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floripire · 10 months

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speed watching my way through s4, let's go!

4x01: flori is there when mali-landon's minddive is happening and she just winces through the entire interaction / monologue because "that's what i tried to tell you all, you're gonna have to deal with his conscious mind because he's aware of it all, instead of his subconscious mind which you're aiming for! it'll bounce back on us, too, he'll have access to our minds as well!" but she joins kaleb and tv!doctor s in mali-landon's conscious mind to keep him busy, despite the fact that mali-landon can definitely turn the tables on her and make her relive her own memories if he so wishes and he does: she starts in kaleb's, then moves on to her own (which is a mixture of the night her parents died, the night she turned into a vampire and sue died, and her stay at and break out from the detention facility). once everyone's back in the real world, she stays with kaleb for a while to make sure he's good before she goes off to find loren and mia.

4x02: flori vc: i am keeping this shirt and no one can do anything about it! because she's stoked about the whole movie in the square thing even though she can't be there in person to help out with the event. flori thinks it's kind of unfortunate that king kong was the chosen movie. i do think that she'd be with the anti squad + the super squad to help research while the others do the community service to make up for the last football game fiasco. (h: "that looks perfect. why doesn't our transfusion braid look like that?" / w: "uh, they recommend lion's hair." / h: "and what did you use?" / j: "shoelaces, mostly." / f: "but we could have another go at it if there is something - anything - left of that sphynx or any of the other creatures that we've dealt with so far. i'll call blaise and thea, they've gotta know something." / j: "we'll make it happen, hope, we promise." / w: "have you figured out who we'll be transferring into malivore yet?" / h: "i'll give you one guess." / f: "oooh, i'll play, it's gonna be that weird white guy, right? the one who disguised himself as vardemus before? sorry, word still travels about as fast as a vampire can run here, that never changed. news has wings, while the ground has ears.") at one point she's probably put on mali-landon watch and they talk about what happened in 4x01 aka her memory (triad, her sire, etc.) before clarke shows up. after the transfusion ritual fails, there is a moment in which flori just swears spectacularly in english and tagalog (because she's a sore loser and tired of all of this) and everyone looks at her like ??? and she's like: "that motherfucker had one job! one! job! and he fucked it up like he fucked up everything else!" plus, also, clarke worked for triad and maybe everyone else forgot about that but she will not be doing that, thank you very much! who's to say he's not just here to drag her back? "he might have turned over a new leaf but i don't trust that, i don't trust him, and i'll rip out my earrings and step into the sun before i go back to that hell-hole!" she's also there at the end of the episode where mali-landon chokes ethan with the chains.

4x03: mali-landon is out of his cage and back at the school there is a lot of arguing going on about whether or not hope should go full tribrid. flori stands off to the side with mia and loren, listening in on the conversation too. (personally i will be ignoring the upcoming dragon kaleb thing unless i can tie that into the night world lore i've established, potentially making him related to the drache family.) later on, kaleb and mg do the trolley problem and i feel like flori (directly or indirectly) gave mg the idea for that. it sounds like something she'd use to walk herself (or others) through a difficult problem or choice. flori is there during that big meal outside and she's sitting next to mia and loren while wade tells the group about that one time hope spelled a blowhard professor to only speak ancient babylonian and cringes when dorian reveals his favorite hope memory. as hope, josie and lizzie walk away to do a final spell, flori whispers not her favorite memory but an apology that she is sure hope will pick up because of her lupine hearing: "i am so sorry that i, along with many others, put you on a pedestal for so long. i will endeavor not to do it again. it is my sincere hope - pun not intended - that we'll get the chance to actually be friends and make good memories together too. i've never been to new orleans before. i think i would like to visit when all of this is over."

4x04: w: "one banshee candle and all the salt from the kitchen, as requested." / j: "hey, i thought we were helping you." / js: "believe me, i need all the help i can get." / j: "okay, well, do you need me to channel another monster? because i totally crushed it last time!" / f: "not if you actually want me to hemorrhage." / js: "no, i actually need you, wade and flori to be my last line of defense." / f: "which would be a much stronger line if loren and mia were here too. loren's a bennett witch and mia's a damn good wolf." / j: "..." / f: "you're also a damn good wolf." / j: "thank you, but wait, what do you mean, we just sit on our asses? no way!" / js: "it's important. i need you to clear out the school. make sure that no one can get in or out of this room. no matter what happens." / j: "we'll check in every thirty minutes." / w: "and we'll order pizza." / f: "i'll call the mystic tap to make sure they still have the good stuff on hand." much, much later on when cleo makes her entrance at the end of the episode, flori is relieved but saddened to hear about landon's fate.

4x05: hope has flipped her humanity switch and is now mia and with doctor s dead, flori is preparing herself to chase down every possible lead on hope even if it means she drops from exhaustion halfway through. the super squad is ruptured. but flori considers herself part of the anti squad first and foremost so she can still talk to kaleb and to the other members if need be.

4x06: flori is there during the simulations. she's getting her tongue pulled out, her fingers broken, her neck snapped, her head cut off and her heart ripped out. and watching as the same happens to her friends and loved ones. trying to fight simulation!hope doesn't work. trying to talk to simulation!hope doesn't work either. flori always goes down before cleo does so she doesn't know about the red oak stake. js: "are you skipping class now?" / ls: "we all grieve in different ways. we were supposed to meet up and go through spells hours ago. where were you?" /js: "trying to figure out what to do about hope." / ls: "our father is dead and you're more concerned about the person who killed him?!" / js: "dad wouldn't want us to give up on hope." / f: "and we might not have to. i just got off the phone with aradia crowley and she told me that the old powers are resurging in response to hope becoming the tribrid. to balance the scales a bit, the wild powers have also been activated: four people with special gifts. it may be a drop in the bucket, but we have to try. i'm gonna go see if i can track them down digitally and if not, then i would like to request a prolonged leave of absence." / ls: "granted." / js: "we can't do this alone." / ls: "watch me. or don't. 'cause you'll be going off, doing whatever else." / js: "if you'll figure out a spell, i'll be there, i promise." flori is not present for the training session (and even if she was, she'd want to sit it out). she is, however, present at the end of the episode; j: "look, uh, i shouldn't have said what i did." / k: "dude, it's... you're good." / f: "hi, i'm so sorry to interrupt, but if you're going after that thing on route fifty, would you mind dropping me off in harmony afterwards? i've got family there. and they know more about the wild powers than i do. oh, and speaking of knowing things: you should go for the eyes when you take it down. i'll wait in the car."

4x07: hope comes back to the school. flori is not present for salvatore idol (or whatever the darker equivalent of that is) as she is still in harmony, virginia.

4x08: flori formulates her own plan to find and work with the wild powers. she checks in with mia and loren and with the super squad. (in josie's simulation, flori is a technician who works together with wade, a nurse, and has a crush on jed.)

4x09: josie leaves the school and mystic falls, meanwhile, flori comes back to the school with new allies, new family members, and with a fully formulated plan to deal with the old powers. the sucky part of the plan is that there's a high chance flori could get hurt.

4x10: from this point on, my canon diverges significantly because i do not acknowledge the gods storyline. lizzie still turns into a heretic. aurora still enters the picture. but that's about it. instead of the gods, aurora is after the old powers to get tristan back.

4x11: flori works together with cleo to stall or stop aurora who is also looking to get her hands on the old powers so she can bring back her brother.

4x12: hope returns to mystic falls, still without her humanity.

4x13: hope comes to the school, looking for an army. not to fight the gods, but to stop the old powers from destroying the world. in all honesty, flori thought that hope might want to deploy those powers - those ancient forces of magic - to get landon and her parents back.

4x14: flori is there when vardemus does his chess game thing. meanwhile, hope's humanity is flickering, trying to get back in one inch at a time.

4x15: flori spends this episode working with the wild powers in preparation to push back the old powers.

4x16: hope's humanity is back on. flori visits her in the holding cell before lizzie shows up.

4x17: aurora doubles down on trying to get her hands on the old powers to restore her brother to the point of trying to summon hecate witch-queen, the ancient queen and ancestor of the hearth-woman (aka harman) witch tribe. hecate witch-queen and flori have a conversation about her role in the plan when hecate witch-queen astral projects to her, claiming that while flori might be a vampire, she knows a hearth-woman by heart and soul.

4x18: ft: water would just make the chain reaction bigger, you have to make a chemical solution to stop it. i asked an expert, you know, the one with a mind like a steel trap? the one you should talk to, maybe? she's worried about you." later in the episode, flori is there when hope gives her speech. instead of ken, aurora kills kaleb but he gets restored back to life.

4x19: aurora dies by hope's hand and the final battle begins.

4x20: through everyone's combined efforts, the old powers' resurgence has been stopped. though not without heavy losses. afterwards, flori attends so many funerals she's stopped counting them. while she's very stressed at the thought of potentially losing her home, she also realizes that she has one waiting for her in harmony, virginia, too. still, when she hears that the school won't be closing it's doors after all, she's relieved.

post canon: flori graduates from the school and goes on a roadtrip to find jed's sisters, gets drawn back to her own home town, fights the hunter trio after a reverse headdive and finds out that her sire wants to kill hope but that she's first on his list because he thinks she's a weak link in a long chain that will ultimately lead to her, anyway. at one point, hope kills derek and flori splits her time between immersing herself into the night world properly and trying to roll up whatever remains of triad industries together with mg. aside from that, she also does cyber security for the salvatore boarding school going forward.

#long post /#ooc.#queue.

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anagentinwriting · 3 years

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Lifeline - Part 12

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 8700+ (whoops!)

Warnings: Angst, language, fluff, jumper/suicidal, snakes

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

AN: Flashbacks in italics

You yawned at your reflection in the mirror, bringing tears to the corner of your eyes. Today was the softball tournament, and Steve was picking you up at 6:30 in the morning. Unlucky for you, when you agreed to go with him as his date, you didn’t think it started this early. Station 107 was playing in one of the first two games of the day. It wasn’t a huge bracket with only twelve teams competing from different fire stations, dispatch call centers, paramedic units, and police departments. Nat and Clint’s West LA Police Department won last year, and they were hoping for another win.

You sighed, splashing your face with cold water, hoping it would shock your body awake, but it only made your face cold. You grabbed a towel, dabbing your face as you stared at your reflection. Your eyes shined back at you, and you couldn’t help the small approving smile spread across your lips. You shake your head, reverting your eyes back to the counter. Only an insane person smiles at themselves in the mirror, but you couldn’t help but look at yourself. Really look at yourself. You looked different, but it was a good different; no dark shadows under your eyes, a calm, relaxed expression, and a smile that came so much easier.

You were happy. It was a weird feeling, waking up refreshed without fear coursing through your veins. You were never going to be the person you were before you met him or even the person you were when you were with him; a weak, abused, and frightened woman. No, this was a whole new you. A stronger you that was finally letting old wounds heal and allowing yourself to move on and start over. You let out a deep breath as your phone vibrated on the bathroom counter.

Steve: Good morning. I’m outside ;)

YN: Be out in a second

You sighed, slipping on the baseball cap Thor gave you to wear with LAFD (Los Angeles Fire Department) stitched on the front with their station number on the back. You let out a breath and smiled at yourself. It was a new exciting feeling, a feeling of improvement, and a fresh start.

________

You sat on the bleachers watching the game between Station 107 and Station 93. The whole team wore the same dark blue station shirt, grey sweatpants, and the same cap you had on. Your eyes scanned the field, finding Steve covering first base. The car ride over didn’t do any justice to his uniform. His shirt was stretched tight across his chest with his biceps bulging out from his tight sleeves, and his joggers hugged tight to his quads. He caught you staring, giving you a little wave before hitting his hand into his glove.

The game was slow to watch, with the lead changing almost every inning. Every time the batter hit the ball, your breath caught in your throat, waiting to see how it would play out. You were caught up in the game when out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar redhead.

“Hey, YN. Guess what? We won!” She nudged you on the arm. “How are Val and the boys doing?”

“Winning, but not by much. Carol needs to get her ass here. I think they’re feeling lost without their Captain,” you smiled, and she nodded in agreement. “Her shift ended about 10 minutes ago, so she should be on her way, and then she’ll set them straight.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. Like, why is Thor catcher?” she pointed at him. “And Bucky at second base? I mean, he can run, put him in the outfield.”

“I was wondering the same thing, but then I realized he already got to second base with you, so...”

“Oh shut up,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “He hit a home run, but I could say the same about you and Steve.”

“And you’d be wrong; we haven’t even got to first base yet.”

“Wait, what!” She slapped your arm. “But, I thought you two have been hanging out for like two weeks. I figured you two would be doing a little somethin-somethin,” she teased, nudging you in the side.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I get why you’d think that, but we’re in no rush,” you insisted with a half shrug, earning a nod from her.

You heard a car door slam and glanced over your shoulder to see Carol charging over to the dugout with her cap and aviators on.

“The boss lady has arrived,” Nat announced loud enough for Carol to shoot you two a smirk.

Everyone huddled around her in the dugout. She used all kinds of hand gestures, some a little inappropriate, but her team stood together, nodding their heads and hanging onto every word like they do when they are on call. With it being a single-elimination tournament, they couldn’t afford to lose. It might have been a charity event, but some teams still came wanting to have bragging rights until next year. When she stood up, they broke apart, and it seemed like everyone's energy changed from defeated to conquering. It was like they finally suited up and wanted to win with two innings left.

Carol was a competitive person and always felt like she needed to take an extra step to prove herself. Growing up, she never got along with her parents; they always insisted she couldn’t do something because she was a girl. No matter how many times she got knocked down, she would always get back up and try again. When she got the job as Captain of the 107th, many men under her didn’t want to follow her orders or be controlled by a woman. Many of those ignorant men left her station, even though she proved herself time and time again. She earned the respect of a few firefighters who stuck around, and to those, she felt earned her respect as well. With everything she has gone through to get this far, you couldn’t help but admire her.

A slight chill ran up your spine, sending a tingling sensation coursing through your body. It forced the hair on your arms to stand up straight and make your hands shake. You rubbed them together, glancing over your shoulder, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. You gulped, sitting up straighter, getting the feeling of someone’s eyes on you. You bite your lip, scanning the faces one by one until they landed on Nat.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, seeing Clint take off running to a van. “But it looks like your cheering section has arrived.”

“On that note, I will be back--” she patted your leg “--I have to go hug my favorite niece and nephews.”

She stepped down the bleachers with a huge grin on her face and ran towards the van. Clint’s daughter met her halfway and pulled her into a hug. She hopped on Nat’s back, and Nat gave her a piggyback ride back over to her parents. You smiled at their interaction. It was such a simple gesture, but it meant so much to both of them.

Family has always been important to you; even when you didn’t think they would be there for you, they still showed up. You always thought you were the glue that held Thor and Loki together, but now, you were almost positive they were the ones holding you together.

Your eyes focused back on the game to see Station 107 heading back out to the field. They were up 3 points, heading into the top of the 7th inning. You couldn’t help but notice that Carol changed their field positions; Bucky and Thor moved to the outfield, but Steve stayed put at first. It’s surprising how moving a few players around made it look like a brand new team, and the game quickly ended with three straight outs, advancing them to the next round. They shook hands with the other team before huddling together in the dugout.

Thor was the first to leave the huddle, making his way over to you with a closed mouth smile plastered on his face. He hit the bill of your hat and continued to walk past you.

“Hey! What was that for,” you shouted at him over your shoulder.

“Felt like it,” he grinned with a shrug, walking backwards.

“Jerk,” you said under your breath, readjusting your hat as Steve approached you.

“Hope you weren’t too bored.”

“No, it was entertaining, watching you all fall over your feet until Danvers showed up and helped you pull off a win.”

“It wasn’t that bad. We kept a good pace with them all the way to the end. Just needed an extra push from Danvers,” he chuckled, putting his hands on his hips. “Did you want to get breakfast?” He offered, pointing to the line of food trucks behind you.

“What....no Wade’s Chimichangas?”

“I don’t think I have the stomach for that this early in the morning.” He rubbed his stomach before offering his hand to you. You took it with a chuckle, walking over to one of the most famous breakfast trucks in LA, Stan Lee Scrambles.

Thor had mentioned to you once before how Stan and his old firefighter crew decided to open up a food truck after they gained popularity. It started out small but soon became very successful, and they had to get a second truck. Everyone loved them, the food, and how they gave back to their community. They didn’t have a huge array of options, but it revolved heavily around breakfast items, including their award-winning breakfast sandwich, The Egg-celsior, a sausage bacon egg english muffin sandwich.

“What can I get you, Big Guy,” the old man, wearing tinted glasses and an old fire station hat, asked Thor.

“Well, Stan...I will take two Egg-celsiors with a side of hash browns and a parfait,” Thor replied, squinting his eyes at the menu. “I think that will do for now, my good man.”

“Coming up, Big Guy.” You smirked at Stan’s nickname for your brother and moved up in line with Steve. “Hiya, Steve. How’s your dog...Cosmo, right?” Stan asked, putting his elbows on the truck's small counter ledge.

“Yeah, he’s doing much better. He’s gotten a lot more friendly and isn’t as skittish. I’ve been teaching him a few commands and lovin’ up on him.”

“That’s terrific to hear. Remember, every relationship starts off a little shaky, but before you know it, the two of you will be inseparable.” Steve nodded with a smirk, as did you, reading into the double meaning. “Now, let’s get you two something to eat; what will it be?”

You and Steve placed your order, and before you could beat him to it, Steve had his wallet out, paying. You shook your head, taking a few steps back to wait for your order to be called. You didn’t miss the subtle wink Stan shot Steve, making your eyes drift to the ground, hoping your hat would hide the bashful smile appearing on your face.

Steve’s feet came into view, and you looked up at him. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“No problem,” he smiled.

“So, what are the chances of you winning the next game? Any big competitors you're worried about?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted up his hat, scratching his head as he leaned in close to you, and whispered. “We’re not that good. We might make it to the next round, but I think the final four is as far as we’ll get.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Observation.” You narrowed your eyes at him as he tilted his head to the fields. “For one, one of the games behind us is already up 5 to 0, and they're still in the first inning. Second, Nat and Clint’s department dominated because Clint hits a home run every time he is up to bat. And three, I think we just want to start drinking.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You seem so sure of yourself.”

“I know a thing or two about baseball, and the odds are stacked against us.” Steve shrugged.

“Maybe, I should’ve joined your team. I’m pretty good with a bat,” you smirked, earning a breathy chuckle out of him.

“Maybe next year, you and Bruce can put together a group of individuals…”

“Let me stop you right there. No and no. I’d rather eat, drink, and watch,” you giggled, making Steve nod in understanding.

Your order was called, and you both went to the counter to pick it up. Steve followed behind you, taking a seat at one of the picnic tables with Bucky, Sam, and Thor. You took the spot beside Sam, and Steve sat across from you next to Thor.

“You did not do that, Sam. I don’t believe you. I bet you made that up,” Thor said, waving his hand around with his Egg-celsior in it.

“I’m not, it’s 100% true.”

“Lies. All lies this guy.” Thor shook his head, sliding over to give Steve a little more room on the end.

“What is he lying about?” Steve asked, unwrapping his breakfast sandwich.

“Thor doesn’t believe I ran five miles in thirty minutes.”

“It’s true; we ran it together once,” Steve confirmed, nodding his head.

Thor rolled his eyes, doing a double-take at someone behind you. “WHAT? Bruce is here! I didn’t know he was coming. YN, did you know he was coming?” Thor pointed at him, talking with Happy by the silent auction tables.

“He told me he was going to try and make it.” You shrugged, glancing over your shoulder.

“BRUCE, BRUCE,” Thor called, standing up in a half-sitting half-standing position at the picnic table. “BANNER, BRUCE BANNER.” Bruce noticed him and waved at him, not wanting any attention. “BANNER, IT’S ME, THOR. YOU POPPED MY CHERRY.”

All eyes in the surrounding area stopped what they were doing and looked between Bruce and Thor. You swore you saw Bruce roll his eyes from more than a few hundred feet away and let out an annoyed sigh before he headed over with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slouched. “Hey, Thor. Fellas, YN, Carol, Val. How was your first game?”

“We won,” Carol answered from the table next to theirs, where she was sitting with Val. “It was a tight game before I showed up.”

“We just didn’t want to win without you, Ace,” Bucky smiled at her, forcing her to shake her head.

“Steve, did I ever tell you how I lost my dispatcher cherry to Bruce?” Thor asked as everyone stood up from your table and the table next to yours, besides you and Steve. “Wait, where is everyone going?”

“To watch the next game starting, but tell Steve the story, we have heard it one too many times,” Val stated, stepping out of the picnic table.

“Yeah, he hasn’t heard it yet; he deserves to hear it at least once,” Sam replied with wide eyes before walking to the bleachers with Bucky, Carol, and Val.

Thor did love telling the story. Maybe a little too much because each time he told it, you swore he added something new to it or remembered something he forgot the other 15 times he mentioned it. It was a story that only needed to be told once, but Thor liked talking about his first time.

You shake your head, sneaking a peek at Steve through your eyelashes as a small smirk tugged at your lips. He caught you staring, widening eyes as if he was asking if they should've made a quick getaway, but it was too late for them.

“That’s right, I did tell those guys,” Thor nodded with an amused smile. “Anyways, Bruce, take a seat. We will tell it together.”

“No, that’s okay,” Bruce assured, holding his hands up “I got to go and...”

“Nonsense. Take a seat, Banner.” Thor tapped on the spot next to him.

“Okay,” Bruce mumbled with a shrug. “Since when do I ever get what I want.” Bruce sits beside him, knowing the faster he got this over with, the faster he could leave. He shot a quick glance in your direction, almost asking for help to make a quick getaway.

“That’s right.” Thor patted Bruce on the shoulder. “Now, it all started when I was working at my first station in LA. I was a young greenhorn, learning the ropes many years ago...

“Thor and Sif,” Captain Heimdall spoke into the walkie on their jacket. “There is an EMT emergency at the Los Angeles Zoo. We are the closest unit, and I need you two to head there now. The team and I will finish putting this blaze out.”

Thor and Sif got into the ambulance as instructed, blasting the sirens, and drove to the access point the dispatcher routed them to. A few zookeepers were waiting as they lead them through the zoo, stopping directly in front of the reptile building. Sif ran to the back of the ambulance and threw a paramedic bag at Thor as she grabbed another bag before running into the building behind the other zookeeper.

“Now, at this point, I never had to deal with the whole paramedic, injured people side of things, so it was an intense situation. Luckily, I was able to stay calm and collected through this whole situation, and I had Sif to thank for that. She remained so focused in these emergencies, I always thought she took Xanax, but it was just her personality.” Thor shrugged, taking a sip out of his water bottle in front of him. “Back to the call...

“Did the dispatcher mention what is happening to either of you?” Zookeeper Carina asked while weaving them through the halls of the building.

“Not much,” Sif answered. “The victim called in mentioning a snake. A few guests must have seen it happen through the viewing windows and called it in, too. I’m hoping you cleared the viewing area for now.”

“Yes, of course, we did,” Carina nodded as they continued down the hall.

“Wait, this involves a snake. I love snakes. My parents got me one when I was younger, thinking it would give me more responsibility, but then my brother let him out of his cage, and he was never found again. I like to think he found a mate, and they are living happily ever after.”

“Great story, Thor, but let’s get to the matters at hand right now,” Sif commanded, earning a serious understanding nod from him. “What’s the current situation?”

“Miek, our 16 foot long 237-pound Burmese python snake from the Asian exhibit, latched onto my fellow zookeeper, Taneleer Tivan, leg, and she started coiling her body around Taneleer’s leg, cutting off his circulation. Taneleer collects snakes, so I don’t know if he read the situation wrong or did something to provoke her.” She shook her head. “It’s protocol to have two zookeepers present during feeding to avoid these types of situations, but his co-worker was running late, so he started the feedings by himself.”

Carina stopped at a door. “He is behind this door.” She opened it, and they both stepped in to see Taneleer holding a phone to his ear, mumbling and grunting. His eyes and head traveled to the door with a faint smile on his lips before he went unconscious.

“OH MY GOD, that snake is huge?” Thor shouted in surprise, seeing the snake wrapped around Taneleer’s leg.

“Taneleer, you still there? Taneleer?” The caller on the speakerphone asked.

Sif went over to pick up the phone and tossed it to Thor. “I’m Fireman Thor Odinson. Who am I speaking with?” Thor questioned, keeping a watchful eye on Sif.

She slowly moved into position to check his vitals while keeping an eye on the snake. Her eyes traveled over his body, further assessing the situation. She noticed multiple bite marks across his stomach that were bleeding profusely, and Miek’s jaw was still latched on tight to his stomach. Sif tried her best to put pressure on the wounds, trying not to disturb the snake while Mieks body seemed to coil tighter around Taneleers leg.

“Dispatcher Bruce Banner here, how is Taneleer doing?”

“He’s unconscious.”

“Okay, how are his vitals?” Bruce asked, but Thor ignored him.

“Carina, do you have any protocol when this happens? Like what is the best way to get the snake off them without harming them?” Sif asked, trying to keep pressure on the wounds.

Her eyes went wide, and she shrugged. “This isn’t usually my area, I fill in where I’m needed, and…and…” her voice drifted off, staring down at Taneleer.

Sif nodded, looking at Thor. “Thor, can you try uncoiling the snake off of his leg.”

Thor nodded, starting at the tail end, but as much strength Thor had, he couldn’t unwrap the snake. “I think Miek is getting pissed. She is making herself tighter and heavier,” Thor grunted through clenched teeth.

“STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING, THOR?” Bruce shouted from the breast pocket on Thor’s shirt.

Thor slowly set down the snake’s body and pulled the phone from his pocket. “Then, what do you suggest we do, Banner?“

“Find some alcohol and put it in their mouth, but make sure the head is pointed downward and make sure it goes into his mouth. The alcohol won’t work if you put it on their face or body.” Carina disappeared as if she remembered something and returned with a small bottle of vodka and a syringe.

“It needs to be the mouth, okay. I got it, but we don’t want to get this snake drunk, Bruce.”

“It will work, trust me. The snake will become disoriented and unlatch herself from Taneleer. Then you will need to slowly unwrap her from his leg. Go slow because you don’t want to make the snake uncomfortable.”

“Got it. You sure she likes vodka,” Thor winked at a blushing Carina, filling the small amount of vodka in the syringe.

“Thor,” Sif shouted at him. “Focus.”

“If she bites me, this is on you Sif, and this Bruce Banner guy.” Thor pointed his fingers at her and then to the phone.

Thor held the syringe just enough to place a few drops into the python's mouth. In an instant, the snake disengaged its teeth and retracted them away from the bite zone. Sif stepped into action and put pressure on the wound while Thor grabbed a hold of his jaw and head, gaining full control of the snake. With his other hand, he pointed to Carina to start unwrapping the snake slowly at the tail end.

“And just like that, another person saved.” Thor smacked the table with a big grin on his face. “If I remember right, you Banner had quite the temper in that situation.”

“Well, when a person needs help, you have to think of the best way to help.”

“How did you know the alcohol trick would work?” Steve asked, looking at Bruce.

Bruce opened his mouth when Thor spoke up for him. “This guy, right here--” he grabbed both Bruce's shoulder and shook him “--took some fancy snake class and learned how to disarm them.”

“It wasn’t for that reason per se, but it was a class at the local herpetology society to better understand situations involving reptiles and amphibians.”

“Exactly, fancy snake class,” Thor smirked, patting him on the back while Bruce nodded his head, rubbing his lips together. You couldn’t help but shake your head at them. These two had nothing in common but that one call they experienced together. “I want you to remember, Bruce, you will always be my first.”

“Okay,” Bruce nodded with a fake tight-lipped smile.

“It was good to see you, Bruce, but I am going to go see if Stan has any more Egg-celsiors left.” He patted him on the shoulder, crawling out of the table and walking back to the truck.

“Good to see you, too.”

“And here I thought my first time was good.” Steve winked at you, forcing you to roll your eyes.

“I will say one thing,” Bruce mentioned, peeking over you to make sure Thor was out of earshot. “He wasn’t that calm. If you ever want to hear the real version, we have it in the archives, it's in my favorites.”

“And here I thought my brother loved snakes,” you added, making both men chuckle.

________

Steve went to warm up for his next game while you made your way over to the bleachers to watch the rest of Nat and Clint’s game.

“YN, come sit with us,” a woman with brown hair called, waving at you with a huge grin on her face. A little boy sat next to her, focused on the game in front of him. You recognized her as the woman Nat hugged earlier. “I don’t think we have been properly introduced, but I’m Laura, Clint’s wife, and this is my youngest, Nathaniel. The little lady in the purple shirt by the fence watching the game is Lila, and the young man next to her is my other son, Cooper.”

You nodded as she pointed at them. “I’m YN, but you seem to already know that,” you smiled, shaking her hand.

“I did, I’ve heard so much about you, and it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. Here join us on the blanket.”

“Thanks.” You plopped down on the blanket, getting comfortable. “Nat’s told me so much about her niece and nephews, too, and they do seem pretty adorable.”

“Do they? Because if I’m being honest, they can be little terrors sometimes, and the sibling rivalry, well don’t get me started,” she huffed, shaking her head.

“Oh, don’t I know it. I’ve experienced plenty of it growing up with two brothers.”

“I can imagine, but I didn’t know you had another brother.”

“Yeah, Loki. He’s adopted.” You shrugged, watching Nathaniel look through one of the books in front of him.

“Was it like sporting event after sporting event growing up? Because let me tell you something, once you have kids and they want to play sports, then that's all you're going to be focusing on until the season's finished. Bye-bye social life.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” you let out a soft chuckle, “but for me, it wasn’t like that growing up. Loki and Thor are two very different people. Loki was more into drama theater, but Thor did play a lot of sports. And their personalities, well, they couldn’t be more opposite. Loki is great to talk to when you need someone to tell you how it is or how something is going to be, but Thor always takes your feelings into account by telling you what you want to hear before telling you what you should hear. Each brother has good and bad traits, but I still loved them and would do anything for them.”

“Do you miss Loki?” She reached over and patted your hand. “I’m assuming he doesn’t live around here because Nat mentioned you’re from New York, right?”

“Ahh, yeah. I miss talking to him and seeing him. We were close growing up and up until I moved at the last minute, but it’s just tough, right now.” You shrugged, biting your lip as your eyes drifted to the field.

You hated not being able to talk to Loki. He helped you through so much, and you hoped he knew that. As dramatic and theatrical as he could be, you missed him. He was often hard to read, but once you cracked his hard shell, he showed a different side of himself, some never get the chance to see. You wished you could tell him what you have been doing lately, but you didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to another cell phone besides your brothers in California, in case Billy was keeping an eye on them.

“I’m sorry--” she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, and your head snapped to hers “--I didn’t mean to pry or anything. I’m just a stay-at-home mom that hasn’t had any adult communication since last week.”

“No, you’re good, Laura,” you smiled at her. “Don’t you have Clint to talk to?”

“He’s like my fourth child. He is the oldest but acts like the youngest,” she whispered the last part, making you let out a loud laugh. “So, tell me...” She nudged your side, tilting her head at something behind you. You turned to see who she was referring to only to spot Steve. “What’s going on with you and Steve?”

“Depends on what has Nat told you?”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be! Wow!” She pushed you, and you laughed, falling onto your side.

“MOM, Dad's up to bat,” Cooper shouted, sprinting over to inform her before going back to the fence.

“Is he? Oh yes, look at that,” she smirked, seeing Clint square up in the batter’s box with the bases loaded.

With the first pitch, Clint swung the bat, sending the ball flying over the fence on the opposite side of the field. He hit a grand slam, earning cheers from his teammates as he jogged around the bases with a fist up in the air.

"Showoff," Laura snorted, shaking her head. “I’ll cue you in on a little unknown fact about Clint. He only hits those over the fence because he doesn’t want to run around the bases.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s the worst, but I love him,” she smiled with a half shrug.

You may have just met Laura, but you already adored her. She was so easy to get along with, and seemed like the type of friend you could share all your secrets with and she wouldn’t tell a soul.

"How long have you and Clint been together?"

“It’s been seventeen long years, but he’s been worth it,” Laura smiled, running her hand through Nathaniel’s mop of hair. “How about you and Steve?”

“Okay, back to me, then.” You shake your head, finding it hard not to smile. You glanced over at Steve to see him talking with Sam, flipping his baseball glove around in his hands. “We’ve been hanging out, but I wouldn’t call it serious.”

“Steve’s a great guy from what I’ve come to understand. I’m pretty perceptive, and let me tell you, not many people can finagle themselves into their little group, but he fit right in. And from what my perceptive powers are telling me, he likes you,” she grinned, tilting her head at him.

You took a deep breath and looked over your shoulder to catch Steve and Sam staring at you. Steve bit his bottom lip, a smirk forming on his lips. You stuck out your tongue at them, making them both laugh as they leaned down to grab their gear for the next game. Steve headed towards the dugout, but you didn’t miss the ever so subtle double-take Steve shot your way. You shot him a cheesy grin, and you could’ve sworn his ears couldn’t get any redder. You chuckled, your eyes drifting back to the game in front of you.

“And that Nathaniel, my little man, is called the double-take. It means Steve is into YN.”

You scoffed. “May I ask what you’re teaching him?” You bit your lip, looking at the smiling boy.

“My perceptive powers, of course,” she said, reaching over and tickling him.

“No, mommy,” he screeched in a burst of high-pitched laughter.

“He’s got the trait. Cooper and Lila are screwed.” She confessed, and you mouthed ‘wow’ with a half-smile on your lips. “Regardless, you two are cute together.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled under your breath, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks.

_________

The West LA Police Department took the win and were moving onto the final four. Nat and Clint were walking over together, and Lila took off running towards them. Clint leaned down with open arms, but she ran right to Nat and wrapped her arms around her waist. You didn’t miss Clint let out a sigh of defeat as he stood back up and smirked at them.

“Did you watch us kick the other teams butt?” Nat asked, smiling down at her, patting her back.

“Yeah, you were so awesome, Nat. I want to grow up and be just like you,” Lila grinned, looking up at her.

Clint shook his head at them, giving Lila a knowing look. “Yeah, no, that’s not gonna happen. You wanna give your old man a heart attack or something because I’m not ready for that," Clint sighed, walking over and laying down next to Nathaniel and Laura. He rested his head on his wife’s thigh with a huff. “I’m getting too old for this sh...stuff,” he groaned, closing his eyes and was out like a light.

“Man, I wish I could fall asleep that fast,” Nat admitted, staring down at sleeping Clint.

“Don’t we all,” Laura chuckled. “At least I know where Nathaniel gets it.”

“How’s your team doing?” Nat asked, standing with her hands on her hips.

“I haven’t checked up on them. Been too busy talking with Laura.”

“Happens to most of us. She’s so easy to talk to.”

“She is,” you nodded at Laura, and she shot you a soft smile.

Station 107 won their game, moving them onto the final four, which started after lunch. To your surprise, Happy’s Hydrant was catering the event, and all the food looked delicious. All you had to do was pay for the plate, and all the money collected would be donated to the winning team's charity. Everyone from the team agreed, this last game wasn’t important and that it was time to finally start partying.

_________

It was the bottom of the 7th inning of their final four game with Station 107 down by one point with one out. Val was up to bat, and the current count was one strike and two balls. She stepped back, taking a few quick practice swings before returning to the plate. The pitcher threw the ball straight across the plate, and Val swung with a miss. She stepped back out, shaking her head as her teammates cheered her on from the dugout.

Steve gulped, seeing her set herself back up in the batter's box, doing one more quick practice swing. Steve never really had a one on one conversation with her, but he had a ton of respect for her. He was always impressed with how determined and focused she could be in a high-pressure situation. Those calls were a walk in the park for her, and he knew with the current situation at hand, she would knock that ball out of the park.

The pitcher tossed the ball, and in an instant, it landed in the catcher's glove slightly out of the strike zone.

“Strike 3, you’re out,” the umpire called, making a fist with his hand. Val stood there with a questioning glare at the ump before she turned around and walked away.

“What the fuck?” Steve commented under his breath, pushing his way out of the dugout and passed Val. “What kind of fucking call was that, ump?”

“If you don’t like the call, you can get out of here.” The ump stood tall in front of him, but it didn’t do much since he was shorter than Steve.

“The ball was nowhere near the damn strike zone, and she didn’t even swing at it. She’s not out.”

The umpire tore off his mask. “Listen here, buddy, I’m in charge here--” He stepped closer to Steve and poked him on the chest with his mask “--from my view, she swung the bat but didn’t commit to it. Get over it or get out.”

“You know what I think…” Steve started, but Bucky showed up, forcing himself between them. Sam stepped in and grabbed a hold of Steve’s arm, pulling him back to the dugout.

“All good, Rumlow, all good. It’s just a friendly annual charity grill-out game. Can’t we all just get along,” Bucky added with a slight smirk, walking backwards to the dugout.

“Keep your new recruit under control, and we won’t have a problem.” Rumlow shook his head and pulled his mask back on with Thor up to bat next.

“Who is that guy?” Steve asked Sam, taking a seat on the bench in the dugout.

“Brock Rumlow. You kind of took his job.”

“What do you mean, I took his job?”

“We were going to hire him, but then, Bucky told you to apply, and you got it.” Sam patted his back. “He is not very fond of our station anymore, but you were the more qualified candidate.” Sam squirted his water bottle into his mouth. “It’s probably why Val didn’t say anything to him about the call because she saw who it was and knew it wasn’t worth the fight.”

“I see,” Steve nodded, taking a drink from his water bottle. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing you watching him. Nat was saying something to you, but your attention was on him. He held up his hand with a slight smirk to show you he was fine, and you nodded at him.

“Why am I always cleaning up your messes,” Bucky inquired, plopping down in the seat next to him.

“Bad timing,” Steve smiled, forcing Sam and Bucky to shake their heads.

You and Nat stepped down from the bleachers when the game ended, with Station 107 losing by 2 points. Nat nodded at you, leaving to prepare for the championship game. Once you realized the umpire was Rumlow, you and Nat knew it was inevitable that they were going to lose. Rumlow knew how to hold a grudge, and he was still holding onto it. You shot Steve a side smirk as he walked over to you.

“And here, I thought you guys didn’t care about the game, and who knew you were so competitive?”

“What can I say, I got into it a little bit. We all did.” He shrugged with a tight smile.

“You did,” you chuckled, patting him on the bicep. “The ump was making some terrible calls anyways, and it doesn’t help he’s an asshole.”

________

You sat down in the same spot at the picnic table from earlier, and Bucky and Steve joined you, still talking about their loss.

Bucky took a bite of his BBQ ribs and grabbed his napkin, wiping the sauce from his lips. “It’s a good thing you’re not in charge of the grill, Steve? You remember what happened that one time.”

“What are you talking about? I’m great on the grill.”

“Yeah, but there was that one time, Peggy threw you that Fourth of July Birthday bash at your new house. You were on the grill and had the gas turned on too high and when you lit the match, a fire blaze shot up in the air. Hell, I thought you were going to lose your eyebrows, but Peggy was more worried about the house,” he chuckled with a crinkled-eyed smile, shaking his head.

“In my defense, it was a new grill,” Steve snickered. “I didn’t know what it was capable of yet.”

“Who’s Peggy?” You asked, glancing between Steve and Bucky, who seemed to be in their own little world. They fell silent as Steve bit his lip, shooting Bucky a hard glare. Bucky looked away from him, shoving more mashed potatoes in his mouth.

“Story for another time.” Steve peeked over at you, letting out a breath. He moved his potatoes around on his plate as a few different expressions crossed his face.

“I understand,” you nodded, taking a sip of your drink.

You knew better than anyone that there was a time and place for certain things to be shared, and this was not one of those times; it was too public. You took a bite of your sandwich, trying to remember if Steve mentioned Peggy before, but you don’t think he ever did. You peeked up at him across the table to see him laughing with Bucky, but it seemed forced. It wasn’t the hand clutching to the chest kind of laugh or the adorable chuckle that made the butterflies erupt in your stomach. It was almost like it didn’t have a sound, but the emotion hiding behind it was there, like a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He was physically here, but his mind was somewhere else. Whoever this Peggy was, she was special to him.

“Clint and Nat’s team is fucking dominating; 12 to 2 in the bottom of the 4th. They should just call it at this point. It’s tough to watch,” Sam stated, sitting down next to you.

Everyone’s head at the table nodded in agreement. Your eyes started to wander around the park, noticing the whole Barton clan invested in this game. The line to Happy’s Hydrant was still long but moving swiftly. Thor, Val, and Carol were talking with a group of people by the beer wagon, paying no attention to the game. Your focus returned to the table, hearing Bucky comment on Nat’s uniform, forcing Sam to roll his eyes and bring his sandwich to his mouth.

“I’m gonna head back for seconds; do you want anything else? I can grab it for you,” Steve asked, catching your wandering eyes.

“I’m fine, thanks, though.” You smiled up at him, and he nodded, stepping out of the picnic table.

Steve stood back in Happy’s line, which was much longer than it was the first time he went through. Drunk munchies, he assumed. He glanced over at you and couldn’t help but smile. Sam must have made a comment about you and him because you smacked Sam on the arm as your gaze landed on his. You waved at him with a playful smile while giving Sam a stern look.

He couldn’t help but smirk at your interactions with the guys. They were a rowdy bunch, but you could always hold your own against them and put them in their place, even him. Every joke you made, every laugh that escaped you, and every smile you shot his way made his heart leap in his chest. It was a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time, a feeling he hasn’t felt since Peggy.

"Is this the line for Happy's?" A guy behind him asked, interrupting his daydream.

“It is, yes,” he nodded, turning around to look at the guy, wearing a Northeast LA police department t-shirt and cap.

“Was your department playing today?” Steve questioned, pointing at his shirt.

“Oh no,” the bearded man chuckled. “We prefer being spectators and drinking.” He pointed behind him to a group sitting by the game with lawn chairs and coolers.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Steve smirked, shaking his head.

“What’s it like being a firefighter at the 107th?” He gestured to Steve’s shirt. “Doesn’t Thor work at that station, too?”

“Yeah, he does. Good guy.” The brunet nodded in agreement. “I like it. It’s both a physically and mentally demanding job, but I enjoy it.” Steve shrugged, grabbing a few extra napkins from the table.

“Same with me, but we aren’t fighting fires or rescuing kittens from trees.”

“If only it was that easy,” Steve nodded, narrowing his brows. “How do you know, Thor?”

“He helped me with a call a few months ago….it was a jumper,” he gulped, putting some vegetables on his plate as they made their way down the line. “I was the first officer on the scene. I was working on talking him down, and then this big intimidating guy from the 107th showed up, had a heart to heart with the guy, and he got down off the ledge. It was amazing to watch.”

“Did Thor tell the guy his wife left him and that he found himself in a similar situation?”

“Yeah.”

“Thor made that up on the spot.” The guy furrowed his brows at him, not really understanding. “You see, sometimes to calm people down in these stressful situations, we try to find some common ground. In this case, Thor made up the story about his wife leaving him, and it ended up saving the guy’s life.”

“Wait, so Thor was never married.”

“Nope,” Steve smirked, taking a couple more BBQ ribs for his plate. “We do what we have to do to save lives, even if it means making up an emotional story for the victim to know they are not alone, and people still care.”

You glanced over at the food buffet to see Steve talking to someone in a dark blue cap that you didn’t recognize. Steve always seemed to be able to start up a conversation with anyone, even though he seemed like a quiet guy. Bucky snapped his fingers in front of your face, pulling you away from them.

“Eyes on me, darling, eyes on me.” He pointed his middle and forefinger at his eyes than to yours. “Stop giving Steve all the attention. He’s the real troublemaker.” Bucky shook his head. “Has he told you about all the stupid things he did when he was younger and how I had to rescue his ass?”

“A little,” you snickered, pinching your thumb and forefinger together. “And here, I always thought you were the troublemaker.”

“Nope, all Steve. You’d be surprised how often I got into trouble for shit he did. He’s such a punk.” You couldn’t help but grin at Steve’s back, shuffling down the buffet line.

Steve hesitated before scooping one more serving of potatoes on his plate. He deserved a few more carbs after playing softball all day and consuming copious amounts of water. “Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Oh, my friends call me Jig.”

“Jig?” Steve mumbled, cocking his head to the side. “I bet there is a story behind that one, but I’m Steve.”He held out his hand, and Jig shook it. “I better get back to my squad, but it was nice talking to you.”

“You too. I’ll see you around, Steve.”

________

“Do you think Cosmo is staring at the door waiting for you to come home? I miss that pretty boy,” You suggested, standing next to Steve watching the final game between West LA Police Department and Fire Station 113.

“Maybe,” he smirked. “I know he misses you. Won’t stop talking about it.” He shook his head, making you bite back a smile. “He wanted me to ask if you wanted to come over after this?” He shrugged, acting all innocent. “I told him I would ask, but I wasn’t promising him anything.”

“What...like a play date?”

He chuckled under his breath, eyeing you with his blue orbs. “I guess you could say that.”

You turned your head to the ground, biting your lip. “Yeah, I'd love to, but only if it's okay with his Dad. I know he has a strict bedtime.”

“I think he will let this one slide this time,” Steve murmured next to your ear, wrapping his arm around your back and putting his hand on your hip. You leaned closer to him and wrapped your hand across his waist, pulling him closer to you.

“Where is Cosmo anyway?”

“My neighbor is watching him, and let me tell you, he is not a fan of her. I think if he sees you, he will be much happier, and then he’ll forgive me for leaving him with her.

“I’m sure he will. If not, I’ll talk to him and put in a good word for you.” You squeezed his side and shot him a promising smile, forcing him to shake his head at you.

“Thank you.”

To no surprise, the West LA Police Department won with the scoreboard shining 18 to 7. They decided to forfeit after the 6th inning, knowing they weren’t going to be able to catch them. It was a boring game to watch, but you were in good company.

________

The car ride to Steve’s house sent a chill up your spine and a warm rush to your face. It was a sensation you couldn’t explain. The butterflies in your stomach erupted, and every nerve in your body made your skin tingle with anticipation. You hung out at his apartment a few times before, but tonight something felt different. You sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat, staring out the windows and watching the sky change colors. It was a beautiful sight. You glanced over at Steve, watching him bob his head along to Marvin Gaye. He tapped his hand on the steering wheel as his gaze caught yours and cracked a coy smile, causing your heart to race.

You walked up the steps behind Steve to his apartment on the second floor. He opened the door to let you in, so he could retrieve Cosmo from his neighbor. You stood next to the island by the front door with your hands on the counter, listening to the quick chit-chat Steve was having with his neighbor. You heard paws charging down the hallway followed by footsteps not much later. Under the door, you could see the shadows dancing and hear Steve giving Cosmo a little pep talk.

“Okay, Cosmo. Someone decided to come visit you, but you have to promise me you won’t embarrass me.” Cosmo whined, and you couldn’t help but think how cute it was. “You’re gonna embarrass me, aren’t you?” Cosmo barked in response, and Steve let out a loud sigh.

The front door creaked open, and Cosmo charged in, his head looking around the room until his eyes landed on you. He ran over to you with his front paws landing on you.

“Hello to you too, Cosmo,” you grinned, scratching the top of his head. “I heard you missed me.” His tail continued to wag, and it hit the kitchen cabinet, but he didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

“See, I wasn’t kidding when I told you he missed you.”

“I see that now. Did you miss me, Cosmo?” You crouched down, rubbing his ears, and he licked your face. “Yuck, Cosmo, no kissing.” You shake your head and wipe the drool off your face.

“Did you want anything to drink?” Steve offered, opening a cabinet with glasses. “I was thinking about opening a bottle of wine?”

“Yeah, I’ll have a glass.” You nodded, standing up straight at the end of the bar with Cosmo sitting right beside you, waiting for another scratch.

Steve grabbed two glasses, setting them on the counter. “See, all he wants is your attention; he could care less that I am here.”

“I’m sure he still loves his Dad.”

“He kind of has to; I feed him,” he breathed a small smirk, shrugging his shoulder. He grabbed a wine bottle at random from the small rack on the counter. He opened the bottle, pouring it into the glasses, and handed you one. “What’s the movie going to be tonight?”

“Have to check the list.”

You turned to follow Steve to the living room when you tripped over Cosmo, and the wine glass fell from your grasp. It crashed on the hardwood floor, shattering into tiny little pieces. Your hand covered your mouth, feeling a chill run up your spine. As you stared down at the floor, your heart sped up, causing tears to peek at the corner of your eyes. A lump formed in your throat, making it harder to breathe, and your hands started to tremble. You felt him reach out and touch your shoulder, forcing you to jump back and stare at him with wide eyes. In a glimpse, you saw Billy standing where Steve used to be. A sob escaped your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. When you opened your eyes, Steve was holding his hands up, his mouth was moving, but his words weren’t reaching your ears.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, backing away from him.

“It’s okay, YN, we’ll clean it up. It was an accident. These things happen.”

“No, no, I should go. I forgot I had...um...I’m sorry. I should go.” You grabbed your jacket and took off out the door with tears streaming down your face.

The door closed with a loud bang, causing Cosmo to whine at the door. Steve let out a deep sigh, looking at the door and then at his dog. “What am I going to do, Cosmo?” He ran a hand down his face, walking over to grab his broom.

______

AN: Thanks for reading Part 12! Soooo much happened in this part, so where do I start. I originally thought about breaking this part into two, but got lazy, and was like nahhh! Haha! But what a way to end it, am I right?! Everything was going so well until it wasn't. 😬 What is Steve gonna do now? Do you think Cosmo feels bad about it? Poor pup! Did you like the Stan Lee cameo? Whenever I write a story, I try to add him in since he is the one who started it all! And what did you think about the story of Thor losing his dispatcher cherry? I don’t know anything about snakes, I just googled and this is what came up, so it could be inaccurate, but regardless, I hope you at least got a little laugh out of it! Anyways, thanks for reading, comments are always welcome!

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xaharadesert · 4 years

Text

Oblivious MC - Headcanon

Arcana Characters (Main 5) x MC

*Nadia in an upcoming post*

A/N: Yay, more headcanons! I know these are slow but the new school system is kicking my butt. This next one is for the amazing @genderless-plant-likes-thearcana! They come up with lots of cool ideas for prompts to send to various writers, so you should definitely check out their profile! They came up with a super cute prompt this time; an MC who is super oblivious to their LI’s romantic interest in them! I really appreciate the specifics added in the request, they really helped me out! Thank you! While you’re reading you may notice the headcanons get a bit goofier as they though ;) my bad, but this prompt was too fun. Another side note: I ran out of bullet points and couldn’t fit Nadia into this post, so she’ll be getting her own! As always, I recognize Asra’s non-binary gender orientation but will be using he/him pronouns :) Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes! Requests are open :)

❤️Julian❤️

He’s so in love with you

Like, more in love with you than he ever has been with anyone else

But he’s also insecure as heck

So when he starts dropping obvious hints about wanting to be in a relationship with you, and you just don’t get it...

He starts to think that maybe you only like him as a friend

I mean, he’s not being subtle at all

He flirts with you constantly, he sends you winks in the middle of a theatre rehearsal, he almost always has a hand on your should or back to guide you through the busier parts of Vesuvia...

Once he even stood up on a table in the middle of the Rowdy Raven and sang you a love song at the top of his lungs

You just thought he was being dramatic, as always

To you, Julian was an incredible friend

I mean, you maaay have had a teeeensy little crush on him, but he was such a sweetheart that you didn’t want to ruin the friendship you two had

You went on adventures together, you attended his theatre performances, and he did his best to support you in all your magical endeavours

Overall, the dynamic the two of you had was already incredible

And neither of you really wanted to ruin that

When Julian started thinking that maybe you only liked him as a friend he decided to be “selfless” and simply keep his feelings to himself

Of course, that would never work for long

Julian was a man of passion and, possible consequences be damned, he wanted you to know how he felt

So one day, when the two of you were at the Rowdy Raven together and he was tipsy enough to do something stupid, he stood up on the table and loudly announced his undying love for you

Believe me, even for Julian it was dramatic

It was a long speech about how amazing he thought you were, including vivid descriptions about each and every thing about your personality, appearance, and hobbies that he loved

So needless to say you needed cut him off a bit early so that the two of you wouldn’t be there all night

Unfortunately the first thought in your mind upon hearing this was “oh my stars he’s under some kind of spell”

You immediately dragged him out of the tavern and back to the magic shop to find some sort of cure, muttering theories under your breath the entire way

Julian, of course, was not under a spell and was feeling rather put out by your response to his confession

He wasn’t entirely sure where the two of you were going because you hadn’t bothered to share your suspicions with him (why would you? You thought he was being influenced by magic)

When the two of you reached your shop and you started skimming through books he finally asked what you were doing, seeming understandably surprised by the turn of events

You hesitated a bit, not knowing if it was worth explaining this to him, but settled on a brief explanation of “you’re under some kind of love potion and I need to break it” with a side of “please don’t do anything dumb while I try to help you”

Julian of course was, again, fairly shocked to hear this

A spell? What spell? He had been in love with you for months! There was no way it was a spell!

With his mind racing a mile a minute he finally realized what was going on

You were just really, really, REALLY oblivious to his feelings

This revelation caused him to laugh out loud, likely startling you out of your searching

When you looked at him in confusion and a bit of concern he only laughed louder, bending over and wheezing a bit

It took a while for him to calm down, even with your panicked response to his sudden change of emotion

When he was finally done laugiinh and had wiped the tears from his eyes he gave you the biggest grin he was possible of giving

He did his best to explain that no, he was not under a spell, no, he was not joking, and yes, he really did love you as more than a friend

He swears, the look on your face was worth the emotional rollercoaster he had been through that night

And you? Well, you probably needed a minute to process everything that he had just revealed

Of course, the feelings of love were mutual and you said as much when you could finally form words again

Julian was thrilled to hear that you loved him back

The two of you would be happy for many years to come, and even if Julian occasionally teased you about your obliviousness you could never truly be mad at him for it

🧡Portia🧡

She’s super open about just how much she loves you

Portia sees no reason to hide her true feelings, so she’s often very blunt about them

She’ll drop a “you’re gorgeous” or “I wanna kiss you” into a casual conversation like it’s nothing

But you somehow manage to not pick up on it

So of course, Portia doubles her efforts

She bakes you cookies in the shape of hearts, bring you nice flowers on her days off, and take you on what she considers dates, just waiting for you to pick up on her love for you

And yet none of this gets through to you

You think this is how Portia is with everyone

She was cheeky from the moment you met her, so when she tells you she wants to kiss you you just assume she’s joking

Everything else seems to just be an awesome friendship

Obviously Portia is super cute, and obviously dating her would be tons of fun, but there’s obviously NO WAY she could ever be interested in you like that... right?

Portia eventually starts to think you’re just messing with her

There’s no way you could be that oblivious

You definitely had to know she was into you, and you were just playing hard to get

She knows you have feelings for her too, the two of your wouldn’t be as close as you were otherwise

But, no offence, she’s getting a bit impatient

So she decides to just do what needs to be done

The two of you were walking through the market near your shop one day when she grabbed your arm to stop you in the middle of the crowd

She turned you so that you were facing her, looked you straight in the eye, and told you she loved you with the most serious expression you had ever seen on her face

As oblivious as you may be, there was no way for you to misinterpret this as anything other than the truth

Except there was

You assumed she was under a love spell

After the initial shock of finding out your friend was being influenced by magic was over, you immediately dragged her back to your shop without a word

Portia kinda thought you two were going home to make out and she was totally down with it

But when you entered the shop and started digging through your supplies, looking for something, she realized that maybe SHE had misinterpreted

She asked you what you were doing and nearly burst out laughing at the response

You thought she was under a spell? Seriously? You were actually that oblivious the whole time?

She thought it was the most hilarious thing she had heard in a long time

Eventually she managed to calm down enough to reassure you that, no, she was not under a spell

But of course you didn’t believe her, and thought that it was the spell talking

You went back to searching for an antidote while Portia continued trying to prove to you that she was genuinely in love with you

She listed the first time she realized she loved you, the first time she had said it to you to no response, the first time she had wanted to kiss you

She talked about how much she loved every part of you, from your personality, to your hobbies, to your insanely cool magic

Portia was nowhere near as dramatic as her brother could be, but she was very open about her love for you

Finally, you seemed to realize that she was telling the truth (no magic involved)

In turn, you confessed your feelings toward her as well

She gave you a bit of a sly grin and asked how she could be certain you weren’t under some magic spell

To this you responded by kissing her

So I guess she was right when she assumed you two were going back to your place to make out

The two of you were happy from then on, although Portia never let you forget just how dense you were

💛Lucio💛

It’s hard to imagine anyone could be so oblivious about his feelings

Lucio is the most in-your-face about his love for you

He leaves absolutely no room for doubt, which means it’s even more incredible that you don’t seem to get it

He has asked you to marry him about half a dozen times and you keep??? Laughing?? About it????

Doesn’t understand what’s happening

Nobody has ever done this sort of thing to him before, so his mind just blanks if he thinks about it too much

I mean there’s no way you could dislike him, right? You definitely return his feelings... RIGHT?

He’s insecure, but he’ll never admit that

Instead, he chooses to continue his over-the-top dramatic proposals and confessions until you say yes

On the other hand, you don’t really know what’s happening either

You know that Lucio’s a bit... strange, but this is a lot even for him

You start to think that maybe it’s his way of dealing with his feelings now that Nadia’s left him

So you decide to keep being a great friend to help him get through it!

And if that means wading through a bunch of strange emotional obstacles, then so be it!

(Lucio’s in the background banging his head against a wall in frustration)

It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy just being friends with you; he loves having someone around who genuinely cares about him

It’s just that he wants more

He hires people to build giant statues of you (which may be in poor taste, but who cares), he buys or sponsors all of your favourite shops, he always makes sure you get the best of everything

To you, this just seems like Lucio overcompensating for his previous “oopsies”

But one day it occurs to him that maybe you don’t understand his feelings because he’s going about it the wrong way

You’re pretty much immune to his dramatic proposals, so maybe he should try the opposite

So he put together a little plan

It wasn’t a particularly special night; no big occasion to be celebrated

He took you out to the balcony and leaned against the railing, looking oddly serious for someone who had no concept of emotional maturity

He took his time to prepare himself before speaking rather slowly and quietly in comparison to his usual tone

Lucio told you that he loved you, and he left no room for arguement

He didn’t embellish his words in any way, knowing that something simple would be the most likely way to get your attention

And boy did it work

You immediately assumed he was under some sort of spell

I mean Lucio? Acting like a normal person?? No way

You panicked right away and made a run for it, leaving Lucio behind on the balcony in your hurry to leave

Lucio, of course, was shocked, and more than a little offended to have been left so abruptly

People didn’t just leave him places without a good explanation

So obviously he chased you, yelling after you as you did your best to navigate the palace on your way to the library

Unfortunately for you, Lucio is surprisingly athletic and managed to catch you before you reached the door

He untactfully grabbed your arm, which caused you to scream, which caused him to scream, which caused everything to become even more of a mess than before

The two of you were just standing in the middle of the hall, screaming at each other

You wanted to find a way to free Lucio from whatever spell he was under, and Lucio wanted to know why you were running away

When you both calmed down (you being the first, of course), you explained your theory, which wounded Lucio’s ego even more than before

Lucio in return, replied in a not-so-polite manner, asking if you really thought he was stupid enough to be put under some dumb spell

Yes

Yes you did

Lucio had to explain his entire thought process behind confessing in such a normal way, which was pretty embarrassing from his perspective

But to you, it likely came across as sweet as it finally dawned on you that yes, he really was in love with you

The two of you probably had to immediately follow up the confession with a talk about whether or not he was serious about getting married

He was, but he didn’t want to make you feel awkward so he denied it

You two agreed to take things a little slower than he originally planned

The relationship was slightly awkward for the first few days, because neither of you quite understood what had happened the night of the confession

But either way, the two of you were happy, and that was all that mattered

(Although, when Lucio eventually asked you to marry him again it was just as chaotic and messy as the first time)

💚Muriel💚

Oh no, this won’t end well

Muriel is almost the epitome of insecure, so flirting is pretty much impossible for him

He tried a couple of times to be more forward, but when you didn’t respond to his advances he quickly backed down

He didn’t want to overstep, and immediately assumed you just wanted to be friends

Although, admittedly, he has seen other people flirt with you, and you don’t respond to them either

So maybe you’re just not interested in relationships? Or maybe you’re just as bad at flirting as he is

Either way, as much as he loved you, he didn’t push

From your perspective it would seem like Muriel just wanted to be friends

And frankly, anyone else around you would think the same thing

There was nothing particularly romantic about how Muriel acted around you

Arguably the boldest thing he was doing was spending so much time with you

But to you, this was simply a friendship

And of course, you greatly valued Muriel’s friendship

Once you had gotten past the rough exterior, you found that he was a giant sweetheart

He carved small wooden figures for you, and didn’t seem to mind spending time with you

Inanna loved you too, so that was a bonus

Your friendship with Muriel probably lasted much longer than it would have if either of you had any sense of romance

Neither of you tried to take things further because both of you were terrible at flirting and being flirted with

Eventually someone (Asra) had to step in and give Muriel a little push

Asra had known you for a long time, so he alerted Muriel to how oblivious you were and how to best confess his feelings

Muriel didn’t really want to confess at that point, because he didn’t want to make things awkward between you two if something went wrong

But his love for you outweighed his anxiety and he decided to do it anyway

It was a rather cold night, and the two of you were in his hut

You were both curled up by the fire (plus Inanna, of course), and you were telling Muriel a story about a particularly annoying customer from the day before

When you finished the story, a comfortable silence fell between you (which was something Muriel had always appreciated; silence with you was never awkward)

That was when Muriel took his chance and quietly told you he loved you

Except he said it too quietly and you didn’t hear him over the sound of the fire

I mean, you saw his lips move, and therefore asked him to repeat himself, but it was still quiet

Muriel hadn’t anticipated this, and accidentally repeated it in a voice that was much too loud for such a peaceful night

He immediately winced in embarrassment, only to be startled from it when you screamed

He had been anticipating rejection, but he thought a scream may have been a bit dramatic

But of course, you didn’t see it as a rejection; you thought Muriel was under a love spell

Why else would your quiet, anti-social friend suddenly confess to something you had never even seen him hint at before?

And more importantly, who had out the spell on him? Most people didn’t know about him, so it was either someone close to him, or someone EXTREMELY powerful.

You didn’t know which one was worse

You leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands and staring into his eyes, promising that you would help him

This only succeeded in confusing him, the poor man

He didn’t know what you were talking about, and you were starting to freak him out a little

When he asked if you were alright, you started to look confused too

You reminded him that he was the one under the spell, not you

Cue a chorus of confused “what?”s being exchanged by two confused people

In the end, Muriel realized that you had thought he was under a spell when he suddenly confessed

He blushed as red as a tomato and did his best to string together enough words to explain to you that he wasn’t

He genuinely loved you

He also quietly cursed Asra for making him confess, which suddenly helped a lot of pieces fit together for you

You nodded along and agreed that Asra’s meddling was problematic in this case

In the end the two of you spent a fair portion of the night just talking out your feelings and realizing that maybe you would like to be more than friends

Both of you were blushing a lot throughout the entire thing, and years later when the two of you were happy together, you mutually decided to never bring up how you had gotten together in the first place

Asra, however, had somehow found out, and was determined to never let either of you live it down

💙Asra💙

Subtlety? Never heard of it

Asra is the absolute best at letting you know just how much he loves you

Even despite your obliviousness, you are fully aware that he loves you

And of course, you love him back!

How could you not?

Except, the way you see it... it’s platonic love

And Asra is 100% okay with that!

You two share a heart, so he fully understands that you view the live that you two share as platonic

This doesn’t really bother him; as long as you’re alive and happy, that’s all that matters

He’s perfectly content to pursue a strong friendship with you

But of course, being the cheeky legend that he is, he has to slip in some flirting and teasing once in a while

He’ll wink at you in the middle of work, casually brush against you while passing you in the shop, and hold your hand as often as possible

But of course, you view this as friendship

Who doesn’t cuddle with their best friend literally every night? That’s totally normal

You couldn’t ask for a better friend than Asra; he’s always there when you need him and he somehow always seems to know how you feel

You’re incredibly grateful to know him, and you feel safe and comfortable living in the same space as him

Yep, definitely only friendship feelings

He shows his love in little ways to you every day

The two of you live together, so of course you will occasionally have a petty arguement and try to stay seperate for a while, but that doesn’t stop him

He’ll “forget” which chores are yours and do a couple for you, he’ll make your favourite drink “by accident” and then claim he isn’t thirsty, and he’ll casually send Faust into the same room as you if he thinks you’re crying

Overall, just a great partn- I mean friend

He doesn’t really feel the need to confess to you, but if he notices that you’re starting to feel a more romantic attraction toward him then he’ll definitely take advantage of that

If you only wanted to be friends, then, well, that was one thing

But if you wanted to be something more... then he was definitely more than okay with that as well

Asra didn’t exactly plan out how he would confess to you, and instead waited for what he felt was the right moment

He knew it would come eventually, and there was no real rush

So when the two of you were travelling together, and you were both stargazing late at night, the feeling struck him

You had just settled down from laughing at a joke when he gently tilted your chin so you were looking into his eyes

He told you he loved you, but there was certainly something more personal this time

But of course you were incredibly oblivious so you just grinned and said it back, not really thinking about it too much

Of course Asra knew you had missed the point, so when you went back to looking at the stars he propped himself up so he was leaning over you a bit and repeated it

This probably confused you a bit, but you said it back again, thinking that maybe this was some kind of game

He held back a laugh and tried again, this time putting more emphasis on the “love” part

You missed it, and repeated it back

At this point he was trying not to laugh, and knew that he had only one more try before he wouldn’t be able to hold it back

This time he tried explaining more thoroughly

He told you he loved you romantically; as in, a love that was more than platonic. Romantic, soulmate kind of love. Not friendship. Please get it this time.

Your mouth formed a perfect “o” as you finally got his point

For a brief moment, Asra felt relief, thinking that he had finally gotten his point across

Instead he received immediate and extreme panic as you quickly shoved him away. While screaming.

This certainly hadn’t gone as planned

He was desperately trying to calm you down while you rambled about every place you two had been on your trip, trying to locate a time where Asra could’ve been put under a love spell

Asra, of course, found this hilarious, and started laughing harder and harder while also trying to calm you down

This only caused you more distress, and soon there were tears streaming down your face while you tried to convince him that no, this wasn’t funny

He knew you were genuinely concerned about him, and he genuinely was trying to stop, but this had come out of nowhere and he didn’t really know how to respond either

Eventually, you both managed to calm down (but only the kind of calm where he would occasionally look at you and burst into giggles again)

He did his best- between giggle fits- to explain to you that he genuinely did love you and he definitely wasn’t under any spell

He told you that he had loved you for years, and that he always would

He also subtley pointed out that he had been flirting for years and you had just been completely oblivious

No confession would truly be complete without a bit of teasing

You probably felt a bit embarrassed, but he reassured you that it was just a part of your charm

Of course, you told him you felt the same, and the two of you went back to watching the stars, this time just a bit closer than before

From then on, not a whole lot changed in your relationship

The two of you were practically in a romantic relationship already, so really all that was different was a few more kisses and a slightly different intention behind the “I love you”s the two of you shared

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

Text

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

In which Rafael Barba deletes the Twitter app because of the Householder case, and Carmen babysits him.

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The last thing on Rafael Barba’s mind when he was in the hospital room with Maggie Householder was his online reputation. Once he’d turned himself in and been released on his own recognizance, however, he opened his phone to call mami and instead saw hundreds of Twitter notifications, emails from people whose names he didn’t recognize, and missed calls and voicemails from unfamiliar numbers. He didn’t touch Twitter, texting Carmen to ask how bad it was and she advised him to delete the application until at least after the trial. When he went home, mami was there and just as disappointed as he expected. There were tears the minute she saw him, but not any offered comfort.

“You murdered a child, mijo.”

“You don’t understand, mami. No lo viste. El no estaba realmente vivo.”

“Esa fue la decisión de Dios. No es tu decisión. Tu abuela estaría tan decepcionada de ti.”

“No estoy de acuerdo. Si estás aquí para regañarme, vete a casa.”

“Te llevo a la confesión.”

“Vete a casa, mami. Me confesaré cuando esté lista.”

“Rafa-”

“Go home.”

Lucia stormed out, and Rafael went inside his apartment and went straight for the scotch he kept aside. It wasn’t his good scotch. It was the cheap one that burned his throat and left him sicker than he ever was the next day. Before twisting off the cap, he heeded Carmen’s advice, deleting the Twitter app as he dropped to the couch and began to drink. It was only eleven, not even noon, but he didn’t want to remember what had transpired the day before. He should wade through his email, but someone had posted it. He knew because it was referenced time and time again that they’d found his personal email via some Twitter thread or Subreddit or something else he hadn’t yet encountered. He’d had to mute his phone as phone calls rolled in; the only one he answered confirmed it was strangers from the Internet who had seen the news. Carmen called it getting cancelled when it happened to other people. That usually didn’t involve the loss of a life, so the term seemed not quite right for what was happening, especially given the fact this included more than just the people he was used to. People who had never encountered him were hearing about him in the news.

He ignored Olivia’s calls, considering the morning’s interactions enough. As he drank, Rafael was able to filter unknown numbers and messages, tossing the phone aside and quickly finishing the bottle. Olivia came by, and he didn’t answer, choosing to lay back on the couch as the room spun around him. Carmen texted him, and he didn’t look. An hour later, he heard her outside of his door with Olivia and unlocking he apartment for her. He’d given her a key long ago so she could get files or suits or drop off leftovers. Both of them came in, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had his suspenders down and shirt open over his undershirt. He’d spilled the most recent tumbler over himself with the pizza he’d ordered. And now, they could see him like this, eyes rimmed red and mood unstable as he thought more than he could about himself.

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said softly, kneeling by him. Olivia stayed closer to the door, surveying the room. By the nature of their constant proximity, Carmen had seen the tail end or starts of Rafael getting frustrated, though he always pressed it down with a glass of scotch and good meal. That said, she’d found him too drunk after a trial didn’t go his way. Seen him frustrated as he went through a case he may not be able to do anything about it. Caught him yelling at paperwork as though something would happen. She’d also seen him the next mornings when he came in pretending not to be insanely hungover and was wearing the suit from his office.

“I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t. Is this what happens between an eight o’clock bourbon and the office suit?”

“Shut up, Carmen.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry,” he said with a huff as his hand ran down his face, and Olivia had to stifle a laugh at how properly embarrassed he looked. “My email and phone are bad. How bad is Twitter?”

“Medium. A lot of people understand. Or they feel that they can’t understand, so they’ll watch the story.”

“People understand murder?” he scoffed.

“No. No one does. But we all understand how impossible your choice was. How badly the parents were hurting.”

“I was too selfish to do it for my dad.”

“I know, Mr. Barba. But people want to know how long until they hear more. Want people to wait. Can see why you did it. It’ll blow over. We can change your number and your email. Twitter has a really handy button. Block.”

“My name’s Rafael.”

“You’re my boss.”

“Not for long,” he chuckled bitterly before his gaze softened. “All I wanted was for people not to hurt.”

“You need to go to bed, Rafa.” It was Olivia now, and his eyes suddenly snapped open. It was different when it was Olivia. They were friends, but they kept things to work. Other than the occasional group event, they’d grab dinner after work. She didn’t hear him debate pocket squares or see him drunk alone in his office or help him think of replies on Twitter. He’d probably lose his friendship with Carmen once he wasn’t in the office, he supposed. She humored her boss a lot more than she probably should.

“I’m fine, Liv.” It came with more of a snort than he liked, and he was suddenly pulling himself up to sit, wrapping his shirt around himself as though it were a cardigan. Carmen watched he was steady, and Olivia was sure she now knew what she’d looked like when Noah was learning to walk on his own with her hand on his back to keep him upright. Once things passed, she wanted to ask if Rafael was always this willing to be relaxed around Carmen, but she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

“I don’t think I’m helping things,” Olivia said softly, and Carmen gave a gentle nod.

“My son’s with my mom for a visit. I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re sure? I can call Lucia.”

“I’m fine, lieutenant. And mami has already been here.”

“Make sure he meets with an attorney tomorrow.”

“I make his calendar. I know.”

“You two can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” he grumbled, heels pressed against his eyes. “I’m drunk, not deaf.”

“You’re belligerent, counsellor.”

“Call me Rafael,” he said again, flopping onto the couch when Olivia had left again.

“I thought Lieutenant Benson was your best friend, Rafael.”

“She is, I guess. Is that sad? My best friend used to be Alex, but I pursued that case. As if mami needed more reason to hate me.”

“You don’t act like you in front of her. Not all the way.”

“This isn’t me.”

“It’s you without a carefully constructed persona.”

“If that’s the case, I suppose you’re my best friend, Miss Frye.” She’d expected to see a bemused smirk or annoyed scowl, but Carmen was taken aback by how sincere he looked as his hand moved to rest on her forearm and squeeze as well as he could.

“My name’s Carmen,” she teased. “Now come on. You need to go to bed.”

“My suit will get wrinkled.”

“I’ll hang it for you.”

“You can sleep in the guest room. It’s not safe for you to go-” His eyes were suddenly wide. “Carmen, where’s Ollie?”

“With my mom. I told her you needed me for a couple days.”

“You don’t need to disrupt your life.”

“I’ll tell you a secret Mist- Rafael.”

“What?” he asked, flopping into bed where she’d pulled the blanket down once he managed to strip to his boxers.

“You’re my best friend too.” She tugged the blanket over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. He smiled up at her, and she made her way out turning off the lights. It seemed silly to say it to someone like him, but they’d worked together a long time, had a lot of late night talks. She liked him more than a lot of people she knew, and saw him more than anyone outside of her family.

Carefully, she cleaned his living room, dumping his other bottle of cheap scotch out and disposing of both before setting up the coffee to brew at seven, just in time to have him at an attorney’s office by nine. McCoy had approved her to work from wherever she needed to in order to keep Rafael functioning. She’d have been miserable helping Peter Stone with this trial anyway. They both knew about his father, and it seemed he may be a ticking time bomb. She logged into his twitter, going on a blocking spree as she explored his mentions, tweeting from her own account and his that she’d done it and retweeting it from his account.

She also liked all the kind ones. The ones asking for understanding or expressing empathy. The ones that acknowledged he had an impossible choice and neither one would have sat well with their own conscious. Leave a child and his family to suffer without end or expedite the inevitable. Then there were his direct messages. Since getting verified, he had the ability to only see messages from people he followed. As she combed through, there were a couple of hateful messages she ignored, but most who knew him expressed understanding and a couple even included leads if he wanted out of the city. She marked those down in her notes app before falling asleep in the guest bedroom.

The sound that greeted her in the morning was Rafael Barba vomiting as the coffee machine roared to life in the background. Silently, she ordered ginger tea and vitamin b12 for delivery, going to fetch the pedialyte she’d brought from home. When he came out, hair wet from a shower, she’d already brewed him tea, cooked breakfast, and given him an expectant look as she slid a glass of unnaturally purple electrolytes to him. He didn’t know what to say, so he took the proffered glas and took a long sip before wincing.

“Grape,” she said plainly.

“Grapes don’t taste like that.”

“Ollie likes it okay. I make him popsicles though.”

“He’s old enough for popsicles? Isn’t he still on milk?”

“Rafael, he’s two. He drinks milk, but he even eats.”

“Does he like books yet?”

“He does. He really likes being read to.”

“I’ll read to him next time I see him.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick. “Do you play him music?”

“Some. Usually my playlists.”

“Play him Bach.”

“You’ll have to tell me what’s best to play him.”

“I’ll send you a playlist.”

“Why Bach?” She watched as his jaw shifted from side to side, lips pressed together, and that told her all she needed to know. “Drew liked Bach?”

“He’d never know if he liked Bach. Maggie was playing one of his cantatas.”

“Maybe we can take him to an orchestra one day.”

“There are some shows. Kid friendly.”

“He’d like that.”

“I’ll send it to you.”

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

“Me?”

“It’s your idea.”

“You’d still let me around your son?”

“My son is a healthy vibrant boy. If he was in the same situation as Drew, it would be hard, but I’d still want you there. You did exactly what I would have done for him, okay?”

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

“Which part?”

“The last part.”

“You probably are my best friend. And that hasn’t changed. I wish you didn’t have to be put in the situation, but I would hope I’d have been strong enough to do the same. And other people agree with me.”

“God, you’re not actually looking at Twitter.”

“I looked at Twitter. I blocked anyone vitriolic. But, I collected all the kind ones in your favorites for when you’re ready. A lot of your attorney friends have job leads for you if you leave the DA’s office.”

“I’m leaving. And I’m probably going to fucking prison. You’ll be down a friend in a few months.”

“Stop it.”

“They’ll end me in there, Carmen. I sent some of them there.” She wasn’t sure what to make at how at peace with the prospect he was.

“And you won’t go to prison. Don’t focus on that. Even if you do, they’ll have to do something to protect you. And I’ll come visit you.”

“You barely know me.”

“We spend more time together than I do with anyone else. I know you’re good, you have a good heart, you send birthday presents to every SVU detective’s kid and think I don’t know you send them coffee gift cards on their birthdays. You’re a total mama’s boy and despite what a snarky prick you are, you have imposter syndrome out the ass. You’re lapsed enough Catholic not to go to church, but you pray when things are really bad. I also know some part of your brain feels like you’ve let down people who think you do good work by this one thing, but one bad doesn’t outweigh an exorbitant amount of good. I hope Ollie has half of the ethical backbone you do. I know there have been occasions in the past you weren’t perfect, but the man I’ve known deserves every ounce of credit he gets. That doesn’t mean you’ve never made a mistake.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, and much to his chagrin, Carmen wrapped him in a hug that he returned, refusing to look at her. He was suddenly aware he’d cry if he looked at what he knew was a genuine smile. “I’ve got to get dressed to see an attorney.”

“Who are you going with?”

“Randy Dworkin.”

“He’ll be good.”

“I hate to admit that. And I’m sure I’ll hate every second with him.”

“How about you teach me about Bach this afternoon?”

“You have work.”

“McCoy approved me to be remote.”

“So you’re my sitter?” She could almost swear a smile pulled at the corner of his lip, and she felt pride she didn’t expect.

“I suppose. So Bach?”

“Bring Ollie?”

“Deal.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #law and order #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #Rafael Barba x Carmen

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yawnjunie · 4 years

Text

so you’re the artsy type, huh ❦ cbg (1)

Genre: fluff, university au, crack (get ready for a bad take on comedy)

Pairing: broke artist!reader x art sponsor!beomgyu

Word count: 7k

Summary: After spending way too much time chasing after an impossible dream, you weren’t too sure you wanted to continue with your lifelong passion— art. One eventful day at the museum steered you onto a road full of twists and turns, and you unexpectedly found yourself wading deeper into murky water with your new employer.

A/N: a huge thank you to @noiaeu and @halohyuka for being my beta readers! anyways here is a long overdue fic that was a 20k+ word monstrosity but is now a series. happy reading!

— blu and struz

You tapped your feet absentmindedly against the grimy tiles of the cheap burger chain as you waited. The atmosphere that usually felt bustling and welcoming now felt stuffy as your stomach churned each passing second. The waitress walked past your seat as she served the customers behind you, the fragrant aroma of the burgers on her tray prompting a vicious growl from your stomach. Sighing, you checked the time on your phone: 8:52pm. Scrolling past the inactive conversations with your “friends” (you didn’t really know what to call them because you tried to ask them out and got rejected; you’d kept those conversations anyway because you were too attached to them), you sent a quick message to a number you wish you didn’t need to text today. Without a second thought, you picked up your belongings and left the small burger shop.

Thank goodness, you knew just the perfect place to drown your sorrows in.

You called for the nearest taxi to the small food shop by the name of Mrs. Lee’s Mandu House.

“What happened this time?” A stout lady with an apron asked, peeking her head out of the kitchen, setting down a large bowl of dumplings in front of you. She made her way to the condiments shelf. “Kimchi?”

“Yes, please. I got stood up again.” You grumbled, stuffing a large dumpling into your mouth ravenously. Then, speaking through mouthfuls of food, you continued. “Maybe I should just stop trying altogether. Change my major to agricultural studies and move to the countryside while I’m at it.”

Food had never tasted so good! The savory filling of the dumplings literally melted in your mouth, and soon the blaring sound of the old AC and the sound of the kdrama from the TV had just blended into the background. It was nice not having to listen to anything.

“Aw, don’t say that.” The woman replied as she set down a pot of kimchi and a plate of kimbap on your table. The friendly ahjumma took her seat across from you and set down a bag of melon seeds. “Trust me, it’s going to be hard. You’re just in your first year of college! You’ll get there someday.” Then, she continued on to tell you about other people she knew who had it harder than you, but all that faded into the background noise, along with the AC and the TV. That sentence was the only thing you heard, and although there weren’t any lemons in the soup, everything that you ate suddenly started tasting sour. Sometimes, even the best food cannot drown out the bitterest words.

You’ll get there someday.

Foomp. You flopped onto your bed with a small grunt as your back met the soft mattress. Throwing off your glasses to the side, you massaged your eyeballs and then looked at the ceiling. It was grey. The same grey that you saw before going to sleep at night, the very same grey that greeted you when you awoke in the morning to another unexciting day. The more you stared at it, the more the popcorn ceiling looked just like a grey mass with a few monotone specks here and there.

You were always told to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past. And that was a long shot, given that all you saw in front of you was a blurry ceiling.

What is this feeling? You let yourself sink a little deeper into your mattress, lazily shifting your gaze to the left, where you saw your huge Gabriel Garcia Marquez poster taped to the wall. Solitude. Looking back, you supposed that was how you’d been living your life thus far.

Doing jobs here and there, never really achieving anything big.

Single as hell.

It was days like this that made you feel not quite sad, but just really demotivated. A reminiscent smile flickered on your face as you turned your head to stare at the wall, unto which the light that peeked through the overcast sky cast a faint shadow. Words like “lonely” and “outcast” didn’t mean a thing to you. The fact of the matter was, you didn’t have anyone, and the universe sure didn’t put an effort to sugarcoat that fact.

Rolling lazily to the edge of the bed, you finally sat yourself up. You walked over to your desk, pulled out the wooden chair, and turned on the lamp. Then, you took a moment to tie up your hair before looking down at what was lying under the spotlight of the lamp.

Amidst the blizzard of eraser shavings and the familiar scent of freshly shaved wood stood the lead outline of a girl. Shoulder-length hair up in a high ponytail, a soft, rounded nose, chapped lips, and blank, unsuspecting eyes with dark circles hanging below them. Looks like she’s never seen a day of joy in her life. Looking into the mirror standing to the left on your desk, a very tired girl with a dark face stared right back. Dusting off the eraser shavings into the trash bin next to the desk, you commended yourself for the superb self-portrait.

At the insistence of the tightness in your right wrist and the crick in your neck, you set the pencil down and extended your arms to stretch your back. When your eyes fell upon the drawing once more, a wave of disappointment washed you back onto the shore of frustration. Yet another addition to the ever-growing pile of wasted white paper. A part of you argued that art was not a waste, which was true enough. Art made by you, however, was a different story.

What happened to me? All that time, effort, and energy never really amounted to much. After all, you’d only seen the world in black and white. It was as if someone took a giant paint tube and squirted an awful lot of grey paint everywhere.

After all, who’d ever heard of an artist who couldn’t tell orange from blue?

–––

Even the song playing in the background mocked you with every word.

♪ I see trees of green,

red roses too ♪

♪ I see them bloom,

for me and you ♪

♪ and I think to myself

what a wonderful world ♪

You glanced around tiredly as you saw your classmate’s boyfriend carry a stack of canvases for them. For someone who, one: saw the world in grey, and two: had never gone on a date, the world was anything but wonderful. You felt your eyelids drooping despite the hard, wooden stool jutting into your buttcheeks. Drowsily, you turned your gaze to your art pieces. Noticing the other students coming in to set up their pieces, you straightened up your back and set your bag down on the stool. You took a deep breath and swung your arms nervously in an attempt to garner a sense of purpose and hope. You got this! You whispered encouraging phrases to yourself under your breath, smiling at the students who bothered to greet you first.

Today was your first time participating in a student exhibition. Although it was quite unconventional for first year students to be showcasing their work in the advanced exhibition, your teacher had been nice enough to make a spot for you. Well, it was more like you practically begging her to consider you, because of your current family situation. You terribly did not want to sound like that broke college student™, but sometimes, a little bit of courage to fight against the stone cold reality was useful. And of course, Ms. Kim, being the benevolent soul she was, granted you special rights to participate.

This year, the exhibition was being held in the empty room at the Museum of Modern Art. Attendance of the students was optional, but a good handful of them came, hoping to get a professional review, or even a sponsor for their art. The moment you walked in, you held your breath—the entire room was empty, all six surfaces painted white. It was the brightest room you’d ever been in, yet the temperature seemed to drop 100 degrees.

It’s fine. This time, things will be different, you told yourself in an attempt to shake off the dread that settled in the pit of your stomach. Fifth time’s the charm, after all.

It may have been your first time participating in a college exhibition, but you’d participated in countless art competitions as a kid. You were like a wildfire, and there was no award for a competition you entered that you didn’t win. Now, it felt like you were back to base one. After all, who has that easy of a life? Those days of your easy childhood life were long gone.

You tried not to think much as you sat uncomfortably next to your paintings. For the first hour or so, you made a point to look each passing person in the eye, a wide smile plastered on your face. The second hour, the corners of your mouth started to twitch beyond your control. By the third hour, you found yourself staring at people’s shoes more often than their faces. As the minutes ticked by, you kept your eyes trained intently on the floor, mouth pressed firmly closed. Glancing around the room, you tried to take your mind off of your worries. But you couldn’t help but be envious of your classmates, who were getting noticed by the professional guests.

That’s okay, there’s always next time. Guess today just wasn’t my day.

It was beginning to feel like no day was your day. A warm sensation pricked at the corners of your eyes when a voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Ma’am, excuse me.” A woman in a worn out blue outfit approached your stand.

Being as desperate as you were, you hastily wiped away your tears from all the yawning and slapped a smile on your face, mustering up the peppiest voice you could manage. “Hey! How can I help you? As you can see, I work exclusively in grayscale, and I mostly do portrai–” “Miss–” the lady interrupted, “it’s closing time. Could you please pack your things?”

Upon processing the sight of the tattered mop in her hand, realization hit you like a truck, and not just any ordinary truck— it was a Belaz 75710 filled with 496 tons of rocks and sharp glass. That was a fun fact you stumbled upon while scrolling on Instagram; the fact that you somehow retained this useless information made you silently curse yourself. Your smile was frozen in place as you gave a series of curt nods. “Oh. Okay, I’ll start packing.”

The kind woman nodded back and started to walk away, but stopped and turned just a few steps away. “Don’t feel too down. Sometimes, life just doesn’t go the way you want it to. It’ll get better, trust me.”

“Yeah.” You replied coldly, not bothering to mask your sadness. Attempting to muster a small smile in gratitude for her kind words, you gave her a thumbs up before she left the room. It kind of hurt, getting pity from the janitor. But in a way, you felt a little comforted. At least you knew you weren’t the only person struggling. Robotically, you placed the canvases onto your utility cart one by one, then started folding up the easels. When the janitor’s footsteps had faded away, the only thing disrupting the silence was the rain.

Plip. Plop. With the accompaniment of the beating of the raindrops on the rooftop that rang in your ear like a dull symphony, it only seemed natural for your tears to fall. And this time, there was nobody to interfere with your sob session.

And on that afternoon, in the empty art hall, you cried your heart out. There was only one question that gnawed at the back of your mind relentlessly, like a famished dog on a bone twice its size. Should I just give up on art? The thought of it just made you cry even harder. Art was your everything.

From the moment you’d grasped the thin body of the paintbrush on your doljabi, you’d fallen in love with art. Throughout your childhood, you’d spent your days drawing. From drawing on plain computer paper to painting entire murals on your bedroom walls - you did it all. Everyone was sure you’d become an artist when you grew up. You’d even kept a money jar by your bed, which you’d used to store money for new art supplies and eventually, art school. You were happy. You had a good eye for color.

Thunder crashed outside as that memory resurfaced in your mind. Back then, you drew like there was no tomorrow when you could see colors. Until the world became dark when your colors, your precious colors were taken away. And the world remained dark ever since. They all pitied you, sending a sigh your way in condolence for your loss. You didn’t need or want their pity, of course. All you’d ever wanted was an answer, a reason to why they left your eyes.

You wanted to blame it on something, but what could you do? Every night you prayed, praying desperately for your colors back. But every morning, the ceiling remained grey. So did the sky when you walked to work. Pushing your shabby cart with a loose wheel down the hallway full of eccentric art pieces, you didn’t even spare a glance at them. Well, other than to avoid being noticed by the few people who were still in the museum, to which you hid your swollen face in the opposite direction and choked back your sobs. Well, what can you do now, y/n? It’s not your first time participating in an exhibition anyway. There’s probably someone out there having it harder than you, so suck it up! Everything will be better once you get back home…

Just when you were nearing the entrance of the museum, you heard a different pair of footsteps from your own behind you.

“Hey.” You jumped out of your skin at the tap on your left shoulder. Caught by surprise, you found yourself stumbling backwards into your cart. You lost your footing and down crashed your rear end. By attempting to hold onto the cart handle for balance, your art pieces now seemed to fall in slow motion, the cart suspended in the air as your mouth hung open in horror. You reached out to grab it, but unfortunately, you were an aching 2 centimeters short of saving your artwork. The cart toppled on top of your canvases with a comical crack, wooden splinters flying everywhere. The empty utility cart squealed defeatedly as it toppled to its side, a loose wheel still spinning.

You felt your head spin even faster, as you grew increasingly frustrated by your inability to comprehend what had just happened. Holy shit.

Strewn across the floor, battered and broken, lay hours upon hours of your time, your hard-earned money, along with the last strains of your hope of becoming an artist. F*ck!

Eyes wide and mouth agape, you turned to face the perpetrator of the tragedy.

This is the part where he apologizes and promises to make it up to me, then gives me his contact info and we go on a date and he falls for me and we live happily ever after. Or so you hoped, you thought. The thought was so ridiculous that you could have burst out into laughter if it hadn’t been for the fact that the fruit of your blood, sweat, and tears was now a bunch of broken wood and torn cotton on the floor. F you and your last brain cell, y/n. Get yourself together and snap out of it. You were convinced that you were so sleep deprived from your K-drama binging session this morning at 4am that you’d convinced yourself that you were living the next episode.

Chances were low that the two of you would get together and live happily ever from an offense like this, but even so, he would have to compensate for the damages somehow. Now that you came back to reality, you realized that you couldn’t even make out what the guy in front of you looked like. “Okay, but what if he’s like, your next patron or something.” You don’t know if you muttered that out loud, but your odd behavior was really annoying you today. Shut up, it's not like he's Song Kang! Stop it! Nevertheless, you bet on the Balenciaga slides that he was wearing that he would pull out a business card the next moment.

You stared into the boy’s eyes expectantly and he met your gaze. You felt your pulse quicken as he opened his mouth to speak, eagerly awaiting your compensation. Hello hello, my next patron. This is the moment that marks my upgrade to a better life.

“I am so, so sorry about this.”

“You should be.”

As he spoke, the boy pulled his cap lower and threw on his hood. “Not just about me breaking your paintings, but also this.” Dammit, what have I gotten myself into?

And then he bolted.

🏃 💨

“Wha– hey! Where do you think you’re going?!”

He slammed his body against the glass door and ran into the rain while you followed in close pursuit. However, after a few wobbly steps, it occurred to you that you weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion, so you took off your heels and continued the hunt barefoot.

Still, even under normal circumstances, you weren’t much of a track star. Wearing a blazer with suit pants and no shoes wasn’t helping your chances either, and the weather didn’t seem to plan on making things any easier.

The two of you ran through the heavy rain like cat and mouse. Clenching your teeth and your fists, you chased after the boy. He ran about two blocks before you caught up to him. As your calves grew sore, you considered hurling one of your heels at him.

The boy slowed down for a couple of seconds, looking around frantically. Mr. Kim.....! I told you to wait for me out here—!

Heaving a sigh, he turned around and began to run in another direction. And although he'd hate to admit it, today was one of the days where he had no choice but to admit that his choice of footwear today was a fatal flaw.

Somehow, despite the odds against you, you weren’t the one who ate the pavement. The boy tripped over the curb and slammed into the sidewalk, bellyflopping straight into a gargantuan puddle. Those Balenciagas did not help him run through the rain very well. You laughed in triumph and squatted next to his almost-lifeless body.

“Gotchu now, you jer–”

Boom! The world went white for a second, illuminated by the blinding clap of lightning. In an instant, the downpour increased tenfold, the raindrops now feeling like bullets against your skin.

“Okay, maybe this isn’t the best place to have a conversation.”

–––

The two of you trudged through the rain—or, more accurately— you dragged the boy through the rain, your grip on his hoodie sleeve iron-tight. When you finally reached your car, you opened the passenger door and he went in obediently. From an outsider’s point of view, you might’ve been mistaken as an undercover cop. In fact, you were sure feeling like one as you apprehended the criminal.

You went around to the back and opened up the trunk, where after rifling through months' worth of empty bottles, fabric bags for shopping, and a variety of other car junk, you finally found your stash of somewhat clean clothes. After careful consideration, you chucked a worn hoodie and the swimming shorts you’d worn to the beach last year over the seat. Just in case, you also tossed your first-aid kit over. You threw your heels in and swapped them for a pair of nylon flip flops before slamming the trunk closed.

You went back to the passenger’s side and opened the door. Taking in the figure of the drenched and bleeding boy, you kind of felt sorry for him. Which was stupid, considering he had just wrecked your life’s work and made a run for it. You tilted your head back and sighed, trying to sort your thoughts out.

With all of your best art pieces now reduced to splinters, it was a cold, hard fact that you weren’t going to get a sponsor. Besides, even before they’d been smashed into smithereens, nobody had been willing to give you a chance. The probability of you finding a sponsorship was like the graph of the height of a ball thrown from a cliff at sea level, or the number √-1. It was not just in the negatives, but it was also imaginary.

Taking a sharp inhale, you talked as quickly as you could. “Listen. I’m going to go get what’s left of my art from the gallery. Just change your clothes and patch yourself up, then you can leave.” You paused to dig out a few crumpled dollars from your wallet, which you promptly threw at him.

“Here, take this to get a taxi. I don’t know how far you live, but that’s all I have. Don’t get me wrong– I still think you’re a massive schmuck. And there’s nothing you can do to fix the damage you’ve caused.” Despite your best effort to remain composed, your voice cracked a little at the end. You stopped talking before you were to break out into tears again.

Without waiting to hear what the douchebag had to say, you slammed the door closed and strode through the rain back to the gallery, where your pieces still lay broken on the ground where you’d left them. A part of you was hoping that maybe, by some magic or miracle, the whole thing had been a dream, and nothing really happened.

But reality was as cold as stone, and you were powerless to change it. So, as you always did when confronted with the unchangeable, you picked yourself up and carried on, struggling against the current.

By the time you wheeled the broken canvases back to your car, the boy was long gone, all traces of his presence vanished except for the dampness of the left side passenger seat. You buckled on your seatbelt and tuned into your favorite radio station, then sped off into the summer storm. The storm, your artwork, it was all so out of the blue– well, in your case, grey.

The situation on the freeway was like a stuffy nose: irritated and congested. In fact, it would’ve been faster to moonwalk down the road. To make matters even worse, instead of music, the radio station was streaming ad after ad. Is this even legal? Exasperatedly, you tuned into a different station, then another one, but to no avail; all of them were on ad break.

It was frustrating enough that the gallery was a complete flop, not to mention that your best art was demolished in a hit and run and that you were sitting soaking wet on a leather seat stuck in the middle of traffic. Now, even the radio had turned against you. You shut it off and sat in silence.

Thump. You sighed and leaned your head back against the seat, willing the migraine that was building up in your head to f*ck off. After craning your head to check the backseat one more time, to your vexation, you found that the asshat hadn’t even bothered to close the first aid kit.

Muttering obscenities under your breath, you reached for the kit, cracking your inflexible spine 4 times in the process. You rummaged through its contents, straightening them out, counting how many were left, and you were about to slam the lid closed when you saw the note.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

“Well, gee, that’s REAL helpful.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the ten numbers scrawled on the note. Your half a brain cell told you to quit being stupid and toss that note out the window.

The rest of your stupid self told you to call it. I mean, why not? You cursed yourself for how your brain worked– or rather, didn’t work– sometimes.

You licked your lips in brief contemplation before punching in the numbers in. The person on the other end picked up immediately.

“Hello, welcome to Papa John’s Pi–”

You hurled your phone into the backseats and ripped the note up, throwing the scraps into the air like confetti before continuing the wearisome ride down through the rain.

–––

It took an eternity, but you made it back to your apartment, where you promptly crashed onto the couch. As per usual, you spent the rest of your waking hours scrolling through baking videos, even though you had neither the ingredients nor the time to be making any of the confections. At around 8pm, exhausted from crying and the events of the day, you dozed off without having a bite of the frozen pizza that’d just finished baking in the oven.

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Your dreamless slumber was disturbed by the vibration of a string of text notifications and the glow that lit up the dark ceiling. Still half-asleep, you blindly felt around for your phone and attempted to read the message through bleary eyes.

It was from an unknown number.

Rubbing your eyes to clear out the nasty gunk, you sat up and read the message again, this time with clearer vision.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Hello, sorry for ruining your paintings today. I will make it up to you.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Thanks for bothering to call, let’s meet at this address to talk about your compensation. My parents can’t know that I did this so it would be great if you could keep this a secret :(

What the f*ck. You muttered under your breath, eyes half shut. Did I call anyone? In your half-asleep state, you didn’t bother to recall. For a second, you considered blocking the number. But just in case this was just one of your dumbass friends who changed their number, you decided to give that person a reply.

[You] hello? is this papa john’s?? i would like a cheese pizza

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh sorry the voicemail was a prank for someone else

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i’m the guy from the art museum earlier, remember

[You] okay why do you have my number

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] because you called me

[You] right. okay, what do you want

[You] unless you want to pay me back for all those damages back there, no i am not interested in anything else sry i’m a very busy person you know

You hesitated a second before pressing the send button. You’d just sent a lie; in fact, you weren’t really that busy. Apart from your part time job at the boba shop, you were actually quite free most of the time. During the summer, at least. In fact, your screen time had gone up by 42%, your daily average now totaling to a whopping 12 hours. After a minute or so of silence, you threw your head back onto your pillow and let out a loud sigh of relief. Peace at last! It also made you quite happy that the person who texted you was in the least, not some weird scammer.

Ping! You celebrated too soon. Reaching for your phone groggily, you read the new message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] okay then i was going to ask if you were free tomorrow

Am I being asked out? You squinted at your bright phone screen in the dark. You might have been nearsighted, but you weren’t illiterate in pick-up lines.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i want to return the clothes you lent me

[You] it’s fine, you can keep that

Oh good, he was talking about the clothes, not anything else. Your millisecond of relief ended quickly when he sent another message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh also it would be great if we could meet up anyway? i want to talk to you about something that i had been meaning to say for a while

Oh, god. I knew it wasn’t just about the clothes. Lonely as you were, you would shoot yourself in the foot if you got into any relationship without landing a stable job or having any money. Scoffing amusedly, you stared at the screen as he continued to type. But dating someone like this? Never in a million years. Turning over to your other side, you thought about the many ways you could reject him.

[You] no sorry :(

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] we should set a date at the cannoli restaurant to talk about your compensation costs. i’m extremely sorry for ruining your beautiful artwork, and i know that my apologies will do nothing to change your current situation. since this is my fault, i’m willing to pay any amount you request (and i’ll pay to the best of my capabilities)... i’m assuming $50,000 would be enough to cover the costs for most of the damage? if monetary compensation doesn’t work for you, we can discuss other forms of compensation as well.

[You] i know it may not seem like it but i’m actually caught up in too much work to have time for dating anyone. you see, it’s just that i have lots of work on the side so i can’t really spare time at the moment. please don’t take this personally haha i’m sure you’ll find someone,,, like i don’t know how to say this but yeah…..you don’t wanna be w someone like me, it’s me not you

Huh? Just as you sent your message, another message popped up before yours. And if your life had a background narration, this very moment would have been “and in that moment he knew. He fvcked up.”

Fml.

With just one single message, you perhaps have ruined the only god-given opportunity to turn your life around ever. He’d just offered you money to cover the costs of your broken paintings... now that you thought about it, he could even be your patron! You couldn’t even get a patron even if you went out of your way to look for one on Craigslist, pestered Ms. Kim for any news from the Art Teacher’s Association, or even begged random people on the street in hopes one out of the million people would be willing to promote your art. Now, someone was asking to compensate you with tons of money, and you’d just rejected him in the most embarrassing way possible.

[You] oh shoot

[You] i mean wrong chat, uh can you please stay on hold, i will get back to your compensation offer, yeah i will see you at the restaurant sometime thanks

XXX-XXX-XXXX is typing…

You did not bother to see what he had to say. Hurtling your phone onto your carpet, you let out a guttural scream of “I AM SUCH A DUMB@$$$” before pulling the strings on your hoodie tightly. And for the second time that day, you cried.

———

Leaving behind the upsetting events from a couple of days ago, you listlessly shuffled through the entrance. It was Saturday morning, and that meant groceries. The local Asian market was one of your favorite places to be; breathing in the familiar blend of spices that hung in the air was a cathartic feeling. The corners of your lips were turned slightly upwards as you bent to grab a basket.

First stop was the meat section, where the bugged-out eyes of dead fish followed you as you walked down the aisle. Cooking raw animal flesh wasn't really your thing, so you simply picked up a package of pre-cooked chicken and went on your way.

Next came the produce section where you felt up all the tomatoes, only bagging the ones that felt the right amount of firm and soft. You also added a pack of bok choy and mushrooms, perfect for cooking up a lazy soup.

Now that you were nearing the end of your expedition, it was time to head into the best part of the store: the snack aisle. Sometimes, when you were feeling more down than usual, you would blow the whole sum of your weekly grocery savings on off-brand shrimp chips and chocolate banana Pocky. One by one, you were doing all the things your mom had told you not to do when you moved out, from coating the entirety of your insides with nothing but sodium and sugar to shifting your sleep schedule by 15 hours.

What was next, the-no-dating-boys-until-you’ve-gotten-your-Master’s-and-have-a-7-figure-job rule? You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Even if your stomach was totally trashed and your sleep schedule was nonexistent, you would never let yourself fall that far.

As you stepped foot into the chips aisle, you beheld the holy grail. From Hello Panda to rice crackers, wasabi peas to Yan Yan sticks complete with a chocolate dip, cream wafers to dried seaweed, you were in a sea of temptation. Being that broke college student™, you just gulped and kept walking. I can just feast on these goodies with my eyes.

Your initial plan had been to just walk through the aisles to admire and drool over snacks you knew you couldn’t afford, but you were stopped in your tracks when you reached the instant noodles section.

At the end of the aisle, the shelf was bare except for a single lone pack. Even from a distance, you recognized it, all right; there was no mistaking the outline of your favorite instant ramen brand. 신라면. More like 神라면 (it’s more than just spicy noodles— it’s noodles made by the gods) you thought, eyes already tightly clutching at the packaging from 5 feet away.

From many a sleepless night of binge-watching third-rate rom-com dramas (though you cringed thinking back on it, this was an integral phase of your dark “past”), you knew where this was going–– but you weren’t going to sit around and let yourself fall into some overused trope. You gripped your basket tight as you swiftly made your way over to the shelf, just about setting a world record for speedwalking with a basket.

Sure enough, if you had been one second slower, you would’ve been ensnared in a sticky situation. Just as you were snatching up your prey like the pterodactyl you were, another figure was rounding the corner. Another broke college student™, it seemed, judging by the state of their hoodie, which was pulled over their messy hair, the strings tied in a bow to make sure the hood wouldn’t fall. Even though their face was concealed by their hood, you could see their reaction as they connected the dots from the bare shelf to the ramen pack in your hand.

“Hey–” they started, reaching towards you, but you promptly dropped the pack into your basket, spun on your heel, and noped out of the aisle before you could be confronted. You felt sorry because you could sympathize with their situation, but you were in no place to be kind to others. Not in this dog-eat-dog world. To survive, you’d have to stay on top of the food chain.

You were about to fall in line when you remembered that you were all out of Sriracha sauce. You could deal with giving up your Pocky and shrimp chips as long as you had your favorite condiment in stock; no matter how down you were, scrambled eggs with a heaping squirt of Sriracha always took you up to Cloud Nine. If you were going to leave something behind, it would never be the Sriracha sauce.

After grabbing a bottle from the condiment aisle, you scanned the checkout desks for the shortest line. Luckily, a new checkout desk had just opened on the left, so you scampered over and placed your basket onto the counter. The clerk was a kind-looking old woman, but was surprisingly agile for her age. As you waited for her to bag the large span of items that belonged to the grandpa in front of you, you opened up your phone to check your budget. You eyed the message app with two unread messages temptingly before going into your bank app. This was a lucky trip~ thankfully ramen isn’t too expensive. Even if it wasn’t on my grocery list, a few cents won’t make too much a difference. I think I can spare enough to get a Pocky next time.

At long last, the grandpa shuffled away with his cart filled with some veggies, a thick stack of newspapers, and an unusually large stash of rice crackers. While the clerk scanned and bagged your items, you continued to fiddle with your phone until she cleared her throat.

“Would you like a single receipt, or two separate ones? Because there’s a divider between your items.”

“Excuse me?” “You and your boyfriend. By the way, you guys look really cute together, especially with your hoodies~ are you on a date?”

You spun around only to come face to face with the broke college kid from the ramen aisle. Well, that’s awkward. The cashier must have been blind or deaf (or both) because you didn’t even interact with that boy. You stole glances of the customer through your peripheral vision, trying to see what he looked like. Hmm, do I know him? He looked uncannily familiar. Just then, another realization dawned on you. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad one. Your expression quickly changed from one of confusion to one of pure shock.

Surprise, surprise. It was the douche from the art gallery. And he was wearing your old hoodie.

“I-I don’t know him.” Before he could open his mouth to say anything, you quickly looked away, feigning ignorance. Unfortunately for you, the old clerk had seen much in her day and your little ruse wasn’t going to slip past her that easily.

“From the flushed look on your face and the stammer in your voice, I’m pretty sure you do. And I’m sure he would agree, wouldn’t you, lover boy~?”

And… cue to the horrified look on lover boy’s face. The conflict that was playing out in his mind showed on his face; he knew that if he answered this wrong, he would be facing your wrath.

“Uh, well, the thing is…” He shot you a nervous glance, but your features were stone cold. At a total loss for what to say, the boy just trailed off and turned his eyes to his basket. Following his gaze, you looked over his items and immediately recoiled in disgust.

Not a single leafy green (grey) in sight, no meat, no rice, not even one of the food groups necessary to sustain life. Strawberry ice cream mochi, Taiyaki, strawberry Melona bars, Choco Pies, strawberry Hi-Chew, strawberry Chocorooms, strawberry Pocky–– it seemed that strawberry was a recurring theme among his groceries.

Even though the sheer amount of sugar made you gag, a pang of jealousy flashed across your face. That was the life you’d longed for ever since you finished high school: living off of nothing but sugar and carbs, looking like a bum and not giving a damn about it, just chilling.

Unfortunately, with the number of failures and setbacks that stained your past, a carefree life was something you could no longer afford.

“Yeah, okay, we’ve met,” you cut in, saving the boy from the tricky situation. Skeptic, the clerk stared into your unblinking eyes for what seemed to be a solid 15 seconds before shrugging and handing you your groceries. You snatched up your fabric bag and went on your way, walking fast. The color in your cheeks was probably the same as a tomato. Your least favorite fruit.

Why him, of all the places? Why, universe? Where did I go wrong? You were about to drop dead from embarrassment. As you closed your eyes, you could see your tombstone: “Rest in Peace y/n, died alone and patron-less.”

However, what you didn’t know was that your day was about to get worse. A whole lot worse. It all started when you felt a familiar tap on your left shoulder. I swear– You took a deep breath in and let it out slowly to compose yourself and answered without turning around.

“What in God’s good name do you want. And why are you wearing hobo clothes.” My clothes, you realized, a tiny bit weirded out.

“They’re comfy,” he pouted, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his newfound hoodie as if to show off. “Anyways, how come you didn’t check your phone earlier?

“Oh, uh,” you felt the pressure in your head rising as you recalled how you threw your phone down in embarrassment and cried. “Sorry, I was feeling kinda down because a certain someone sorta trashed my life’s work and my only chance of being successful in the industry, sooooo yeah. My bad.”

Sniff. You looked up, startled, only to find that the boy in front of you had tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His mouth was clamped closed, but his bottom lip was quivering and his eyebrows were turned up, resembling a small child trying to keep himself from bursting into tears after falling and scraping his knee on the pavement. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Well shit. There were two ways you could go about this: one, let your superego do the talking like a good person and prevent the boy from having a total meltdown in the middle of the sidewalk. The second was letting your id run rampant, taking full advantage of his feelings of remorse and overall just being a jerk. Maybe you could be distant and lacking in empathy, but you weren’t an asshole because you wanted to be one.

“Listen, I’m sorry for calling you a schmuck. A schmuck would not have bothered to keep in contact and a schmuck would not be on the verge of tears out of guilt. ...I accept your apology.” You were going to say that what he did was unforgivable, but you decided no to say that. After a pang of guilt jabbed into you, you bit your lip and softened your tone.

“I know you feel bad, but you don’t need to cry; there’s no way to turn back time. So instead, let’s move forward and keep looking up. I’ll start.” Smiling slightly with a tilted head, you held out your hand. “Hi, my name is y/n. I know that we’ve technically met, but this is the first time we’ve met met. So, nice to meet you.”

He wiped his tears away with the butt of his palm and tried to return the smile, though his was more watery. “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Beomgyu.” You noticed the corners of his lips curl upwards in a small smile as he took your hand, shaking it firmly.

There was a pause of awkward silence as you let go of his hand, wiping your sweaty palm on your sweatpants. Well that was the most awkward introduction I’ve ever had in my life. Clearing your throat, you spoke again to clear the tense atmosphere.

“About my compensation.”

#moacabin #txtarcadianet #txt fanfiction #txt scenarios #txt fluff #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu fanfiction #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fluff #okay this is ... awkward #it's been an eternity since i first started writing this #i don't even think this is that good of a fic LOL it's just lots of crack #but anyways i hope you enjoy this story so far !!#it would be great if i could get some feedback about how it's going so far haha

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Text

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned. (Part Ten)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: blood, mentioned death, injury, gun violence

Context: The SRS have finally arrived, in time for Halloween.

A/N: This is a little bit late, but it's slightly Halloween themed, so I hope that it's still alright! Spot the reference I "accidentally" left in there😉😅

Masterlist

Eerie music plays from hidden speakers as the costumed crowd ambles by, children screaming and laughing as scare actors jump out at them, the variety of zombies, witches and mummies, not to mention vampires, too, astounding, movie characters and even some book characters making appearances around every turn, familiar and unfamiliar lines being spoken to cheerful bypassers. Painted masks and faces litter the mixed throng of people, the twinkling, orange-cast lights throwing the crevices of each visage into sharper definition, ghoulish grins becoming longer, twisted grimaces becoming even more painful, the many slashers roaming the Boardwalk now covered in a blacker blood than before, each fake knife, axe and machete lathered in the stuff. A sickly sweet odour lingers in the air as sweets and chocolate are passed around, often accompanied by a smoking joint, or sachet of some other high-class substance, the strong reek of sweat providing an unpleasant undertone as the stifling costumes heat their wearers despite the late October chill.

As a child, I used to love Halloween. There was always something enchanting about it: you could become anything, or anyone you wanted for the night, and no one would question you on your choice, or look at you oddly because everyone was doing the same. A cheery atmosphere always seemed to hang over the annual event, the leading pumpkins that glittered along the streets and the creative decorations building up the necessary excitement over the weeks before the 31st; a fun game of mine had been to run down the streets of my hometown and count every pumpkin we could see, separately, and see who had the highest tally at the end of the day. Once the winner had been decided, they'd get first dibs on the treats handed to us at each door when we later went Trick-Or-Treating, a rule which drew many arguments to the table when we eventually compiled our loot.

Now, as I watch the roaming children, all I can think of is how easy it is for the supernatural to wreck havoc on this night, given that the spiritual veil is much thinner than usual, and no one suspects anyone of the authenticity of their outfit until it's too late. On his night, the SRS always have their hands full, meaning everyone is deployed, not just the normal Hunters: the retired Soldiers still capable of fighting, Clean-Up teams and A.R.O (Aftermath Recon Operatives) Soldiers all made to help out with the bloody massacres that occur all over the country. The holiday has a morbid side that no one sees, and there's always a high body count the next morning.

Beside me, Marko pushes and shoves at people that come too close, the vampire loudly criticizing any costume made to look like his species, his "improvements" just a little too specific to be joking ones, not quite realising that I'm not listening to him. Instead, I'm scanning the crowds, looking out for the tell tale uniform and tactics used by the SRS Clean-Up teams, eyeing any suspicious person keenly until they prove to me they aren't a threat, often earning me harsh stares from their companions. The two of us look out of place in our "normal" clothing, neither of us dressing up, as we forgot that it was, in fact, the 31st, meaning a costume would've provided a good disguise in case we do come across any dangers. Even as we walk, I bite at my lip, feeling very exposed in my current state, my fists clenching at my sides as I try to stop myself from fidgeting too much, knowing that a nervous disposition is a great disadvantage in a fight, should one break out.

"Hey can we get something to eat? I kinda want some food." Marko suddenly asks me, not waiting for my reply as he pulls me over to a nearby sweet stand, the vampire excited by the prospect of buying the sugary treats.

Uneasy, I stand and turn back to the crowd, watching each face closely, my gut starting to feel odd as I notice something odd about a certain few members of the crowd. Eyes widening in realisation, I grab the back of Marko's coat and drag him away from the stand and into the alley behind it, ignoring his protests as I clap a hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet." I command him in a low voice, giving him a warning look as I slowly take my hand away from his mouth.

"What are you doing?" He hisses at me, eyes narrowed.

"They're here." I respond, looking out at the crowd as I try to figure out what to do, thinking over my options until I notice that someone has spotted us over here; someone who I've already identified.

As I watch, they start to make their way over to the stand, casually wading through the people around them as they try to look inconspicuous, though the mere sight of them makes my pulse hitch.

Thinking quickly, I grab the front of Marko's jacket and pull him closer, pressing my back to the wall as I lean closer to his face, ignoring his shocked expression.

"Kiss me, quick!" I order him, wrapping my hands around his neck as he splutters slightly.

"What?"

"Do it!" I growl, pulling him closer.

Still shocked, the vampire leans in and presses his lips to mine, carefully kissing me until I yank on his hair, silently asking him to be a little more rough, to which he responds by shoving me harder into the wall, his hands gripping my hips much tighter. Groaning slightly, I momentarily forget why we're in this situation, letting myself enjoy the rough kisses as he ravishes my mouth with his tongue, only opening my eyes again to look briefly over his shoulder at the Boardwalk, noticing that the person is no longer there. Knowing this, I let the kiss come to its natural end, before pulling away.

"Thanks..." I say, awkwardly, blushing as he reluctantly lets me go, the vampire clearly wanting more as he allows his hand to linger at my hip a little longer than necessary.

"No problem." He wipes his mouth, grinning at me as he regains his composure, "What did you need it for?"

"One of them was coming over here, and it was the first thing I could think of." I admit sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Right." Marko lifts an eyebrow, smirking, "How did you know it was one of them?"

I laugh, dryly, gesturing with my head for him to follow me back out into the crowd.

"Well, back in New Orleans, the head of the SRS realised one Halloween that our Soldiers need a disguise for this particular night, without being too conspicuous, so that they fit in but can also be recognised by each other. She decided that the mask of a plague doctor would be fitting. She said it works for us, because we're ridding the world of a "plague", just as they were." I roll my eyes, "Obviosuly, this makes them very easy for me to spot them, seeing as I used to dress up the same way."

"Oh, right." Marko nods, understandingly, evidently sending some mental explanation to the rest of the vampires, who are stationed around the Boardwalk.

"You can tell them apart, because they have a golden cross engraved just below the right eye on the mask, so we don't get mixed up with others." I clarify for him.

"Good to know." He frowns, "Did you say she decided? As in the head of the SRS is a girl?"

I nod, a little annoyed by the question, but knowing where he's coming from.

"Yep. Her name is Valentine Fletcher. She's the best fighter we've ever had and has the largest body count of all. Not even the Generals around the world come close to her efficiency, she's just too good. I've met her once, and she was also one of the most stuck-up princesses I've ever come across."

"I guess that's why she's the leader, then." Marko chuckles, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

"Excuse me." An unfamiliar voice interrupts us, a hand placing itself firmly on my shoulder as I turn around to face the person. My heart drops as I take in the eerie black beak-shaped mask, the golden cross glittering under the right eye as they catch the lights, the cloaked figure keeping a strong grip on my arm.

"Can I help you?" I ask, getting ready to run as Marko notices the cross, too.

"Yes, I was wondering if you could come with me." The Soldier says, though the tone in her voice is much more demanding, informing me that there is, in fact, no choice.

"I'd rather not." Without a second thought, I slam my arm into her elbow, snapping it inwards as she lets out a surprised cry, allwoig me time to duck under her and and push past her, sprinting away into the crowd with Marko hot on my heels.

Five loud gunshots sound behind us, the Soldier having shot at us with a hidden gun through the crowd, screams and shouts of fear and panic suddenly tearing through the air as the atmosphere suddenly becomes too real, the bullets smashing into the ground behind the two of us terrifying the costumed Boardwalk-goers. Instantly, the crowd around us starts pushing and shoving each other, the heaving current of people now pushing us along as they scramble to get to safety, arms flailing and legs kicking as they go, slowing our progress significantly. Growling in frustration, I pull Marko to the side, intending to reach the alley again, wincing when there are two more shots behind us, though I make it to safety without a scratch. It's only when I hear Marko's laboured breathing that I realise he wasn't so lucky.

"Shit, Marko, are you going to be alright? Can you keep moving?" I ask him, being to figure out where he was shot as he starts to sway on his feet, eyes drooping closed as the pain starts to eat away at him. Grimacing, I swiftly scan the area, spotting a large bin a little way away, which I drag him over to.

"Get in there and close the lid, you'll be safe." I tell him, opening it and giving him a leg up into the reeking interior, helping him settle as quickly as I can, before I go to move again, "I'll be back."

With one last look at him, I firmly shut the lid and start running down the alley, taking as many winding corners as I can, hoping to throw them off as I start to hear pounding footsteps behind me, shouts and calls seemingly coming from everywhere as I start to breathe harder, my pulse pounding in my ears. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, giving me the speed I need to get away from my pursuer, the air rushing harshly into my throat as I turn down another backroad.

A sudden gunshot, followed by a spike of agony in the back of my knee brings me to the floor, my body crashing into a discarded car as it rolls awkwardly to a halt, groans of pain swiftly starting to leave me. Gripping at the new wound on my leg, I try to force myself upright again, only to be kicked back to the ground again by a cloaked figure, who keeps kicking until I'm cowering on the ground, blood pouring down my face. When they are finished, they reach down and force me into a standing position, half-dragging me out of the alley and to the car park conveniently placed by the mouth of the road, where a circle of similarly clad people are waiting, the forms of three kneeling people visible in the dim light of the streetlights. Pulling me over to them, my attacker throws me to the ground in the centre of the circle, manhandling me onto my knees, drawing a small cry of pain from me.

Looking around at the three kneeling people, I feel my heart stop as I instantly recognise them: David, Dwayne and Paul, the three of them bloodied and beaten, burn marks littering their faces from the holy water that was most likely used on them. Horror and guilt flood me as I see them, David's head coming up so he can make eye contact with me, his blue eyes filled with hate and anger.

"Are we all here now?" Someone asks, their voice unfamiliar to me.

"No, there is one more." A voice calls from a little way away, Marko soon being forced onto his knees beside Paul as he is dragged into the light. The vampire is pale now, dark circles appearing under his eyes as his vampiric features break through, his body trying to keep itself from shutting down as he slowly bleeds out, the bullet wounds still oozing the crimson stuff out onto his shirt.

"Ok, that's everyone, we can get started." The person speaks again, this time sounding more decisive.

"(Y/n) (Y/l/n), you have been arrested for conspiring with the enemy, and for shooting a senior officer, willingly, instead of a vampire that was held hostage. Do you accept these charges?" Someone else says, the voice somewhat familiar, though I don't remember where from.

Knowing it is pointless to resist, I lower my head to my chest and reply.

"I do."

"And you are aware of the punishments that these crimes bring upon you?"

"I am."

"And they are?"

I take a deep breath, my muscles tense as I try to ignore the pain in my body.

"Execution on the sight of capture." I recite robotically, knowing them well.

"Good, you remember some form of honour." They sneer, before addressing the rest of the gathered Soldiers, "Are there any volunteers among us who would like to carry out the deed?"

"I do." My blood runs cold at the sound of the voice, my head lifting to look up at the Hunter that has stepped forwards.

"Elijah Forsyth, you wish to perform the necessary execution of (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?" The first speaker questions, confirming the name to me even as they take off their mask.

Instantly, the cold blue eyes lock with mine, the dark-haired Hunter giving me a poisonous look as he limps over to me.

"I do."

"Then it shall be so. Do what you must."

With those words, Elijah steps over to me, drawing a gun from his belt and cocking it deliberately, maintaining eye contact as he lowers it to my forehead.

As the weapon is brought to my skin, I keep my chin up, refusing to feel bad about the actions that brought me here in the first place. Without a word, I accept the fate that will befall me.

Part Eleven

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)

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gaknar · 5 years

Photo

Review: The Claremont Crossovers

Geez, I haven’t written a review for this blog since my Secret Wars review from like 17 years ago. How can that be? Well, I guess I used to work on this blog a lot more often and now I’ve gotten way more into Super Nintendo games and BDSM. Like a lot of people. But now that I finally finished reading Inferno, it is time once again to bookend my experience with an overly wordy wall of text filled with the worst kind of oblivious meninist butt humor jokes and pretentious sounding run-on sentences that are trying to sound smart but are always improperly ended with prepositions of. And lots of ridiculous comic book panels.

These are only the silliest panels from this reading that I could find after looking for about 25 seconds.

Bookeeping. This review covers everything that I have read since X-Factor #1. This includes Uncanny X-Men #204-243, X-Factor #1-39, New Mutants #38-73, along with a smattering of annuals, Daredevil, Power Pack, Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, Excalibur, and X-Terminators comics that were all part of the Mutant Massacre, Fall of the Mutants, and Inferno crossovers. There were a lot of developments over the course of the 4 years these comics were published. Jean Grey was resurrected and the original members of the X-Men reformed under the moniker X-Factor.

Mr. Sinister formed his band of evil mutants, the Marauders, who would become the X-Men’s main antagonists, and their most devious act would include committing mutant genocide against the Morlocks in the New York City sewers while dealing critical wounds to main X-Men team members Kitty Pryde, Nightcrawler, and Colossus during the fight.

Later, the X-Men were seemingly killed in a struggle with the mystical being known as the Adversary, but in reality they went into hiding in their new Australian outback base.

Illyana Rasputin lost control of the hell dimension Limbo which led to a demon invasion of Manhattan.

And finally, perhaps most prominently, Cyclops left his wife Madelyne Pryor and their son to get back together with Jean Grey, an act that led Madelyne to become corrupted with Pheoenix Force power and to turn into the Goblin Queen.

This era of X-Men comics contains the first major crossovers between the main X-Men comic book and its spinoffs. These events would become common as Marvel found ways to use its more strongly published works to carry the weaker ones, and the ploy still works apparently since here I am 30 years later reading 500 page omnibus collections just because there are 4 or 5 absolutely killer X-Men comic books in them. I love the X-Men so much that I’m willing to wade through the unending buildup to get the most out of the climaxes.

Seriously this artwork.

However, I find that this style of editing leads to a peculiar trend in pacing that can be tough to recover from in-between the major storylines. As Mutant Massacre leads into Fall of the Mutants, which then leads into Inferno, the characters are faced with consistently increasing stakes. With each passing story line, casualties grow and become more grave, and the consequences are more lasting. Mutant Massacre starts with the genocide of a mutant community, and several main characters are critically wounded as the X-Men face the worst defeat they’ve ever experienced. Then a year later in Fall of the Mutants, just as the team is starting to recover, the entire team of X-Men is killed during their battle against the Adversary. They would immediately be resurrected as a reward for sacrificing themselves to save the world, but it is still a defeat that claims the lives of every member of the team, if only for a moment. By the time we get to Inferno, the world is literally ending. Demons are raining from the sky and regular people are straight up getting slaughtered in the streets and elevators as the X-Men are more or less helpless to stop the destruction.

Inferno is an amazing storyline, if only for all the scenes of inanimate objects coming to life and straight up eviscerating common folk who are just minding their own business. Look at this shit!!! How did the comics code of conduct ever approve this. A mob of people just packed themselves into a demon FOOD PROCESSOR and every inch of them was liquefied except their bones. Chilling. (And let’s just forget about how the writers retconned all this blood orgy stuff in the Inferno Epilogue).

This all works in a capitalistic sense. Constantly raise the stakes and don’t let up for a second because if you do, the reader will take their eyes off the page and you will lose money. But the problem is, you can’t do this forever. And if you try, eventually you are going to write yourself into a corner where you’ve raised the stakes so many times, and you’ve re-manufactured the drama so often, people will stop caring. I call this the Dragon Ball effect.

How many times have these characters become gods at this point? Like three movies ago, the most recent movie was literally called “Battle of Gods.” I’m not even watching Super. Once your characters get so far away from humanistic stories people can relate to, you are no longer creating art. You’re manufacturing sensationalism. And it gets boring. These guys are starting to look like different flavors of freezie pops.

Maybe this is why the X-Men comics that come after this, the comics that make up the last leg of writer Chris Claremont’s 17 year run on the series, become so weird. Because perhaps there was no way to continue to raise the stakes any higher. After this point, we don’t get any more big crossovers until X-Tinction Agenda, but even that story is small and quaint when compared to what is presented here. Wolverine completely disappears from the series, all our other favorite characters disappear into the Seige Perilous to be transformed into completely different versions of themselves, and we get a lot of surreal stories that don’t have any sort of climax in the way that we’ve been conditioned to expect. The series becomes murky and ambiguous, without a solid narrative arc, and I think that’s why people regard the end of Chris Claremont’s writing on the series to be the weakest part of his run.

I can’t wait to read the X-Men comics that are coming up next. Because I didn’t know what in the FUCK was going on in these comics when I was a kid and I’m hoping they make more sense now.

Anyway, I’ll be the judge of all that, once I get there. (I may even indulge in the Infinity Gauntlet omnibus because, you know, there’s a couple X-Men involved in that). But regardless of what comes after this, I think it’s also true that the crossovers presented in this reading are generally regarded with less respect than Chris Claremont’s earlier work on the series, such as the Dark Phoenix Saga and Days of Future Past. This I don’t agree with. While the stories in this reading do range in quality, with Fall of the Mutants definitely being the weakest of the three big crossovers, and even though the Uncanny X-Men portion of Inferno isn’t even the central story of that crossover (the critical story elements take place in the far inferior issues of New Mutants and <ugh> X-Terminators written by Louise Simonson), Claremont’s writing is still much stronger, more layered, and more elegant than anything else that is presented in these collections. These crossovers may not be as timeless or original as the most famous X-Men stories, but the writing here is still really darn good and engaging (at least in Uncanny X-Men), and in my opinion, does not represent a decline in aptitude on the part of the writer. It’s clear that Claremont’s writing has continued to mature and become more nuanced, so much so that when you compare it to the first issues he wrote for the series, it seems like he’s a completely different writer.

KALIDASCOPICALLY. Again, these were just the silliest panels I could find after looking for about 25 seconds.

Personally, I love this period of X-Men comics. Under Claremont’s executive control, no plot thread gets dropped. No minor detail goes disregarded. Characters continue to grow and develop at such a natural pace, sometimes it feels like my own life is developing right alongside theirs. This adds depth to these readings and I can’t describe how it feels to be a part of them, and I think it’s this element that is missing from so many other comic books written by so many other comic book writers, including nearly every X-Men story written after Chris Claremont left the series.

Case in point, there are so many minor recurring characters that appear in these stories, like Franklin Richards. (I seriously tear up every time I see these panels). This little guy bounces around the Power Pack, the X-Men, and the Fantastic Four like a ping pong ball. He’s a key character in the story line where Kitty Pryde finally recovers from the wounds she suffered during Mutant Massacre. And even though Kitty and Franklin have only met each other a few times, those meetings have meaning and they are remembered and called upon in the telling of the current story. All of the efforts made by the writers and editors to keep the narrative linked make these characters seem like real life people with weight and substance, rather than a thin layer of ink on a piece of paper. And it totally works.

Ugh, this review turned into another circle jerk about the writers of these comics, and especially about Chris Claremont. But what can I say. It’s because of the writers that we are here. Love or hate these comics, and I know Claremont’s wordy scripts are not everyone’s cup of tea, but these are the stories that make the X-Men what they are. It’s tough to be aware of these things when you’re in the middle of reading them, but I’m having the absolute best time writing this blog right now, and it is primarily because these are the comics that resonate with me the most. And when I’m finished with Claremont’s material and I’m slogging through some crap written by Chuck Austen, I bet I’m going to look back on these days with envy.

#x-men #review #madelyne pryor #jean grey #inferno #Mutant Massacre #fall of the mutants

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sarah-bae-maas · 5 years

Text

Rowaelin AU! chapter three

AU! where the valg wars never happened, but Rowan and Aelin still stumble upon each other anyway

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Ao3 Masterlist

***

“I’m going to murder him.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’ll wait until training is over; he’ll be at his most exhausted and he’ll never see it coming.”

“He will see it coming. Not that it matters, we don’t murder our friends.”

“Elide! He is not my friend!”

“He’s mine, I actually quite like him.”

“That’s because he hasn’t been kicking your ass every day for the last week.”

“Well get good enough that you can kick his ass back, problem solved.”

____

Lorcan hadn’t explored much of the castle. He mostly kept to himself, a habit long engrained in him since childhood. Besides, he didn’t really feel like interacting with pointy nosed courtesans and their offspring. He walked around at night, but mostly to wayward taverns with wayward women, Rowan sulking at his side. The male was as annoying as ever, if not more so. Aelin always left him in a grump, and it was near insufferable. Oh no! How hard it must be on the poor baby to want one of the most powerful women to ever have lived! And for her to lust after him so badly any fae with have a brain cell could smell it! They were lucky Gavriel wasn’t here, or he’d have Rowan removed from court.

And where Rowan went, unfortunately Lorcan followed.

Lorcan took a rare moment to himself in the library. It was late at night, the clicking of cicadas a lullaby as he listened to them from the window. He had been eavesdropping on the princess and Gavriel’s son, but they were woefully boring. He had decided to stay once they left, kicking off his shoes and settling in next to a window so high and grand that all of Orynth was on display – much like the palaces you’d find in Doranelle. He didn’t want to read, he just wanted a break.

He was tired. So, so tired.

The sound of light footsteps interrupted him, and he stood up, readying himself to dodge them if need be. His ears pricked, and he walked until he could follow the sound, and the person, as they walked between aisles. He was as quiet as a shadow and peeked in the gap in the shelves to spy on his intruder.

It was a fair woman, probably in her mid-twenties, dark hair tied up messily on her head. She was wearing a red silk robe, half undone as she flurried through the shelves, a navy nightgown peeking through. He had on fur slippers, and she was scanning the shelves and picking up indiscernible titles. Lorcan had never seen her before, but she matched the description Rowan gave for the princess’s closet friend – Elide. This mightn’t be her, but it sure seemed like it.

Lorcan did know one thing as he watched her.

His heart, the moment he set eyes on her, started to beat erratically, and his soul begged to be near her. It was if a God had picked the string of his essence, and wrapped it around this woman, tying him to her. It was a feeling he’d never had before, and wouldn’t ever have again.

Lorcan knew that this woman, whoever she was, was his mate.

___

Elide balked at the man in front of her, stunned by his proposition. There she had been, minding her own damn business, when out of nowhere some sentry had begged her to take him to bed with her. She was sure he meant to be seductive, but she was a bloody lady and would be treated as such.

She shooed him and his hair that was way too blonde away, watching him flee into the morning sun as she continued her walk to the market. Usually she did this every morning with Aelin, but her friend had been too preoccupied lately to come. Elide wasn’t mad, she understood that Aelin’s training was the priority, she was just lonely. She had Ren and Aedion, but both were so busy that she barely saw them either. She just had be content on her lonesome.

She wove through the streets until she made it to the market, where she started moseying along. Baffled by the interaction with the sentry, she let herself be distracted by things she wouldn’t normally be. The flowers particularly caught her eye, but she had to regrettably leave them where they were. She had little personal funds, using most of her money to travel the continent, and she had to live frugally if she were to see as much of this world as she wanted to. All she bought were the small list of items given to her by various palace stuff – herbs, fresh bread, candles, and so on. Nothing for herself, not even the lovely orchids she wanted.

The market smelt like sugar and fresh bread, loose stones jutting into her feet even with her shoes on. She felt odd the more she walked; the back of her neck tingled, and she found herself reaching for it to see if a bug was trying to make a home there. There was nothing, and when she turned all she saw were people milling around as she was. Maybe she was getting sick, she did have a restless night’s sleep – not even her walk to the library and enthusiastic browsing was enough to wear her out. There was something in her blood though that sang, a message saying no physical ailment was what was making her feel this way.

She quickened her pace, but the feeling didn’t subside. Deciding she could forego the rest of her items until she had company, she decided to walk in the direction of the castle. She went a round-about way, suddenly paranoid that she was being followed. But that was ludicrous, surely.

She was in such a rush, that she slammed her basket into a building as she rounded its corner. Saying a word that would make her mother balk, she leant down to pick everything up when a hand joined hers. Her body jolted and she flinched back, looking into dark eyes that were level with her own.

It was a man; his hair, brown and shoulder length, was tucked behind gently curved ears. His face showed the hint of scars, but all were faded with time. His hand, which has just grazed her own, was somehow both rough and incredibly soft. He was dressed in rich silks, and if Elide was to guess, she’d say he wasn’t from Terrasen.

“You dropped this,” he said, gently placing her items into her basket.

“Um, yes, I did.” She noted his beauty, thinking that he couldn’t possibly be real. Maybe she’d also bumped her head and was hallucinating.

“Are you alright? You look dazed, my lady.”

My lady. Be still her beating heart.

“I’m fine, just-” she looked around her, there were a few vendors that had seen her tumble and were snickering, but otherwise no sign of anything nefarious. “Just frazzled.”

“Ah, well we can’t have a frazzled woman exerting herself.” He picked up the basket for her and offered his arm to help her stand. She squeaked as realised his height. He towered over her, his figure not looming but instead like a sea wall – sturdy in an age of constant thrashing.

She gladly took his arm, thrilled by the new turn of events.

“May I escort you somewhere?”

She swallowed, trying not to seem to eager or to burst out you may escort me to your bedroom please and thank you. “The castle, if you’d like. And my name is Elide. Elide Lochan. Elide Lochan of Perranth.”

He tilted his head, his lips hinting at a smile. “I’m actually staying there myself, Elide Lochan of Perranth, what are the chances that we’ve never met?”

She clicked her tongue. “You are? Why?”

“Yes, I’m the, uh, advisor to Prince Rowan Whitethorn.”

“Oh, you must be Lorcan! I’m Aelin’s handmaiden, I can’t believe we’ve never ran into each other.” Elide tightened her hands around his forearm as he guided them to the castle, her heavy basket being effortlessly held in his other. When Aelin had described Lorcan, she had envisioned a brute of man. Rather, she had never seen one so courteous in her life. “Advising Rowan, what does that entail?” she asked, curious as to how she hadn’t seen him at dinner or with Rowan when she’d accompanied Aelin to her training.

“Rowan’s life can be fraught in his profession; my job is to help wade him through any rough waters he might encounter. I’ve been doing it for decades.”

“Did you meet as children?”

“No,” he said, his voice making her spine shiver. “I’m a couple hundred years older than Rowan. We met when he was about forty.”

If Rowan was around the three hundred Aelin claimed him to be, that would make Lorcan, what? Five hundred?

A fae of that age…

Would have lots of experience, know exactly where everything with the female body was.

“Are you also royal?”

Lorcan looked down at her, his head casting a shadow over her face. “I – Yes, I am.”

“Is that how you met Rowan, you ran in the same circles?”

Lorcan paused, looking tentative. “Yes, of course I did. My mother was… my mother was Rowan’s tutor. She was a prestigious scholar.”

Elide noticed his change in tense. “Was?”

“She faded with my father. She was nearly a thousand years old and had me towards the end of her life.”

Elide tilted her head. “But if Rowan is two hundred years younger than you, and she had you at the end of her life, how could she have been his tutor?”

Lorcan coughed. “Well… when you’re fae with such a long life, the last two hundred really is the end. Like a human in their eighties.”

Elide conceded, that made sense.

They chatted idly as they walked, Elide hanging onto his every word as he escorted her back to her chambers. They drew eyes as they walked through the halls of the castle, but Elide barely spared them a thought as she engaged with Lorcan. His well-spoken-ness impressed her as much as his biceps, and she found herself doing what she did whenever a nice, attractive male made eye contact with her.

She made very inappropriate and convoluted fantasies up about them in her mind.

He walked with her throughout the castle, the pricky feeling from the market fully disappeared. She dropped off all the items she had bought, and somehow managed to not jump Lorcan’s bones. They only stopped as the bells rang noon, and Lorcan regretfully had to excuse himself to join Rowan.

“I wish I could stay longer, but Rowan is testy at the best of times.” He glanced away anxiously, biting his lip.

Oh Gods, she also wanted to bite his lip.

“That’s fine, I’m sure I can manage the rest of the day without you.” Her faux confidence was spurred by trying to give him the impression that she was a strong, independent woman. Which she was, she just needed him to definitely know that.

He bowed to her slightly, his smile returning. “Until I see you again, Lady Elide.”

He turned and walked away. He was nearly out of hearing distance when Elide yelled, “I leave for the market at eight!” She had no idea if he’d even garner that she was inviting him to join her, but either way, she knew she’d see him again.

#rowaelin #elorcan #throne of glass #tog #koa #kingdom of ash #fanfic #sjm

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starcountesseevee · 4 years

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A Rocket Coincidence (Part 9)

Part 8 / Part 10

Kali spent the rest of that day and the next introducing Aslan, her newly named Arcanine, to the rest of her Eeveelutions. Out of them all, Ember and Aslan became almost inseparable when together. The first night on the road Kali thought she was going to have a forest fire on her hands when Ember went to light the campfire and Alsan, presumably trying to show off, let out a huge blast of fire that burnt all the firewood to a crisp. While their antics had amused her earlier she was not amused now that she had to go get another round of firewood.

The road she was taking swung her under Viridian City instead of through and as such it wasn't as well traveled. The last person Kali had seen was the night before and their car drove by too quick to even notice her. Aside from the occasional bird cry it was quiet so Kali was understandably startled when her Pokegear ringtone went off, echoing loudly through the forest around her. She was even more startled to see the name on the screen and hesitated before pushing 'talk'.

"Hello? Dad?"

"Kali, my girl!" His voice was unusually clear. "How are you? I'm sorry it's been so long since we've, um, had a chance to talk."

"Yeah…" Kali found herself pacing, hoping this wasn't about what she thought it was. What it always was.

"Hey, I saw you on tv! Well the replay at least. Bobby, you remember him? He saw it and showed me, asked if that was you. You didn't tell me you were competing!"

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry, sweetie." There it was, whenever he started calling her sweetie he was after something. "I'm just…your mother would be proud."

"Thanks." Kali said after a few moments. Maybe this time was different but she wasn't going to hold her breath.

"So," he continued. "That was a pretty big event, huh? Televised and everything! Probably had a lot of sponsors?"

"Dad!"

"What, can't I congratulate my girl? You must have gotten a nice prize for making it that far."

"It really wasn't that much." Just when she thought this wasn't about money. Kali tried to hide the annoyance in her voice but didn't do a very good job.

"Oh don't be so modest. I'm proud of you! And you know your dad could always use-."

"You know what, dad, I have to go." Kali cut him off.

"Kali, sweetie, come on now."

"Bye dad." Kali pressed disconnect before she could reconsider. She didn’t know why she expected different every time and every time she was let down. Angry tears blurred her vision and she furiously blinked them back, thankful that she was alone.

Kali lashed out and kicked angrily at a fallen log on the side of the road and bits of crumbled wood went flying into the underbrush behind it. She turned back the way she was heading, barely noticing the sound of buzzing from behind her but when it clicked she froze then slowly turned. Flying up from the fallen log was a Beedrill, followed by another and another until Kali was staring down a dozen of them. Kicking the log had clearly disturbed them and from what Kali could tell they were not happy. She swallowed hard as she slowly took another step back. There was no way she could make a run for it down the wide open road, it would take them seconds to catch up with her as they could fly and she very much so could not.

Kali had a split second to make a decision as several Beedrills in the front began jabbing their stingers at her. Without wasting another moment Kali turned and dashed off into the trees on the other side of the road. She ducked under branches and dodged through the underbrush as she scrambled to move her pack around and get one of her pokemon out. Grabbing the first one she laid a hand on she spun around to release it but before she could she found herself stumbling backwards and tripping. She landed in a stream, soaking her clothing and shoes as water and mud splashed around her. After the initial shock wore off Kali was relieved to find that there was no trace of the Beedrills following her.

Kali stood and trudged over to the bank as she wrung out the bottom of her shirt with a sigh. This would take forever to dry out. But now that everything around her had quieted back down she could faintly make out the sound of rushing water from somewhere upstream. Curious, she picked her way along the stream, boots squelching, until she found the source. The scene before her was like something out of a movie. A fairly tall waterfall, sparkling in the noontime sunlight, cascaded over a rocky bluff and spilled into a clear pool of water that was feeding the stream she followed. Kali dropped her pack onto the ground, rummaging around until she found Lyra’s pokeball and released her.

“Anything hiding in there girl?” Her Vaporeon chirped at her before diving happily into the depths. After a few minutes Lyra resurfaced and circled a few times in the water letting Kali know the coast was clear. Perfect. Kali reached into her pack again for Aslan’s pokeball.

“Keep an eye out, okay?” She ruffled the fur on his neck and he let out a soft ‘boof’ before settling into a more comfortable position facing the woods. Kali ducked behind his large form to change out of her wet clothes and put on her sleep shirt instead, tying the bottom of it up around her waist so it didn’t drag in the water. As she laid her wet clothes out on a rock to dry a jet of water shot into her back.

“Okay, okay!” Kali laughed as Lyra ducked cheekily under the surface. The water was pleasantly warm and relaxing with the sound of the waterfall behind her. Kali closed her eyes and drifted on her back as Lyra swam in circles around her. She did not notice the shadow of a hot air balloon pass over. Cliff, however, did spot the large orange Arcanine from the air and began prepping for a landing.

Aslan’s low growl alerted Kali and she turned towards the treeline with concern. “What is it boy?” Aslan growled again in response and took a few steps towards the trees, the hair along its back standing on edge. Before Kali could reach the water’s edge he growled louder and bounded off into the forest. “Wait! Shit…” She waded closer to the shore but before she made it Aslan came trotting back but he wasn’t alone.

“I thought I recognized this guy.” Cliff grinned as the Arcanine sat down next to him, happily wagging its tail.

“What? How? You following me through the woods or something?” There was no way anyone could have been following her without her noticing, right? She didn't even know how she had gotten to this spot.

“From up there, I was passing overhead.” Kali raised a brow, clearly skeptical.

“Do you have invisible wings I can’t see?”

“No, just a hot air balloon.” Cliff replied like it was the most normal thing in the world to be flying around in one.

“Uh, huh…”

“It’s not like Arcanine’s are common in this region, and besides I don’t think there are many that are this big anyway. He was the biggest Growlithe I had seen when I got him. Still is.”

“You’ve had him that long and evolved him?” Kali’s surprise eclipsed her concern. “Why give him up?”

“It’s just a pokemon.” Cliff shrugged, glancing briefly at the faint bruise on her mouth. “‘Sides, I feel better knowing he’s keeping an eye on you.”

“Keeping an eye-”

“Making sure you stay out of trouble.” He added quickly but Kali wasn’t sure she bought it. Silence fell between them as Cliff absentmindedly scratched behind Aslan’s ear.

“I guess I never got to say thank you.” Kali suddenly felt self conscience. “For Aslan that is.” She nodded to the large Arcanine.

“Aslan? This guy? You named him?” Cliff laughed.

“Of course, I name them all!” She shot back and as if on cue Lyra surfaced and shot a jet of water at Cliff.

“Good girl.” Kali chuckled and stroked Lyra’s back who looked pleased with herself. Meanwhile Cliff had begun undoing his belt and taking off his shoes and it wasn’t until he unzipped the collar of his suit and began shrugging out of it that Kali noticed. “Hey, what are you doing!?”

“What? It’s hot out and the water looks nice, I could use a swim.” For once Kali didn’t have a comeback. Stars, was that a six pack or an eight pack? Kali didn’t realize she was staring until he spoke again.

“See something you like?”

Mortified Kali ducked under the water to give her hormones a chance to cool off. She heard a splash and when she resurfaced he was floating on his back at the deeper end of the pool, keeping a respectful distance.

“I thought I might hear from you after you left Silver Town.”

“Oh is that what that number was for? And here I thought it was the Team Rocket recruitment hotline.”

“Well it is a direct line to one of Team Rocket's top leaders.” Kali rolled her eyes.

“Is that why you work out so much? To be able to hold up that big head of yours?” They both shared a laugh before silence fell again. Kali swam over to a larger rock nearer to the deeper end and rested her arms over it, unsure of what to say. After a few minutes of awkward silence Cliff’s curiosity got the better of him.

“So you and Candela seem to have some bad blood, not that it’s any of my business.”

Kali didn’t answer at first. She never really talked about what happened with anyone. Besides her dad, Mara was the only one that knew and she usually avoided the topic as it tended to just upset Kali.

“No, it’s fine. We do.” Kali took a deep breath, biting back the well of emotions that were threatening to surface. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to talk about it with someone else. She glanced over at Cliff. While he could be infuriating at times she also, oddly enough, felt at ease around him.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with that pin?” He questioned, not missing the scrutinizing look she was giving him.

“It was my mom’s.” Kali’s tone was softer than he was used to. “She…” Kali paused, taking another deep breath before continuing. “She worked in a lab that Candela ran, before Candela became a Team Leader. One day an inexperienced group of Trainers sent in a Moltres but it wasn’t a good catch. When they took it out in the lab it was angry. They weren’t able to calm it down and when it broke free of the lab it began burning a trail through the immediate surroundings. Can’t say I blame it. Candela got everyone she could to go after it before it caused more damage but being chased made it angrier and when it reached a town nearby it started torching that too. Candela and some others went after the bird and she had some stay back to help clear out the area. My mom was one of the ones that stayed behind. She was helping evacuate an apartment building with Ember, her Flareon, when...when it collapsed.”

“I’ve heard about that incident. Several people…I’m sorry.” Kali knew he was watching her but couldn’t bring herself to look up as tears sprang to her eyes.

“Candela felt responsible and personally delivered the news with my mom’s pin they recovered. Mom was always so proud to be on Team Valor. If Candela hadn’t been so arrogant to think that she could tame it…” Kali let the sentence trail off, there was no use getting angry about it right now. She pushed off the rock and turned back towards the water’s edge as she swiped at her eyes. Maybe she wasn't ready to talk about it. “Anyway, I should probably get back on the road.” Not waiting for a response she waded over to the shore and began gathering up her clothes, not caring that she was still wet as she pulled them on.

“Are you headed anywhere in particular? I could drop you off and save you some time?” Cliff questioned, following her up onto the shore.

“In your hot air balloon? No thanks.” As much as he wanted to Cliff didn’t push the issue.

“Maybe I’ll hear from you?”

“You might.” Kali smiled at him, her voice sounding much more confident than she felt. She slung her pack over her shoulder and called for Lyra and Aslan to follow her.

Part 8 / Part 10

#cliff pokemon go #leader cliff #Team rocket cliff #pokemon go cliff #team rocket cliff #pokemon go #team rocket #pokemon go fanfiction #team go rocket #team go rocket cliff #team rocket leaders

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wickedsrest-rp-archive · 4 years

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Storm Front || Season 1 Finale Chatzy

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Dark Score Lake (opposite of Undertow) PARTIES: @exorciseyourspirit @bountybossier @cryxmercy @bemyfriendplease SUMMARY: Squidward meets his makers

“Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.”

― John Milton, Paradise Lost

Mercy wasn’t sure how long she’d been waiting in the agreed upon spot when the others finally showed up. It was dark, the thick trees filtering out most of the moonlight, and almost eerily quiet. As if the forest around Dark Score Lake - which lay further into the forest - was holding its breath. The air was muggy and thick, and smelled stale… like old, rotting things long-molded beneath the damp earth. It smelled like a crypt.

The irony was not lost on Mercy.

Sitting on the hood of the old Jeep she’d rolled out of storage - much quieter than her bike, and with more room for transporting the other things she’d do quickly pulled out of the unit - she methodically worried the delicate silver chain around her neck. The two rings that were usually there were absent, safely secured in a thick manila envelope in the glove compartment of the Jeep, along with a short letter written in Mercy’s hand. The name ‘Prof. Arthur Drake’ was written on the envelope. She’d tried to call him several times on her drive over, not wanting to do this without telling him, but had ended up having to leave a message.

So the envelope and it’s contents were just a few simple measures to make sure certain things wouldn’t be left unsaid. Just in case.

Because while the odds were in Mercy’s favor to walk out of this alive and mostly unscathed, she was very aware that she wasn’t completely infallible. Especially since it had been over a century since she’d been a part of taking on something quite as large and dangerous as what this… thing had turned out to be. Some tentacled, demon-fucking, pseudo-deity with a massive cult of brain-washed followers that had already killed in the name of their ‘god.’

But killing was easy. Mercy was more than ready to find out how many of them were willing to die for this ‘god’ of theirs.

She didn’t know all the details - it had all been put together so quickly - but she did know they only had one real shot at this. Even now, there were others working towards the same goal, so their window of opportunity wasn’t a big one. The Fury looked up as footsteps approached, her normally riotous hair braided back out of her face, and a band of black ash wiped across her eyes. She gave the unfamiliar face a crooked smirk and sat up, tucking the chain beneath the protective vest she wore across her chest. “Hey there stranger. You lookin’ for the same puny demon squid-god as me?”

Patience was often a virtue, but Rebecca moved through the world today with a heavy sort of impatience that weighed on her soul. There was little time. Theo had not made it, Theo did not know what she was about to go do. No one did. No one, except the ones who she’d asked to meet her there. Nicodemus had agreed, and had said there would be another waiting for them as well, to help, because this task could not be done by one man alone. And there others, in farther spots, helping as well. Whatever awaited them at this lake, it wasn’t going to be easy. And that’s, as she looked in the mirror, her eyes glowed a moment. No going back on our deal now.

When she reached the lake, the stench was that of death. She knew it was because of the rotted fish and dead foliage, but the foreboding omen still sat in the air like a warning sign. When she approached, she found a woman, tall, slender, pale skin and pale blue eyes, greeting her. Nicodemus was not here yet, but she supposed he’d arrive soon. This was one event no one wanted to be late to. “I only believe in one Higher Power, and a demon squid is surely not it,” she said with a whip to her tongue. This ritual was hers to perform, which meant she was in charge here, and she wanted her voice to convey that in one go. Even as she gave the other woman a smile in greeting.

Anxious energy ran through Nicodemus. He had made a time of avoiding the lake like nothing else but that time was gone. Drowned. The hunter supposed he would have to return to it one day and with the intent to kill burning in him, it was a better day than any. Maybe it was the pilates that had Rebecca consider him for help. Regardless, he answered quickly and scribbled a short note to Skylar. Given that it was a big fuck off squid they were going to be tangling with, they might need a harpoon. And he knew one person that was ready and willing with one.

The hunter rolled his neck as he walked away from his truck. A death smell hung over the lake and he waded through it as he approached the gathered two. Guns, knives, ammo. He brought it all. If any of them died, it wasn’t going to be because they didn’t burn through every possibility of killing the fucker. He grunted a greeting as his eyes looked to the dark water. A cold, slimy feeling crawled along his spine.

“Guess it’s a fine evenin’ for squid killin’,” he muttered as he rested his lever-action against his shoulder. He looked between the two before he nodded to Rebecca. “What’d you need us to do?”

“I can agree with that,” Mercy said. Because whatever the hell this thing really was, it wasn’t a god. Mercy believed in the old gods, and not in any singular creator. She had seen them with her own eyes. But that was irrelevant. This woman - this exorcist - believed. And it was her power that would get rid of the entity that inhabited the creature she and the hunter were there to kill. Speaking of… Mercy looked over at the man as he approached. She gave a tip of her chin in greeting, noting the weapon he held with practised familiarity. It settled a few of Mercy’s nerves to know that there were no amateurs here tonight. Her own arsenal of weapons - including a wicked-looking harpoon - was in the back of her Jeep. “Guess it is,” she nodded at Nic before turning her attention to the other woman. The hunter asked the pertinent question, so Mercy stayed quiet and waited for marching orders.

Rebecca didn’t bother with greetings. Once Nicodemus arrived, she turned and headed towards the lake. “At the moment? Keep your eyes peeled. Once the ritual starts, I’ll need energy from one of you.” Her skin prickled, hair standing on end. A sense that she was sure she could ever rely on, but knew not to ignore. Magic. A disturbance in the ether. Ever since she’d contact the astral plane, she’d been able to feel it more deeply. Moving past that, however, she turned to the other two. “I doubt whatever this thing is is going to go down easy. That’s where you two come in. You’re up for a fight, right?”

Nicodemus glanced toward the water. Whatever had happened before, when he had killed the stranger amongst other strangers, he hadn't fought. Couldn't have. It was different now. The fire in him burned hotter. He looked back to Mercy, then Rebecca. "Do what you have to. We got the rest," he muttered as he loaded a round into his rifle. "It ain't over until it's dead." Or they were. He didn't like how quiet it was, or how still the water seemed. As if something were waiting. He supposed something was.

Mercy snagged her things from the Jeep as they started walking towards the water. She gave the exorcist a glance as the woman mentioned the ritual needing energy. Of course it did. But Mercy didn’t bother with worrying. Magic couldn’t drain her completely. It might weaken her, but she would bounce back. She always did. Mercy checked the clip of the one firearm she’d brought before tucking it back in it’s holster at her hip. She preferred blades, and had brought plenty. Mercy shared a glance with Nic before turning back to Rebecca as well. She nodded in agreement with the hunter before pulling her straight sword from the sheath across her back. The sound rang quietly across the stillness of the lakeshore. Mercy squatted down, pressing her fingers to the earth and whispering words in her native tongue. After a moment she was quiet, and fell still. Waiting, just as whatever was out there waited.

Penelope had said that the ritual need be completed by the time the moon was high in the sky, and Rebecca wasn’t eager to rush anything. She hoped the others would complete their rituals on time, but she had to bring herself away from worrying about that-- there was nothing she could do for them, except be ready when they needed her to. She went about setting up her area, clearing a small patch of grass, and setting down the pentagram mat. Pressed a hand to it and watched it burn its imprint into the ground, before pulling it away and rolling it back up. Set a candle at each star point. Wrapped the red scarf (there to replace her missing dagger) around her opposite wrist, the Kabbalah string bracelet on her other, and looked back at the other two, poised for the fight. “Here goes nothing,” she said, before turning back to face the lake. Closing her eyes to concentrate on the energy vibrating through the air. It was now or never. “Remember the deal,” she muttered quietly. When her eyes opened next, one was red and one was blue, and when she spoke, she spoke with two tongues.

The hunter spat to the side and rounded towards the water. His senses were eerily still. Still as black water. The blonde woman had pulled out a sword. Nicodemus glanced at his rifle. Hell, one or both of them were certain to work. As Rebecca spoke, the atmosphere seemed to change. Damn near like a pressure shift. The surface of the water tensed and then broke as a clenched hand lifted out of the water. Then another. The fingers lifted one by one to reveal eyes that first rolled white and then dark, black pupils fixated on those that gathered at the shore. The hunter fired into one of the exposed hands. Blood flowed from the meat as it slipped back into the water. It wasn’t long before more bodies pulled themselves from the water and crawled along the shore. A crawl turned into a run and he grinned bitterly as he looked to Mercy. Fired off another round. “Keep your sword sharp, huh?”

Mercy could feel the heaviness in the air as well. It was an uneasy feeling that made her skin want to crawl away from her bones and hide itself somewhere safe. Somewhere that wasn’t here, by the still, black mirror of water stretched out beneath a sky that was almost as dark. But leaving wasn’t an option. Especially as the water rippled, and something rose from beneath the surface. Followed by another, and another. Black eyes peered out from where eyes shouldn’t exist, and as Nic’s shotgun blast drew first blood, Mercy stood, noting the position of the others in her peripheral vision, and tightened her grip on her blade. The bodies rose quickly after that, black water running down their forms like oil. Mercy gave Nic a grin of her own, though hers wasn’t bitter. It bordered the edge of what some might call madness. “It’s always sharp,” she told him before turning towards the bodies that were streaking in their direction. The first one lost the left side of it’s skull, and staggered a few more steps before falling in a heap. The second lost it’s innards in a steaming pile before it slumped over in the path of the others.

Shotgun rounds found their mark as well, and the smell of copper and rot and gunpowder soon filled the air… air that continued to grow heavier and heavier and heavier…

Nothing except the ritual mattered to Rebecca now. As she spoke, the lines below her glowed, engulfing her in an unearthly blue light, speckled with other vibrant colors. It swirled and shimmered and wavered under the pitch of her voice, and as her voice grew, so did it. A wind whipped up around her, as the light climbed higher into the sky. The surface of the lake rippled. Rebecca could not see through the light to know what was coming, not until a figure was appearing in front of her-- but as soon as it touched the light she was bathed in, it screamed. Erupted into blue flame, and crumbled to ash. “Oooh, neat trick!” Said her other half. But Rebecca kept her concentration on the ritual in front of her, waiting for the signal from the other two, waiting for their beams of light to show.

It was only when a loud, low rumbling, from the direction of the lake, did Rebecca give pause and squint through the light. Without really being able to see even, she knew whatever was coming next, was big. And it was angry.

At the speed they were coming, the hunter had a feeling that the rifle might not be the best option going forward. That worked just fine for him. Nicodemus unloaded shell after shell, took some pride in that strange smell of blood and oil. Keep Rebecca safe. See the ritual through. Take a few bastards out. That was all the reason he needed. When the rifle emptied, tossed it to the side and slid the machete out of his belt. Snapped the gun out of his left thigh holster. Ambidextrous death had its uses. He was careful not to look behind him. If he did, the blue flame might sear the night vision right out of him. Black blood coated his forearms, splattered against his face. Between bodies, he glanced over to Mercy. She seemed to be doing just fine, sword in hand and blood in her hair.

The rumble from the river resonated oppressively loud in his head. Nearly dislodged him from where he stood, but he shook his head and grit his teeth. A feeling of nausea spread through his gut. Cold like fingers seemed to reach into his head. Something was coming. He knew it and it knew him. He swallowed it down as his machete continued to cut through. “How’s it goin’ Rebecca?”

Mercy was astounded at the number of creatures… - or where they people? She wasn’t sure… - that continued to rise up from the water. The bodies were starting to pile up along the shoreline, enough that the ones still upright were having to maneuver around or over them. Which gave her and Nic an advantage. She could see him down the way, past the pulsing blue light that contained the exorcist who was the only one of them who could truly finish this. But she couldn’t look for too long, else the light became too bright.

Nic switched to a blade as the bodies outnumbered the capacity of his gun, and Mercy could hear the familiar sound of metal meeting bone. But underneath it all, something else started to vibrate. The vibration turned to a rumble that hummed in Mercy’s chest at a frequency that made her breath catch. She shook her head too as the hum seemed to crawl up her spine and resonate through her skull. A sound like war horns echoed behind her eyes, and for a moment the Fury felt like her head might split in two. But after a moment, whatever had been scraping around in her skull left when it realized Mercy’s mind wasn’t for the taking. Mercy shook her head again before righting herself and splitting open the neck of a creature that had suddenly gotten a bit too close. It fell, as did the ones that came after. But the rumbling continued... in the air and beneath her feet. Something was coming. Something old. Something angry.

She heard Nic call out to Rebecca, and moved a bit closer to the exorcist's light - willing her to hurry the fuck up please and thanks - as the water started to churn and writhe and bubble. “Stay on your feet!” she called out to him, knowing he might already be a step ahead of her. “Watch the water too!”

Focus, Rebecca told herself, stay focused. There was a lot going on, and she needed to focus. The air vibrated with energy, clashing with the low rumble from underground, from under the lake. Her voice faltered ever so as the surface rippled and split and she squinted through the light. In her mind, even he lost focus-- and shuddered. Whatever was coming, it was big, and it scared him, too. The only reason he had agreed to help, after all. This was bigger than both of them. Then all of them here. Individual distraught was set aside to accomplish this one goal, and Rebecca would make sure everyone’s sacrifice was worth it.

But through her light, as the surface split and out came a tentacle, she couldn’t help but falter. A beam of light shot up to her left. More tentacles protruded from the lake. Water rushed past them all, withdrawing for only a moment before rushing back to the shore, swallowing the dock, the boats, the sidewalk path. It rolled up to them all and soaked their shoes, their ankles, their shins, but no one noticed, because above them now loomed two glowering red eyes, piercing through the haze and darkness around the lake. Beacons. Rebecca’s circle did little to shed light onto the monstrosity, only illuminating a small portion of the massive body that now towered in front of them all. A shapeless form in the shadows, too big to take in all at once; shining with wetness as water fell from it in rivulets, a thick, black ooze joining it. Branch like arms protruded and placed themselves onto the shores, sinking in, shaking the ground. Thick as the trees around the lake. Rebecca stumbled but did not move. A low rumble, like scraping metal or jet engines starting, sounded from the creature as it leaned down to examine them all, as if they were nothing more than ants on its table. “Ya Hashem,” she mumbled in quiet prayer, “<<Protect us G-d>>.” Before swallowing her words, opening her mouth, and daring to continue.

There was a roar in protest, and then, the real fight began.

Nicodemus settled into a rhythm as he grunted an acknowledgement towards Mercy. Cutting through meat and bone became comfortable. A mechanical motion that he fell into easily. Even as bodies fell to the mud and black blood bled into the earth. After all, it was what he had come to the lake for. To cut down the creature that had forced his hand. He tried to focus on Rebecca’s voice, even the cut of Mercy’s blade, as the water rose. Through the darkness, light split through. The light split through him. It burned his eyes and when they were able to focus again, through the slightly pinpricks of discoloration, he saw it.

Red eyes looked into his own. He had felt it long before he saw it. It went beyond his senses, beyond his teachings. It simply went beyond. Those cold fingers in his head pilfered through grey matter, pushed aside what it didn’t need, crawled ever inward. As insistent as he had been to kill the creature, to set things right, he doubted. Even so, he moved. He had to strike first. If he didn’t, he feared what might happen. A tentacle crawled forward and he lashed out at it. It was tough, thick to cut through in one swing, but he muscled through. He had to, as Rebecca continued to speak and Mercy continued to fight.

He looked up at the creature again. A third eye had opened. A fourth too. And they turned slowly. Or had they? Whether or not they were in his mind, he had already lost. Fear did nothing but addle. That doubt spread through him like blood from an open wound. The roar deafened his sensitive ears to everything except for running water. Ocean breeze. The ooze of blood. The breaking of bones. Screams ancient and new. Blood gathered in his mouth from how hard he clenched his teeth. His hand lowered against the creature. His eyes shut. No matter. He could see. And he looked toward Mercy.

A sun that looked like an eyeball caused by perfectly explainable solar flares, a black ocean from an oil spill, and the eyeball prank with the town’s water pipes were just a few of the things on Bo’s mind. Needless to say, she had a lot to deal with. And with a call about strange activity by the lake, she sprung to action. There, she imagined she’d find the lunatic that filled the pipes with eyes, or maybe those pranksters who spent all their time chanting. White Crest was a lot of things, at least she could say it wasn’t ever boring. But what she didn’t expect was a mesmerizing display of artistry. A giant squid thing, actors emerging from the water as if they’d been down there the whole time---if anything, this town could be so unbelievably creative. But this was also probably...illegal, in some way. The lake surely was public domain, but did they have to be practicing for their drama routine at this time? And so loud! What was that roar? Was that what was making the ground shake earlier? That roar nearly knocked the officer off her feat, and clearly having had enough of it, she stormed into the scene. “Hey!” She called out, hand on her hip, “I got a call about---” she stared up at the animatronic squid. It was so...lifelike. So horrifying. So large. How did it fit in the lake? Its eyes glowed with impossible redness, deep like their own lake of blood and fire. She glanced around again, shining her flashlight haphazardly; did those people have weapons? Why were people still crawling out of the lake? This was the strangest re-telling of Moby Dick she’d ever seen. Or was this some new Lovecraftian thing she didn’t know about?

She stormed over to the woman closest to the squid, the lead actor, Bo assumed. Bo had no fear, no worries, nothing in her voice or on her face but awe covered by professionalism. “Excuse me, ma’am? I’m officer David! And you’re going to need to turn down the volume on your play or LARP or whatever here. It’s disturbing the nearby---Wow, there sure are a lot of people that came out of the water, huh? Are those knives? Hope they’re fake!” She laughed, glanced around, wondered why no one else was laughing and turned back. “Ma’am? Sir? Other ma’am? Several robed people of indistinguishable gender?”

There were things in this world that defied any rational explanation, other than they couldn’t be explained rationally. Magic, parallel worlds, creatures of fairy tales and myth… gods and monsters… all existed whether one believed in them or not. Disbelief would kill you all the same. And while belief could hold a power all it’s own - as the power of the exorcist within her circle of light demonstrated - it didn’t guarantee one’s safety either.

But is sure fucking helped.

Mercy watched as the leviathan rose from the black water - “Odin protect us…” - the twin flames of its eyes burning in the formless shape that towered over the trio on the shore. The earth rumbled beneath her feet, and alongside her a tentacle, blacker than the water it emerged from and as thick as any of the trees that flanked them, slammed itself into the sand. It had barely settled before Mercy swung at it with her sword, hacking once, twice… three times to sever the massive appendage before it could do further damage. She heard Nic still fighting in the darkness nearby, and Rebecca still spoke the words of the ritual from within her still-intact circle of light, so Mercy redoubled her efforts and cut a swath through any remaining bodies that were still a threat. She didn’t stop until she was between the exorcist and the beast.

Gore coated her skin and hair and dripped from her clothes. From the edge of her blade, the blood of the leviathan ran thick and dark and smelling of rot. It was this blood that she touched her fingertips to before pressing them to her forehead, just over her eyes. Drawing twin lines over her eyelids, cheeks, mouth, and chin… Mercy looked into the face of the monster, and spoke in a lost tongue: “1200 years I’ve walked this earth, yet still I’m left to wonder… how does an Olde One come to be inhabited by such a lesser creature?”

The air around the Fury crackled and hummed as she paced a line back and forth over the gore-covered sand. She was so focused on her words, on distracting the creature long enough for Rebecca to finish the ritual, that she didn’t notice the moment Nic’s blade grew silent. Nor did Mercy notice a fourth person amid the chaos. One who was very, very human, and running right into the fray. She continued to speak, hoping it would delay any further attacks on Rebecca.

“But I see you now… I’ve tasted your blood… and you are not Jǫrmungandr. You will not bring the end to this world. You’ve fallen too far, grown too weak… if that parasite inside you holds you captive.” Mercy shook her head. “You are no god.”

The black water lapped at her boots.

“You’re just a slave…”

There was too much happening at once. Rebecca’s concentration was slipping-- but Amnon could stay focused. He took the moment to seize control and eyes flashed red. They moved in unison as a hand reached out, grabbing the closest cultist and searing the flesh on his face as light followed after in a wispy trail, as if it, too, were made of dirt and fog. Someone appeared beside them-- a woman, with dark hair and dark lips and confused eyes. She was shouting something at them, but Amnon paid no mind. He narrowed their eyes, honed in on a hand ready to strike, a knife slashing in their hand. Amnon managed to snag it just before it reached the detective, and the robed figured cried out, dropping the knife, as the light consumed him. For a brief moment, Amnon turned their eyes to face Bo, one red, one blue, both glowing with a matching light to the circle. “Not fake,” was all they said, both voices coming out at once, before they turned back to the ritual.

The warrior spoke to it in an ancient tongue, one Amnon barely recognized. But her words would fall on deaf ears, this was no old one. This was a creature of its own design. Finally, the two pillars arched in the sky. Brace yourself. They clenched their teeth, spread their legs, and planted their feet as they raised their hands. And when the beams met, they crashed with a thunderous boom more powerful than the monster’s roar. And when they reached Rebecca and Amnon, they exploded with a brilliant light, pushing everything dark away, leaving her, the officer, the warrior, untouched. But not the hunter. He was filled with darkness now, too. They had no time for him, though, and with a hefty charge, Rebecca and Amnon held their hands out. “BE UNTO THIS MORTAL PLANE,” they shouted, “WHERE PAIN AND STRIFE WILL BE YOUR DOWNFALL.” And hoped the two fighting-- and perhaps even the officer-- would remember the instructions. Now was the time to strike.

Grey matter turned to darkness as the light fell away. The crash of light had nearly blown out his eardrums. In the space between haggard breaths and silence, purpose steeled him. The parts of Nicodemus’s conscious state were steadily lulled to sleep underneath chaotic, yet somehow rhythmic waves. Some of him still fought. Just as it had happened before, it happened again. It wasn’t enough. He was forced behind an immovable wall as he started to move, compelled by something greater. The mark that had been gouged into his hand ached as his fist clenched. He could hear the voices of both the living and the soon dead. The hunter focused solely on the blonde woman who spoke in an olden language. It wasn’t His and therefore, it served no purpose. A useless tongue. Fit to be torn out.

Whatever she intended to do, He would not allow it. Rend her hands from her body, silence her tongue. Scatter her bones to the under dark. One of the robed figures cut across his path and he grabbed them by the neck. A mistake on their part. Black coated his hands, his blade, as he twisted and tore through water-logged flesh. Drenched in something wicked and silent as the grave, he advanced.

Wow! These were really dedicated actors! Bo wanted to applaud, the effects were just so realistic but they were all clearly so immersed in their roles that she didn’t want to interrupt them. She could let them go, couldn’t she? As an artist herself, she could understand their passion. Of course, her art was more baking-based than theirs, but she was an artist nonetheless. She glanced around again, the strange, wet robbed people shambled towards her and the lead actress. The other woman was hacking away at something and the big, buff man was...walking towards the other woman? Even with her flashlight waving around, it was hard to make any of the action out. “You should be doing this in better lighting,” she commented quietly, not wanting to disturb the play. “I mean, it seems like it must be a health-hazard or something!” As she spoke, one of the robed people moved towards her, brandishing a knife. “T-those are retractable, right?” The robed figure advanced, grazing her arm as she jolted out of their way. Hot blood coated her arm as a sharp pain shot through her. She clutched the wound, watching the way blood coated her fingers. Bo glanced around, the woman had been hacking at bodies, hadn’t she? These so-called robed actors? “This isn’t art!” She drew her gun, firing a round into the sky. “Stand down! Stand---” But they didn’t. She noticed finally that they charged unnaturally, as if being marionetted by some invisible force. There weren’t many of them left, but the few that were seemed so interested in the woman---the actress. Bo snapped around and fired a shot at the large animatronic squid as it roared, and then another, and another. “What is this! Am I endangering protected wildlife?” She swung her baton at a sluggishly approaching ‘actor’, only to find them groan and rise with determination. “You guys should have done Romeo and Juliet! I don’t like this play!” She fired into the sky again, clipping the squid creature with the bullet.

Mercy’s words had no effect on the beast. It paid her no heed, gave nothing in response to her taunts. But it had been worth a try. Behind her, there was a flurry of motion, and the smell of seared flesh, a raised voice, and then the sound of gunshots. Mercy glanced back long enough to see a body consumed by the light of Rebecca's circle. And then the signal they’d been waiting for pierced through the darkness.

Mercy thought her eardrums would burst when the beams came together. The sound resonated inside her head, trembled down through the pillars of her bones and vibrated in her blood as Rebecca’s light washed over her and the dark-haired woman. But Mercy didn’t see Nic, and briefly wondered if the worst had happened. But there was no time. Rebecca’s voice rang out, invoking the words that would send the creature back where it came from. Which meant it was time to strike.

From the sheath across her back, Mercy pulled a short, wooden staff, the length of which was carved with runes. She ran her hand over the wood and whispered a few words. The runes glowed a bright red - the same color as the eyes of the leviathan - before starting to move and curl towards the empty space at either end of the staff. One end extended down towards the sand, creating a thick, sturdy base. From the other end, a long, wickedly curved blade formed from the ether, glowing with the curling red light of the runes. Mercy turned the great harpoon towards one of the creature's crimson eyes… said a prayer that it’s path would be true… took aim…

And let it fly.

Rebecca and Amnon collapsed in their exhaustion, still struggling to hold together the circle of light. “You must wound it!” she shouted at the officer, her voice only. Something felt like it was vibrating inside of her, trying to burst out. She had to hold the energy, had to wait. If she released the ritual too soon and monster would stay and all of this would be for naught. Trembling, she tried to pull herself back up, even the monster inside of her exhausted of his powers. “The creature, we have to wound it enough...to send it back...I can’t step out of this light or the ritual will be ruined,” she explained, hoping that some part of this officer’s brain could register that this wasn’t fake and they needed her help. Her eyes searched for Nic, saw the spear soaring. It caught the creature in the eye and roared, rearing back, tentacles slamming into the ground, shaking the entire area. Water splashed and lapped up around them all, cultists fell in heaps. “That!” she shouted to Mercy, “keep doing that! Aim for its eyes! They’re the weak point!”

The hunter’s pace increased as the monster roared. Pain bloomed. Some unseen panic rose up in Nicodemus’s chest. Frustration grew as he tore through more of the robed figures. They had their purpose but now they were getting in the way. His was greater. Black blood flecked his face as he stepped into dim light. When he looked at Mercy, he didn’t think twice about it and instead moved. Crashed towards Mercy like an unmerciful wave, compelled by the moon and the pulsating cold in his head. He grabbed for her throat as water sloshed up against his ankles, then his knees as he advanced toward the water. His face was stone as he looked at her. Through her. It wasn’t the hunter with his eyes on her. It was him and if he bid it, let her choke on black water until her spirit caved.

Or was it a play? Bo glanced around frantically, and though she kept fending off robbed figures with baton swings, earning her bone-shattering crunches and snaps as she smacked the thing around, she wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t some new kind of immersive theatre. The lady kept saying strange things, and Bo was sure she just saw the other lady fling a whole spear-thing at the giant squid. Yes, she was bleeding...but did artists not bleed for their art? The tentacle slam seemed real, and loud, and she stumbled for it. But what else was she to think about the command ‘we must wound it’ like this was some episode of Supernatural? “Okay, but do I shoot at the eyes or does she? Like what’s my storyline in this play? Or does she just--” She gestured to the woman who was now---”Fuck! I think your actors are turning on each other! No! Please! That’s violence! That’s bad!” And the buff man looked so much stronger than the woman, or so much more dedicated. She moved to separate the two, finding her path blocked by more robbed actors as they grouped in on her and the lead actress. “Eeck!” She fired her gun up into one of the eyes, like she said, wondering if it worked or not---she really just wanted to scare these robed people away, but gunshots would not deter them, being repeatedly hit with a baton did not deter them. She didn’t want to shoot, but it seemed to be the only thing she could do to keep them from stabbing the lead actress. “Can I shoot these things!? Are these people? They don’t seem like people! AH!” Another one charged at her, cutting the other arm. She shoved that one down, firing a bullet into its head--convinced it couldn’t be a person. “I-I think y-your animatronics are evil!” But the blonde woman and the buff man were people, she knew that much. She shone her flashlight at them, firing at the rest of the robed robots. “You two stop that! Stop!” She fired a few more bullets up, into what she hoped were the eyes and not just blindly into nowhere, before she turned to the lead actress--confused and desperate for a prompt.

When the spear hit home, Mercy let out a cry of triumph. It was drowned out as the beast roared in pain and anger - a terrible, deafening sound - and its long, inky-black limbs writhed and crashed around the small group. The ground trembled in the wake of the impact to the sand, and Mercy nearly lost her footing against the suddenly shifting earth.

But still she heard Rebecca call out, heard the confirmation of the beast’s weakness, heard another voice - the dark-haired woman- asking what her role was. “Yes! Shoot it!” the Fury answered as she took up her next weapon, a longbow, and nocked an arrow tipped with a long, serrated head. She fired it into the leviathan’s eye, followed by a second, causing the monster to roar even louder as both struck true. The beach was chaos - light and dark, blood and water, sand and ash, life and death… all struggling against the inevitable - but Rebecca’s light held true, and the sound of gunshots filled the air alongside the whistle of Mercy’s arrows and the chant of the exorcist’s words.

Mercy had just nocked her third arrow when something huge and hulking bore down on her without warning. She barely had time to react as Nic’s hands latched onto her neck with an iron grip that would’ve crushed a human's throat like a soda can. But Mercy wasn’t human. Nic wouldn’t be able to strangle her no matter how hard he tried. Regardless, Mercy made a slightly pained sound as the hunter’s hands started to squeeze, and her own hands snapped up to latch tightly around his wrists. This close, the bright light of the ritual circle illuminated his face… and the blank expression of a man who was no longer in control.

Fuck.

“Nic! I know you’re in there!” Mercy yelled, using her grip against his skin to push as much of her Valkyrie influence into him as she could. “Fight it!” But the water was cold and getting deeper by the second as Nic bullied her backwards. There was no time. Using Nic’s own forward momentum and size against him, Mercy planted her feet against the sandy bottom and pulled forwards on his arms as hard as she could. She then threw her entire body weight backwards and down, dousing herself in cold, black water, before putting both feet into the hunter's stomach, hard. She pulled and kicked out with everything she had in an attempt to flip him over and onto his back in the water. As Nic fell, Mercy tried to twist out of his grip, swinging her fist at his temple once he was on his back in an attempt to stun him enough to make him let go.

“Fight back, Nic!” The water was freezing against her skin as it churned around them, stirred by the furious, wounded monster overhead. “Don’t make me hurt you!”

Her power wavered. Rebecca’s eyes flickered, the matching glow from her circle fading for just a moment. No, she couldn’t let go now. She couldn’t. Power, they needed power. She felt him pushing against her, inside. He wanted to consume, he was using her weakness against her. “We made a deal,” she hissed, buckling to her knees, thick, chilling water splashing up her thighs, her abdomen, making her shiver. Hands fell into the water as well, one clutched to her head. She needed more power, she didn’t have enough. She never had enough. Fists dug up mud and grass. Eyes searched the battlefield. The human cop would not do, the hunter would not do. Zeroed in on the woman fighting. Her power was calling to them. Infinite and endless. Yes, her.

Amnon reached out, hand bursting through the light, and called her to him. A telekinetic pull, with the last of his energies, the two fighting bodies tumbling towards them. Fingers caught at the blonde woman’s chest, and pressed. “Give me power,” they said, and in the next moment, magic swelled into their arm, their chest, lit up their eyes, burning with a fury a hundred times more powerful than before. “Let’s finish this,” they said together, eyes boring holes through the battery of a woman before turning away. Raised their hands. It was time to finish this.

The hit to Nicodemus’s gut slightly winded him but what compelled him wasn’t human. It didn’t need to breathe the way that something brokenly human did. Even if his lungs seized slightly and his throat burned. His grip on Mercy maintained even as his head smarted from the shot to his temple. She was talking to him in a language he knew and chose to ignore. All that was needed was the language of blood and water. It spoke clearly enough to him. She fought against him as he dug his heels into the dirt and twisted his upper body, leverage on his side as water lapped at his wrists. The other woman said something and then, he could feel Mercy start to slacken underneath him. Noise and light, both human and otherwise, became a cacophony around them but he remained fixated on the blonde woman. He couldn’t quite get his fingers to completely circle around her neck as he forced her underwater, the tension of the attempt clear in his neck and arms. After her, one by one, they all might become the drowned. He would not permit them escape.

Mercy knew Rebecca had warned them that energy would be needed if this was going to work.

Magic always had a price, after all.

But Mercy was still unprepared.

Thunder without sound… light and heat and burning, fathomless eyes bright as all the suns of all the realms… taking what was needed… pulling it from the very essence of what she was… it felt like her flesh was being peeled from her bones…

So as Mercy fought back against Nic’s crushing hold with everything she had - every skill, every defensive measure, any and everything that had saved her life against enemies far bigger and far more dangerous than one mortal hunter, possessed or otherwise ... - she felt herself falter.

And while Nic - or the entity that was in control - couldn’t strangle her or break her bones, Mercy was no match for him when it came down to sheer brute strength. Especially as her own strength started to fade, pulled towards Rebecca’s circle, towards the light that began to brighten even as Mercy’s light started to dim.

The beast roared again as Rebecca raised her hands to the sky, and everything seemed to slow. It was in that moment that Mercy realized there would be no escaping this time. She’d seen enough of life and death to know that her life, such as it was, was forfeit. For now. But she would not go quietly.

Mercy dug her nails into the skin of Nic’s arms, cutting half-moons into his flesh. “You couldn’t kill me if you tried… for a thousand years-”

But then there was only darkness and rushing cold and the sound of her own muted screams as Nic forced her beneath the surface of the lake…

And when the black water finally rushed into her lungs and Mercy’s struggling ended, her last thought was simply:

Forgive me…

It was time.

Power surged through them and Rebecca drew in a breath. She drew herself up to stand again, caked in mud and water, and grass and blood. Inhaled slowly as she took up position inside her circle again, held up her hands. The beams energies were perfectly aligned now, and the monster in front of her turned as if to meet her gaze. It roared again. Soldiers fell. The energy in the air shifted. Nic was pressed on top of the blonde woman, and Rebecca was acutely aware of her movements stopping. But she could mourn the life lost later. For now, they needed to focus.

Raising her hands, she began the chant again. This time in her own language, using her own power. The monster screamed. It reached out, swiping a tentacle across the ground, sweeping cultists and others alike out of its way as it swung for her. But when its flesh met their light, it could go no further. It screamed in pain, shaking the world again, sloshing the water around. It tried to fight back, but their power, the power of the rituals-- it was too strong. She turned her palms to face the demon, and with one word, redirected the light.

As it collided with the monster, it sent out a shockwave. Everyone knocked from their feet. Even them. Light consumed the monster, soaking into it. For a moment, the world was still. Then fissures, like cracks in its facade, exploded with light. From wherever it was wounded. The spear in its eye, the bullet holes rained into it. The hole in its flesh where it’d collided with the circle’s light. As the light from the rituals consumed it, it spread. Out, over the lake, over the water. It consumed the cultists and the docks and worked its way up the shore to the circle. Washed right by her, right by Mercy’s unconscious body, right by the cop. And just when it seemed like it would climb all the way up to the road and perhaps down into the town-- it stopped. And receded, sucked back into the circle, back into the lake, and when it faded, nothing but the four of them were left.

Rebecca collapsed. It was over.

Nicodemus was keenly aware of how her pulse slowed then halted. That panic swelled further in his chest and pressed against every organ, like bear-trap primed to reverse. He needed to keep going. He needed to tear them all down to build a foundation that would outlast their fragile existence. As the beams lit up his eyes and near-blinded him, he stumbled back. Pain ripped through his head and a guttural roar tore through him. About shredded his vocal chords. It was him screaming, the hunter. Not whatever the hell had taken over him. The light faded and he went quiet. Aware. He looked at Mercy, the purpling around her neck and the stillness that overcame her. He had done that. Fuck. He spat out black water. He looked back at Rebecca. Collapsed and exhausted. He couldn’t find any words for what she had done. As he swallowed, his throat burned. Then he looked at the other woman. A cop. Shit. He had to go. He needed to leave. Get away from them. Get away from everyone. Fear swelled alongside panic and he moved to gather the assortment of weapons he had brought. Make sure he grabbed his rifle. His thoughts scattered, damn near impossible to the piece together. A migraine threatened to split him. The look he sent Rebecca could hardly convey the agony that chilled him, but it was all he could muster before he ran towards the thick of the White Crest woods. He wouldn’t stop until his boots wore and even then, not until his feet bled.

There was too much, too soon and too quick. Bo whipped her flashlight around frantically, the man was drowning the blonde woman, whose struggling seemed to die. The robed people stood between her and them, and she stumbled backwards, confused and horrified as the lead actress started her chant. A tentacle sweeped out for them, knocking the robed ones away, halting just in front of her face, between the light and the darkness. The creature roared, and Bo flew back against the wet ground. The world was bright, suddenly, the way she imagined it would be when she died. She might have let it be, if her mind hadn’t thought of the woman, still in the lake, and all that she had to set right. It wouldn’t be her end, not today. As the light was pulled away, leaving their world back in shuddering darkness, she clawed her way to the lead actress first. She pulled up grass and dug dirt under her nails. Bo checked her pulse---alive---then spared a glance up to the strewn bodies of the robed people---or what should have been their bodies. In their place she found their robes, stained wet and dark with something she couldn’t see. But it didn’t matter, not now. She clawed across the ground again, picking herself up only to slip in the mud and come crashing back down. Ink coated her hands and she tried again, clawing and running, stumbling and shouting. The man was gone. She committed his silhouette to memory before she turned to the lake. There, with equal vigor, she splashed and waded through the water, grunting and heaving as she pulled the blonde woman’s body out.

Once at the threshold between land and water, her feet began slipping on the mud, her arms looped around the woman’s losing their grip. And everytime Bo faltered, she dragged her up with renewed strength, determined to see her live even if the cold stillness of her body told another story. “I need--I need---” she panted into her receiver, calling for backup, ambulance, anything. “Come on,” she begged the woman’s unmoving body. She checked her pulse--dead. She began the process of resuscitation. But each pump, each breath she tried to bring back to the woman’s lungs, was met with stillness. “Please,” Bo croaked. She continued to plead long after the woman was pronounced dead. And all that remained of the oddities she’d witnessed were the giant squid, a handful of ink stained robes and a mismatched recounting that made no sense to even her. But she begged until her voice went raw. She begged for some justice in the world, some answers that could be clung to. She wept, for the unnamed woman who drowned, for the man who left his crime to be unanswered, for the woman who cast the squid away, now alone on the floor. She wept for all the horror that this town produced, and all the pieces she was missing.

This town needed saving, but how could anyone help when these were the troubles they faced? What hope was left for White Crest?

#wickedsevent #chatzy #wickedswriting

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twilight-zoned-out · 5 years

Text

What Just Happened

In which Peter and Ned have a grand old time wading through Flash's Spiderman conspiracy channel until they get back from Europe and everyone finds out who Spiderman actually is. Based off of two posts (although currently I can only find one of them!).

Update: Here's the other one!

Part I: The Context

It began as a joke.

Ned found it, surfing the web (as he often did) for Spiderman-related articles. Now that he knew Peter Parker, aka Midtown’s smartest and most heroic but also-kind-of-a-flake-when-it-came-to-events-but-for-a-good-reason teen was actually Spiderman, he redoubled his efforts with the added goal of making sure nobody ever got too close to Spiderman’s true identity.

Which is how he found the youtube channel.

“Hi, my name is Eugene Thompson, commonly known as Flash, and today we’ll be beginning a series of videos akin to what some of my peers might refer to as ‘Behind the Mask.’”

Ned stopped it right there and called Peter Parker.

“Dude, it doesn’t matter what you’re doing right now you have to come over.”

“What? Why?” Slight static ran in Peter’s background – no doubt caused by Peter’s frantic efforts to get to Ned’s room. Or maybe he was just shifting the phone to multitask with his homework. Static meant a lot of things.

“I found another Spiderman conspiracy video and I feel like it doesn’t exist in the same dimension I’m living in.”

“Did it say I was alien?”

“No – well, I don’t actually know. I haven’t gotten to the conspiracy part yet. But it has to be good.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ll get it when you see it. Come over, I’ll wait. I’m only 8 seconds in.”

“Don’t you have a test to study for?”

“Quiz, and it’s Tuesday. Besides, we both know that won’t take long.”

“You, Ned Leeds, are a bad influence.”

A tap tap tap came from Ned’s window. He grinned as he drew away the curtain to let Peter inside.

“It didn’t take much to convince you.”

“Yeah, well, you piqued my intere-” Peter’s jaw dropped open at the sight of Ned’s laptop.

“I know, right?”

“That’s Flash.” Peter turned to face Ned and pointed at the screen. “That’s Flash Thompson from Midtown School of Science and Technology.”

Ned’s grin grew. “You understand my pain.”

“I don’t know if I understand anything.” Peter flopped down onto Ned’s bed, then sat up. “Okay Flash, what have you got.”

Ned settled back into his very comfortable spinny chair and brought the video back to the start.

“Hi, my name is Eugene Thompson, commonly known as Flash-”

Peter snorted.

“-and today we’ll be beginning a series of videos akin to what some of my peers might refer to as ‘Behind the Mask.’”

Flash wore a suit without a tie and stood next to a series of boards, hands clasped behind his back.

“For me, it doesn’t matter. I have one goal in mind.”

Flash’s gaze intensified as he leveled with the camera.

“Who is Spiderman?”

Peter and Ned watched silently, enraptured, until Flash actually started rolling out the theories. Then Ned actually had to pause it because the both of them were laughing too hard.

“There’s a whole series,” Ned managed to get out between fits of laughter.

They watched them all. Peter even got Ned to subscribe to ‘Spiderman Thomspiracies,’ as it was.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t promoted his channel to the school,” Peter commented.

“You know Flash. If people actually find out Spiderman’s you, he probably doesn’t want to be proven he was wrong.”

Peter briefly sobered at the idea of being figured out, then lightened. “I guess we’re never going to prove that he’s wrong, then.”

The channel had surprisingly few viewers before Ned and Peter got a hold of it. Then Ned started promoting it through his magic tech ways, and it really took off. Flash still didn’t mention it during school.

But his series was a hit.

‘Out of all the theorists I’ve watched, you’re the best!’ One of the comments said, and given how Ned and Peter were the only ones not to take the channel seriously (as far as they could tell), the only conclusion was that the comment – and the tens of others like it – weren’t being sarcastic. A good portion lauded him for endeavoring to use science, physics, and logical theory to determine or invalidate hypotheses, and surprisingly enough, when the topic was about who Spiderman couldn’t be, he had pretty good reasoning. It was the opposite side of the spectrum that took him off the rails – and he went there a lot.

One of his theories became so convoluted and over the top (it spanned a few episodes) that Peter and Ned had spent an actual 40 minutes trying to map out his train of thought. It took four sheets of paper, and at the end they just dissolved it into a galaxy brain meme.

Peter’s sophomore spring turned to summer turned to fall. Junior year rolled around, and Flash’s search to figure out Spiderman hadn’t slowed down. In fact, he’d been given a boost.

“I just want to say thank you for 1000 subscribers, it really means a lot for you all to support my work. We’re getting closer to discovering Spiderman’s true identity every day, I can feel it.”

Then the blip occurred.

Somehow, in that timespan, Flash’s videos grew big. Bigger than his channel had a right to be.

When five years came and went, and Peter and Ned had just started to adjust to everyone else’s way of life, Spiderman Thomspiracies appeared like a ghost. They made the time to watch it.

“Hey guys, it’s been a while, I just want to say thank you so much for pushing this channel on strong. I was blipped, apparently, and it’s crazy. I don’t know if I’ll have time to do videos like this for a while, but I just wanted to let you all know that I’m starting up an Instagram where I can talk to you guys about what’s going on, you know, my experience, and maybe you guys can catch me up on some things. Starting with your thoughts on Spiderman. Five years should be enough time to crank out at least one video.

“I’ll make it easy for you. Catch me on SpideyNo1Fan. Flash Thompson out.”

Peter and Ned stared at the screen long after the video ended.

Flash had reached approximately 13,922 subscribers.

Part II: The Event

“Hey guys, it’s been a crazy week. But you’d already know that if you watched my previous videos. Gotta say, being saved by Spiderman in Europe is pretty dope. Now I’m back in home sweet New York, and – aw thanks dude, you’re the best. See, this is why I livestream: it’s so much easier to connect with you all in real time – hold up.” Flash looked up from his phone, then swiveled himself around to put the giant advertisement-turned-news screen behind him. “Looks like something’s going on.”

“The following moments may shock you.”

Flash shot a strange look towards his viewers, falling silent as the news clip ran its course.

“Do it. Execute them all.”

Flash’ jaw dropped.

“There you have it, folks, conclusive proof-”

“What?!” Flash looked at his invisible viewers furiously as the side of his screen lit up with people clamoring to know his opinion. “This is ridiculous. Something else has to be going on here – I know Spiderman, I see him almost every day. Spiderman saved the day! He’s not like that - How long have we known Mysterio? I mean, he saved the day, but Spiderman, there’s no way-

“But that’s not all, folks. Here’s the real blockbuster.”

Flash raised an eyebrow as he commented to the masses. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you doubt.”

“Spiderman’s real name-”

Flash froze.

“Spiderman’s real name is-”

“No.”

The word came out as a half-wheeze whisper. Spiderman’s identity had been kept from the citizens of New York – nay, the world – but working together in Europe, there was a possibility Mysterio actually did know who was behind the mask-

“Spiderman’s name is PETER PARKER!”

An image of said person blew up on the screen behind Flash, who let out an ungainly shriek, eyes bugged out to the max.

“I’ve gotta go,” Flash stammered out, voice uneven, after enough of a pause for the news segment behind him to begin relooping. “I’ve gotta figure this out. Flash out.”

With shaking hands, he ended the livestream. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt sick.

Out of all the possibilities for who Spiderman was, he’d never once thought Peter Parker.

Flash, still standing there gaping at his own reflection through the turned-off screen, made for the closest bench and sat himself down heavily. He had to work this through.

The news on the screen in front of him returned to its revolutionary image; Flash’s focus intensified, trying to absorb every detail. Trying to find the flaw.

It couldn’t be Peter Parker.

Peter had raced away immediately after the video and ended up on top of the old Avengers tower. He didn’t even want to check his phone, want to see all the texts flooding in.

But he had to call Aunt May. He’d do that first.

Once she knew where he was and he’d assured her that he knew what to do if bombarded by questions he didn’t need to answer, he hung up and called Ned.

“Ned. Ned. I am freaking out right now.”

“Okay, this is bad.” Ned didn’t even try to put a positive spin on it; despite his own opinions about sharing Spiderman’s identity, he knew what it meant to Peter. “Where are you? I’ll come over. We’ll face it together.”

“No. I’m still in the suit. I left MJ – oh man, people saw me with MJ earlier and I just…I just left her there-”

“I’ll contact her, it’s fine. Guy in the chair.”

“Guy in the chair.” Peter blew out a shaky breath. “You can’t tell them anything.”

“…Peter,” Ned replied, a little confused. “Your picture was up on the screen. The secret’s out.”

“No. I mean, the rest of the news wasn’t true either. They said I killed Mysterio, which-” Peter suddenly went silent.

“Peter?”

“I didn’t.” Peter’s voice was small and tight and high-pitched. “He fired the bullet and it ricocheted off my suit and hit him. I didn’t have time to figure out where it would go.”

“Dude, I believe you. You didn’t kill Mysterio.” Ned changed the pace of the conversation. “Anyway, this whole claim is ridiculous. Who would actually believe you’d want to kill Mysterio? You’re the friendly neighborhood Spiderman.” Ned sighed. “I’ll try to keep you posted with what I can find. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over later? I can bring pizza. Or you can visit my place. I’ll explain to my parents that you aren’t a super-murderer.”

“I’m not a super-murderer-”

“I know, that’s what I just said, you aren’t a super-mur-”

“Just- don’t say that right now. Please.”

“Okay. I’ll check up on you later.” Ned hung up, and Peter let out a sigh. He couldn’t hide in the building forever, and reporters – or even police, Peter realized with a jolt – might be waiting for him at Aunt May’s. If he didn’t come soon, they might have to take the Bugle’s footage at its word.

Was that how it worked? Was that even legal? He wasn’t sure. American Government was senior year.

His phone vibrated.

Incoming Call from Flash Thompson, his phone read. Peter rested his head against the wall. Flash was among the last people he wanted to talk to at the moment.

He let the phone call go to voicemail and ignored it.

His phone vibrated.

Hey I need to ask you something for social media.

Peter’s eyes widened with a start. In the stress of the moment, he’d almost completely forgotten about Flash’s channel.

Incoming Call from Flash Thompson, his phone read again. Peter answered on the first ring.

But Flash didn’t seem smug. Or menacing. The only thing he asked when Peter picked up was a simple “Is it true?”

That flew Peter for a loop. Disoriented, he responded a beat late. “Flash-“

“It’s true, isn’t it.” Flash didn’t even need Peter’s confirmation. “At first I thought, ‘no way Parker’s actually Spiderman.’ I mean, you guys are nothing alike. But then I thought about it more, and I realized – there’s no way you have family in Germany. You weren’t even when any of the Elementals attacked, and they followed us everywhere – wait, you didn’t plant the elemental attacks, did you?”

“What? No, of course not.” As upset as he was about the event, Peter was more upset that somebody would believe something so blatantly unrealistic.

“Of course not,” Flash agreed, speech coming through as if his mind were elsewhere. “You’re Spiderman.” His voice came back to focus with a snap. “Oh man, you’re Spiderman. I can’t believe this is happening.”

It was over. Peter wanted to cry. “Flash, please, you can’t post about this on your conspiracy channel-”

“You know about that?” There was suddenly a smirk in Flash’s voice, but it didn’t have any disdain attached to it. “I’m pretty big on there, aren’t I?”

“Flash, seriously, this is a big problem for me. Anyone with something against Mr. Stark or an avenger knows who I am now and they’re going to come after me and Aunt May and possibly the school-” Peter took in a deep breath, trying to formulate words.

“Don’t worry man, I got you.”

Flash hung up the phone.

Twenty seconds later, Flash’s Instagram updated.

‘Getting to the bottom of this insane claim. Guess you’ll see another video sooner than I thought!’

Peter put his face into his hands and groaned. He didn’t even know what to make of that.

Another vibration.

Hey. It was MJ. You okay?

Yeah, Peter responded. You?

No thanks to you.

…

I’m joking, I’m fine. Do what you gotta do.

Ned texted him around the time, too.

Hey, MJ’s safe, I’m safe, are you safe?

Safe enough to respond to your text. How’s Aunt May?

Holding down the fort pretty well. Do you think you’ll have to come to school on Monday?

Bigger problems.

Right.

The video uploaded about an hour later.

“There’s been a horrendous accusation floating around the figure we know and love as Spiderman. Today, I’m here to prove to you that this lie has been purported by the media and is not possible. Ever.”

Flash spent 20 or so minutes describing his first-hand experience in Europe and extol Spiderman’s actions. Then he veered off course. “Now, I’m sure you have some questions about the other claim made by the Daily Bugle – a site which I’m pretty sure none of us have heard of until now. Particularly, concerning Spiderman’s true identity.” Flash then filled the time doing what he did best – making fun of Peter Parker. He went through numerous examples of what Peter Parker was like, and although Peter tried to reason that the bullying was an attempt to help him out, he was a little less grateful when it stretched for 15 minutes.

Flash ended the video with a sober expression.

“As you know, every theory has both impossible and plausible components to it. But ask yourselves: if Spiderman, who you’ve seen and known as a hero, and Peter Parker, who you now know as a wimp, were in that position on the London Bridge, do you really think either of them would want to kill the great Mysterio? Do you think either of them would even think about doing something that ruthless? That dastardly?

“We are far from finished with the topic of Spiderman. But while I work tirelessly to achieve the high standards set long ago for this channel, ask yourself that question, viewers, because something doesn’t add up. Flash Thompson out.”

Peter took a minute to digest what he’d watched. Then he called up Flash. Of course, Flash was the first one to speak.

“Pretty great, huh?”

“Flash…”

“Don’t thank me. I already know what you’re going to say.”

“You…didn’t try to convince them I wasn’t Spiderman.”

“What – of course I didn’t. Do you think I would blatantly lie to my fans? I’ve built this channel off of trust. And math. And logical reasoning. And I did you a favor. People need to see you as a hero instead of a weird power-hungry monster, so that’s what I’m driving at. You’re not a power-hungry monster, right?”

“No!”

“No. Obviously. Because you’re Spiderman.” Flash paused. “Man, I still can’t get over that. I just want to make sure you know that I totally respect you as Spiderman, but as Peter Parker, everything I said in the video still stands.”

Peter sighed. “Thanks, Flash.”

“No problem. If you need PR, I’m the guy. As Spiderman.”

“Great.”

Part III: The Effect

Peter finally got back to the apartment (thankfully in one piece) and Aunt May and him where sitting together on the couch with hot chocolate when his phone began to vibrate.

“I don’t want to answer it,” Peter half-murmured.

“You should put it on silence,” Aunt May suggested helpfully. With a groan, Peter moved to do so.

The text was from Flash Thompson.

Sure you don’t want my offer on PR?

Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Before he could dismiss it, his phone vibrated again. It was from Ned.

Dude. Check the video. Check Flash’s video right now.

Peter refreshed the page – he hadn’t even deleted the tab yet – and carefully set down his hot chocolate so he could plop heavily onto the couch.

Aunt May shifted closer, concerned. “What? What is it?”

Peter shook his head, disbelieving. “Just…” He was going to have to explain the whole thing. For the moment, he just showed her the screen.

Flash’s video had reached 1 million.

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deniigi · 5 years

Note

I had a really bad day (I wont say why because I wouldnt want you to feel like I'm guilting you into anything) and I was wondering if maybe you had a dfv/lfv or inimitable verse drabble you havent put up or one on here you really like you could point me to (navigation is hard on mobile) or even just some like hcs. If not its totally ok! You dont owe me anything. But I thought I'd ask and see if that's ok.

Oh no!

Sorry that you had a rough day my dear. I don’t have much in the works for those verses right now (I’ve been hammering my head against a wall, trying to write out a piece exploring Gwen and Murderdock’s relationship–it’s not working tho, so I’m stopping). Of course any of the Clint-based pieces are fun in those verses if you need a pick me up, but I am equally fond of Chapter 13 of Sidebars.

But! If you don’t mind a little piece from Lying by Omission/The Sprawl I’ve got cute little bit of Jack and Ben going out to dinner with Matt and Peter?

I’ll put it under the cut if you’re down

—-

“Dad, let’s go out to eat.”

Jack didn’t trust that. Jack had been scarred by the durian. Permanently scarred. He was never coming back from the durian. He was etching a durian with a big ‘X’ through it into the top of his next coffin for future archaeologists to find and have absolutely no questions about.

Matt, sensing that he was presently not receiving the amount of attention that he could be receiving, oozed out of the kitchen and draped himself over the back of the couch, right behind Jack’s shoulders. Jack glanced to the side and noted that he was wearing shoes.

He wasn’t chancing it.

“No shoes on the couch,” he said.

“It’s my couch,” Matt hummed, already migrating over to the couch’s arm, no doubt to burrow his way under Jack’s own arm.

“It’s a couch.”

“My couch,” Matt hummed, plucking Jack’s phone out of his hand and tossing it callously to the other side of said couch. He then executed the burrow and wriggled himself over so that he was the sole occupant of Jack’s lap. He waited, as sweet as could be, until he had Jack’s more or less undivided attention.

The kid was heavy. Jack couldn’t tell if he knew just how heavy he was.

He suspected that he was more than aware of it.

Matt beamed at him. He did not pull his shoed feet over the couch’s arm.

A sign of obedience. Or perhaps a buttering-up technique.

Tricky, tricky.

“Why do we need to go out to eat? What’s wrong with what’s in the fridge?” Jack asked Matt’s untrustworthy grin.

It faded a little because there was a pout which needed doing.

“I’m tired of eating potatoes,” Matt huffed.

“Take it back,” Jack scolded him. “I won’t hear any raggin’ on tatties in this household.”

“I want rice.”

“I’ll make you rice, Matty.”

“I don’t want your rice.”

Picky little shit. Just like his mother. She’d been the type to refuse a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if the slop wasn’t equally distributed.

Jack’s rice was perfectly fine. It even had bits of onion in it. If he was feeling real fancy, he might even cook it in broth or something.

“Fine, so make rice yourself,” he said. Matt squirmed up and wrapped arms around Jack’s neck. He put his cheek against it and immediately made the skin there it itch.

“You need a shave,” Jack huffed, reaching back for his phone. Vanessa was doing battle with her replacement: Bella the cat. She was giving their zombie group the play by play of the her and the cat’s opposing campaigns to win Wade’s favor. Thus far, Bella had broken a plate and gotten scratchies and kisses for it. Vanessa was outraged.

It was an outrage to behold.

“Daddy.”

Not this again. This was no reason to bring out the big guns.

“Get your shoes,” Matt whined.

“Baby, you can go out. I’m not stopping you from going out. No one is stopping you from going out, god help us,” Jack told him.

Matt abandoned his neck, stretched out, quick as a whip, and snatched the phone on the other cushion. He crammed it into his shirt and then replaced himself and his face-broom against Jack’s pulse point.

Yeah.

Yeah, Jack didn’t know what he’d expected to happen here.

“Matt,” he warned.

“Dinner.”

“The last time we went to dinner, you broke my heart, soul, and trust.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, right. ”

“I won’t,” Matt promised, pulling back to add puppy eyes to the mix.

That was unfair. Uncalled for. Totally underhanded.

“Why don’t you go out with Foggy?” Jack tried as a last-ditch effort.

“Because I want to go out with you,” Matt emphasized. “My pops. My old man. We gotta bond. It’ll make me more well-adjusted. The internet says so.”

Jack was confiscating the internet. The internet was a know-it-all snitch.

“DAD.”

“Fine, for fuck’s sake, boy. Get off, you’re drowning me here.”

Jack would go out to dinner on one condition.

Two conditions actually.

1) There was to be no durian. Anywhere. At all.

2) He got to bring moral support.

Matt was more than cool with that because it meant that he could replace the durian with another creative element which would equally torture Jack.

So Jack asked Ben Parker to come along. Parker was sharp as a tack. Compared to Jack, he was a man of the world. A reasonable and sensitive body with respect for his fellow humans. He promised to help Jack identify potential threats to his person flung his way by his uncaring and mischievous son.

Unfortunately, to that end, Matt insisted that they take Ben’s nephew, Peter, out with them too.

Jack knew from the start that this was Matt inserting his chaos element into what might otherwise be a perfectly tolerable and uneventful night out. But he also held out hope that Peter would be the sweet, kind-hearted boy he appeared to be.

It really was too much to ask for.

Peter latched his whole body onto Matt within seconds of their two parties meeting up and the two of them immediately set to whispering which bode poorly for everyone else involved.

“I believe we may have made a mistake,” Ben observed, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.

Matt wanted rice and Peter wanted something sour enough to leave ulcers in his mouth, so the two of them decided that Thai food would achieve both of these effects. Jack was suspicious. Ben told him that Thai food was very tasty and he had little reason to fear, except.

Except.

“Peter hates durian, it’s fine, he won’t be setting up any conspiracies around it,” Ben promised him.

Mm.

They’d see about that.

Foggy had said something similar when he and Matt had dragged Jack out for Filipino food.

Jack was pretty sure that Peter just wanted a lime. He was 90% sure that all Peter’s cravings could be satisfied with a lime right now.

Matt, however, in an unlikely turn of events, convinced him that he should get food-substances to accompany his burning desire for limes. Peter grumbled at this and deferred to his uncle for support in the face of this logic.

Chaos element, located.

“Pick a carb,” Ben directed.

“Sugar is a carb,” Peter argued.

“Pick a carb in a less refined form,” Ben countered easily.

“If it’s raw sugar, it—”

“Veg, noodles, or rice,” Ben offered him.

Peter scowled.

“You said a carb,” he pouted. “I want sugar.”

“I have good news for you, sweet child of mine,” Ben said fondly. “There is sugar in everything served in the United States of America. You will have your sugar. Pick its structure: veg, noodles, or rice.”

Ben made Jack feel like a shit dad sometimes. Although, to be fair, Jack hadn’t been a dad as long as Ben had.

Peter, outwitted and bitter about it, agitated Matt to help him.

Matt saw no need for that.

“You’re gonna be hungry in an hour and then you’re gonna whine about it,” he declared.

Peter scowled at him and then turned his lethal puppy eyes onto Jack. Jack set up a menu between the two of them because he was not strong enough to cope with that.

Peter whined behind it.

Things were going too smoothly for too long. Jack did not trust the decent behavior happening at this table. Ben got a kick out of his paranoia, which was great because someone needed to.

“What are you hiding?” Jack asked Matt. Matt scoffed.

“Chill, old man,” he said. “We’re literally just having dinner. Maybe try to have a good time, huh?”

No.

Something evil was afoot.

Peter snickered. Matt swatted at him; he easily dodged the hand.

Trouble.

Dinner was eaten and paid for and Jack eventually gave up and settled down. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that Matt was right. Thai food was nice. No incidents had occurred. There was no durian. Ben and Peter made for good conversation, even if everything led back to Peter’s obsession with sci-fi films.

Ben told him that if he kept mentioning them, the aliens would hear him and his name would start to move up higher up on their list of potential captures.

The kid was horrified.

Matt helpfully started counting off the number of times Peter had mentioned aliens in the last week and Peter had briefly looked like he was going to cry.

“Is your wife not going to hear of this?” Jack asked Ben as they walked after the trouble duo who had determined that they were finding dessert at a different location. They seemed to know what they were after, so Jack and Ben left them to it.

“Oh, she will,” Ben said.

“And you don’t mind?”

“She encourages it. She’s convinced him that if you leave a tv on static, aliens can pick up on your watch history.”

Interesting parenting techniques going on here.

Ben laughed.

“Well, I guess we just figure that if you’ve got a weird kid, it’s easier on everyone if you just lean into it. My brother probably wouldn’t be so down with it, but he’s not here, so whatever.”

Ah, right.

“Peter’s your brother’s son, then,” Jack noted.

Ben hummed.

“I…guess,” he said uneasily. “I—it’s hard to explain. I mean, biologically, yeah he’s Rich’s son. But, you know, me and May’ve raised him for longer than Rich and Mary were ever in his life, so, I dunno. Is it fucked up that I kind of think of him as my son?”

No. Not at all.

“My eldest brother pretty much raised me,” Jack told him. “My mama couldn’t be assed to do anything more than scream at the drop of a hat and my daddy was busy drinking himself to death, so Bill was the one who got me up and dressed and off to school in the morning. I always thought of him as a mix between a brother and a mom.”

“No shit?” Ben said. “Where is he? He still around?”

Uuuuuuuh.

“We haven’t talked for a long time,” Jack said.

“Oh? Well, now’s your chance you know.”

Jack tried not to wince too sharply. Ben caught it anyways.

“Or not,” he said. “You don’t have to if its painful or something.”

Oh, buddy.

“We’ll see,” Jack decided. “I’ll need to think about it.”

He didn’t know how Matt would react. Hell, he didn’t know how he would react to seeing Bill again.

Matt and Peter presented Jack with a drink that had evil hiding in the bottom of it.

He should have known better to think he’d escape that night uninjured.

–

I hope this cheers you up my dear and that things get easier for you soon!

#fic #jack murdock #matt murdock #ben parker #I need to do smth for the sprawl for real #ficlet

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lost-in-time-marie · 4 years

Text

Into the Shadows: Chapter Four

After my birthday, September flew quickly away into October; I could hardly believe Halloween was just days away. I thought of the masked figure that saved me often and always wore the necklace he gave me for my birthday. I dared not utter a word of his existence to anyone. I told myself it was because everyone would think I’m crazy, I mean I still hadn’t ruled out egregious hallucinations from the realm of reality, but somehow, I imagined if I said it all out loud, it would be less real, like maybe it was just a dizzy daydream. If anyone asked about the necklace, I simply said it was birthday present from a friend, no one pressed it beyond that, they had no reason to. Except Natasha. Natasha made frequent curious glances at it, sensing the importance and, perhaps more so, that there was something I wasn’t telling her. An instinct that only encouraged her to unveil any secret I could possibly be hiding. It was getting increasingly difficult to throw her off my trail.

James stuck with Natasha, Aleks, and I, or, on occasion, Katy and I. We continued to take to him, but I grew more suspicious too, constantly asking questions about him and his mysterious life, attempting to figure him out. His answers were all the same, and I knew them well, because none were real answers, they were half-answers with absolutely no details or personality to them. I was beginning to feel like Natasha, questioning motives and growing overly suspicious about the smallest details. Overnight James became the most popular kid in school, everybody loved him. It wasn’t hard to see why, with a face like that and an all-too-charming personality. I had not had hardly any run-ins with Ryder, thank god, and actively ignored him in class. I was still mystified by the one time I’d seen him act like a human being in the elementary school office, but otherwise did my best not to think of him.

“Yes, it is a fitting last name for someone so grim,” James joked one morning in Acting, lounging easily at his desk. I had to wade through another sea of swooning girls this morning just to take my seat. Things had been like this when Ryder first arrived, but when his personality became evident, people mostly just teased him. For as much as I disliked the guy, I never participated.

“Come on, James, leave him alone. He’s probably just shy,” I blurted, sitting down and unpacking my things. I hadn’t meant to interfere, although I was usually the first to stand up to a bully, Ryder could handle himself, the words just popped out of my mouth of their own accord.

“All the sudden coming to the defense of your mortal enemy, how mighty,” James teased, sly smile creeping up his face.

“He’s kind of rude, but it’s no reason to be mean, besides that joke is terrible,” I supplied weakly, rolling my eyes. Ryder skulked into class then and the crowd instantly dispersed. It was like his negative aura had a physical effect on people. It bothered me that James bullied Ryder, he seemed much more vindictive about it than the other students, like he had a personal grudge against him, I kept pushing that pesky thought away, but it popped up every now and again.

James kept pushing, “You’ve never said anything before.”

“I just don’t like seeing someone being bullied,” I shrugged, staring at the board, refusing to look at him. James nodded, thoughtful, but didn’t push the matter further; he had an uncanny sense of when he was overstepping his bounds.

“Guess what today is, class?” Mrs. Robertson enthused loudly, addressing her students after the bell rang, “Nomination for roles in the play!” She answered her own question cheerfully. I groaned silently and resisted the urge to slam my head into the desk repeatedly. Mrs. Robertson told us the other day that there would be two days of deciding roles for “Romeo and Juliet”. The first day, today, would be spent calling out each role, any person who wanted that role would raise their hand and their names would be written down, other people in the class could also nominate someone for a role as long as someone seconded it. What an inventive way to force participation, I had thought sarcastically. The second day, tomorrow, each volunteer or nominee would audition for their role; later the parts would be decided and announced, anyone left over would be on the stage crew. I hate plays. I hate participating in plays. I hate that we are performing this play, most of all.

Mrs. Robertson called out Romeo and one or two guys raised their hand. Elizabeth, the girl behind me, nominated James, and Kim, Elizabeth’s desk partner, seconded the motion.

“I nominate Ryder Grim,” Katy’s voice squeaked out shyly. Every jaw in the class hit the floor and every head turned towards Katy. Her round face was redder than a tomato and she squirmed slightly in her chair from the attention. Her brown eyes found me from across the room and pleaded for help.

“I second that motion,” Another, more confident, voice supported. My voice, I realized a second too late. The words had just tumbled out, and before I could take them back, Ryder’s name was added to the list. I don’t know why I did that, perhaps because he despised attention and I despised him. From the corner of my eye, I saw Ryder flash me a baleful look. His gaze was so intense, the daggers shooting out of his eyes froze me in place. My skin bean to crawl with the intensity of his scorn. I refused to turn his way and resisted the urge to flinch and slide away from the daggers he aimed at me. I would pay for this, of that one thing I was absolutely certain.

“Juliet,” Mrs. Robertson called, moving on to the next name on the list.

“I nominate Kristin for Juliet,” James announced loudly. I choked and stared at him with wide eyes, feeling oddly betrayed. I forced my brain to operate to make a refusal, but another voice cut me off.

“I second that motion,” An all too familiar, harsh voice declared. I jerked around in my desk. Ryder sat, overly casual, with his hand in the air. My jaw dropped.

“What?” I hissed. A dark smile played at the corner of his lips, but otherwise the stone mask stayed in place. Payback’s a bitch.

“Okay, moving on,” Mrs. Robertson continued after more girls raised their hand and their names were added to the list. I sat, dazed and numb, in my desk the rest of the class period, trying desperately to compute the events of the period.

The rest of my classes passed easily, thankfully, and the end of the day was fast approaching. After the initial shock of being nominated, and additional height being added to my already heaping pile of hate for Ryder, I formed a quick plan to just bomb the audition, forcing my way to stage crew or some other small role with few lines. Unfortunately, my luck didn’t hold, and my day took another turn for the worst in Chemistry.

“Kristin Hart! Please come up here,” Mrs. Gold called halfway through class. I quickly stood from my desk and walked to the front of the room where she waited for me. Mrs. Gold had assigned book work for us today so she could prepare for what she called “a new teaching method” she wanted to try.

“Kristin, I am partnering you up with Ryder Grim. It has been shown that students can learn better through collaboration. A lot of the students in here really need the boost to their grade, yourself included,” Mrs. Gold lectured sternly, her sharp, beady eyes boring into me over the wiry rim of her glasses. For such a seemingly frail old woman, she was deceptively strong and stern, in fact she was known for making younger students cry. I think she secretly enjoyed it.

“Everyone will meet with their partners outside of school twice a week for extra study time to prepare for the AP exam, this exam is particularly tough and I want everyone to do their best,” She instructed in a brisk, no-room-for-complaints manner.

“Ryder Grim!” Mrs. Gold called. I attempted, very poorly, to hide my horror. This lady actually likes torturing people! Ryder abandoned his book work and walked in that brisk, graceful manner of his to join Mrs. Gold and me at the front of class.

“Mr. Grim, you and Mrs. Hart will meet twice a week outside of school to study Chemistry. You are my best student and highest grade, I trust you two will do excellently together,” Mrs. Gold declared, not bothering to get consent from either of us.

“But-” I finally managed to stutter. Ryder’s jaw tightened, I could almost hear the click of his teeth snapping sharply together, and his eyes held agitation. I was too busy processing my certain doom to appreciate the emotion actually showing on his face.

“Umm, we don’t get along very well,” Ryder said, finally managing a composed, calm voice.

“Right, we don’t get along,” I eagerly agreed, “Surely there’s someone else?” I groped desperately for a way out of this. Ryder nodded his head in support. Wow, what kind of parallel universe was I in where Ryder and I were actually on the same side?

“Work it out. Mr. Grim you will study with Mrs. Hart, both of your grades depend on it,” Mrs. Gold said sternly, staring us down with her dark, evil eyes. I imagined thunder and lightning crashing outside while scary music played. It seemed fitting for my own personal nightmare. Welcome to hell. That’s what I’d told James on his first day; Acting was nothing compared to this.

“You can’t do that!” I blurted, outraged, tossing my hands in the air.

“I believe I just did,” Mrs. Gold retorted with finality as the bell rang. Ryder spun quickly on his heel, collected his things, and stalked out the door. I stared after him, dazed. I walked robotically back to my desk, collected my books, and headed to Sinclair’s class, my mind spinning, searching for any way out of this predicament.

“Today, we start our class project for the beginning of the year,” Sinclair called, walking quickly into the classroom, before the bell rang for a change, and handing out papers with a list of objectives and requirements for the project. I greedily accepted the paper, excited for the interesting project Sinclair undoubtedly had planned. According to his handout, we would pair off, pick one of the subjects he provided, and create a poster board about our research on the subject. I was pondering what subject Natasha and I would choose when a cold hand tapped my shoulder. I jumped and spun around.

“May I speak with you for a second?” Ryder asked, dead faced and monotonous.

“Sure,” I said, confused, following him to the back of class, “What’s up?”

“What two days would you like to meet at the library?” Ryder asked.

“Why didn’t you ask me that at my desk?” I asked sort of dazed, staring at him directly was seriously distracting; maybe that’s why he didn’t look at people when they spoke to him. His angular jaw and pale face were utterly flawless, coupled with intense, bright green eyes and tousled black hair to complete the image. I found myself getting lost in studying him; the sharp angle of his nose, the way his nostrils flared slightly in annoyance, the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips, the confusing way his simple blue jeans and dark grey shirt accented his form in all the right areas. A sharp impulse to reach out and spread my hands over the expanse of his chest crashed over me without warning. It was like a strange spell always around him, making it impossible to think.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be embarrassed,” He replied smoothly with a shrug. I shook my head firmly to clear these troubling thoughts before my imagination had more time to run off.

“Oh,” I said, stunned that he was actually being considerate, and still slightly captivated by his strange aura, “uh, thanks. Tuesdays and Thursdays right after school work for me,” I answered, wondering how I was going to volunteer at the elementary school Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while being tutored Tuesdays and Thursdays and still have a life.

He gave a brisk nod and turned to leave but stopped short. “Do you have a ride?” He asked, turning back.

“I can probably catch a ride with Natasha or just walk,” I answered nonchalantly with a shrug. For the smallest second, I swore indecision flitted across his face, as he stood half ready to turn away, half facing me clearly wanting to say something. All at once, that carefully articulated blank mask slammed into place, as if Ryder suddenly became aware of the emotion leaking out of him. Suddenly, it was easier to think and look at him, I despised that expression, it was much easier not be captivated by him when filled with annoyance.

“Just when I thought you were finally playing nice the stone statue reappears,” I muttered my thoughts aloud, rolling my eyes.

“Stone statue?” Ryder asked, raising a brow.

“Never mind,” I waved him off.

“Oh, good, you guys have paired off, now everyone has a partner,” Sinclair said walking by; counting all the other students I now noticed had paired off. I hadn’t even heard the bell ring.

“What?!” Ryder and I exclaimed simultaneously, but Sinclair continued on, paying us no mind. We glared at each other before turning and stalking off to our desks. Worst. Day. Ever.

I rushed to the elementary campus after Sinclair’s class, eager to be rid of this cursed day, and knowing I had a regularly scheduled meeting on these Monday Wednesdays, and Fridays I volunteered. My feet carried me, as they often did, already knowing the way without any input from me. When I arrived to the classroom I frequented for my volunteer duties, I found my weekly appointment already waiting for me in our usual spot.

“And that’s how my day went,” I finished my tale, attempting to find a position where I remotely fit in this elementary size school desk. I was coloring and recanting my tales with my one of favorite little boys in the aftercare program, Robbie, in a desk two sizes too small, as we did every day I volunteered since I started this year.

“Sounds like a rough day,” Robbie commented, pushing his wavy, black hair out of his face before resuming coloring an elephant purple. Robbie was a sweet little boy, very mature for his age, every day I volunteered he’d ask me to sit with him and tell him about my day. Even though he was only in second grade, he understood almost everything I talked about.

“That’s an understatement,” I muttered. Robbie never talked too much about himself or his day, even though I asked often, I think something about just listening made him feel better. He always had this sad, lost look in his deep blue eyes, it threw off his childishness and innocence. I worried for him; he didn’t play as much with the other kids; he was too often by himself.

“Alright Robbie, your brother is here, time for you to go,” a teacher called through the doorway. Robbie was the last to leave today, his small footsteps echoed across the room as he walked to the door carrying a too-large yellow backpack.

“Come on, Robbie, I’ll walk you,” I said taking his hand and casting a warm smile down at him. He looked up and gave me one of his rare bright smiles. We didn’t talk; he just happily held my hand. I allowed myself a small, pleased smile, glad that I could make him happy in some little way. It had been too heartbreaking, watching his small form retreat, burdened by his large backpack, and, I had a feeling, other concerns that I could not see.

“Be careful getting home, Robbie,” I said, holding open the door to the parent pick up area open for him.

“Big brother!” Robbie shouted happily, running toward a tall, wiry guy standing in the main office. Robbie’s brother turned, scooped up Robbie, and spun him in the air with a musical laugh. He looked over to thank me and froze. I froze too. I stood, still holding open the door, staring into the bright green eyes of Ryder Grim. Who…laughed? Ryder actually just laughed and smiled and played with his brother. For a second, I thought I might be having a bizarre dream. Or my hallucinations were becoming grossly overactive again.

“This is Kristin, Ryder,” Robbie introduced in a bright voice, immune to the awkwardness of the moment, “She’s my favorite volunteer,” he beamed. My mind finally started working again

“Thank you, Robbie,” I smiled politely, “I actually know your brother, he’s the guy I’ve been telling you about,” I cast a teasing glance toward Ryder.

Robbie looked up at his brother, crossed his arms, and furrowed his brow, “Ryder! How come you’re being so mean to her?” he demanded in earnest anger. Ryder laughed and smiled warmly at him. The hard, stone statue Ryder was nothing compared to warm, fluid, easy-going Ryder. His pale skin glowed with happiness and his love for Robbie was evident in his liquid, bright, green eyes. His angular face and broadness seemed less intimidating now; more relaxed and friendly. If the girls in our class thought he was handsome before, they would faint seeing this sort of flawless.

“She’s much more difficult than she seems, don’t be fooled,” Ryder teased, easily hoisting Robbie on his back, before casting a warm smile my way. I looked away to hide my blush, bracing myself against the door as my knees suddenly turned to jelly. My heart started an erratic dance and I tried to ignore its sudden loudness.

“Thanks so much,” I rolled my eyes, unable to stop from grinning. I stepped aside so he could walk out the door I still held open. Ryder grinned, winked, and walked out the door. I heard it close with a click, but I couldn’t recall releasing it. I stood in the main office for a good five minutes dazed, pondering the events of today and the many faces of Ryder Grim.

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master-sass-blast · 5 years

Text

Hunter and Hunted.

LOOK, THIS FIC IS 100% SELF INDULGENT. THIS FIC IS FOR M E. DON’T @ ME.

Summary: You wake up in the middle of nowhere with Frank Castle sitting next to you. Turns out, the two of you have been abducted --with others--and dumped into a forest to be prey in a sick game of prey and predator. Will you --and Frank--make it out alive?

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader and Frank Castle x Karen Page.

Rating: T for violence, gore, blood, medication withdrawal, death, panic attacks, violence with guns (it’s the punisher), and general intensity. Like, I don’t think it’s the worst thing ever, but it’s all in here.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

You wake up to someone’s hand pressing against your neck.

Your first instinct is to lash out at the mystery hand and its owner –so that’s what you do. You let out a choked scream, grab the wrist of the hand pressed against your neck, and fling a fist in the direction of whomstever the hand belongs to.

The person –a man, but not Piotr or Wade or Nate or Hank or anyone you would remotely expect to be touching your neck—blocks your swing and lets out a grunt. “Hey –hey, calm down—”

You aim a kick at the man’s gut –the light is making it impossible to see, meaning that calming down is on your lowest priority list right now—and make contact, successfully shoving him off you. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down, you fucking pervert, fucking touching my damn neck like some sort of candy van driving creep, I will slamdunk the buttfucking brains out of you…” You stop when you finally see the “neck toucher,” then blink and squint because you’ve got to be imagining things. “What the fuck?”

Frank Castle grimaces at you. “My thoughts exactly.”

You go from crouching to sitting flat on your ass as your brain tries to process what all’s going on –and that’s when you notice another important detail.

You’re in the middle of a forest.

You’re surrounded by trees, dense foliage, dirt, rocks, and fallen debris for as far as the eye can see. There’s no sign of civilization, anyone else, or how you even got out here.

Which, naturally, begs the question: how the fuck did you get out here with Frank Castle and no recollection of how you got here?

“We’ve got a bad fucking track record with running into each other, man,” you grumble as you push yourself into a standing position. “I take it you weren’t casually hiking along and just happened to bump into me?”

“I wish,” Frank mutters as he brushes his hands off on his pants. “I woke up a few meters up the hill.” He jerks his head to the left. “Thought I saw someone through the brush, decided to check it out, found you.”

“And you decided the best way to wake me up was to cup my neck because…”

Frank snorts. “Wasn’t trying to be weird. You’ve got one of the collars on.”

“What?” Your hands fly up to your neck, and you let out a streak of swear words when you feel the repression collar in place. “Mother of fuck –okay, how in the flying fuck did I even get out here with this thing on?”

“Probably a hunting ring,” Frank says, tone darkening. “Was looking into one of their operations last I can remember. They like to pick people up, ship them out to the woods, hunt them for sport. Guess they were looking for a challenge this time.”

Yeah, or a death sentence, you think, considering they decided to pick up the fucking Punisher, of all people. Your hand floats back up to your neck, groping at the collar as you try to get a sense for what model it is. “Tell me what this looks like. Keypad, fingerprint scanner, power cell size, whatever. I’m a dead duck until I get this thing off me, so the more I know, the better.”

“Got a keypad on the back with the numbers zero through nine, a delete key, and an ‘enter’ key,” Frank says, stepping behind you to get a better look at the collar.

“Any seams on the side or areas that would let us access the internal mechanisms?”

“…Yeah. There’s a seam running all around the node the keypad’s mounted on, and there’s a little rectangular hole that you could jam a screwdriver head or a knife blade in to pop the sucker open.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath and do your best to calm yourself. “That’s… something.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Frank reassures you, slowly pacing around as he assesses his surroundings. “We’ll figure something out.”

“…Frank… if I can get the collar off, I seriously doubt we’re going to get out of this place in enough time for me to get my next does of meds, which means…”

Which means the likelihood of an episode happening –even if regular medication and psychic therapy have helped—and you’re not about to risk someone that literally has no ways of protecting themselves.

But Frank –true to form, if Wade and Karen are to be believed—merely shakes his head once your voice trails off. “Not leaving you out here alone. You’re a sitting duck with that collar on. Plus, safety in numbers. We’re sticking together.”

You open your mouth to argue –but are promptly cut off by the sound of gunshots and someone screaming nearby.

Frank tenses, then takes off towards the sounds of the gunfire.

You swear under your breath, then follow after him; it’s not like you have any better options.

***

The screaming leads you to a group of people dressed in full hunting gear –backpacks, hiking boots, camo, the whole nine yards—with guns trained on a person booking it through the trees, screaming –understandably—like a banshee.

Your gut clenches when one of the hunters hits the running person straight in the back. Shit.

Frank bursts into action. With experienced ease, he darts behind a stand of trees, stalking the group of hunters as they go to check their “kill,” until the right opportunity opens up—

And then it’s over in a flash. He snaps the neck of the closest hunter, takes their gun, and the rest fall within seconds.

You grimace as you edge closer to the pile of fresh bodies. “Are there going to be more of them?”

“Definitely,” Frank says as he starts checking over the hunters’ gear. “These events are pretty big. Lots of people put cash down to participate. My bet is that this is just group one –or, if it’s a big enough plot of land, everyone else is spread out.”

“What about them?” you ask, nodding over to the fallen “hunt-ee.”

Frank shakes his head. “He’s toast. That shot would’ve gone straight through his heart.”

You creep a little closer to victim, trying to get a grasp on the situation without getting a full gore display. “She. Not he.”

“She,” Frank corrects, shrugging. “Doesn’t make a difference.”

“Does in this case.” You roll the body over with your foot, revealing a shock of dyed red hair, fingers with webbing between them, and gill slits on the neck that are partially covered by a repression collar. “She’s a mutant.”

Frank looks up at you before joining you near the woman’s body. “Anyone you recognize?”

“Captain Tribecca Jones, also known as Marlene, no last name given.” You close Marlene’s eyes –set in a vacant, lifeless gaze—and sigh heavily. “Mutant grifter, gotten in some trouble with the law. Notable for tracking ships carrying trafficked mutants and humans on them and setting them free –and for breaking out of the Icebox five different times.”

“Damn.” Frank lets out a low whistle. “They were clearly going for a challenge round if they picked her up.”

“Not much of a challenge with the collar.”

“Trophy, then. Bragging rights.”

Your stomach churns, and you look away from Marlene’s lifeless body. “We’re not fucking trophies.”

***

Much to your dismay –and Frank’s derision—none of the hunters were carrying anything that could be used to get the collar off you.

“Who the fuck doesn’t carry a blade on them?” he grumbles as he pairs down the most useful gear into one backpack. “You’re going ‘hunting’ in the middle of the damn woods; take a fucking pocket knife at least.”

“I mean, they might not need one,” you point out as you scan the area around you nervously. “They’re going out together in teams, they’ve probably got maps and tracking equipment, and I doubt they’re actually sleeping out in the woods. Does something seem off to you?”

“We’re prey in a sick hunting game in the middle of who knows the fuck where,” Frank points out as he hands you a metal water bottle. “This whole thing is off.”

“Yeah, no, I mean… about where we are. Something’s not right.” Your gaze darts around wildly as your brain works overtime. “None of this feels right.”

“Hey.” Frank gently clasps your shoulder. “Deep breath. Panicking won’t help.”

“I’m not—” You purse your lips together when Frank gives you a look, then take a deep breath and let it out. “This not feeling right isn’t me panicking. Something is off about where we are –not how we got here, but the woods themselves. Something’s wrong with these woods.”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“You seem pretty dead set on this ‘we’ thing,” you mutter.

“Should I not be?”

“I mean… if I have an episode…”

“You’re wearing the collar,” Frank points out. “Which means you don’t pose a risk to me.”

“Well, if we can’t get it off, I’m fucking useless!”

“All the more reason for me to stick close to you,” Frank says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not just gonna leave you in this, okay?”

You sigh, then nod. “Alright. Where do we go now?”

Another scream rips through the air –further away this time—followed by more gunshots.

Frank takes off in the direction of the shots. “We go this way.”

***

Your second run in with the hunters doesn’t go nearly as well as the first.

First, the second victim alerts the hunters to yours and Frank’s presence, which means there’s no sneaking up on them and taking them out before they realize what’s going on.

Second, the hunters notice you as well as Frank –and manage to get between the two of you so you have to fend them off as well.

You grit your teeth as you dive behind a massive mound of dirt. Gunfire cracks through the air as shotgun rounds slam into the small hill, and you cover your head with your hands. You can hear Frank shouting and other people letting out various shrieks and grunts of pain, so you can only assume –hope—that he’s holding his own.

This is out of your realm. You’re not a slouch when it comes to fighting, but being gunned down in the middle of nowhere with a repression collar around your neck is well above your pay grade.

You scramble to the side just before one of the hunters clambers over the hill, then kick them in the knee before they can set their sights on you. You make a mad dash for their shotgun, rip it away from them, then skitter back and turn the gun on them.

And then you freeze. You can’t make your finger squeeze the trigger. For all that you’ve shot targets –and been shot at—you can’t bring yourself to fire a gun at another human being.

The hunter lunges at you—

Another gunshot cracks through the air, and the hunter’s head explodes like a watermelon loaded with C4.

You scream, then look up at the bank of dirt.

Frank lowers a rifle –which he presumably took off one of the hunters. His face is spattered with blood, and he looks far too calm for a man who just killed several people. “You froze.”

“I…” You activate the safety on the shotgun and stare at the bloodstained ground. “Yeah.”

“You can’t do that here. If you have a shot, you have to take it.”

“I… I can’t,” you say, ducking your head to hide the tears that have suddenly welled up in your eyes.

“Not an option right now. It’s them or us.” Frank squeezes your shoulder gently, then wraps one of his arms around you and leads you away from the headless corpse. “Come on. I think one of these bastards was carrying a blade.”

***

“This still seems really weird,” you comment as Frank searches the dead hunters for a knife. “Doesn’t it seem weird to you?”

“Outside of being abducted and used as prey in some psychopath’s hunting game? Not particularly.” He lets out a pleased grunt when he finds a pocket knife on one of the hunter’s belt, then removes a pistol from their holster as well. “You comfortable with a .380?”

You swallow hard and start shaking your head. “No, I –I can’t, Frank, I can’t—”

“Look, I know the X-Men have their thing about ‘no killing,’ but this is—”

“No, no, I can’t kill anyone else. I tried to run away from home as a kid, and they hunted me down, and I had to… I can’t, I can’t—”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank grumbles, quickly moving to stand when you start crying. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.” He holds up the knife. “We’re getting this collar off you, okay? You keep ‘em off me, and I’ll make sure they stay down, okay?”

You nod, sniffing loudly and swiping at your nose with your sleeve. “Okay. I can do that.”

Frank nods back, then steps behind you. “Alright, you’ll have to walk me through this.”

“Are there any manufacturers labels stamped on the collar? Any model types or labels at all?” you ask.

“Uh… Essex Productions? Type… 187B?”

You run through your mental file on repression collars –and send a thank you to your uncle—then nod. “Okay. Pop the keypad panel open and tell me what it looks like in there.”

It takes a bit of finagling –and a lot of cursing on Frank’s part—but he manages to lever the panel open with the knife blade. “Alright… got a… glowing, yellow battery-looking thing in the middle. There’s wires connecting the keypad to a motherboard thing, and a… blue something underneath the motherboard. Can’t get a good visual on it.”

“The yellow battery is a cell that contains the repression chip,” you say. “The blue thing is the collar’s power cell. We break the circuit, the collar will deactivate automatically.”

“Great. And how do we do that?”

“See if you can lever the motherboard up with the knife,” you suggest. “There should be wires underneath it that connect to the power cell in there.”

“So, you want me to jam this metal blade next to a power source.”

“I mean, you were going to be on death row at one point,” you mumble. “Could just be part of a well-rounded experience.”

“Very fucking funny; New York doesn’t do electrocution anymore. Hold still.”

You inhale deeply and close your eyes—

And then the collar powers down, opens with a clicking noise, and falls off your neck.

You let out a sigh of relief –then whip your head around when the sensation of ‘this isn’t right’ doesn’t go away. “What the fuck? This place still doesn’t feel right! Did they injection me with repression serum on top of it?”

“Can you fly?” Frank asks with a shrug.

You successfully levitate yourself off the ground, which only increases your confusion. “What the actual hell? Okay, I’m going to fly up and see if I can see any major landmarks.”

“Wait –shit, hold the fuck on.” Frank grabs your arm and yanks you away from the pile of bodies. “We need to move to a new location, just in case anyone else heard the sounds of the fight.”

You follow him along a narrow trail, until the two of you are far enough away that Frank’s willing to stop. “Alright, I’m gonna poke my head above the tree cover. Keep your eyes peeled down here.” You hover up, latching onto branches to help direct your ascent, then push some lush, green leaves out of your way so you can stick your head out and look around—

You gawk. “What the fuck!”

Instead of clear blue sky –or clouds, or anything resembling the fucking sky—you’re greeted by a dark, metal ceiling. Massive industrial lights hang down from the ceiling in a grid, illuminating the space and the “forest” beneath.

“We’re in a fucking warehouse!” you hiss down at Frank.

He frowns up at you, disbelieving. “What? How’s that even possible?”

“I will lift you up here myself if you don’t believe me, I swear to Barbara Streisand—”

“No, no, I believe you, just…” He gestures around at the trees. “How is any of this inside a fucking warehouse?”

You gasp as the light bulb goes off in your head. “Frank! Listen!”

He tenses, eyes scanning your surroundings as he does as you say. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly! No birds, no animals, no bugs –not even a damn breeze. This is a fake forest!”

Frank’s eyes widen as you land next to him. “Shit, you’re right. The trees and shit are real enough, but there’s nothing else. They must’ve built this place just for ‘hunting.’”

“Well, the upside is if we’re in a building, there have to be walls and doors. Some sort of way out, at least,” you reason. “If we can find one of the walls, we can run the perimeter until we find an exit.”

“Hang on.” Frank heaves the backpack off his shoulders. “One of the asshats… yeah, they had a map.” He unfolds it, then holds it out so you can both read off it. “This boundary—” he gestures to a dotted line “—must be the limits of the warehouse.”

“I’m willing to be these spots—” you tap the map where parts of the dotted line are highlighted with red “—are exits and entries.”

“Why would they keep doors if they’re bringing people in here?”

“They might be hidden. Or locked.”

“Then how are going to use them?”

“I can rip them open with my powers.” You kick up a little breeze to illustrate your point. “Or, push comes to shove, we wait for someone to come out and jump them.”

“Good enough plan. Could you see where the walls are when you flew up?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s too big a space.”

Frank grumbles under his breath and peers down at the map. “Okay, we’re on an incline right now, which means we’re somewhere around here.” He taps the bottom of the map. “There’s a stream down here—” he taps the center of the page “—that crosses the whole warehouse. We walk until we find it, then go left until we hit the wall. Closest door will be on the right.”

“Alright,” you say with a sigh. “Guess we better get walking.”

***

The two of you hike through the woods for what feels like half an hour before you blurt out, “Do you think they put trackers on us?”

Frank immediately bursts into a massive, angry barrage of swear words and all but rips the backpack off his backpack. “Should’ve fucking done that right away, goddamn idiot— help me check this shit.”

The two of you check over all the gear Frank’s poached off the dead hunters –guns, the knife, the maps, a pair of night vision goggles, flashlights, boxes of ammo, water bottles, rations—and the pack itself before checking your own clothes over.

Considering you’re wearing your own clothes –and aren’t feeling any pain or finding any bruises that would suggest an implanted chip—you start to think that there might not be anything—

Until you find a GPS tracking device tucked underneath the sole of your shoe.

“Check your shoes,” you tell Frank, holding up the tiny electronic device between your fingers. “I’ll bet there’s at least one in them.”

Frank growls under his breath when he pulls out an identical device. “Son of a bitch. Any chance you can stick this on top of a tree?”

“Hell yeah,” you say with a grin. You find the tallest tree in the vicinity, then float up and wedge the tracking devices in a crack in the trunk.

And, just when you think the two of you might finally have a handle on the situation, the lights shut off as soon as you feet hit the ground.

“Is it night-time?” you whisper. You can’t see anything –not even Frank—and the sudden darkness makes you feel like you can be heard from a mile away.

“Is for us,” Frank says back, voice similarly hushed. There’s a few shuffling noises, and then a flashlight clicks on, illuminating Frank’s face and the map he stole. He crouches close to the ground, hunching over the light to hide as much of it as possible. “Get down. It’ll make you harder to see on night vision equipment.”

You kneel down next to him, squinting down at the map. “What’re you looking for?”

“Topographical depressions. We’re liable to get hurt if we try to walk around in the dark, and if we use the flashlights we’ll lead them right to us. We need to find a place to hunker down that’s as sheltered as possible.” He mutters under his breath as he studies the map. “There’s a spot… but opposite of the direction we’ve been going. Gonna be pretty hard to go uphill in the dark, but if we use the flashlight—”

“Use the goggles and talk me through it,” you insist. “I can use my powers to block the sound of us talking from travelling past us.”

“You might fall,” Frank warns you.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Alright,” he agrees after a moment, rifling through the backpack so he can set up the night vision goggles. “Goggles it is.”

***

It takes no small amount of doing to navigate your way over to the ravine Frank found on the map. Even if there aren’t any animals in the “forest” –which you think might be better called an “arena”—there’s still plenty of plants, fallen branches, partially decomposed logs, and rocks to make your way around.

You keep an iron grip on Frank’s hand as he leads you through the woods, moving as cautiously and quietly as you can.

Eventually, the two of you reach the gulch –and without too many scrapes or bruises, either. Frank briefly flicks on the flashlight so the two of you can find a safe place to hunker down for the night; the two of you are out within seconds of settling down on the ground.

You come to with a jerk when the overhead lights flick back on, blasting the entire space with harsh, white light. You grimace as waves of pins and needles shoot throughout your body and curl up on your side. Fucking withdrawals.

Frank groans next to you and pushes himself into a sitting position. “Gotta get moving again.”

“I know.” You push yourself up slowly, trying to take deep breaths against the pain and general feelings of suckitude coursing through your body. “You sleep alright?”

Frank chuckles as he rummages through the backpack. “Not the worst I’ve had.” He hands you a granola bar and a bottle of water. “Fuel up. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”

The last thing you want to do right now is eat. Just the sight of the granola bar and the water makes your stomach churn angrily.

But Frank’s right –doubly so since you’re a mutant and have that accelerated metabolism thing that Hank keeps talking about.

Frank frowns when you hesitate before taking the granola bar and water. “You sick? You ain’t looking so good.”

“Just withdrawals,” you say with a shake of your head. “They make me feel like shit.”

Frank hisses through his teeth, then scans the map before looking around at the gulch and the surrounding area. “I’d say we could just stay put, but—”

“We can’t,” you finish as you nibble at your granola bar. “I know. We’ll stick to the plan of moving towards the stream. I just… I might need to stop and breathe on occasions.”

Frank nods once, twice. “That works. You just say when.”

***

It’s slower going, what with you being so out of it, but the two of you manage to cover a decent amount of ground in what Frank reasons is only a couple hours. He keeps the map in his hand, checking your surroundings ever few minutes so he can keep tabs on roughly where the two of you are and how close you are to the stream.

All in all, it’s going pretty good.

And then you get hit with a panic attack.

It slams into you out of nowhere; granted, in hindsight, you’ll be able to track the mounting tension in your torso and shoulders, the increase in your heart rate, and the growing shallowness of your breaths.

But, unfortunately, all you have is the present moment –and, in the present moment, you go from striding next to Frank to having overwhelming waves of anxiety crash over you and feeling like you can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Frank quickly moves you over and sets you down in front of an outcropping of large boulders –cover in case a group of hunters is in the area. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Panic attack,” you eke out, trembling from head to toe as you gasp for air. You close your eyes, trying to calm your breathing. “Just gotta ride it out.”

“Ah, shit.” There’s a gentle thump, then more rustling. “Hey.”

You open your eyes and see Frank sitting next to you, pack on the ground and one hand outstretched to you, palm up.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Frank says, giving you a meaningful look.

You manage a ghost of a smile and take his hand, squeezing it tight as you try to wide out the waves of fear.

It’s hard, as it’s always been –more so since you’re going through medication withdrawals. You know it’ll pass, that it always passes, but the whole thing has shades of being kidnapped and trapped underneath your parents’ house, which only serves to make it more terrifying—

Except Frank’s here. His hand is solid and warm around yours, and even though the two of you aren’t anywhere near “close,” you trust him. You trust him to work with you through this, to have your back –and, apparently, to hold your hand while your work through a panic attack.

Something in the back of your mind says the Punisher’s probably had his fair share of panic attacks, too.

“Heard you and Rasputin got hitched,” Frank says after a bit, voice gravelly.

You let out a wet laugh and look down at your engagement ring and wedding band –which, miraculously, the abductors didn’t take off you when they scooped you up and dropped you in here. “Yeah, we did. Couple months ago.”

Frank nods slowly, gaze occasionally darting towards you but largely fixed on scanning your surroundings. “Figured that’d be the case. He’s the type. You two are good together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling as you think of your husband. You sniff wetly, then wipe tears from your face. “He is. And we are.” You draw in and let out a jerky, shaky breath, then look over at Frank. “What about you and Karen?”

Frank’s face scrunches up amusingly as he mentally scrambles for some sort way to shut the line of conversation down. “Karen and I—”

“Are a thing,” you interject.

“We ain’t ‘a thing,’” Frank says firmly –sadly. “We just… it’s not gonna happen. It can’t happen.”

“Seems like it’s already happening.”

“We—”

“You took me to her apartment, you knew where stuff was there, she had one of your hoodies there, she showed up to support you when Wade dragged you over to Xavier’s for the target practice outing, you stashed her at Xavier’s when you helped rescue me, not to mention that a majority of people in New York know and believe that you jumped in front of two bullets for her,” you list off. “Face it, the two of you are a thing.”

Frank sighs heavily –like a man dead set on torturing himself—and shakes his head. “We ain’t. Can’t be. I’m… I’m not good for anyone. Not like this.”

You take one look at Frank’s defeated expression and slumped posture, and your current lack of filter does the rest. “Take it from someone who got told their whole life that they weren’t ‘good for anyone,’ Castle—”

Frank looks up at you, surprise evident in his expression.

“The only people who suffer more than you do from believing that about yourself are the people who love and care about you,” you say as firmly as you can. “And, for you, Karen’s definitely one of those people.”

“Karen’s…” Frank swallows hard and stares at the ground. “Karen’s good. She’s… she’s someone I care about. And I can’t lose anyone else I care about.”

“Seems to me you’re already losing her.”

Frank shoots you a sharp look and opens his mouth to retort –then tenses and snaps it shut when the sound of voices echoes from nearby. “Hunters.”

“Sounds like a big group,” you murmur, forcing yourself into a crouch next to him. “Think we can avoid them?”

Frank slings the back pack over his shoulders, cocks one of the –many—guns he’d taken off the wake of corpses, and starts stalking towards the sound of conversation. “Not how this works.”

“Of course it isn’t,” you grumble under your breath before following after him.

***

The third fight is a bloodbath.

You were right about it being a larger group. There’s at least seventeen people, men and women, all in fancy hunting garb and wielding a variety of guns.

A few of them start yelling when they see Frank and you –then scream when the two of you charge them.

You can’t really keep track of the fight in your exhausted, strained state. You merely channel all your energy into keeping the hunters from ganging up on you and Frank, while Frank unleashes his rage in a maelstrom of guttural screams, bone-crushing punches, and sprays of enemy blood.

It’s a mess.

You bat hunter away from Frank with a burst of wind –then let out a scream when another hunter slams into you, forcibly shoving you away from Frank and against a thick tree trunk.

The hunter growls under his breath and unsheathes a massive knife, angling it at your face. “Mutant bitch.”

You grunt as you flinch away from the swing of the blade, heart hammering as he embeds the knife into the trunk of the tree. You use the opportunity to knee him in the gut –then let out a shout of pain when he slams your head against the tree.

“Told me you were X-Men,” the hunter says, pressing his hand against your throat and pushing against your neck while you thrash and struggle. “Told me you’d be a challenge. None of you mutant bastards have even been remotely interesting to kill.”

You let out a raspy gurgle as your pulse pounds in your ears, then focus your powers on expanding the man’s lungs past capacity as quickly as you can.

The hunter jerks, makes a horrific choking noise, then collapses to the ground in a heap as blood trickles out of his mouth.

You stumble forward, almost tripping over the body, gasping and coughing. You brace your hands on your knees, trying to stay steady as your vision clears and your hearing goes back to normal—

And then you hear the sounds of Frank struggling to fend off the last hunter, who’s got him pinned behind a tree and keeps advancing on him whilst firing his rifle.

You grit your teeth, then let out a guttural scream as you aim a blast of wind at the hunter.

The man slams through a nearby tree, shearing the trunk half before bouncing along the ground like a ragdoll.

There’s a beat of silence, then Frank pops out from behind the tree, looking a little startled. “You okay?”

You nod, panting, and wave a hand dismissively. “Yeah. Lets get out of here before anyone else finds us.”

***

The two of you find the stream right as the lights are switched off for the night.

You sigh heavily and drop down onto the ground. “Well, at least we can focus on finding the wall tomorrow.”

Frank grunts in agreement as he settles next to you, then briefly flicks on one of the flashlights as he rifles through the pack. “Here.” He hands you a ration packet and a bottle of water. “Need to stay fueled up.”

You shiver as another wave of pins and needles sweeps through your body and groan. “No. I don’t think I could even keep it down.”

“You need to eat.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I feel sick.” You shiver again, then curl into a ball as best you can. “And cold.”

Frank goes quiet for a minute, simply observing you, then sits back against the base of a thick tree trunk and motions for you to join him. “C’mere.”

“What?”

“You need to stay warm. Sharing body heat is the best way we have to do that.”

“This sounds like the start of a smut fic,” you mutter dubiously.

“You sound like fucking Wilson,” Frank grumbles under his breath before motioning for you to join him more insistently. “Come on. Not like I’m gonna do anything. I’m just looking to keep you warm, s’all.”

And even though it’s weird –and, in another universe, one hundred percent the start of a smut fic—you trust Frank not to do anything. And, moreover, you want to be warm.

You crawl over to him and sit between his legs, huddling against Frank’s chest. You nestle closer, shivering. “How are you so warm?”

“Testosterone,” Frank grunts, taking your ration pack and mixing some water in it to start the cooking process. “Higher amounts of testosterone means higher body temp.”

You grit your teeth as you shudder. “That sounds like cheating.”

“Probably is,” Frank agrees mildly, mixing your ration pack around with a fork –because the “high end hunters” kept actual silverware on them, for some reason—before handing it over to you. “Alright, try to get most of this down.”

You grimace and shake your head. “No. I just wanna sleep.”

“C’mon,” Frank encourages you, pressing the ration packet into your hands. “Wilson yammers almost nonstop about your guy, including his whole thing about ‘eating balanced meals’ and whatever the fuck. He’d want you to eat.”

You grumble to yourself as you reluctantly scoop some of the contents of the ration packet –which looks like a jambalaya rice mixture—onto your fork. “That’s a cheap move and you know it.”

“If it works, it works,” Frank says with a shrug.

…

Progress the next day is painfully slow. Your body hurts from sleeping on the ground and the withdrawals, you’re exhausted, and you feel sicker than a dog. You trudge along, stopping every few meters to catch your breath or double over from pain, nausea, or some inhumane combination of both.

Frank is markedly patient with you. He keeps an eye out for any sign of danger while the two of you trail along the stream, encourages you by picking out little landmarks –usually fallen logs or rocks—and challenging you to make it to them, and handles keeping track of when to eat and drink.

You’re getting the sneaking suspicion that you’re dead weight –though that could just be the increasing paranoia caused by the medication withdrawals.

Frank seems to think so, too, because he’s adamant about sticking with you when you suggest he go ahead and find the wall. “Not gonna happen,” he says, voice firm. “I’m not leaving you out here like this. We’re sticking together, and that’s the end of it.”

You nod, too tired to argue, then offer up a weak smile. “Besides, Wade would kick the shit out of you if you abandoned me.”

Frank huffs and nods while scanning the route ahead. “You’re right about that. Not to mention your dad and your husband.”

“Piotr’s not a violent person.”

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t hesitate to slam me around if I left you out here while you’re like this,” Frank insists before nodding at a bend in the stream. “Let’s reach that curve, then you can sit and rest for a bit. Sound good?”

You nod wearily and press on. “Good as it’s gonna get right now.”

…

You crumple to the ground when the overhead lights switch off. “Thank Cthulhu.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Frank snorts as he settles down next to you. He rummages through the pack, then offers you some water and another ration pack. “Here. Eat.”

“No,” you groan, turning away and curling into a ball. “I’m gonna puke up whatever I eat. I’ll just go without tonight.”

“You need to eat.”

“We have limited food supplies,” you fire back, voice heated, “and we are not going to waste them by just having me throw them back up. I’m not eating.”

“Not eating is going to cause more problems than eating,” Frank argues. He switches out the ration pack for a granola bar, then forcibly shoves it in your hands. “Eat. Or, so fucking help me, I’m feeding it to you.”

You sit up with an irritated huff –then let out a cry of dismay when a fallen branch rips your jacket. “Fucking… stupid fucking piece of shit branch –get the fuck off of me!” You whip it away from you—

And it bounces off something a few feet away with a metallic thud.

You and Frank both go stock still.

“Is that—” you whisper, scarcely daring to be hopeful at this point.

“Stay down,” Frank growls under his breath as he scrambles for the night vision goggles. He scans the area, then whispers, “No one’s nearby as far as I can see.”

You suck in a breath and flip on a flashlight—

And, less twenty feet away from you, is a wall.

“We made it,” you breathe, barely able to believe it.

“We still need to find a door,” Frank points out.

“Well, it’s supposed to be to the right, right? I can hop us over the stream, and then we can find the door, break in, and maybe sleep somewhere that isn’t the ground.”

Frank hesitates for a moment, then whips a wild glance over his shoulder when the sound of gunfire and more screaming emanate from the distance. “Fuck it.” He slings the pack over his shoulder and shoves himself to his feet. “Let’s go.”

***

Finding the door is markedly easier than finding the stream or the wall. You get you and Frank over the stream, then the two of you follow the wall until you reach a metal door with an electronic scanner that strongly resembles the keycard mechanisms on hotel doors next to it.

“Maybe there’s a keycard in the pack,” you suggest, voice hushed. “Or something similar that’ll let us in.”

A quick search of the pack does indeed yield a keycard that looks like it’ll fit the scanner –and, from there, you and Frank make a plan for entry.

“You swipe the card, and if the door opens, you stay behind me while I clear everything,” Frank says, tone brokering no room for argumentation.

You nod, then tuck yourself against the wall before swiping the card in the key slot.

The door swishes open, revealing an empty hallway.

Frank does a quick scan, gun aimed and ready, then nods for you to follow him.

***

It doesn’t take long to clear the base connected to the hunting grounds. There’s only a handful of people in there –a couple of guards, another hunting party hanging out in a luxury lounge area while they chat and compare trophies taken off the victims, and a couple of men watching cameras that overlook the outside of the complex –which, by in large, looks like a barren field—and a GPS scanner that covers the hunting arena.

Frank slaughters everyone there without hesitation or mercy, then piles the bodies in one of the opulent suites built into the complex. His lip curls into a sneer as he eyes the place, clearly designed for luxurious, top end comfort and relaxation. “This place is fucking disgusting.”

“If it’s any comfort, I’m pretty sure Wade will help you burn it once everyone comes and picks us up,” you mutter, shivering slightly. “Can I sit down now?”

***

Frank manages to get word out to one of his friends –a “tech spook,” as Frank describes him—who then gets word to the X-Men, who then relays a message that the X-Men are on their way to rescue you and Frank. The only thing the two of you have to do in the meantime is sit tight.

Things are markedly quieter, now. There’s a few more rounds of gunfire as Frank finishes off the last of the hunters attempting to reenter the complex attached to the forested arena, but other than that things are deathly silent.

You feel markedly better once you take a long, hot shower and change into some clean clothes, poached out of one of the dead hunter’s closet. That, plus some decent food that you found in the lounge kitchen, has you feeling miles better than you have over the past few days.

You look up from where you’ve been watching the camera bank, perched on one of the chairs, when Frank walks in from his shower. “Everything’s been quiet.”

He nods, scanning the cameras before plopping down in the seat next to you. Should probably hole up in here. Door’s reinforced, and it’s not likely anyone would think to look in here.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone left,” you say. “There aren’t any other GPS trackers in the arena, and you already cleared the complex.”

Frank simply shoots you a look before going back to watching the screens. “Your people should be here in a little over ten hours. They’ll get us back to New York.”

“I take it we’re not in America anymore?”

Frank shakes his head. “Siberia, according to Lieberman. One of the few places you could hide something like this. Right in your guy’s territory, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I mean, Piotr’s dad has a farm in Siberia, but I’m pretty sure he would’ve tipped us off if this was anywhere near him.” You smile as you think of your husband, then look over at Frank once more. “You looking forward to getting out here?”

“Pretty much anywhere’s better than this shithole.”

“I meant more as it relates to seeing Karen—”

“For the love of Christ, will you fucking drop it?” Frank groans, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “There’s nothing to relate it to! Karen and I are not a thing.”

“Bullshit!” you fire back, swiveling your chair so you’re facing him. You cross your arms over your chest. “Even if you two aren’t an official ‘thing,’ you love her, and you know she loves you.”

“We—”

“Look me in the eye, Frank,” you challenge, staring him down. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love Karen.”

Frank stares at you for a moment, licking at his lower lip nervously, then sighs heavily and hangs his head. “I love her. I’ll always love her. But we can’t –we cannot—be a thing.”

“Why not? And don’t tell me it’s about keeping her safe,” you snap, pointing at him. “We both know –along with everyone else in the state of New York—that Karen Page does just fine all on her own at being a colossal shit magnet. She’s built her whole career off it. So don’t fucking sell me some sort of line about ‘keeping her safe,’ because the actual chances are she’d be a lot safer if you were always close by to watch her back.”

Frank’s jaw works, and his finger taps against his thigh. “Look, Karen… Karen’s good. She… she deserves better than someone like me. She deserves someone who can give her the whole fairytale ending, y’know? Two story house, picket fence, couple of dogs… a comfortable life. I can’t ever give that to her. I’m not going to just take her future away from her. I’d rather get shot in the head again than do that.”

“Let me ask you a very fair question,” you say, cocking your head to the side and raising an eyebrow. “Have you actually asked Karen what kind of future she wants?”

Frank’s gaze darts to the floor sheepishly. “Don’t matter. I’m not putting her at risk.”

“The fuck it doesn’t matter, you misogynistic shit goblin!” you shout, lurching up out of your chair. “You can’t just make decisions for Karen without even consulting her about what you want. Look, you either love her and want to be with her for who she is, or you’re in love with this tortured ‘will-it-won’t-it’ scenario and keep stringing her along because you like the attention but don’t want the commitment.”

“You fucking –you fucking think that I would do that to Karen?” Frank roars, shoving his chair back so hard it topples over. “That what you fucking think of me? That I’m some –some fucking player who wants some pretty woman’s attention, so I’ll –I’ll just string her along! Tease her with the idea of some sort of future that’ll never be fulfilled! Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

“I think you’re a guy with his head wedged so far up his own asshole that he’s forgotten that there’s another person in this situation and that you’re hurting her,” you fire back, voice going gravelly. “If you’re so dead set on not putting Karen in danger and not having her be connected to you, then just cut her out and call it good so she can move on with her own life.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Frank’s expression crumples, and he sags against the desk positioned in front of the camera display screens, borderline lifeless. “I have. I thought it… that it was the best option. For –for both of us. And then I come back and I find out that she had to fight an entire war practically on her own and… and I wasn’t there to help. So I decided to stay, decided to stick around and make sure nothing like that happened again, but…”

“You can’t do love by halves,” you surmise.

Frank shakes his head, shoulders sagging. “You can’t. I can’t.”

“So why not just make things official and take things as they come. If you’re protecting her, then she’s still connected to you. May as well get something more out of the arrangement –for both of you.”

Frank growls and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Chrissakes, will you just drop it already?”

“I talk to Wade Wilson for fun and my daily job involves managing and teaching teenagers,” you fire back, placing your hands on your hips. “I can argue circles around you, Castle, even on my off days.”

Frank shoots you an irritated glare. “So –what—I just… I just act like a selfish asshole and—and sweep her off her feet and stay in her life properly?”

“If that’s what she wants, then yeah. Enough with the self-flagellation, Castle, sheesh. We’ve all got our selfish points.”

“Not like this,” Frank insists. “Not like me.”

“Bullshit,” you fire back. “Plenty of us have dark shit in our past and present. That doesn’t stop us from living the lives we want as best we can.”

“You’re not a killer—”

You frown severely. “The fuck I’m not!”

Frank alters course without missing a beat. “What happened to you as a kid isn’t even remotely the same thing—”

“I’ve killed people since then,” you interject hotly, which shuts Frank up. “I went to a murder shack out in Harmony –anti-mutant community, I’ll explain more later—and killed twenty people to steal some repression serum. I don’t care what kind of arguments you make about the trauma that lead me to do that, about the quality of people they were, or whatever the fuck else! Point still stands: I chose to kill people. I still choose to associate with people who kill people. And, for whatever reason, the universe hasn’t chosen to smite me for it. So, I’m going to live the life I want for as long as I can, and anyone who doesn’t like it can go suck my dick.”

The corner of Frank’s mouth quirks up. “Most people don’t go around admitting stuff like that to me.”

You roll your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m bursting any bubbles of masculinity here, but I could beat you in a fight, easy.”

“Is that so?” Frank asks, brows raising towards his hairline as he chuckles.

“I could make your lungs explode or throw you against a wall so hard you turn into human Jello. Unless you got the jump on me with a gun, it wouldn’t even be a contest.”

Frank shrugs while chuckling. “Yeah, probably. You’re a tough bird, that’s for sure.” He sobers quickly, finger tapping against his thigh in a steady, quick rhythm. “Look, I –I hear what you’re saying. ‘Bout me and Karen. I really do. I just… I can’t lose anyone close to me again. I can’t.”

“I get that.”

Frank pins you with a sharp, intense look. “Do you?”

“Frank, I’m a mutant,” you say tiredly. “I have to register as a mutant by law, and I –and my loved ones—could be rounded up and detained any day. I work with the X-Men, which includes the risk of any of us not coming back from a mission. I may not understand what you went through specifically with your family, but not wanting to lose someone close to you when there’s a daily risk? Yeah, I get that.” You shrug. “Personally, I think it’s better to life happily, even if for a short amount of time, than be miserable forever.”

Frank swallows hard, then starts poking around with the equipment hooked up to the screens and cameras. “Go get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

It’s an obvious deflection tactic, but you’re too tired to argue right now. You yawn, then head out the door. “Scream if you need me.”

Frank snorts. “Will do, Rasputin.”

You smile at the inclusion of your new last name, then pad off in search of a comfortable place to sleep.

***

By the time the sun properly rises for the day, one of the X-Jets finally touches down next to the complex entryway.

Most people wouldn’t think that someone as big as your husband would be particularly quick or nimble –especially when armored up—but he manages just that as he rushes down the loading ramp and over to you. He lifts you up into his arms –ever mindful of his added strength and, ah, firmness of his armor—then carefully sets you down and looks you over for any signs of damage or illness.

“I’m okay.” You shudder when another wave of pins and needles sweeps through you, then offer your husband a reassuring smile. “I just need my meds and some sleep.”

Piotr nods, then delicately kisses the top of your head. “Let’s go home, myshka.”

You make to follow him to the jet, but stop when you hear a relieved cry of Frank’s name—

And then Karen Page sprints off the X-Jet and into Frank Castle’s arms.

Frank looks shocked to see her but catches her anyway. His eyes dart around wildly for a moment as he holds her close, but then he relaxes into the embrace and lets his eyes shut.

“Man,” Wade says, all suited up, from his vantage point on the loading ramp. “They’ve got it so bad for each other, don’t they?”

You laugh quietly and nod. “Yeah, they really do.”

***

If getting back to the United States takes a long time, being cleared by the medical team at Xavier’s takes even longer. You’re poked, prodded, examined, assessed, and checked on until your head spins.

Fortunately, though, you have Piotr to keep you company throughout all of it. He sits by you for the entire time, dutiful in holding your hand and offering murmured encouragements and affections when needed.

Nathan and Neena also pop in and out during the evaluation –Nathan to ask questions about the hunters, their methods, and the complex, and Neena to make sure that she “rubs some luck on your examination.”

All in all, you’re good.

You look up from talking to Piotr when you hear a loud guffaw of laughter –and then Wade skips into your room.

“Did you really tell the Punisher he was being a ‘misogynistic shit goblin?’”

You grin sheepishly when Piotr makes a choking noise. “In my defense, I was off my medication.”

***

“There have to be more places like them. I seriously doubt the people running that kind of operation would only invest in one location.”

“I suspect you are right, myshka. However, now is not time for thinking of such things. Your job is to rest and recover. Nathan and Wade can handle tracking down mis-doers.”

You can’t help but smiling at the slight mangling of “wrong doers,” and nod. “Yeah. I feel bad for whoever’s running the show. Dad’s gonna put them through a world of hurt.”

You and your lovely husband are walking back to your house, stationed at the back of Xavier’s property. You’d insisted on walking by yourself –and while Piotr had agreed to let you, he still keeps a sharp eye on you for any sign of discomfort, dizziness, fatigue, or pain.

You reach out to pat Piotr’s arm reassuringly –then stop when you spy two certain someones across the lawn. “Well. Would you look at that.”

Frank and Karen are also strolling across the lawn, hand in hand. Frank seems to be talking, head bobbing uncertainly as he keeps an eye on his surroundings, while Karen seems more quiet, more focused on him.

And then Frank stops, finally looks at Karen, and says something that results in her kissing him.

“What is that all about?” Piotr asks, gently tugging you along as Frank slowly wraps his arms around Karen.

You grin, then follow your husband. “That, my dear, is the world as it should be.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #frank castle x karen page #SETTING UP MY OTP #BECAUSE IT'S HOW IT SHOULD BE #tw: violence #tw: gun violence #like i don't think it's the worst or most intense thing ever #but it's there #tw: panic attack #tw: medication withdrawal #this is kind of intense #but there's a sweet dose of fluff at the end i promise #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, ALEX! You’ve been accepted for the role of HORATIO. Admin Rogue: Alex, I can’t exaggerate enough how thrilled I was every moment of reading your app. You were so clever and thought so quickly, it was like seeing Hunter being built in front of me, until he became not just a character I wrote, but a person in his own right, quick-witted and dipped in gold. He was mesmerizing from start to finish; I believe I ended up half in love with him by the end of reading it. You brought such exciting depth to him that I can’t wait to see him brought to life! . Thank you for bringing my most beautiful son to the dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Alex Age | Twenty-four Preferred Pronouns | She/Her Activity Level | I am a full time grad student but because of the messy events happening throughout the world at the moment, I have been left with more free time than I know how to handle! I anticipate investing that time in plotting with people and beginning threads so once classes pick up again, I am in a rhythm and able to maintain stable activity (catching up on all/most replies 2-3 times a week). Timezone | US EST How did you find the rp? | Honestly, at this point I don’t even remember. I have been lurking for eons, waiting for the right timing and the right character to become available, and now couldn’t be more perfect!

IN CHARACTER

Character | HORATIO, Hunter Marchesi

What drew you to this character? | There are about a thousand-and-one things that I could list here. I have always been drawn to characters that walk the line between golden and gilded, the ones that are a little bit too inhuman to be fully mortal and yet too weak to truly be a god. When I read Hunter’s biography, it was striking how electric he felt. Reading through the plot summaries, it’s evident that Verona has been wading through dark times for a while now, and glancing through several biographies, her inhabitants are not without their scars. Yet here is Hunter, a boy from out of town that stumbled into the greatest war the underbelly of Verona has ever seen. He’s too clever to be fully naïve, yet he’s rampantly green – and that newness brings with it a certain freshness. Hunter isn’t tarnished yet. His future is bright, and he’s ambitious enough to learn how to make himself known in a new society. All the possibilities that came tumbling in with Hunter was vastly appealing to me, as well as his capability to step confidently into this world. Also, this one line in Castora’s connection had me dead: “He doesn’t hate her of course; his family often deals in philanthropy.”

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

BECOMING INSTRUMENTAL: Being an initiate sounds significantly more important than Hunter currently feels. He’s too new to be helpful, too green to pretend that he knows what he’s doing. Hunter requires mentors to aid in his transition. After all, his face is one that’s never known a bruise, his fingers remain ignorant to the pulse of a trigger, and his nose blind to the rusting of blood. He has started taking on minor missions, learning what he can and aiming to impress, but he needs guidance if he’s going to thrive outside of his comfort zone, and the people that he receives that guidance from will leave a lasting impression upon the Montague’s newest recruit.

NEW MONEY: All his life, Hunter has lived within the penthouse of society. The Marchesi family had wealth so vast that it was rumored to transcend written record. Often, he heard his father discuss how he hardly considered new money families to be money at all. “After all, if you don’t have at least three generations of wealth, you’re no better than a peasant that happened to have a successful night of gambling.” Essentially, Hunter has no concept of what it means to happen into wealth, but he imagines it feels rather similar to his new position within the Montague ranks. It is not the Marchesi family that matters here. No, everyone around him owes blood it to the Montagues, and Hunter is beginning to expect there is no exchange rate for a life debt. He is dealing in an entirely new currency, which he finds remarkably exhilarating. His journey within the mob is just beginning, and as such he’s blinded by challenge and possibility and bolstered by a history that has never known failure. However, I anticipate Hunter stumbling as he assimilates into a new life, and as such, I expect that he will begin to struggle with his idea of self. Hunter is no longer defined by a name, or wealth, or charm; everyone around him carries such characteristics aplenty. For perhaps the first time, Hunter will need to learn how to identify himself without his very foundations, and that may entail a dash of demolition.

LOYALTY IS FICKLE: As someone that has only joined a mob to avoid certain death, Hunter lacks the strict loyalty that seems to flow through the veins of his new family. Of course, he remains loyal to his own life (who wouldn’t?), and to a certain degree, Henry (largely because the good professor had the courtesy to keep him alive). As such, Hunter is able to recognize that helping a Capulet would potentially ruin his future, but the fear of such ruination hasn’t yet gripped his heart. Why shouldn’t he reach out to Beau? What’s the worst that could happen? // The way I visualize this conflict entails Hunter reaching out to Beau before becoming completely entrenched within the Montague camp. Naturally, Hunter will come to realize just how dark and violent life at war can be, thus adding pressure to the help he’s become determined to offer, perhaps leading to the first glimmer that perhaps danger can be just as terrifying as it is invigorating.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | You have my blessing to kill him off as you see fit!

IN DEPTH

INTERVIEW

Hunter was never one to enjoy sitting still, and his leg bounced even as he reclined in his seat. Those that did not know him may mistake the bobbing as movement motivated by nervousness, yet there was too much light glittering across his eyes to be born of anything but excitement. He might as well have been starting his first day at his dream job, not beginning to repay a newly incurred life debt.

His accomplice didn’t appear quite as energetic. Their shoulders were slumped, their gaze downturned. When he’d walked in, Hunter had guessed him to be in his mid-twenties. With the cloud hovering over his head, he looked twice that age. Thirty minutes into a stake-out, Hunter had started picking up on the crow’s feet, the downward angle of his lips, the hair that was in desperate need of a trim. He’d always thought the grandiose mobsters of Verona would have more style.

Five minutes passed, and Hunter focused his attention on the dimly lit street in front of him. He’d been in the city less than a month now, and he barely recognized the intersection in front of them. “Where are we in the city?” he asked.

“Ten minutes north of the Roman Arena,” his partner answered. Hunter had introduced himself at the start of the mission, but his partner had settled for a quick once-over before settling on silence and slipping into the car. He hadn’t bothered to ask his name since.

“Haven’t made it to the Arena yet,” Hunter mused. His partner didn’t respond, so Hunter settled for another question. “What is your favorite place in Verona?” Again, he was met with silence. If they weren’t three hours into a stale stakeout, Hunter would have let it go. He would have read the tension between them as one better suited for silence, but three hours of nothing begged to be replaced by something of substance. “I think that I’ll be quite fond of Lamberti Tower when the time comes. Haven’t exactly had good reason to celebrate yet.” He leaned his head back against the headrest and waited for an answer that he knew wasn’t coming. This time, he let silence settle between them. The moon arched higher overhead, a desperate sliver against the abyss of the night sky.

Hunter glanced at the clock. It’d been ten minutes since his last question, meaning it was high time to strike up conversation again. “What’s your typical day like? So far, all I’ve done are stakeouts and guard shifts at the library.”

“Depends on the day.”

“You’re a real charmer, anyone ever tell you that?” Hunter softened the dig with a wink. “Know any particularly talented fighters? I’m looking for a sparring coach. Punching bags rarely hit back.” Silence. Not even a pity chuckle. “You’re going to need to start answering some of my questions. These are the easy ones.”

His partner glanced at him briefly. “Awfully bossy for an initiate, anyone ever tell you that?” A sigh, and Hunter assumed that was the end of the conversation but the next sentence came with a pleasant surprise. “What are you doing now? Working out? Running errands? Sucking up to your superiors? All worthwhile things, sure. But I’m guessing they aren’t scratching that adrenaline itch that drove you to sign up.”

“And what makes you think I have an – how did you put it? Adrenaline itch?”

“You’re young, confident, rich. The world was given to you on a silver platter so you’re wondering if it’ll taste different on paper. Need something to stoke your fire since you’ve never come in contact with real conflict. You made a mistake joining, kid.”

Hunter swallowed the first response that threatened to spring to his lips. His partner was trying to start a fight, to insult him to the point he’d shut up for the remainder of the night. He wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Alright then, if we’re talking about mistakes, teach me something. What’s the biggest mistake you’ve made thus far?”

“Man doesn’t go around bragging about his mistakes.”

For the first time all night, Hunter agreed with him. He didn’t want to speak of the first mistake he’d ever made in life that carried consequences. There was still something unsettling about remembering that night, Doctor Zhang creating bloodshed and making it disappear with the bat of an eye. He’d made it seem so easy, and Hunter couldn’t yet imagine himself in such a position. He’d wondered nightly if it was a mistake to have pursued Henry for this long, to think about him as frequently as he did. It led to far too many uncertainties. If Henry Zhang was his greatest mistake, then signing up for a philosophy course was the root of all evil. It sounded ridiculous. Naturally, that meant that the true nature of the mistake would require significantly more introspection than Hunter cared to participate in. So he settled: his biggest mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A shame, but at least it was true.

Nearly an hour passed, filled with a brief moment of excitement when they noted movement ahead only to be met by the visage of a couple stumbling home linked arm-in-arm. There were at least three hours still until sunrise, and Hunter was beginning to lose all motivation. There had to be a better use of time and resources. There was no way this would be his future.

“What’s the most difficult task they’ve asked of you?” he asked suddenly, sure that this night marked his own.

“Staking out in a car all night with an initiate that isn’t comfortable with silence.”

“I’m trying to learn. It shows initiative,” Hunter countered.

“It shows that you’re nosey.”

Hunter wanted to be offended, but he couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled from his lips. After a night of intermingled silence, distant traffic, and brusque responses, this was the closest thing to humor he’d encountered, even if it was at his own expense. “They haven’t asked anything difficult of me yet.”

“Be thankful for that, son. You need to learn how to crawl before you can walk.”

“Alas, I came out the womb already sprinting.” It might be the low lighting, but Hunter swore he saw the slightest smirk on his partner’s face. It was enough camaraderie to summon up the question he had been desperately wanting answered all night: “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

What warmth he’d gained was quickly replaced with solid ice. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.”

Hunter hummed. “Maybe not, but I’m still interested. I think it all seems very… personal. Professional on the surface, of course. They’re competing industries in a small space, conflict in inevitable. But it hardly seems as if they’re fighting over territory at this point. Everything feels much more intimate, and not in a particularly loving way.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He sounded confident, maybe even cocky. But he wasn’t entirely certain, and that unsettled him. Ever since arriving and locking himself within Verona’s perfect cage, he’d been trying to uncover the nature of this war they were fighting. If he was going to risk his life for someone, it only made sense to know why. Yet the answers were vague, elusive, textbook. There were too many layers of blood staining these streets to ever get at the bottom of it all, and Hunter was beginning to realize that like it or not, he’d been assigned a side in this war. And he would fight it.

EXTRAS

ZERO TO SIXTY: While Hunter was never groomed for war, a prior life of extravagance and wealth was not without its incidental lessons. Around his twentieth birthday, Hunter experienced a bout of boredom stronger than any that had come before. University was routine (save for the exception of a single course that oft labored late nights, red eyes, and grins that dripped sunshine), his parents were content with his performance, and his circle of friends remained vast and glittering of silver and gold. There was no change, no challenge looming ahead, and so he sought to create his own. // The first time he slipped into the driver’s seat of a Ferrari 488, he was sold. Looking back, he recognized his first lap as a slow fumble, but at the time he had felt himself a natural. Sinking into curves made his heart race, and the rumble of an engine with more power than he could control sent all thoughts of discontent scattering. Ever one to turn talent to profit, he began to race on the weekends, soaring with pride as his name began to climb the leaderboards of local tracks. The thought of turning his passion into a full-blown career would flit through his mind whenever he was standing in the winner’s circle, but he would wake the next morning with the knowledge that the lifetime wages of Formula One racers appeared mere pocket change next to the Marchesi fortune. Little did he know that he could one day turn his talent into a lucrative career as a getaway driver for the Montagues.

Driving playlist: 1. Physical // Dua Lipa. 2. Ride It // Regard. 3. Roller // Apache 207. 4. Red Flag // Billy Talent. 5. Run Boy run // Woodkid. 6. Slip // Skrizzly Adams. 7. Legend Has It // Run the Jewels.

FAMILIAL INFLUENCE: The headlines have been screaming it for ages: the British aristocracy is running low on funds. However, a single glance at the Marchesi family would cast doubt upon even the most reputable reporter. With manors in three different countries, the Marchesis have no qualms about demonstrating their wealth. // Jasper Marchesi was the eldest of four brothers, and he inherited his father’s art empire upon his death. Collectionswere the Marchesi trade, particularly the acquisition of difficult-to-come-by pieces. Jasper often cited the families distant Italian roots as being the source of his exquisite taste, and he honored the heritage by building a home in Milan. It was at this home that Hunter remembers spending a majority of the year, with voyages to Britain reserved for the holiday season and vacations to Brazil confined to the summer. // While her husband was rapt with the arts, Ana Marchesi believed that wealth was best unearthed in the modern-day gold of real estate. She began investigating just how lucrative buying, selling, and renting properties could be while her father was still traveling the world on diplomatic assignments. What started with a few rental houses quickly morphed into buying mansions left abandoned by new-money families that never had a chance of living in such elegance and transferring them (at a notable mark-up) back into the hands of those with the resources to invest in such a gilded future. Jasper reminded her on numerous occasions that such a business wasn’t necessary, that marrying into the Marchesi family meant that she had already bought into a future of diamonds and galas, but Ana insisted upon building her own empire. // Between the decadence of his father and the intrepid spirit of his mother, Hunter was destined for success. His family’s background required fluency in English, Italian, and Portuguese, and his father’s aptitude for the arts and his mother’s skill with finance instilled a harmony of practicum and creativity within him. He exclusively attended private schools as a child and enrolled in the most prestigious university in Italy without batting an eye. He pursued a degree in economics, and upon graduation assumed control of a subset of art galleries across Italy.

PLAYLIST

More // Poets of the Fall —What do you give someone who has it all? More, just to be sure. I got what I wanted so naturally I want more, what I paid for. Kansas City // The Mowgli’s — Been in a new town, got the same issues to work through. It turns out when you move, you just take them all with you. Wanna Be Missed // Hayley Kiyoko — I wanna be missed, like every night. I wanna be kissed, like it’s the last time. Say you can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breathe without me. An Evening I Will Not Forget // Dermot Kennedy — I remember when her heart broke over stubborn shit. That’s no way to be living kid; the angel of death is ruthless. And I’m always thinking summertime with the bikes out, pushing our luck, getting wiped out, days with nothing but laughing loud. Power Over Me // Dermot Kennedy — I wanna be king in your story. I wanna know who you are. I want your heart to beat for me. Pay the Man // Foster the People — Seasons change, you know it’ll never be the same. We’ll see the sun again before it fades. I just wanna say [REDACTED]. Cringe // Matt Maeson — She said I’m looking like a bad man, smooth criminal. She said my spirit doesn’t move like it did before. She said that I don’t look like me no more. The Best // AWOLNATION —Me, I wanna walk a little bit taller. Me, I wanna feel a little bit stronger. Me, I wanna think a little bit smarter. Said I just want to be the best. Classic Man // Jidenna — My name, calling all night. I could pull the wool while I’m being polite. Like darling, calling all night. I can be a bull while I’m being polite. Bonus Track: 7 rings // Ariana Grande

#accepted #accepted: horatio

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