull the camp from function.  

“Chloe was, Chloe is, trying her best,” Aubrey spoke, her eyes were trained on the evenly placed laundry basket that was overflowing with gold and green. “Poor thing can’t stand the sight of blood though. I think I need to get someone to clean up the shower. It’s awfully messy in there and-“

Emily shifted her touch to the woman’s wrist. She could feel the rapid heartbeat against the inside of her index finger. It pounded like a drum. “Aubrey, stop.”

The blonde drew in a heaving breath but kept her mouth shut. She was clearly unbothered, or numb, to the amount of blood that was dripping against her arm. It had slowed, even now. But it was worrisome. Her pear colored eyes were widened, and her heartbeat continued to sound like a snare.

“I don’t know what happened,” She finally whispered. “I was showering. The water was getting cold because I guess I stood there too long. I always stand there too long.”

Emily nodded gently, eyes trying to search the girl’s face. A purple bruise was forming around the laceration and Emily tried her hardest not to stare.

“They came at me, Em. I- I could feel the wood splinter under the tip of that knife. It burned.” Her throat audibly tightened. It wasn’t the beginning of a cry, because this was more than that. This was a fear that shook Aubrey Posen’s body harder than anything ever had before. “It just burns.”        

Aubrey melted into Emily’s side. The younger girl was pretty sure she would vanish into the floor if she had the chance. Her nose was cold against the inside of her neck and scent of blood wasn’t so noticeable anymore. The way Aubrey was crying was. The way her whole body shuttered, and fingers dug into the fabric of Emily’s shirt. She was like a pine tree, unwavering in the wind, finally pulling its roots from the deeply packed fine soil.  

Her chocolate gaze flipped up to the door as it creaked open. Stacie Conrad was breathing heavily, a little less tactful about keeping her disdain towards the wound to herself. “Chloe told me you needed this I- Should I grab someone who can fix you up?”  

Aubrey straightened up and moved the length of her arm across the base of her nose, chin lifting slightly as she gave an easy and collected stare.

The archer looked a little sickly compared to the blue of the sky. Maybe Stacie didn’t like blood. If Emily hadn’t been exposed to the dangers of it when she was young, she supposed she would look a bit green too.

“No, it’s alright.” Emily objected. “I can do it.”

She took the first aid kit from Stacie, who hung by the door for a few moments before ducking out into the ever-cooling air. Emily didn’t waste time digging through the plastic case. She found alcohol wipes, padding, and some wrapped bandages. The rest were band-aids that could hold up against water. Anti-itch spray. Usual things that would be needed at a camp this size. Aubrey followed her with reddened eyes, she sniffed softly.

Emily was careful as she tore away the wrapping of the wipe. The toxic scent of antiseptic-coated her lungs as she kneeled on the bed next to Aubrey, one foot hanging off the side. “This might sting, just a little.”

Aubrey hissed as the cool wipe met the mostly open wound.

“You know, I used to volunteer at an animal shelter during the winter. The doctor there, he had a lot of free time, so he started to teach me a few things. You don’t need stitches so that’s good, it didn’t cut deep enough.”

“Okay,”

“Right,” Emily Junk didn’t do well with awkward silence, but she could respect Aubrey Posen’s need to be quiet. Her own mind was still buzzing with trauma. Jane Eide was dead and the girl she may have possibly felt a strong fondness for had been attacked in the showers. She struggled to silence her thoughts, and instead laid a pad of gauze down before wrapping the majority of Aubrey’s arm. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you, Emily.”

Aubrey stood herself, rolling her shoulders back as much as she could, her eyes darkening. Emily had seen it before; that rage hungry look that translated from pain. It made her freeze, feeling that edge of ice bite at her skin once more. She settled for playing with the fuzz at the end of Aubrey’s jacket, the fabric stretching past her wrist.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s fine,” Her voice was tender, “I just need to take care of a few things. Stay here if you want.”

Emily opened her mouth to object but was met by the screen door opening and closing. She stared at the way the lined material looked so vivid against the daylight as she blinked a few times before shoving off the bed herself and walking onto the creaking porch. Everything looked the same.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting: A lake filled with blood, a sky harbored with rolling clouds ready to rain down acid. At least a police car to take a statement about a possible killer still on the campgrounds. Instead, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Aubrey looked distraught compared to her usual demeanor.

Emily found herself following at will, her sneakers crunching against the grass as she stopped right at the stony shore. She could smell the musk of the lake that always wore off the second her feet touched the mucky bottom in familiarity. This time she hung away, swallowing roughly as Aubrey’s boots met the far end of the dock.

Beca had a whistle in her mouth, letting the metal drop from her lips before she turned slightly on her heel. Her eyes were trained on the campers in the water, a few of them splashing around while others swam laps close to the ropes. She itched at the edge of her neck where her sweatshirt stood.

“Aubrey?” she turned completely, “Jesus dude, what happened?”

The taller woman shoved her hand down, knocking the clipboard from Beca’s grasp. The loud clang caught the attention of few, Beca glancing down before letting out a breath, her hardened eyes glowering at Aubrey. “What the hell, Posen?”

There was an immediate petal of blood the second Aubrey’s fist connected with the right side of Beca’s face. The sound was unmistakable, knuckles against bone and a string of profanities as Beca stumbled back, her shoe skidding against the edge of the dock before she caught herself- before Aubrey caught her and pulled her forward by the neck of her sweatshirt.

Emily’s throat tightened as the fond scent of rust hit her nose. She reached forward and grasped the base of Aubrey’s tank top, quickly searching for a place that wouldn’t’ wound the girl further, a dark red soaking through the pad of cotton on her shoulder.

“You’re fucking dead, Mitchell!”

“Get off of me!”

Beca struggled to push the girl’s hands away as Emily pulled back even harder to no avail. She moved her hands against the woman’s side, ducking under her arm completely to create a barrier between the head counselor and the water sports director. Her fist was raised, but her eyes quickly lightened, features softening as her lips parted and her hand dropped.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Emily shoved Aubrey back slightly “Go cool off.”

“I’m gonna-“Aubrey took a shaky breath, a step back, even “Yeah.”

She shook her head, eyes sharp as she blinked towards Beca. Aubrey drew in a breath and walked down the rest of the dock. Emily’s clouded eyes followed her frame as she departed, feet heavy and fingers clutching at the dull ache visible on her shoulder.

“What the fuck was that about?” Beca asked,  grabbing her clipboard from the wooden dock. Emily hadn’t noticed how unstable it felt. A deep shade of brick was smeared across her arm where she had struggled to steel the laceration on her cheek. An ugly shade of blue and purple was already blistering against pale skin.

“Sorry, she uh-“Emily fretted “You’re okay?”

Beca pressed her fingers close to the blood, pulling back and rubbing it between her thumb and index finger before glowering up at her. “Yeah, Em. I’m fine.”      

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe #Emily Junk #Aubrey Posen #junksen #junksen fanfic

[redsdesktop]

AU-ctober: Day 5

Masterlist

Warnings: Lukewarm nsfw. Nothing really dirty, just slightly intimate positions.

Pairings: RK800, RK800-60, RK900

AU: Angels & Demons

Notes: A continuation of my previous Angels & Demons AU

It was unusual not to see his co-workers nearby, the pair were always around to keep an eye on Connor. Most thought Collin and Conrad's interests were more along the romantic lines, but Connor knew better. Most days, Connor was a android detective, Lieutenant Anderson's partner. In reality Connor was none of those things, he was a demon, more specifically a fallen angel. Traditionally, angels and demons could only possess a body if the current soul let them in and that usually effectively destroyed the previous soul. However, thanks to humans desire to create, their latest androids had provided the perfect vessels for angels and demons. They didn't need permission and this is why things on earth had grown more dangerous than ever.

Humans thought that the androids gaining sentience was a virus, a deviancy. However, it was something more than just that, something humans couldn't exactly see. Connor looked up from his terminal, expecting to see Collin or Conrad show up, but nothing. It was eerie despite how much Connor tried to get away from the two. He didn't want to admit it, but he had started to enjoy their little game. Trying to blend in with humans while underneath they were at war with each other. Connor liked the way the two chased him, they way they fought until they were breathless and exhausted.

"Lookin' for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?" Hank's voice drew Connor's attention, making the omega demon turn his gaze towards the old human alpha. Hank was the only human to know what Connor exactly was and still the man welcomed him in like a son. Connor wasn't exactly a bad demon, he just questioned the moral judgement that the higher ups in angel hierarchy had made. They hadn't valued individual human life, treating humans more like animals. Hank was the reason why Connor was a demon now, cast out from heaven because he had valued the human's life above the angels' mission. He had supposed to destroy the ability to allow angels and demons to possess androids which would effectively remove him from this plane of existence as well. He hadn't been able to face the fact that he'd never see Hank again.

It was selfish of him, but that's why he was a demon now and he had made it his duty that the demons who did possess androids didn't step out of line. He felt they should be able to enjoy life with humans, but some demons only had real trouble on the brain. Angels thought all demons were sorely evil, so they had sent not only the soldier angel Collin down, but the arch-angel Conrad down to deal with the traitor Connor. Despite the fact it was two against one, Connor still managed to escape them, always one step ahead of the two. Except now they were completely missing, what if Connor got up to no good?

"Yes, its unusually they let me out of their sights and I highly doubt they trust me enough not to get into trouble." Connor stated in a worried tone, pushing himself up to his feet as he was already determined to go out and find them. What if something happened to them? The thought made him frown, he always though Collin and Conrad would be indestructible, but what if they had faced a powerful demon? Or a group of them?

"Well, go on and find their sorry asses, those two shouldn't be left unsupervised for too long. I got everything covered here." Hank waved his hand to shoo Connor off, the demon grateful as he hadn't wanted to leave Hank to do all the work. He'd make it up to the Lieutenant later, for now he had two angels to find.

Connor decided to first look around the station before extending his search elsewhere, assuming the pair wouldn't be far from Connor since he had been their mission. As he began to walk towards the break room, his dark brown eyes caught sight of something on the floor. Crouching down, he studied the light brown speckled feather, definitely Collin's. Humans wouldn't be able to see it thankfully as the feather was quite large and he didn't want the other workers thinking there was a large bird loose in the station. As Connor continued on, he made his way through the break room, only to find more feathers on the ground, this time near black feathers had joined in, Conrad was loosing feathers too.

Concerned, he began to follow the trail down the hall and the number of feathers being lost were starting to make Connor panic, had there been a fight Connor didn't know about? The trail ended at the evidence locker, the two might've tried to go someone secluded to continue the fight so no human would run across them. Connor pressed his palm against the hand scanner, allowing himself access to the room. As he pushed open the door, the conversation within the evidence locker stopped before Connor to grasp what was being said. When he stepped into the room, Collin and Conrad were already staring at him, looking guarded at his sudden appearance. Connor frowned and narrowed his eyes in suspicion, there was no fighting going on and neither seemed to have been roughed up.

"What is going on here? There's feathers everywhere outside, I thought you two were attacked." Connor motioned towards the door and to the hall outside, he looked irritated now that he knew he'd been worried for nothing. Not only that but he'd worried over these two, they were supposed to be enemies... or something. Connor didn't hate them, they were sometimes annoying with how much they followed him or got into his personal space, but there were times he had fun with them as well. After going an hour without seeing them, he knew he'd grown attached and wasn't exactly certain how he should feel about that.

"Were you worried about us?" Collin taunted with a half grin, his honey brown eyes lighting up in devious humor. Conrad let out a low growl in warning to Collin, it seemed the arch angel had deemed it not the time to allow Collin to entertain his games. Conrad was intense, but he was usually more laid back, letting Collin do as he pleased and was less strict on Connor. It was a stark contrast to when they had first met, it had been all strictly business. Now none of them seemed to be taking each other seriously, or their mission. Collin quickly glanced away, which was uncharacteristic of him to do. Collin was defiant, especially so for an angel and he did not like taking orders from Conrad.

"Tell me." Connor demanded, taking a threatening step forward, growing annoyed with how Conrad seemed to be trying to ignore him. The alpha arch-angel rarely took his eyes off Connor, so to be rejected in such a manner hurt a little. That pain translated quickly to irritation, he was losing his cool a little. As a demon now, he still needed to get the hang of controlling his more sinful emotions. Such as wrath. His scent switched to burning sugar, his leathery wings twitching as they were no longer concealed. Both the angels bristled at the change in mood and the sudden appearance of a threat from the omega demon. Their own wings fanning out in a warning, trying to ward off Connor from fighting.

However, Connor paused, his anger instantly vanishing as he took note of the angels' wings. Most of their feathers had fallen out, leaving them looking a bit ragged and unkempt but Connor knew that the pair took great pride in their wings. Grooming wings was important to an angel, sometimes it was their very pride. Connor's own wings lowered in a sign that he was no longer a threat. Instead, Connor began to laugh, his arms holding his sides at how ridiculous the angels looked. Collin's cheeks flushed blue and he took a step forward to try to cover up his embarrassment by threatening Connor.

"H-Hey! Don't laugh!" Collin tried to defend himself but that only made Connor laugh even more and the poor angel. Conrad had tucked his wings against his back, trying to hide them and maintain his composure at the same time.Connor couldn't believe the situation he was currently faced with, he knew better than to assume the two were molting, Connor knew what molting looked like.

"I can't believe you guys fell. Oh man, this is priceless, wait until I tell Hank. I mean, I kind of felt like Collin would be close, but you Conrad?" Connor shook his head as he tried to steady himself after laughing so hard at the irony of it all. However, Conrad hadn't found Connor's statement funny, before Connor could react, he was slammed into the ground, the alpha arch-angel's weight pushing down against him. This was the closest they had ever got, making Connor hyper aware of every contour of the slightly larger male's body. Connor wasn't certain if Conrad meant to wedge himself between Connor's legs or not, but instantly Connor's body heated up. Just another 'perk' of being a sin-tainted demon.

"I wouldn't laugh, little demon." Conrad murmured in a low growl, his gray eyes hooded with dark eyelashes, staring with a dangerous heat in his gaze. Conrad shifted, pressing his hips further forward, forcing Connor's legs to spread wider while he had Connor off balance with his 'attack'. "I should punish you, after all, this is all your fault." Conrad admitted, ignoring the sound of Collin moving closer, the epsilon gaining more interest now at the change in mood. Connor stared up in surprise at Conrad at the news that he was to blame for causing the two to fall.

"Don't look so surprised." Collin stated as he was suddenly very close, trying to press himself closer and shove at Conrad to get more room. "You were enjoying it completely, you were just begging for us to catch you." Collin's gaze was heated, but was quickly diverted to glare at Conrad as the alpha sharply bit him on the shoulder, not wanting to give up his position. Once he had warned off Collin, Conrad leaned down to nuzzle his face against Connor's ear, allowing him to feel his breath rushing over hotly.

"Now that I'm no longer an angel, I don't have to hold back my desires anymore."

#detroit become human #deviant dynamics #rk800 #connor #rk900 #conrad #rk800-60 #collin #omegaverse #angels & demons #angel #demon #alternate universe #au #archangel!rk900 #angel!collin #demon!connor #alpha!rk900 #omega!rk800 #epsilon!rk800-60 #fanfic #fanfiction #story #au-ctober #october prompt

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Chapter Twenty-Four

The device attached itself to the nape of the neck and burrowed its way into the skin, integrating until the device and the body were one. Once the lights flickered to the tune of the heart's words, the first word was spoken:

“OMIGOSH!”

Wow. I MUST try that again. I opened my mouth and:

“OMIGOSH!DIDYOUSEETHOSEGIRLS?THEYWERESOCUTE!IWANNADATEONEOFTHEM!AND!AND!GUYS!MYVOICE!IT!IS!SOCUTE!”

Gumby puffed his cheeks and croaked. You don't have to make it look SO obvious that you aren't impressed. GOSH!

“Calm thyself,” Gumby tapped on my froggy shoulders. His smiling salamander mask did NOT match his tone, if you were to ask me.

I puffed my cheeks as well in protest.

“Come on, don't be like that, Polo. We're just as happy you're alive and that you get to speak. All I ask is that you talk a little slower.”

“I'm SORRY! It's just that I saw GIRLS while I was hopping about!”

“Yes, but remember: humans are our enemies. Those who are not frogs nor wish to become frogs ought to be eliminated.”

“I know, but...GIRLS!”

Gumby turned to “Marco”, my “brother”. HA!

“I must say, it is rather impressive that you knew of device that allowed Polo to speak in English. What I would like to know, however, is how Polo managed to survive the building's destruction.”

“Marco” tugged at a beard that seemed to have grown out of a puff of smoke. “His” eyes looked sunken, as well, and wrinkles around “his” face. Perhaps such a jester was trying to mimic how Conrad looked, but then again...maybe “he” was going for an “old man” look.

“Many doors,” wheezed “Marco” in what was a DEFINITE “old man”impression, though ALL I could think of was a chain-smoking chipmunk.

“BRO kept ME in 'HIS' pocket!” I piped up.

“Hmm...yes...sadly, I could not fit Mr. Periwinkle in my pocket,” my “brother” surmised, hunching “his” back now. Really playing SOME kind of role, but anyone's guess.

“OMIGOSH! You said we'd ALL be okay!”

“Yes, my dear sister. Mr. Periwinkle will be fine as soon as the facility is rebuilt. I imagine he may feel a little different once reawakened, maybe a little hungry...”

“Well, either way, I'm sure glad we've made some progress. Not much further now and we'll be able to create a new world for frogkind!”

“Ho ho ho!”

I tilted my lumpy head. “You Santa now?”

“New world for frogkind, or preserve frogs worldwide...either way, a new world is upon us. I project that the happiness meter is already off the charts. Think of how much higher it can go.”

“Why does it matter if humans are happier when they are our enemies?” Gumby groaned.

“Your enemies. I love all my brothers and sisters. Humans, frogs, beings from other planets, you name it. They're all so precious, ho ho ho!” Chuckled “Santa”.

“Who ARE you trying to fool? You're less like “SANTA” and more like “SAT--”

“Never mind that, think about where we are right now.”

Right. RIGHT. Oh WOW. I was SO absorbed in my new voice and how CUTE it was that I forgot about where we WERE.

So, I looked around and noticed a room full of machinery with buttons all over that did WHO KNEW WHAT. All I knew is how sleek and silver it all was, SO shiny. The air around tasted manufactured and rubbery, but not the GOOD kind of rubbery you get from eating flies. Even the floors where I lay my CUTE little frog legs were shiny AND smooth. I think “Saint Nick” wanted me to look further, but the only other thing of note were strange devices secured in cases. Gumby must've opened up the case that held what's allowing me to speak and...

“OMIGOSH!” I blurted.

“Ho ho! Amazing, yes, sister?”

“Shut IT! I was just remembering how CUTE those girls were! I hope I can see them again! UGH!”

“Ol' Scratch” gave me a pat on the back.

“Fret not, sister. You failed to kill them and they have survived their ordeal. Right now they are in a separate part of the whole.”

“YAY!” I hopped and flapped my tongue about. Alas, no flies in sight.

“Yes, I too am relieved. If the two were to have died before I got a chance to meet one of them, I just don't know what I would have done.”

My “brother” looked mournful, but was quick to change demeanor once again.

“For the moment, you two should look around the area. I, on the other hand, have a bit of soul-searching to go on. Fret not! We shall meet again!”

“Excuse ME?” I croaked. “That's it? Not much instruction, huh?”

The eternal imposter closed “his” eyes and cracked a smile. “Henceforth, you and Gumby may squabble to be the de facto leader!”

I crossed my upper frog legs with displeasure. My humanly physique was not having it, but what else could have been done but let the wanderer wander?

As “he” walked away into another room, or faded from view as if the presence was but a mere memory, Gumby turned to me and the two of us nodded in understanding.

From a control room, two esteemed scholars were having a little chit-chat with each other as they observed an unsatisfactory situation. I would soon be in that same control room.

“I am glad everything's coming together, but I hate how easy everything has been,” I lamented to Gumby just a little while prior.

“And why would that displease you?” Gumby had asked me.

I gave my colleague in amphibious studies no answer then, and if I were to have an answer now, it wouldn't be a satisfactory one. All that ran through my head were jelly beans and the knowledge buried somewhere that if things weren't complicated further in any way, shape, or form, then I would be one angry beaver.

“And then I said 'he had a booy that just wouldn't quit!'” One of the scientists threw a laughing fit.

“Dr. Chekhov, entertainer!” The other congratulated. “Maybe once reset, the next Sgt. Michaels feel a certain attraction toward our type!” The other one suggested, bearing a thick Russian accent.

“I concur, Dr. Tolstoy! To be kissed by such a hunk of muscles is what all scientists dream of!”

“Gentlemen,” I greeted as I hobbled up to the two.

“Who-Who are you?!” Dr. Chekhov struggled to speak. Poor sap must've been paralyzed with fear.

“Dr. Erikson, at your service,” I inched closer, introducing myself in the process.

I noticed Dr. Tolstoy reach his hand toward a button. Before he could press, what I presume would have been a button for weapons to appear, or to call security, I sandwiched myself between the two men and drew out my knives from my cloak, stabbing each one in the side.

“I agree, Dr. Chekhov. Guns are so excessive.”

Both seethed and winced in pain. I licked my lips in response. They writhed and squirmed and I noticed them reel back and try to reach for those buttons once again. Oh, I wouldn't let them hit that spot. Just as they were about to press their hand against the surface, I pulled my knives out of their sides and rammed them into their hands, forcing their palms to be stuck to the monitors just inches away from their security buttons. As I watched them attempt to struggle free, I shoved the knives deeper, and listened close to their screams. Just as I was sure the two would let something out, I covered their mouths and made shushing sounds.

“There, there, all will be well.”

I let go of them and Dr. Tolstoy spoke right away.

“What you want?”

“Let me tell you a story: God walks into a bar and announces loud enough for everyone to hear, 'I'm an atheist!'”

Shock and confusion filled Dr. Tolstoy in equal measure.

“I don't understand,” he whimpered.

“I want you to have a little faith,” I soothed once more. “Nobody bats an eyelash. See, the joke is that God showed up as a straight, white man! Isn't that funny?” I burst into a fit of laughter until I noticed that neither scientist looked amused. Such a brash reaction caused me to grimace.

“...Did I leave that part out?”  I knew I had to remedy this somehow.

“Okay, so the bartender asks God what it'll be and God denies any drinks, saying, 'I don't believe in any spirits'. Now, this is how the bartender knew he was dealing with a smartass, and any rational person would have kicked this guy out, but the bartender had already met the quota on tips and it would soon be closing time, so as long as there wasn't too much of a disturbance, he figured all was good.”

“Just tell us what you're doing here!” Dr. Chekhov demanded. I covered his mouth again and shushed.

“It's rude to interrupt. Now, where was I?” I had to pause once more as the good doctor broke my concentration. “Ah, so one of the patrons decides to humor God. They walk up and go, 'now, what of heaven? What of hell?' To which God replies, 'what about it?' The patron shook their head. 'Even still, are you going to mock those with faith?' God shrugged in reply and told the patron, 'I just don't believe in a higher power.' By coincidence, God took a sip of a cider.”

Dr. Chekhov's eyes widened, a great revelation thrust upon him.

“You...! Dr. Magellan!”

The two looked at each other, a loving gaze of despair. Each helped each other to break free from the knives that held down their hands, but I wasn't done yet. I grabbed two more knives from my cloak and slammed them into the scientists' other hands. Now they were nailed down to their machinery.

“You wanted to know what I was doing here, yes?”

Tears filled their cheeks. Blood trickled from their hands. Yet, they nodded.

“I am but a Steve looking for his Adam.”

I could sense confusion but I knew past their agitation, they knew.

“Were Adam and Eve both siblings and lovers? I love everyone, but sometimes this love is a blurry one.”

Though bound, the two were able to point me in the right direction. Kind gestures went a long way. As thanks, I pressed my hands against their faces, feeling the palms of my fingers against their flesh. Yes, those two were going to make great masks.

I bid them farewell and took my knives with me.

I took note of every item we passed through, mapping out the layout of our surrounding in my head. Polo, meanwhile, hopped about.

“Now that we can communicate, I have many questions I wish to ask you,” I mentioned as I took my strides, never averting my gaze from the foreign objects.

“Oh, I BET! This is all SO exciting!”

I think I preferred it more when all you could say was 'Polo'.

...But then I wouldn't have the chance to gain insight. I should take this opportunity, however it presents itself.

“But y'know, dude, we could ALWAYS communicate. Remember when you signaled which direction for us to go?”

I shook my head. I already knew we weren't going to find what we came for in the current room. I pointed her in the direction of the next door.

“SEE? That's what I'm saying!” She pointed out before hopping through.

I shook my head again. That wasn't what I meant.

We made our way to the next set of halls. Alarms began to sound. Marco had been a fool. If he had taken the time, there was little doubt he could have disabled the alarms. My third arm tried to reach up to my ear to block out the noise, but couldn't reach far enough. Soldiers ran out in droves to investigate what set off the alarm. Their armor, thick and metallic. Their weapons, strange and box-like. I would have to examine their technology and take note of it all as soon as possible.

“Who goes there?” The soldiers yelled.

Polo tilted her froggy head.

“Umm...RIBBIT?” She must have still been getting used to this new voice. My third arm reached up to my face and rubbed my forehead.

“You don't have to say 'ribbit'...” I groaned.

She made a leap into the air just as the bullets fired in every direction. My third arm was enough to protect me, and Polo's speed matched with her acrobatics meant that the soldiers' efforts were futile. She would grab some of the bullets with her tongue and spit them back at the soldiers. None of them doing any damage, due to their armor, but the acidic nature of Polo's mouth was strong enough to corrode bits and pieces of their armor. Glimpses of skin could be seen, and knowing what said flesh was made out of...

I only hoped salvation could come soon enough.

Polo managed to land a dropkick on one of the soldiers, and as I watched the hunk of alloy that carried such a clumsy species fall to a sleek floor made of unknown metals, I lifted my mask and licked my lips.

“Why are you just standing there?!” One of the soldiers barked. The surrounding oafs had their weapons raised.

“Are you going to alert others?” I looked around. “Or maybe others are already on their way. I would like to see what happens next, yes...” I licked my lips again, anticipating the next move. My gill rakers twitched like the little whiskers they resembled and I sucked up the air around me. Free from the soldiers' grasp came their weapons and I felt them make their way into my mouth. I took a big gulp and swallowed. Later on, I would have to regurgitate them and study the anatomy of their weaponry and see about crafting any upgrades.

The gasps from the soldiers were unsurprising; a natural reaction that anyone not used to my behavior would have.

Turrets and lasers appeared from panels in the walls and floors. Again, not a surprise. If these 'elite' soldiers were having difficulty, other measures would have to be taken. I shielded myself with my third arm and watched as it fell apart, other arms forming and unforming, filling in whatever gaps my old third arm left.

“This too...is fascinating...” I looked down as the lasers continued to do their work and holes were made into the arm. As much as the pain was on a higher threshold than most could handle, I made the effort not to flinch, and instead turned my head toward Polo and nodded.

“You GOT it, BOSSERONI!”

With her tongue, she tore a strip off the wall and crawled her way in where I presume she next found some panel to control the turrets because what came next were the robotic weaponry shifting their target from my beaten hydra of miniature arms and toward the soldiers.

“Et tu?” I asked the devices. They responded by ignoring my quip and taking fire at the soldiers who helped raise them.

Astonished, I took note of how the armor prevented the artillery and energy blasts from piercing through the armor and instead knocked each soldier back.

“...It's not easy being green,” emitted from each of the soldiers' helmets a song and Lilypad's calling card.

“Just what have you done to our communications?” Erupted the cries of a soldier.

“Not my doing,” the smile upon my face stretched. “Our esteemed engineer, Polo, has that honor.”

“YO! I found a mini PC and I can do all SORTS of junk on it!” Her voice box boomed. That voice was still one I would have to get used to.

I relaxed my face and exhaled a soft sigh.

“This has been a valuable experience. However, it would be far more valuable for us to move forward.”

Polo made a mighty leap while I walked forward, stepping on one of the fallen soldiers.

“Just what are you?” The one I had stepped on asked.

I leaned down, removing their helmet with one of my more presentable arms, and took a look at the face I would soon forget.

“An observer. Someone who seeks happiness. One who moves forward.”

I made good on my word and put the helmet back on as an asinine sign of respect before I stepped on their face and pressed my foot down hard enough to crush the soldiers' skull. Before I may have had a slight smile, my default expression. Now it was a full on grin, stretching far enough to reach my eyes. As soon as I heard the crunch and could confirm their forgettable face was flattened, I made my strides. Soon the two of us would be closing in on our goal.

There was a twinge of pain, to which I responded by turning my attention to the esteemed Dr. Tolstoy.

“I just had the strangest feeling,” I groaned, a pulsing headache crawling its way to the surface of my forehead.

“Just now?” Tolstoy with his thick and charming accent asked in response.

“Just now, yes. It felt like...” I was doing my damnedest to recall the feeling. “Like there was a presence that wasn't supposed to be here. Just now.”

“Non-authorized? Besides the girls set to be executed?”

I nodded, loose hairs making their way to the floor.

“Never worry about those two. Velvet shall cease and once the section of the facility is been restored, a new Mavis shall resume her role.”

“Wonderful!”

“...Then there's the matter of the amphibious presence.”

“Fear not, brother. We'll boil the frogs, then dissect them!”

“One of them seems to be part salamander. The fact that they've caused us this much trouble is worrisome.”

“As I said: boil, then dissect.”

Yes, boil, then dissect...once we get the air base up and running, that fat toad that ran around causing a massacre was sure to be apprehended and experimented on. Discovery can be a dirty business, everyone in the field knew that. Should it bother me that some hundred or so lives were lost to a unknown terror? Not particularly. We rebuild and adapt. Property damage as well, it means nothing when we can recreate what has been lost as if it never left us.

Even still, my fears were not alleviated.

“I don't know. I can't shake the feeling...someone was here in this room...”

“Would it help if you checked the cameras?”

I pondered. Yes, if I just looked at the footage of the past five, no, thirty minutes, there would lie my answer.

So I clicked through the footage. Nothing. Just me. Sitting there.

As I intensified my stare, a jolt of pain shot through my pain as if I had been stabbed. I felt as if my life was being stolen as my breath shortened, only for it to be gone again in just a split second. Maybe there was something my mind was surpressing, maybe it was my old age (doubtful considering how well I've preserved myself), or maybe it was something trying to worm itself in – a creature wriggling through, forcing itself in.

...But even still, nothing changed on the camera. It was just me.

I turned to Dr. Tolstoy and laughed.

“That's right! I always fancied myself a companion!”

I spun the extra chair a good bit. It seldom brought me joy, but being down here could be a lonesome experience. We all had our job to do and little else.

“The ETNA corporation has been kind to us. I made a note to request a companion at the next available time. After all, I had to derive happiness somewhere.

Ah, but in the meantime, I had Dr. Tolstoy.

Doors opened that were not meant to open. As it was believed, the only one with the permissions necessary was deceased. Of course, in such a line of work, the truth was more that said person was somewhere outside of space, no longer concerned with the contents within.

Ah, but I was, and I stepped through, irregardless of technological advances.

Within the confines (and they were confines, that much was a certainty), was a large laboratory, not unlike the multitude of laboratories that make the facility their home. Large cylinders filled with unknown fluids lined in rows, computer systems lined up to match each cylinder, and blueprints sprawled to indicate what each one contained. Each blueprint, with different diagrams, different formulas scattered throughout, and in various languages. Props to whoever could read such blueprints and understand the contents, but what I sought was much greater:

Within one cylinder in particular was a body of a being, once conscious, floating within the fluids. Such a creature with their head hunched over, and even still was well over ten feet tall with a thick, bulbous head and sunken eyes. Their complexion, desaturated, and limbs that resembled the limbs of trees, sprouting from their torso. There was a human-like quality to them, even if the majority of the genetic structure was far from anything of Earth.

“My Adam...” I murmured, pressing my palm against the casing. “Although we have never met, my brother, I have thought of kissing you ever since I had the memory of your existence.”

I traced my fingers across the casing, the smoothness of it soothing me.

“How unfortunate that we meet now. You, a prisoner to those you were against, and I, free to dismantle friend and foe alike.

Silk eyes told me all. I nodded, agreeing with the assessment.

“I know,” I reached out, although knowing there was little I could do. “It isn't right. There must be another way. I should respect my elders, right?”

An earful of memories rushed forward.

“I was never very good at that, I'm afraid. You see, what I seek most is not something so grandiose. I only wish to experience joy, a simple zest for life, something to justify this existence.”

“You know,” I was so casually interrupted by a voice I failed to account for. “That thing can't actually hear you.”

I turned to face the figure: a listless scholar, scientist, or student, appearing adrift in a cushioned chair and hunched onto a desk full of papers.

“Oh, of course. I was just taking the time to consider the frailty of existence, even accounting for a being of such power.”

“How did you even get in here?” Asked the bookish oaf.

“I am Dr. Oh...you know what? Forget about it.” I was too exhausted to give myself a name in this instance.

“I see. Well, if you're not supposed to be here, you'll probably be killed on sight. Maybe not. Never had a guest before, let alone an intruder, so who am I to say what will happen?”

“I came in through the door,” I explained. The very door that I should not have had access to.

At this point, the one at the desk went back to the papers. I was here for a reason, but having an audience was a treat I could resist sinking my teeth into.

“And what of you?” I pondered. Although looking toward the being in the cylinder, the question was addressed to the human.

“How did I get here or who am I?” Yawned the listless words from a tired soul.

“More, what is your purpose?” I was surprised by my ability to carry through this conversation so far.

“Ah, excellent. An all-purpose question,” The good lab rat sat up, attention now on me. “Well then, I am Dr. Lem. If you've made it here, I'm sure you already know what it is I do.”

“How much have you learned?”

“Again, if you're here --”

“So you observe this unconscious being, keep it in a stasis. Neither awake nor dead. Humor me: let's assume I don't know what those liquids are in the tube.”

“Simply put, it's bongwater.”

I stroked my chin, the same one that at one instance, whether in the past or future, wore a beard. “What strain?”

“Excuse me?”

“Indica or sativa?”

“You must already know we've been keeping this thing in an unconscious state, preserved. How else do you think we managed that?”

“That's not what I asked.”

Dr. Lem sighed. “Hybrid. It's a concentrated form of several plants, distilled into a liquid. We tried many methods to keep our subject alive and found that to be the only sufficient method.”

“Ah, that explains so much. Thank you.”

“Does it? I don't feel like I gained much from this conversation.”

My doctorate companion resigned back to the papers on the desk.

“Is this what you do when you have nothing to report on my brother?”

“My every action is monitored as well. Not much I can do, so I just find things to occupy myself. I've taken to writing a novel, for instance, as I am allowed pen and paper. I've come up with several drafts. Now if you excuse me...wait. Did you say 'my brother'?”

“It's a term of endearment. I find in some ways that the thing in the case and I are joined at the hips.”

“Every scientist, every soldier, everything with a pulse, including the facilities themselves, have a role to play. We are to stick to that role with little to no interaction unless permitted. We are monitored, though at this point I doubt it's even a human that monitors us. Artificial intelligence has become so if we do something out of line, the system will know and eliminate us well before any person does. The only reason I know this is because I am allowed to.”

“The system was offline for a few hours,” I pointed out.

“Yes. I wasn't allowed out, but even though if I tried, I may have made my escape if not for the fact that the doors were stuck shut. The one time I may have been safe to leave, and I couldn't.”

I shook my head. “Shame, really.”

“I only say all this to highlight what kind of situation I, and the others who work here, are in. Though I'm sure you're already well aware of this. Hell, all our food is made from 3D printers!”

I tapped on the casing.

“Please don't do that,” Dr. Lem scolded.

“The being you hold, they're referred to as 'the beige', correct?”

No response. Doctor was lost in the throws of creativity.

“That's a good of a name as any, I suppose. I like to call them family. Of course, I may also call you family, if it pleases you.”

“Do you mind? I'm busy writing.”

“Your magnum opus, the one no one will ever read. The thing you use to keep yourself sane. Some kind of marvelous sci-fi romp about the strangeness of memories.”

Dr. Lem leaned forward, a spark in the scientist's eyes.

“How did you know?”

“My entire life has been built on the strangeness of memories. It is said that a 'Beige' is born with the memories of all things, as I'm sure this one was, once. Imagine it, the contents of a 'hall of memories', ingrained knowledge upon birth. I can understand the interest in them.”

“Do you have an interest as well?”

“I am afraid very little interests me.”

This time, it was Lem who said, “shame, really.”

“There are qualities that a 'Beige' holds that extends past innate knowledge, of course. Molding and shifting their features in slight ways, their skin a sturdy material in which projectiles mean little to them, a hallucinogenic effect upon those in contact in them which can be used to influence others in various ways when honed.”

“I have observed similar things, yes. They're all in my notes.”

“With knowledge comes the knowledge of being able to exist near memories they have a connection with. Some may call this 'teleportation', although I would say that their methods are a little different than the ETNA Corporation's.”

“Fascinating...Is there more?”

At this point, my interest in Dr. Lem was waning, although to say there was any interest to begin with would have been a farce.

“Quite unfair, I would say. I would even go as far as to say it's cheating. But that's what things are like in the universe. We have so many powers that cheat to win that we may as well excuse this, too.”

I tapped once more.

“Could you stop that?”

I tapped harder.

“Why?” I asked as I stared at the Beige and wished they could stare back. “Will it break?”

“No...I don't think so. But the only think keeping them alive is the cannabis! If the tube were to break, they would die!”

I could see little cracks forming.

“On the contrary,” I smiled. “I think I'll be just fine.”

A little bit of this...and that...and AH! There we go!

“Are you about done?”

I tapped on the little voice box attached to me and shushed Gumby with one of my webbed fingers.

“Excuse YOU!”

“No, excuse you. I do not take well to being shushed.”

I stuck my tongue out at Gumby, who, underneath the mask of a smiling salamander lie the face of a smiling salamander.

There was a pause where both of us watched the monitor in front of us shift into a video of Frogger. Then, an announcement flashed on the screen, spoken by a representative of the World Wildlife Foundation:

“We are Lilypad: A Nonprofit Organization who seeks to enrich the lives of amphibians across the globe. Gay rights. Trans rights. Peace on Earth.”

I grinned. I believe Gumby did too. I mean, Gumby HAD to. I wrote the script!”

I hopped along the corridor, to which Gumby followed. I could sense a stench of disappointment, which meant Gumby needed a shower, like, BAD.

“Did you really have to expose the World Wildlife Foundation like that? Now The Flashbulb will go after them.”

“Not to worry, YO! We got this!”

Before us appeared an image of a tall, silver haired lady with the face of the most beautiful toad I had ever seen.

“This is Toadette. How may I assist you today?” She spoke, her voice ever so alluring.

“Toadette, really?”

“I think her name WAS Edna or something,” I shrugged, then added, “but Toadette just sounds prettier, don'tcha think? It's only temporary, anyway!”

“You changed the image and personality of an AI as well as hacking into a security system. I'm impressed.”

“YO! It's only temporary! Then she'll be REAL mad and stuff!”

Gumby growled. “Toadette, can you lead us to happiness?”

“Is that what you desire?” Toadette inquired.

“Enough with THE cryptic shit, SHEESH!” I scolded Gumby. “NAH! What we WANT is the lab! Y'KNOW? Where the FROG sterilization goo is at!”

“Ah. Just down the hall, to the right. Three rooms across.”

“So, she's going to return to her old self momentarily, then she'll want to kill us,” Gumby pointed out.

“YEAH! But what are consequences?”

We made it to our destination.

“Toadette, MY fair toady, IF you PLEASE!”

She puffed her cheeks, and the doors to the lab opened.

“Thank you! You're the BEST A.I. EVER!” I hopped as my voice box squeaked, both of us in joy.

As soon as Gumby and I made our way inside, the doors closed behind us. We could see the image of Toadette shifting back to the face of a pale, stone-faced human.

“Now, this will be where you die.”

“LAME!” I bellowed. “You were SO much cuter as a toad!”

“This fast, huh?” Gumby observed.

“I commend whatever abilities you have learned, but I am nothing if not adaptable.”

The hologram image of the lady disappeared, without me being able to admire her beauty as a toad. I pined like the lovesick fool I was.

“YO! I REALLY need a FROG girlfriend!”

“First thing's first,” Gumby reminded me, rummaging around the contents, examining every vial.

As if I was going to sit around and let Gumby take all the credit, NUH-UH. I hopped about the lab and kept my froggy eyes peeled.

“Careful not to knock anything over,” Gumby scolded. Said coward never even bothered to look my way.

We continued our search. I asked Gumby if he even knew what any of those vials contained.

“No, but there should be some documents somewhere that would point us in the right direction.”

“USELESS! USELESS! Utterly USELESS!” I hissed, or as close as a frog could get to hissing.

So continued our hopscotch across every nook and cranny. I'm talking about cupboards and counter tops alike, sinks and places hard to reach. If this was some buried treasure, or if it was in plain sight, we'd find it.

“Hey! Who's there?” Called out the gruff voice of a soldier, situated at the other end of the lab in his fancy armor with that big ol' hunk of weapon in their lap.

Gumby, with his grinning salamander face, turned to face the soldier. “I have expressed my desire to study your weaponry and armor.”

The soldier picked themselves up and aimed at us. Gumby signaled for me to do the ol' tongue-twister, which means exactly what you think it does: I flung my tongue forward and wrapped it around the soldier and the chair, twisting and constricting until I was sure the soldier couldn't move.

“Sit still,” Gumby commanded.

“It burns!” The soldier screeched.

“Yes, Polo is a poison dart frog-person.”

“My tongue is good for ALL SORTS of things!” I added.

“How did that thing say that?”

Really? 'That thing'?

I pointed to my voice box and scowled.

“Right. How convenient.”

“Now,” Gumby commanded. “You will tell us everything we need to know.”

The soldier nodded.

“First of all, were you aware of our existence?”

Gumby tossed me a knife and I caught it. I raised it against the soldier's neck.

“Are you aware about this? You better not be,” I threatened.

“We were told a group would be trying to steal from us, we just didn't imagine what that group would be!” The soldier gasped.

“Even still, if you were aware, you should have been better prepared. Why would your military allow us to so easily make a mockery of you?”

I inched the knife closer.

“Because simply put, we don't care!” Even as the soldier said this, I could tell the 'we' didn't apply to the one in the chair. I could smell the panic from where I was situated.

“The base you so thoroughly destroyed has been reconstructed! We didn't prepare an ambush there because we knew what you were after! Even with your skills, did you really think we would give it up? It's gone!”

Gumby looked at me, to which I looked back. Both of us, in shock.

“Gone?”

The soldier shook their head, helmet not allowing much of a range of motion.

“You were never going to get it. Now you are trapped in this room and reinforcements will show up to massacre you.”

Gumby walked forward and pressed his third arm, which was really a multitude of tiny arms at this point, against the soldier's helmet. Even behind the grinning facade, I could tell Gumby was pissed AS FUCK.

“Where is it now? We need it to achieve our amphibious paradise.”

“Who knows? Another base, another facility. Somewhere in another state, or even just a few miles away. Maybe another country. Maybe some thousand miles underwater.”

Gumby groaned.

“You think we're going to kill you, yes?”

“Doesn't matter. Not like my life means any more than anyone else's here.”

Gumby chuckled, lifting up his mask and revealing the grinning salamander underneath. He reached into his labcoat pocket and pulled out a tiny vial.

“I never managed to reproduce it. I was hoping that if we obtained your organization's concoction to sterilize all amphibians that I could reverse engineer it. Alas, all I have is this sample from when I made myself who I am today: the next evolutionary step in mankind.

He lifted the soldier's helmet. I never even caught a glimpse of the soldier's face. All I could see was Gumby forcing the contents of the vial down the soldier's throat.

“This may kill you, yet. But if it doesn't, you shall become like one of us.”

I let go of the soldier and hopped away, the soldier now having lost consciousness. Gumby retreated back to the other side of the lab where we entered and slammed his fists against the counters.

“Marco led us right into a trap!” He bellowed.

“Well, DUH!” I retorted. “He DID say that we would be doing just what The Flashbulb expected us to!”

“No, but he must have known what we were looking for wouldn't be here!”

“Again, DUH! Bro tends to know these things!”

Gumby paused.

“That reminds me, I've always wondered how it was you two were able to communicate.”

“AH! The question that never needed answering!” I beamed. “Like Han and Chewie! Like Rocket and Groot!”

“We're going to be surrounded soon. Our odds aren't looking too great. Could you please just indulge me?”

“Yeah, DUDE! So, like, I think he explained it to me once, LIKE, he knew my memories!”

“That...doesn't register.”

“It's like mind reading, sorta, I guess? Memories of the past, present, and future. He says he's got 'em, they're just a bit jumbled, like jelly beans!”

“How is that possible? Some item he uses?”

“I don't know, YO!”

“Even though I met him before you, you know him better than I do.”

“Yeah, but not MUCH! All's I can say is trickery is par for the course!”

“Right. He did tell me he may lose interest in our goal. He also refused to become one of us.”

“YUP! Who IS he? FROG? HUMAN? NAH! More like a TREE! Or a SLIME!”

“You know, those are different things.”

“He's a MUSHROOM!”

Gumby drew a deep breath. “Is that really what Marco is?”

I shrugged. “Beats me! He's OUT of this WORLD, YO!”

“There may be something to that if he was in the city where Kelly Roger was and he managed to get here. Oh, what I would give to dissect him piece by piece and figure out just what he really is.”

“Good LUCK, YO! Dude's a tricky one!”

“Did he say what he was going to do here, by the way?”

I put my webbed hand on my mouth, tongue sticking out, and pondered.

“Said something about devouring his brother, but that could be anybody. You know how he is with calling everyone his sibling.”

“Right. Then he plans to devour Euphoria as well.”

Gumby let out a deep barrel of a laugh.

“Never did I imagine that Marco and I would end up opposing each other, but it looks like we still share the same goal after all.

I licked my nostril.

“POLO-YOLO! What's the plan now?”

Gumby placed his mask back on his face. “If we can find Euphoria before Marco, we can achieve happiness and create a paradise where everyone is a frog person.”

“Sounds good, YO!”

“I just wonder what it is Marco would want with Euphoria...”

“To experience happiness, YO! DUH!”

Before we could continue our talk of my 'brother' and his zany schemes, we both heard the thunderous clatter of footsteps. Gumby looked around and my eyes followed his until we both saw a vent in the ceiling. Gumby pointed toward said vent.

“Polo, OUT!” I darted and leaped into the vent, leaving Gumby behind. With so many weapons and explosives sure to appear, I should have been more worried for the guy, but I knew him well enough.

“Contact the World Wildlife Foundation as soon as you get the chance,” Gumby instructed. “Let them know of Marco's betrayal.”

“We are Lilypad: A Nonprofit Organization who seeks to enrich the lives of amphibians across the globe. Gay rights. Trans rights. Peace on Earth.”

The words flashed on my screen as I watched, wishing I had a cup of coffee.

“Dr. Tolstoy, what do you make of this?”

“I think it should go away soon. Our systems are good at clearing these kinds of things. This little 'Lilypad' group is just a distraction.”

“I agree, Dr. Tolstoy. By now, our base should have been recovered and our faculty remade. Such a glorious thing to behold, I simply cannot wait!”

“Ah, Dr. Chekhov, I wonder if Sgt. Michaels has a thicker mustache now.”

I knew there was no Dr. Tolstoy, but I needed someone to bounce ideas off of.

“Not just our previous faculty, but a couple more as well. Even a member of 'Lilypad' will soon be one of us. Won't it be lovely to have a toad in our employ?”

“Quite! By the way, Dr. Chekhov, I think we ought to check in on the outside world. Particularly the city where the first ETNAvator was installed.”

I did just what Dr. Tolstoy asked of me and switched one of my monitors to display said city. Sights of destruction glared at the screen as buildings burned, crumbled, and citizens crashing every which way.

“Oh my. Wonder what could have happened here.”

I zoomed in on some of the citizens, who were ranting and raving about how they were so happy meanwhile doing such self-destructive acts like swinging from telephone poles. Police officers were running around, shooting others without discretion, announcing how happy they were to murder without impunity.

“Looks like there has been a flaw in the system,” I mentioned.

“Yes, Dr. Chekhov. We knew of the possibility of error when the elevators were introduced.”

“Yes, Dr. Tolstoy. Although only a .01% chance of this occurring, here it is. Everyone feeling the effects of Euphoria to such a degree.”

In spite of the pandemonium, there was little cause for concern.

“Soon this will spread,” I mentioned. “If something doesn't get done, Etna might soon find herself out of a job.”

“That's the problem when you let a string of code run a department; who takes the blame?

Laughter erupted from the room.

“Ah, but we should be fine! The underground facility is protected from the effects of ETNA's machinations so long as none of the copies comes into contact with those working below.”

I looked back at the devastation that was the city. If such a thing could happen there and spreads, it was only a matter of time before the faculty of the base also started feeling such things. Knowing what we were dealing with, the effects could take hold any moment.

“As soon as we execute Velvet and Mavis, all will be better,” I reclined in my chair, telling myself those words. I turned to the empty chair beside me. “So what if everyone ends up killing themselves? If we can recreate our faculty, who's to say we can't recreate entire populations? All we have to do is take the time to make sure these new folks don't overload themselves.”

Yes, all would be well. Maybe a little chaos for now, but perfection wasn't built overnight. All would be accounted for. That I could still remind myself of that simple fact left a smile on my face.

#happiness overload #jeez this took me like two months #im so sorry #also I havent done much proofreading so this post may be edited several times #scifi #comedy #dark #writing #fiction #still posting these chapters to tumblr until I make a wordpress even tho I know tumblr is shit now #oh well

[marumafan]

Yuuram in Novel 3

Because yuuram is life I hereby present you with a list of yuuram moments in the novels. This time novel 3.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.1

-Another Yuuram reunion-

The one who barged in was the angel-like bishounen, Wolfram von Bielefeld. He stopped dead in the hallway upon seeing my naked torso, and seemed to be at a loss for words, his cute face flustered.

"Yuuri... my God! Your face and arms ... So dark! Have you caught a terrible disease? Or a curse?"

"Are you looking for a fight?" I sulked.

In fact, my face and my arms were well-tanned, but my torso and legs were still white as snow. For baseball players, having this shirt-like tan would be considered an achievement, but when my upper body was exposed like this, it was indeed not the best look.

With the thumb and forefinger, Wolfram pinched my cheek.

"Ow-ow-aie-ooh-aie!! What do you think you're doing?"

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.1

- Yuuri introducing Wolfram -

Wolfram was a rival-less super bishounen, like a Vienna choir boy who had jumped straight out of a shoujo manga. He had inherited his mother's shiny golden hair and her emerald green eyes. While his build was no better or worse than mine, the difference between our looks was as wide as the gap between heaven and earth. I imagined all artists in the world would fight over the chance to paint his portrait. If he had appeared in someone's dream, the dreamer might even be moved to tears thinking they had seen an angel.

However, he was angel-like only as long as he kept his mouth shut. Else he was just a terribly spoiled and bratty prince. As he claimed, and if one could believe his words, he was already eighty-two years old. If he was living in Japan, he would be a stubborn old man. And because of a small tiny minor cultural difference, we are engaged to each other.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.1

- Casually touching Yuuri -

"The Mateki?!"

Wolfram who was strangely brushing the limit of my suntan, stepped into our conversation excitedly. As expected from a Vienna Boys Choir singer, the tone of his voice would even be a little annoying for Mozart.

"I've only heard the stories about it from my father, but he said that the sound of the flute is fantastic! It can make the sky roar and the earth shake. Its sound can conjure a loud storm, that would make you cower!"

"C-cows go?"

"Cows go mosa mosa."

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.2

- Yuuri being casually gay, and also upset he can’t be an alpha-

I tried to shift my body away from the boy sitting in front of me as much as possible so that some air could pass through between us. However, it was nothing but hot air all around us, and there was no stir even remotely resembling a breeze.

"If you slip further back, you'll fall." Wolfram said.

"I'm dying of heat!" I complained.

Wolfram was obviously enjoying the situation.

Yes, thanks. Very funny. If only it had been a girl who was sitting in front of me, then I would have had my fun. Like a charming gentleman, I would have steadied her, with the reins held in my hands. Sadly for me, the front seat was occupied by a bishounen lovelier than a girl.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.2

-Yuuri casually risking Conrad's life to save Wolf -

"What about Wolfram?! He fell in front of me into the sand! But he won't die, right?!" I cried and wailed.

"If he was unlucky..." Gwendal said above me. (...)

"Your Majesty, Wolfram would agree with me immediately. He is also a grownup warrior and knows that things like this can happen. Your safety comes first!"(...)

By now, there was no visible trace of the soldiers who had been swallowed by the sand vortex. Would they pass off falling into such a land hole as a matter of bad luck? Just imagining the honey blond hair and brilliant emerald green eyes frozen with terror, hurt my chest; I couldn't breathe.(...)

"Conrad, I don't want you to be someone who abandon his own brother." I finally said. (...)

"You've said that you would only follow my orders." I said.

"Yes, but that was..."

"You said you'll follow my catcher's signs. Then I order you to save Wolfram. Please! I'm fine; you have no reason to worry about me. After all I still have a strong guard here."

Conrad looked surprised and shifted his eyes back and forth between me and Gwendal.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.8

-Wolfram's reaction to hearing that Yuuri and Gwendal had eloped-

"Then you are the younger brother, whose fiancé has run off with your own elder brother?"

"What are you saying?"

In an instant, Wolfram's face had turned visibly red even in the pale moonlight. At the same time, steam seemed to be rising from his head.

"Conrad, what does that mean?" He yelled. "My brother and Yuuri! This cannot be true! I knew it! That cheater! "

"Wolfram, calm down. It is certainly not what it looks like."

"But yes, the two are surely a couple," the girl said. "I've seen them with my own eyes. The poor guys were on the run. They were chained together with handcuffs."

"Chained together?"

It had to be boiling water inside Wolfram's head.

(...)

The Lord Betrothed has gone completely out of his mind with fury and was by then torturing an innocent garbage can with his feet. Conrad decided to let Wolfram vent his rage. He turned around and put a hand on the shoulder of the girl who was about to break out in tears.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.10

-Yuuri hearing wedding music as he sleeps on Wolfram's lap; wakes up to Wolfram's hair in the moonlight which he thinks 'is beautiful' (the moon looks beautiful tonight trope?) ; Yuuri 's mantra -

In the meantime, the melodies of "The blue Danube" by Johann Strauss kept playing in my head. And it was not the full-scale version performed by an orchestra, but the cheap version the like of a call center's hold tone.

(...)

"What ..." I mumbled.

The first thing that I could see was thick golden strands shimmering in the moonlight. I didn't even have time to think 'It's beautiful', when I heard someone scolding me.

"Why do you always do this?"

"Wolf?"

"What?"

"Wa...Water..."

(...)

"Ouch... Stop it! I'm drowning, I'm really drowning here. Please forgive me!"

"Do you know how worried I was about you?"

Angering a bishounen, even if one was not at fault, would result in painful consequences. At the same time, I felt tremendous guilt since it was indeed my own impulsive action that caused trouble to everyone.

(...)

Even though I perfectly knew that we were both guys, being pursued by such a beautiful boy like him still caused my heart to skip a few beats. At times like this, the most effective solution was to avoid looking at his face and keep chanting "He is 82 years old" like a mantra.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.11

-Pillow Wolf-

As if that weren't enough, I had to lay down across two seats, my head softly cushioned on the thigh of Lord Bielefeld!

"Does my pillow have to be a man's lap, of all things?!" I wailed.

"Every time you do some huge magic, you sleep for two to three days," declared Wolfram, unmoved.

"This time you only slept two hours. And after such a formidable performance, too. Please be so kind as to stay right where you are. You need your rest."

"All right, all right! But why the heck does it have to be with you as my pillow!?"

"Doesn't it make you happy?"

"Do I look like I'm happy?!"

"Oh, you two are truly one heart and one soul," sighed Nicola with shining eyes.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.12

-This chapter is just all yuuram-

"Yuuri, I never would have thought that you are capable of such a bold initiative," Wolfram said in surprise after I decided to knock on his door.

The delicate pretty boy did not know what to make of the whole thing. He tilted his head to one side and, his lips slightly open, waiting in silence for an explanation.

"I just want you to have a bath with me. If you feel embarrassed, you can keep your swim trunks on," I said.

"If it's just the two of us then there's nothing to be embarrassed about, but... "

"Then let's go! I'm in a hurry! A towel and a pair of trunks would be enough!"

In a corner of his room, Wolfram was busy digging for some strange object. Was he looking for a rubber duck to take with us?

I pulled the broadly grinning Wolfram, and head towards the familiar royal bathroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.12

-Definitely foreplay-

"Can you push me into the pool?"

"What?"

"Come on now," I grumbled.

"What kind of foreplay is this?"

Wolfram pushed me into the water, but I immediately resurfaced.

"I don't understand," I muttered. "Hey, what are you doing?! Did I tell you to jump in too?!"

Wolfram emerged again, his blond hair totally soaked. The image was like the scene of an angel bathing. Luckily he had kept his clothes on, just like me. With two strokes, he swam over to me.

"Why did you dive in? I only wanted you to push me."

He wrapped his pale arms around my neck.

"Don't hug me!"

"Didn't you want to try a totally new way of doing it?"

"Way of doing it...? Wolfram, you were expecting to do something naughty, weren't you!?"

Even though I was completely desperate, my partner was shamelessly indulging in his own happy fantasies. I hung my head and swallowed my growing anger. In another attempt, I put my feet firmly on the bathtub floor, and slowly stretched my knees.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 3. ch.12

- He did actually use Wolf this time, bad Yuuri -

"I can't go back, to my home, to earth, to Japan!" I cried angrily.

"I thought it would be just like last time, I could return through the bathroom again. But no matter what I did, nothing happened at all! I thought if I was forced into a corner, I would enter the star journey to escape from danger... But even when you pushed me into the water, still nothing happened."

"What?"

"Wolf... why is that grimace?"

Numerous creases gathered above his nose and between his eyebrows. The ex-prince lifted his chin and pulled his shoulders back.

"You used me for this small thing?"

"It's not a small thing! This is incredibly important for me, don't you understand that much?"

"You are now the king of this country, you can't run around anymore! You've got to stay here. Yuuri, your home is this castle! And that's forever!"

Every time this bishounen scolded me, I would feel the numerous wounds his words caused. As hard as it was to accept, Wolfram was probably right. My diving attempts were pointless. But what other choice did I have? I had never thought that I could never see Japan again.

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

Novel 3. ch.12

-Yup, he's angry-

"You're unbelievably dim-witted," Wolfram groaned and brushed his wet bang back from his forehead.

His seemingly arrogant green eyes stared at me fiercely. He really does have an angel's face, but his words draw blood with each syllable.

"You belong to this world. You cannot escape, your soul is at home here."

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Yuuram in Novel : 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17

#kyou kara maou #kkm #maruma #yuuram