#delsin rowe fanfic

[therozpoz]

Among Gardens and Other Things // Reggie Rowe x conduit!fem OC

RATING: M, will contain smut chapters! Genre: ROMANCE!! A year after Augustine's occupation with the DUP in Seattle, the city has become a conduit safe haven thanks to Delsin and co. Life returns to normal with the exception of new conduits on the rise. A new resident moves to Salmon Bay, growing interest gathers around her as she's spotted donating fresh produce around town, and it pique's a certain sheriff's interest as well... AKA: Reggie crushes hard on the town's pretty new farmer girl. Delsin is the ultimate wingman. Silly goofy, fluffy storytelling.

>> AO3 LINK <<

IT'S FINALLY HERE!!!!!!!!!!! I'm so happy to share this super self indulgent fic with the Infamous Second Son community. I really hope you enjoy!!

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty —  Infamous

“Well, sometimes if you have someone listen to something they haven’t heard before, they might notice something you didn’t.” Zeke patted the top of a sealed ammo case. “Gain a new perspective. I have a buncha dead drops I’m gonna have to listen to, and I need a conduit’s opinion.” 

5k words | 20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: more goddamn lore and links (i love you guys but it's messy work /s), references to death, disease, catastrophe.

Zeke eventually came back as we finished organizing the papers, taking a moment to crack his neck before looking down at us. “Y’all look about done,” he commented. 

Brent nodded. ��Nearly, but I don’t think there’s anything here that’ll help.”

I couldn’t help but agree. There was a ton on Celia taking out less-than-desirable people, and while I wasn’t sure yet how to feel about the death of those guys, I knew it wasn’t enough to lead us anywhere. 

“Yeah, that’s how it goes sometimes,” Zeke sighed, moving back into the kitchen. “But keep an eye out and an open mind — sometimes things connect in ways you weren’t expecting. Now, your pops is making a call, trying to connect with someone that might have some old info we passed to her years ago. I’m sure when he comes back he’ll go over everything y’all found and see if something stands out.”

I stood, grabbing the little empty mug of coffee and moving to the kitchen with the intention of getting some water, letting the stream run over my hand for a few seconds to take in that peaceful feeling that always came with draining. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to let the calm wash over the anxiety in my chest — and nearly screamed as it jump started my heart and sent it soaring when I opened my eyes to see Zeke standing inches away on my side, arms crossed. 

“You good?” He asked me. 

Other than nearly having a heart attack because he snuck up on me? “I’m…okay.” I answered. “Just worried. What if all of this is useless, you know?”

“We’re just covering our bases, kid.” He said heartedly. Cheerfully. Way too happily for it still being nine in the morning. “We find nothing here, we’ll just go lookin’ somewhere else. Now,” he raised his voice a bit so it would flow over to Brent, turning so he could regard us both in his sight. “If y’all are done with those files, I could use some fresh ears on some things I have.” 

Brent cocked his head a bit, glancing between Zeke and I. “What do you mean?”

“Well, sometimes if you have someone listen to something they haven’t heard before, they might notice something you didn’t.” Zeke patted the top of a sealed ammo case. “Gain a new perspective. I have a buncha dead drops I’m gonna have to listen to, and I need a conduit’s opinion.” 

“You want…our help?” I asked. 

“Why not?” Zeke shrugged. “Figured it’s the best crash course for y’all — you’ve gotta learn what really happened with the Beast and First Sons and all that, anyways. Figure it’d be better to have sources.” 

So we started helping set up Zeke’s desk, moving piles of papers and magazines Zeke threw his hand over and insisted were nothing to make room for this weird little device he seemed to pull out of thin air. “What’s that for?” Brent asked, somehow managing to hold a printer like it was a weightless purse. 

“This? Just a little doohickey I made to listen to the dead drops. It’s either this, or I hunt down equipment that’s older than y’all two — and I’m not usually lucky in bidding wars on eBay.” 

“You made this?” Brent balked. Excitement quickly overtook his eyes, and I knew he was about to demand to know everything about the gadget as he soaked in the ingenuity. He’d be an inventor if he had the patience to fail.

I let the two ramble on about technical words that escaped me as I finished cleaning off Zeke’s desk, grabbing the ammo case he had brought over and opening it. There was a dank smell that wasn’t at all pleasant, the dozens of little chips in it settling with the same sound LEGOs in a bin did. When there was a lull in conversation, I looked to Zeke, asking, “Why haven’t you uploaded these to a cloud or something? It would make storing them easier.” And it would smell less like swamp, too. 

Zeke, though, scoffed. “What, put them online where anyone could claim them? Where the government probably has a backdoor and could delete ‘em for good? Absolutely not.”

He turned to hook the device up to the computer, giving Brent the chance to look at me and shrug. 

Dad came into the room just as Zeke finished hooking up the device, and looked between the three of us. “I’m gonna go talk to Eugene, and then I’ll be back down here to help.” He glanced at the papers on the ground. “You guys organize everything?”

We both nodded. “There’s one pile of random stuff I couldn’t really link together, but yeah,” Brent added.

Dad hummed. His eyes breezed over the room but didn’t really seem to settle on any one thing. “Alright, I’ll be right back,”

He disappeared from the room as quickly as he came. 

“He seems distracted,” Brent muttered to me. 

“Hopefully in a good way,” I added. 

“Hopefully in a way that gets us more food. I’m starving.”

“You just ate!”

“Yeah — eggs.” Brent complained in a whisper. “You think that’s enough?"

I shot him a glare just before Zeke turned back around. “Alright, I think the thing’s set up. Pass me a chip, Jean?”

I nodded, grabbing one randomly and laying it in Zeke’s outstretched hand. “You’re sure this will work?”

“Well,” he popped his mouth as he inserted the chip and opened something on his computer. “It either works or explodes.”

“Explodes?”

“Yeah. So you two might wanna step back for a moment till we know which is which,”

Brent and I listened without another word, moving into the living room. I couldn’t help but notice how Brent stood in front of me, arm twitching like it was ready to grow a shield as Zeke finished pressing some buttons and breathed deeply before switching the machine on, flinching as he did so. 

No big boom came, though; there was a shrill trill of static, a sort of vibrating tone like it was calibrating, and then the most shocking noise — a British voice. 

“Audio report. Final.” The British voice says on the recording in between bursts of loud bangs. “The door won't hold them. I've done what I could to reverse the damage I've unleashed on the world. After Bertrand took control of the First Sons, I chose to stay on and I committed further acts of horror up under his twisted leadership. His resources allowed me to finish the RFI. That is all that matters. My God, I hope it works.” There’s another loud bang, loud enough to make me jump in place. “I hope it exceeds my wildest expectations and put an end to the Plague—”

There was this huge screeching sound as metal itself was broken, clinking against the floor.

“Forgive me Kuo,”  the voice rushes to say, “I wish I could've warned you—” 

It cut off as the sound of a chair scraping against the floor raked through the static, and then there were punches. That same British voice huffed out in pain until the recording became muffled and then forcefully turned off.

We both stayed silent as Zeke seemed triumphant with the success of the device. “Who was that?” Brent eventually asked, the first to shake off the stupor of what we just heard. 

“Sebastian Wolfe,” Zeke explains, turning his chair slightly so we were in his eyesight. “He was one of the head First Sons scientists.”

“He was trying to end the plague?” I asked. 

Zeke leaned back in his chair, biting on his tongue for a moment. “He…he was. Or, did,” He began. “That’s what the RFI was for,”

“What’s an RFI?” Brent asked. 

Zeke didn’t get to answer; Dad was coming back down the stairs, standing at the foot of them and leaning against the frame of the stairwell. “It’s what stopped the Beast.”

I cocked my head to the side, looking between Dad and Zeke. “I thought…I thought Cole defeated the Beast?”

“He did,” Zeke rushed to say. “He did. But it wasn’t like in the stories where David knocks down Goliath and wins. He had to make a hard choice.”

“The RFI purged ray field energy.” Dad took over. “Cleared it, and that included what was in the magnetic field at the time. Taking it away killed the Beast, but it’s also why almost every conduit died. None of us can survive without it.”

“So that’s….that’s what the mass death was?” I asked. “People said it was because of the Beast dying—”

Dad scoffed, sounding rather annoyed at the idea. “We aren’t minions to something bigger,” He said. “It’s not like we can’t survive without the Beast. Obviously we can — he’s gone. But think about it for a second; if the truth was told, and everyone knew there was a device to kill Conduits — you think there wouldn’t be certain people trying to use it?”

Brent and I glanced at each other; no, it was very likely there would be someone trying to remake the device. And I didn’t like that idea at all. 

“I’ve been hiding the notes on the RFI for years so that no one would have that sorta power,” Zeke said. “It didn’t work the first time — it just caused pain. I don’t want it to cause any more.”

My brow knit, and I realized something; the Beast happened in 2011. But Dad…Dad was older than that. “Dad?” I asked. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow in a silent prod to continue. “How did…how did you survive?”

Dad rubs the scruff on his chin. “Don’t know. None of us do.”

“Everyone’s been wondering since they started comin’ back,” Zeke said. “Or, when some didn’t die. It was supposed to work.”

“It was supposed to kill Conduits.” Brent said flatly beside me. “That sounds more like genocide than saving.”

Zeke looked over at Brent with a surprising fire in his eyes. “It would have killed either way. You know how many people would have died if Cole didn’t use the RFI? The plague wasn’t just killing regular humans, kid—anyone with the plague was dying. Conduits included.”

“Inactivated Conduits,” Dad corrected. “Which means I would have died, too, if I caught it.”

Brent had the foresight to at least look remorseful at the fact. “So if you weren’t activated or had the gene, you were just fucked?”

“Brent—”

“C’mon, Dad—”

Zeke interrupted. “Yep. No powers…no survival.”

That silenced the room. No powers, no survival. Cole was literally stuck having to choose between the needs of the many, or the needs of the few—there were even less Conduits then than there were now. Imagine killing off the entire population just to save, like, 7% of it. 

I couldn’t imagine how he felt making that choice, no matter how right it was. 

Zeke eventually sighed, saying, “Hand me another chip, please.”

I nodded, looking down at the case in my hand and picking one at random. Zeke took it from my outstretched hand and wiped down its surface with the hem of his shirt. He takes a deliberate amount of time hooking it up to the device, long enough that Dad leaves to look at the files Brent and I organized and Brent moves to sit back on the couch. 

There was another harsh burst of static before the audio of the next file came through. “Audio surveillance file X76,” that same British guy, Wolfe, said. “Meeting with John White and Lucy Kuo.”

“I wanted to, eh,” a really deep and really grainy voice came on the speaker, “Advise you of a recent incident. Kessler’s plan is unclear to me, so I’ll just stick to the facts: Kessler kidnapped MacGrath’s girlfriend, Trish, and dangled her off of a rooftop.”

“Holy shit,” Brent murmured as my hand came over my mouth. 

“He said MacGrath had time to save her. But there was another rooftop with six doctors about to die. MacGrath had to choose.”

Dad shook his head from his place on the floor. Cole had to choose between six innocent people and his girlfriend? That had to be horrible!

A feminine voice, clean and disgusted, simply said, “Sick!” while Wolfe responded with “Madness!” in his best impression of an aghast 1800s European settler. 

That grainy deep voice came back on. “He…tried to save his girlfriend. I dunno, maybe he was selfish, but…” he inhaled deep enough for the recording to catch it, “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.” Then he scoffed. “Kessler killed them all anyway.”

“Of course,” the feminine voice muttered. 

“Evidently he wanted to toughen up MacGrath before the Beast arrives.” The deep voice said. “And who knows — maybe he succeeded. MacGrath definitely seems tougher than I’ve ever seen him.”

The dead drop beeped, signaling its end and leaving us all with so many questions. 

“Who was Kessler?” I asked first before anyone else could speak. 

Zeke sighed, rubbing a hand over his eye like it was too early for a conversation like this. Maybe it was. “He was the leader of the First Sons.” Zeke started. “Took over the position from some guy he overthrew, I forget his name. Robert? I dunno. I know his son’s name was Alden Tate,” Zeke paused, turning his chair to face all of us. “Kessler wanted Cole to be the one to fight the Beast.”

“So he killed his girlfriend to get him to do it?” Brent asked, incredulous.

“It was about the choice,” Dad realized from the side. “Be selfish, or worry about the greater good.”

Zeke nodded. “And he picked the wrong answer. They all died.”

“How is saving your girlfriend the wrong answer?” Brent demanded. 

I ran a finger along the texture of my cast. “It isn’t exactly caring about the greater good…” I murmured. “The doctors probably…they would have been a lot more helpful in Empire City, if it was as bad as Zeke says.”

Brent glared at me. “So you’d sacrifice someone for that? If it was me or Dad or—”

“I didn’t say I would!” I shot back, rolling my eyes. Brent could be so short-sighted, it was annoying.

“Guys,” Dad said off on the side, glaring at us both pointedly. His eyes flicked over to Zeke, who looked like he was going through the five stages of grief as fast as he possibly could. 

“He was going to propose to Trish, later that year,” Zeke said, more to himself than anyone. “He wasn’t…he didn’t want to lose that. It had broken him.”

I think it would have broken anyone. 

“Was that the idea?” Dad asked Zeke. “Make him get used to making those hard choices?”

Zeke nodded. “Yeah. That’s what Kessler told him, anyway. He needed someone that would be able to make the decision, in the end. That could fight the Beast and have nothing to lose.”

“That’s messed up,” Brent uttered. “He basically groomed MacGrath.”

“Messed up ain’t even the half of it, kid.” Zeke said. He sighed hard, and then motioned silently for me to give him another dead drop. 

Wolfe’s voice crackled on. “Audio surveillance of Agent John White, file D102.”

That same deep voice was back, but crystal clear this time. That must be the guy, John White. “I was carrying the Ray Sphere out of the lab when Kessler stopped me. It was...it was strange. He said that I had an important destiny, that I'd accomplish great things.”

Wolfe hummed. “I used to be a skeptic, but many of his predictions actually do come true.”

The guy, John, hesitated to answer. “I don’t know…the way he looked at me? Made me want him to be wrong.”

The dead drop ended there, the most useless one so far. 

At least, I thought so. Dad, however, felt otherwise. “Who was John White?” He asked Zeke. 

Zeke hesitated. “He, uh…he was an NSA agent. Him and Kuo, they were both supposed to infiltrate the First Sons and get more information on them.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “I thought…I thought that the government funded the First Sons?” 

Zeke threw his head side to side as he tried to figure out how to explain this to Dad. “Well, yes, but they didn’t know they were. The woman in charge of DARPA at the time had a deal with Kessler on the side. You know, under the table, ‘you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours’ sorta stuff. She knew of the First Sons because of their investigations, and then she found out about the Ray Sphere.”

Dad scoffed. “Hear about some magic eight ball that can give you powers, and of course you’ll be interested.”

“Exactly.”

“But why would Kessler think that this White guy was important?” Brent asked from the side. “What, could he see into the future or something?”

Zeke didn't answer that immediately. His eyes sorta traveled off like Dad’s always did when talking about his past, when he was reliving memories that left bad tastes in his mouth, and he inhaled deeply. “John helped us in Empire City, during the quarantine. He tracked down the Ray Sphere and him and Cole destroyed it.”

After a breath, Zeke added. “It also killed him. At least, we thought it did.”

A shadow seemed to come over Zeke’s face, and from where I was, I could see the grip he had on the arm of his chair tighten. “What happened?” I asked softly. 

Zeke’s next breath was a bit shuddered. “It activated him. John was the Beast.”

“Oh, shit.” Dad murmured. Brent was too shocked to throw in his own curse words. "So Kessler made the Beast,” Dad scoffed. “Glad to know the First Sons have been the root of every problem.”

“None of this makes sense,” Brent murmured, head in his hands. 

I couldn’t help but agree with Brent; my mind was reeling. Not only was there some group with science advanced enough to activate Conduits, but they managed to make the Beast. They created the creature that killed millions and practically turned the east coast into a wasteland. 

Zeke had us listen to more dead drops, explaining things along the way; Kuo was another agent tasked with collecting intel at the New Marais First Sons’ base, and Dr. Wolfe was recording these dead drops behind both her and John White’s backs to send to the NSA so they could make sure there was no backstabbing going on. Other recordings featured Joseph Bertrand III, the guy I knew from our history books as the Alt. Right businessman-turned-politician that people contributed with starting the ‘small government’ movement that led to his easy fascist takeover in New Marais. Apparently racist rhetoric and anti…well, anything he deemed sinful wasn’t enough, because he was the head of the First Sons’ New Marais base as well, in search of power. He took the First Sons’ assets the moment Kessler died and used everything to fund his fascist army, the Militia, passing Dr. Wolfe human test subjects to play with along the way. 

Those test subjects are what caught Dad’s attention, especially as Dr. Wolfe recorded himself speaking to one. 

“I paid a visit to the First Sons' dorms where the Vermaak men were housed.” Dr. Wolfe said into the mic. “Subject 881 approached me and we took a walk. The recording follows.”

“You seem…” the accented voice hesitated. “Agitated, Doctor.”

“I figured out what Bertrand has in store for you. He's going to use the Transfer Device, isn't he?” Dr. Wolfe demanded. 

881 sighed. “Sorry, you know I can't say.”

Wolfe wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Do you know who the Conduit is?” he demanded. 

“I just... can't comment on this.” 881 talked over him, and I could only imagine the head shake that came with it.

Dr. Wolfe switched to pleading, saying, “You need to know something. The transfer procedure was never designed to split abilities among multiple recipients. I don't know what it will do.”

“You…” 881 drew off, “Just got my attention.”

Dr. Wolfe continued, “Theoretically you'll all be ‘over-clocked,’ so to speak. You'll receive a portion of the true Conduit's power but your body will wear itself out trying to sustain it! You may go insane.”

There was a pause, and then the Vermaak soldier asked, “Why are you telling me this, Doctor? Bertrand, he wouldn't like it.”

Dr. Wolfe sighs hard. “I'm not a brave man, but if I'm right and you and your men lose control, then I'll have far more to fear from you than Bertrand.”

“Did he…” Dad asked the moment the dead drop beeped, signaling its end. “Did he say the Vermaak?” 

“Yep.” Zeke swiveled in his chair to face Dad. “Bertrand took out a contract with this private military group and used those guys to make Conduit soldiers. He planned to sell ‘em overseas.”

“I know that name.” Dad hums. “Vermaak 88. They were like some version of green berets from Africa, I think. Reggie worked with them on his tour in Iraq. They were…pretty ruthless, from what he told me when he came back.” 

“Yeah, that’s why Bertrand hired them originally — for protection,” Zeke hummed, already digging in the ammo crate for another chip he deemed worthy enough to listen to. “At least, that’s what everyone thought. Turns out, he was being paid under the table to make superhuman soldiers for a buncha war lords.”

“So he was hired, not the other way around?” I asked, Zeke nodding in response.

“Yep. Only guy in the world that had a power transfer device before Brookie and her government funding walked into the picture.” Zeke held up a chip, examining it close. “One on one, the transfer worked damn near flawlessly. Cole only was out for about four minutes when he did it—”

“Woah, wait,” Brent hummed, holding out a hand to pause Zeke’s tangent. “Cole was a forced Conduit?” 

Zeke let the hand holding up the chip fall, chuckling a bit. “No, no — well, if you don’t count the Ray Sphere as forced. Jury’s still out on that one. But Cole had gotten another power from someone. Kuo, actually.”

Dad’s head tilted slightly. “You mean…he had more than one power?” he asked, eyes betraying how much the statement confused him. I couldn’t blame him; there wasn’t any other Conduit I knew that had more than one power. Anyone but him.

Zeke seemed to realize this as well, saying, “Yeah — he wasn’t as strong in the other power as his electricity, but he could use both on a whim. Sometimes even combined the two, that was always cool to see.”

Dad’s confusion grew, and something else played in his eyes: betrayal, maybe? “He could use both at the same time?” Dad asked, almost disbelieving. 

Zeke nodded. “Yep. Sorta together, more than anything. Like he needed some of his electricity to work the power.”

Brent’s brow furrowed. “That’s nothing like how you do it,” he muttered, looking at the floor before glancing up at Dad.

Dad’s eyes were now off of Zeke and facing the wall, boring a hole into the wood as he chewed on his cheek. “It’s not.” He agreed, seeming to hate the fact that he did. He glared at the grain a bit longer, like the patterns would shift and give him the answers to his unasked questions, before slightly shaking his head, refocusing on Zeke. “He used a power transfer device for that? Like the one Augustine had?”

Zeke nodded. “Well, similar. Couldn’t tell you what the old one was like, considering it blew up before anyone else got a chance to play with it. I wasn’t even there when Cole hooked himself up to it.”

“So he was the only one to use it?” I asked before Dad could. 

“Well, him and the Vermaak.” Zeke replied, bringing up the corner of his shirt to try and polish the dead drop chip in his hand. “You heard Dr. Wolfe — Bertrand had him use the device on multiple people at once. Dunno how, and they all escaped before we could find out more. So we were stuck not only fighting the Militia, but a bunch of half-sane ice soldiers while trying to prepare for the Beast—”

Everyone’s heads snapped around to look at Zeke so fast that he nearly dropped the ammo crate in surprise. “Ice soldiers?” we managed to chorus, only half a beat off from each other. 

“Y–yeah?” Zeke stuttered, looking between the three of us. “They were transferred ice powers from Kuo, after she was activated. Cole too.”

Brent and I both glanced at each other before looking at Dad, who was staring at Zeke with a blank face before it cracked. His hands came up to press into his eyes. “Fuck,” he said, beginning to pace, “Fuck!”

Zeke was absolutely bewildered. “What, uh…why does that matter?”

I sighed hard on the side. “I was frozen by ice soldiers, in the fight with Augustine.”

“Oh, shit,”

“You know,” Brent deadpanned, leaning back on the loveseat. “Seems like everything comes back to the First Sons,”

“Always does,” Zeke huffs. 

Dad was still pacing, arms crossed now. “Bertrand was in charge here,” he muttered, a hand coming up to rub his face. He lifted his head, raising his voice slightly. “The ice soldiers were here. We’ve got to find their old base, maybe there’s something we could find that connects them to Archangel—”

“Delsin, this was some twenty-odd years ago,” Zeke said. “There’s a very small chance there’ll be anything left, between the military and any sorta urban explorers.”

“And they didn’t know what we do now,” Dad snipped. “There’s got to be something that can help us” He stopped, spinning in place to face Zeke. “Do you know where it is?”

Zeke hesitated. “I…I don’t. At least, I don’t remember. But one of these dead drops gotta have something that’ll help us,”

So we were stuck listening to more: of John White, telling the others how six blocks in Empire City were blown to bits when it was activated; of Bertrand, convinced he was doing something to honor God by gathering prisoners to test his own Ray Sphere on. 

There was a crackle, and then that same British voice again, far less panicked this time. “Audio surveillance of Agent Kuo, file G27,” he said.

 “I got my hands on an Echelon phone transcript the day Kessler detonated the Ray Sphere. He requested a very specific bike courier for the job.” She began. 

“Do you mean Cole MacGrath?” Dr. Wolfe asked. Brent’s head snapped around to look towards Zeke and his speakers now.

“There’s more,” The woman, Kuo, says. “I–I may have found some important new insight on Kessler, but I can't make it out. Kessler knew Cole MacGrath had the conduit gene, that's pretty clear, but I can't find his name in the First Sons database.”

“So…” Wolfe hesitated, “How did Kessler know Cole MacGrath had the gene?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think they’re related?” Wolfe almost immediately asks after.

Kuo hesitates on the tape. “Huh…you know, I can try to find that out.”

The tape immediately goes dead, as if it was edited to the end of that exact statement. Dad was looking up from a file in his hand to where Zeke was, asking. “So who exactly was Kuo in all of this?”

“NSA Agent Lucy Kuo,” Zeke said, spinning his chair to face Dad. “She found us in Empire City and told Cole she had a way to make him powerful enough to fight the Beast.”

“And she was the ice conduit?”

“Yep.”

Brent was up himself now, having too much pent up energy. He was matching Dad’s steps earlier, pacing around the room. “How did he get more powerful to fight the Beast?”

“Blast cores,” Zeke says simply.

“Did the NSA know she was a conduit?” Dad interrupted before Brent could ask what the hell a Blast core was.

Zeke shakes his head. “Just that she had the gene. Bertrand’s the one that activated her, actually.”

I raised a hand like I was in class; this conversation was cool and all, but none of it was related to the very big piece of information in the dead drop we just heard. “Wait,” I started. “So — Kessler; he was in charge of the First Sons, right?” Zeke nods. “Okay, but then…how did he know Cole was a Conduit?”

Zeke had put on his glasses at some point, trying to mark each chip with a little code to signify what was on it. Now, though, he took them off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If I told ya, you wouldn’t believe me.” He said. 

What kind of an answer was that? 

Dad seemed just as perplexed. “What do you mean? We need to know everything we can if we’re going to figure this out—”

The stairs creaked, and Dr. Sims came down into the room, sighing hard. “Decoding that journal is gonna be harder than I thought,” he started, looking at Dad. “But I did get the emails,”

He said that last bit with that tone of voice Dad would use when he told us he got a message from our teacher when we were bad at school: We need to talk about it. 

“Kessler was a piece of shit, who knew too much for his own good,” Zeke responded, completely ignoring Dr. Sims’ intrusion. “It would be easier if we just left it at that.”

“But why choose Cole?” Brent asked, bewildered. “I mean — no offense to, you know, your old friend — but he was just an electricity Conduit. Why not pick someone stronger to fight against the Beast? Like Dad?” 

Dad ignored Brent’s praise to glare disapprovingly at Zeke. “You can’t hide something valuable like this,” he protested. “It could be exactly what we need to figure out what the hell is going on.” 

Zeke opened his mouth to respond when Dr. Sims interrupted. “Zeke,” he called gently. “They need to know.”

The argument in Zeke’s chest died on the tip of his tongue, and he made a weird noise as he deflated. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he chewed on his tongue, seemingly debating how to start this. Whatever he was going to say looked like it stressed him out to even think of. 

And I definitely wasn’t prepared for what came out of his mouth next. 

“Kessler was Cole. He traveled back in time after the Beast destroyed the world to try and stop it from happening.”

[depressed-sock]

Desmond Miles as a Solar Conduit in Esma’s story Solar Maximum

[infamoussparks]

Prologue

“DUPs done and gone. Curdun Cay emptied out. Conduits free to live and let live.”

“Can you believe it’s been five years?” Delsin crowed, hands firmly at his hips as he grinned madly at the deserted, rundown building before him. His olive complexion was stunning with the autumn sunlight washing over him. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees nearby and toyed with the locks of his hair that fell from beneath his favorite maroon beanie. Fetch and Eugene were at his side, as always.

“It’s wild to think about. And now we can finally get started doing what we’ve wanted to do since we finished things with Augustine and Curdun Cay was demolished.” Fetch nodded looking over the building before her, arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her fuschia hair was up in its signature bun and her pale skin soaked in the welcomed warmth of the sun, free from the clouds for the moment.

Eugene remained cozy in his oversized hoodie, eyes tossing cautious glances around the structure from behind his glasses. He chimed in with his own smile of satisfaction. “And the Department of Unified Protection was disbanded.”

“DUPs done and gone. Curdun Cay emptied out. Conduits free to live and let live.” Delsin was hopping from one foot to the other, excitement palpable in the air around him.

It was a glorified, empty warehouse somewhere in the outskirts of Seattle, safe from prying eyes and easy to protect in a pinch. It had a few broken windows and the main door was locked with the thickest chain and lock. Bolt cutters would have to be added to the shopping list once the self-proclaimed “Heroes of Seattle” started one. One of the side garage doors had been pushed open just high enough for all three friends to see into the dusty, vacant interior. Fetch took a few steps inside, hands by her side as she looked around, twirling slowly to take it all in. Delsin stepped past her standing a few feet away, his arms outstretched and the biggest, lazy grin on his face like he had just saved the world. Again. 

“Ta-dah! What do you think?” Delsin sounded as happy as a bird with a french fry.

Fetch nodded slowly, a smile lighting her face. “This place… yeah. It’s got potential.”

“I like to think so.”

“And you just bought it? Like, you own the place now?”

“Cold, hard cash, baby!”

“… uh, and a little hacking…” Eugene spoke softly, almost under his breath. He was slower to enter the bare structure but Delsin could tell he was already calculating exits, counting windows, checking security.

“Well, I like it! I could settle in here,” Fetch was still taking it all in. Two stories, metal staircases, and so much space for art. “What are we calling it once we’re done rebuilding?”

The three conduits fell silent, lost in thought. The moment didn’t last long before their voices started echoing off the metal and steel and emptiness inside. 

Delsin cleared his voice, “I was thinking… ‘Smoke and Neon’?”

“Nah. Too us.” Fetch shook her head with a slight frown.

“How about ‘You ConDoIt’?” Delsin smirked.

Fetch scrunched up her face in a look of disbelief. “Are you even being serious right now?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.”

“Let’s hear them, Neon Princess.”

“We could call it, ‘Little Fletchlings’ or ‘School of the Gifted and Talented’.”

Delsin huffed and his hands found his hips, “We are not naming this place after some X-Men comic.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I think that’s dumb. We’re calling it ‘School of Rowe’.”

“Oh, sure. Like naming a school after you located in Salmon Bay doesn’t sound like we’re some sort of fishery.”

“I said ‘ROWE’ not ‘ROE’!”

“And I said—“

“W-we shouldn’t call it anything if we want to remain inconspicuous. A name would bring us too much attention.” Eugene’s voice was raised now, he was glaring at Delsin and Fetch from where he stood a few feet behind the couple. Silence fell and after a moment the mimic and the neon conduit exchanged a glance—Delsin with an eyebrow raised and Fetch with a smirk.

A burst of neon color raced toward Eugene before dying out to his left. Fetch flicked Eugene’s hoodie off his head. “That’s smart, Gameboy. Good thinking.” She accidentally knocked his glasses askew as she ruffled Eugene’s unkempt hair and walked past him toward the outside.

“Hey! Don’t touch—“

“That’s why we pay him the big bucks!” Delsin chimed in, slapping Eugene’s chest as he passed the video conduit and caught up to Fetch.

“I-I don’t even GET paid!” Eugene huffed, but it was no use to get angry with those two; it never stuck long enough to cause any issues.

Delsin and Fetch were already outside to plan out painting and what supplies they needed for the remodel and rebuild. Eugene rolled his eyes, fixed his glasses and turned his back on his friends to take another look around the empty warehouse. He took in a quiet breath of air and a small smile formed as he pulled up his hood back over his hair.

“Welcome home.”

[linkita-chan-20053]

crossover fanfic idea: INfamous: SS/TIGER&BUNNY

I had SEVERAL MONTHS thinking about this. Is like… PEOPLE! THINK ABOUT IT!

Kotetsu and Delsin break the law (one is intentional and the other is unintentional), both have an older brother, both have a mother figure in their life and two best friends who can pass the time.

is like... DUDE! THIS IS PERFECT! Also, i want Bunny interact with Fetch, i think they could have a good chemistry, and Eugene can interact so good with Ivan (origami) or Keith (SkyHigh)

Currently i have the first chapter of this fanfic on AO3, if you want to take a look, be my guest!

PD: The fic is just in spanish

[pigeonneaux]

DELSIN ROWE FANFIC??? IN FRENCH??? WITH PRETTY GOOD TAGS??? HOLY SHIT IS THIS GOING TO BE A GOOD DAY IN THE END????

[auroramoon-draws16]

Do you ever just stare at a game and go:

I’m gonna hyperfixate so damn hard on this bitch, you don’t even k n o w

👀👄👀

Anyway here’s Desmond on his bullshit again because we said so

This time Visitorverse fanfic inspired, (go read the series on ao3, it’s fantastic) and a bit of All Our Days

With a twist, because I’m special like that:

Des has both survived the whole solar flare shit and now has a boyfriend (Alex Mercer, Delsin Rowe, whoever the fuck you want, doesn’t matter to me, maybe both of the mentioned if you wanna add more spice)

As for how the past assassins visiting works, I’m thinking like their consciousness visit each other, sometimes by accident, but for the most part on purpose, and they age at the same time, regardless of how far they are in the timeline. This may have changed some things, and maybe that’s how Des survived, because they find out how to fix that issue much earlier on because apple shenanigans, who knows.

Anyway, it’s a bit afterwards and Des starts seeing his boyfriend(s) and it just turns into protective, but supportive situation.

Plus body possessing stuff where the SO(s) meet everyone who visits, it could be all your favorite assassins, templars, and everyone else, who am I to stop you?

Idk, I just thought it’d be neat, I know I mentioned this before, but this idea was my favorite

[pax-cruento]

The newest Death Battle (Cole McGrath VS Alex Mercer) gave me inspiration about making a RWBY fanfic team about the characters I binge-watched Youtube let's plays with. Leader: Booker DeWitt (Bioshock Infinite) Member: Corvo Attano (Dishonored) Member: A2 (Nier: Automata) Member: Delsin Rowe (Infamous: Second Son)

[pluto-parker]

Shatter *Delsin Rowe x Reader*

Summary: The one where you’re rescued by a fiery smoke conduit looking to acquire your deadly power.

Warnings: Violence and a teeeeeny bit of angst and a butt ton of flirty fluff!

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

(A/N: I know I’m like SUUUPER late (Like three-four years late??) to writing this fanfic but I finally got and finished Infamous: Second Son and fell in love with Delsin. This’ll probably be the only imagine I write for him, unless someone out there wants a part two)

It was hard being a conduit.

At every turn, danger awaited you as you roamed the streets of Seattle.

An outcast, a threat, a target; that’s what you were in the eyes of the D.U.P..

They always shot first. 

The blood on your hands wasn’t your fault. If you had the choice you would never kill again, but they forced you to become the monster they thought you were with their guns and concrete bombs. And there was no way in hell you were going to go back to Curdun Cay. You were done being one of Augustine’s little lab rats. Done being poked and prodded for the powers you possessed. 

When Hank wrecked the D.U.P truck a couple weeks back, you ran like hell with Fetch and Eugene. You fought your way to freedom before tailing it away from them, too. The three of you may have fought together to survive, but none of their actions were done with any concern for anyone else but themselves. You couldn’t trust them.

And now, you stood alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by a swarm of D.U.P brain-dead soldiers as you took your last stand. You weren’t going back to Curdun Cay, you’d either survive, or die fighting.

Power coursed through your veins as you stared down the D.U.P.. 

They took the first shot. 

Then all hell broke loose.

Focusing your power into your hands, you sent a wave of sharp glass straight at a cluster of soldiers, tearing them to shreds. A bullet tore through the back of your shoulder and you turned toward the source, blasting a shard bomb straight at the man. His remains cascaded with the explosion. You tore up flesh, blew up cars, scaled buildings, and threw down men, but they kept on coming and coming and coming.

Eventually, you ran low on fuel, cornered by a swarm of soldiers in an alleyway with no way to escape. In a last ditch effort to survive, you pulled out your last trick. The exertion to pull it off could kill you, but it was all you had left: The Crystal Hellfire. Mustering every drop of energy in your battered and bruised body, you launched yourself into the air, floating like an angel as all of the windows on buildings and cars in a half-mile radius shattered instantaneously, the small fragments flying toward you, building on one another until large shards of glass circled around your glowing form. With a piercing cry, your arms spread open like wings as you spiraled violently in the air, reigning the spears down on the men, piercing straight through them from head to toe, and staking them to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Collapsing onto your knees, you gasped in haggard breaths as you stared at your surroundings. It was horrible, disastrous carnage. All of it.

It sickened you to your stomach as you glared at your handiwork, but the quiet that settled over the scene helped ease your upset heart.

“I see the target!”

Your blood ran cold. There were more.

Another wave of D.U.P. circled around you like hungry sharks.

Exhausted, completely drained, and stricken with grief, you closed your eyes and accepted death, waiting for the onslaught of bullets that would soon rip through your aching body.

But the shots never came.

Your eyes flashed open in confusion as the terrified yells of the soldiers reached your ears.

“It’s him, the smoke conduit!”

Your gaze scanned your surroundings, searching for Hank, but finding a mysterious man floating in ash as he took down the D.U.P.s with lethal blow after lethal blow instead.

The conduit took only minutes to take out the rest of the soldiers, and you could feel yourself slip in and out of consciousness as you watched his performance. Moments later, he landed a few feet in front of you, out of breath but unscathed with hands held up in resignation as he approached with slow and careful steps.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, his irises filled with sincerity as he gazed into your eyes.

Exhausted, you struggled to get to your feet, only managing a few staggering steps before collapsing to the ground.

Instead of hitting hard concrete, your body landed in the gentle arms of your rescuer, and you just barely registered his quiet murmured assurances before blacking out.

~~~

You woke up on a mattress, groggy and head pounding, with a jean jacket splayed over your body. You kept your eyes closed as the events before you blacked out flashed through your mind.

The D.U.P.. The Crystal Hellfire. The carnage.

The smoke conduit.

Your eyes flashed open and you sat up stick straight, immediately regretting your fast movements as a wave of nausea churned your stomach and spun your head. Sucking in a few deep breaths to ground yourself, you scanned your surroundings. You were on a rooftop next to a small fire that had no visible source but was burning and warm all the same.

“Glad to see that you’re awake.”

The deep voice cut through the calm silence save the crackle of the fire and you sprung to your feet, ignoring your nausea and exhaustion as you focused your power into your hands and stared down the man standing in the shadows.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s calm down, angel. I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said before stepping into the light with his hands up.

It was the smoke conduit that saved you.

You immediately relaxed against your better judgement. He did rescue you after all.

His eyes widened in shock at you standing down, “Oh, wow. You’re the first conduit I’ve met that I haven’t had to fight before we talk.”

You let out a soft chuckle at his words, sitting back on the mattress, finally letting your exhaustion shine through. You could just imagine Fetch and Eugene’s reactions when they met the guy. Not pretty.

“Yeah, well my heads screwed on a bit tighter than Eugene and Fetch’s.” You gazed at him curiously, admiring the way his eyes glistened with humor in the firelight. “Why did you save me?”

He seemed surprised by your words, “We’re conduits. We have to look out for each other.”

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief, skeptical, “Bullshit. Everybody wants something in this world.”

He scratched the back of his neck, contemplating his next words before finally speaking, “Okay. You caught me. But, that still is part of the reason you know.”

“Uh huh, sure... so tell me what you---

“What’s your name?” he interrupted.

You were surprised once more, but decided to tell him without giving him a hard time. “(Y/N).”

He smiled, “I’m Delsin... Delsin Rowe.”

Another pause, then you spoke, “So, Delsin Rowe,” he smirked as you said his full name, making your cheeks go slightly pink. You had to admit, the guy was handsome. “What do you want?”

“If we weren’t wanted ‘criminals’? To take you out on a date, but seeing how difficult that would be with all the D.U.P.s around, we’ll have to wait until after you help me take down Augustine.”

Your face was bright red now, and you struggled to keep your composure as he began to walk closer to you, “And what makes you think I can help you take down Augustine?”

He sat next to you on the mattress, his knee brushing yours ever so slightly, sending waves of electricity through your body, “I saw your finishing move. It was crazy badass, angel. With that move, we could beat her for sure.”

There was that pet name again.

“Angel?” you gulped.

His eyes were piercing as he held your gaze, and you ran a hand nervously through your hair as you averted your eyes, embarrassed.

“Seeing you flying in the air like that? I thought you were one, kind of still do,” he quipped confidently.

You grew even more flustered, struggling to think of what to say when the image of the agents you killed earlier flashed through your mind.

You met his gaze once more, your eyes going dark, “Trust me. I’m no angel.”

“Hard to believe,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes before changing the subject, “What do you call your finisher?”

You hesitated for just moment,“The Crystal Hellfire.”

He let out a whistle that started high and ended low, “God damn. Now that’s a fucking name.”

Suddenly, he turned toward you, his hands inches from your own as he stared deep into your eyes, “(Y/N), my conduit ability isn’t smoke. I can... I can learn other conduits’ powers. I have neon and digital, too, from Fetch and Eugene. I won’t take away your power; you’ll still have glass, but I need you to let me have yours, too, to take down Augustine. So, I know it’s a lot to ask but, will you let me have your power?”

You stared down at your hands. The feeling of your power coursing through your veins was constant, and you knew that glass was one of the most, if not the most, deadly conduit power in the world. Did you really trust this man you just met enough with that sort of ability?

Sucking in deep a breath, you murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “Are you going to kill her? ...Are you going to kill Augustine?”

He didn’t even hesitate, “No. The things she has done are horrible but she doesn’t deserve to die. She needs to be tried for her crimes and locked up; she needs to experience the pain that she inflicted on so many innocent people.”

You smiled at his answer, satisfied, and the genuine look in his irises was all you needed to say yes.

“You can have my power, Delsin... on one condition.”

He waited for you to continue, curiosity in his features.

You grinned humorously, “No seafood.”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “What?”

“Our date. I don’t like seafood.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly before collecting himself, his signature smirk reappearing on his lips, “As you wish, angel.”

And then, in a flash, his hands were under yours, pulling them toward his lips to place a swift kiss on your knuckles, sending another shock wave through your body just before your past flashed before your eyes and white crystals of glass began to flow between your fingertips, glowing bright around the both of you before you succumbed to the darkness once more.

[artsnotwar]

This post holds previews of the great fanfics you’ll find in Arts Not War! Thanks to all our wonderful contributors for helping make this zine a success! The 74-page PDF is available now! Support #Ukraine and purchase the zine at https://asscreedfans.itch.io/arts-not-war   Fic previews under the cut :3c

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[sincerly-kate]

For writing commissions, what fandoms do you write for? :3

Thanks for asking! Here's the list:

Video Games:

The Last of Us (Part 1 and 2)

Resident Evil Village

Infamous: Second Son

Detroit Become Human

Sally Face

TV shows:

Arcane

Supernatural

Sherlock (BBC)

Doctor Who

Law and Order: Special Victims Unit

Good Omens

Peacemaker

Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Merlin

Gotham

The Walking Dead

Scream (MTV Series)

Witcher

Brooklyn 99

Prodigal Son

Umbrella Academy

Daredevil

Punisher

Moon Knight

Mandalorian

Criminal Minds

Hannibal

Movies:

Marvel

Pirates of the Caribbean

X-men

Alice in Wonderland

John Wick

Star Wars

That's all I can think of off the top of my head, but in summary:

You name it, I can most likely do it! 💙

Thanks to everyone who's interested in helping me out, I truly appreciate it! 💙💙

-Kate

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Two — Ingress

Some of the metal came up with his pull — other pieces fell, careening around as they disappeared into the darkness. We all paused to watch the pieces of metal fall, the thunk that followed coming about eight seconds later. “That uh…” Brent drew off, straightening. “That means it's pretty deep, right?”

5.6k words | 18 - 23 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Acrophobia, alligators mention (they're freaky okay?)

“That is the most conspicuous thing I have ever seen in my life.” Dad deadpanned, hands in his jean pockets. 

Zeke was standing proudly in front of one of those big utility vans that had been painted an earthy green, black racing stripes along its sides. The back doors had a mural of a wooded landscape with a satyr chasing two rather scantily clad women, and the headlights in the front were replaced with some sort of RGB lights that spun in circles. Brent looked over at me in disbelief at the absurdity of the car as I just sighed, closing my eyes. This was definitely not going to help Zeke’s standing with Dad. 

“Hey, it drives,” Zeke shrugged. “And sometimes the weirdest things work as a red herring, you know? Keeps people from really looking close at the situation. Well,” he said, opening up the back doors to expose the gutted out interior, “Hop in.” 

So there I was on the rubbery flooring of the back of the van, tucked in between Dad and Brent as Dr. Sims rode shotgun in Zeke’s monstrosity of a vehicle. “I’ve got, like, an inflatable bed and stuff,” Zeke called back, “This was my car when I was ‘nomadic,’ so to say. But otherwise it’s…yeah, sorry about the discomfort.”

As if on cue he hit a bump on the badly maintained road, sending my tailbone into the hump that covered the curve of the wheel and making me curse under my breath. 

“Looks like we have three plantations to search,” Dr. Sims says, scrolling on his phone. “Cypress Grove, Bellefontaine, and Magnolia Ridge Estates,” Dr. Sims looks back. “There’s five of us. We could split up, explore each one on our own—”

“No.” Dad says. “My kids aren’t leaving my side.”

“Should we split up?” Brent asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Seems like a bad move when exploring abandoned places. That’s like the first thing not to do if you wanna survive a horror movie.”

“We have to be mindful of the time,” Dr. Sims said, looking out the window. Traveling out of the swamps by boat and walking to the garage holding this…thing cut a good three hours into our adventure, and the sun was already past its midpoint in the sky. “We have about four hours before sunset and being out in New Marais at night is less ideal than exploring alone.”

“But that should be enough to find this entrance, right?” I asked over the rattling of the van. “We shouldn’t have to split up for it if we’re thorough, and staying together would mean we could go through each plantation faster.” 

Dad sighed. “She’s got a point.”

Zeke nodded, abruptly turning the steering wheel and sending me into Dad’s side. “Alright, then we go together. We’ll start from the farthest one and work our way back towards the swamps.”

The first plantation was close to the water and definitely didn’t have a carriage house — in fact, it didn’t have much of anything; so much of it had eroded over the years and what was left was something we definitely couldn’t explore without risking having the entire place come down on us. We searched the outside nonetheless, coming up short to no one’s surprise. 

We packed up into the van to move to the next plantation, where dad nearly screamed a slew of curse words the moment we got close. Whatever Bellefontaine plantation that used to stand here was now home to a parking lot and a restaurant called the Angry Oyster, the pier dining full of patrons with it being dinner time. The little animated oyster shined over a sign that said Well Shuck Me!, a phrase Dad repeated once with the sh— becoming a f—. 

“What do we do?” He demanded, looking at Dr. Sims. “What if they paved over the entrance?” 

Dr. Sims turned in his seat as Zeke parked the car, motioning for his computer bag, which Dad passed over. “Let me see what I can find out,” he says, pulling out the mini laptop. “There’s gotta be some land ownership records or a property transaction or something.”

We spent nearly an hour there as Dr. Sims struggled to find the records he was looking for before eventually disconnecting from the restaurant’s wifi, declaring, “This place didn’t belong to Bertrand,”

“So it’s probably not the First Sons’ base?” Dad asked from the back. I was braiding my hair beside him and Brent was snoring lightly on his other side, both of us bored with the stagnation. 

“Probably not, but we’ll come back if we need to. We should check out this last place before the sun sets.” Dr. Sims decided, closing the computer and shoving it back in his bag. 

Zeke drove a bit more into town to get to the third plantation, passing the cathedral on the way. The floodlights illuminated Cole’s statue, casting shadows on his face that made him seem more menacing, more heroic than he did in the daytime. 

Yet I couldn’t get the sound of his quiet sobs out of my head. 

Zeke drove around to the back of the cathedral and then turned onto a side street, the veranda of a large and well-kept plantation cresting into view as we drove forward. It was huge, pristine white trimming that shone even in the setting sun. There were people milling about on the front lawn in dresses and suits, champagne glasses in hand as a flash on the left caught my eye, making me look in time to see a cameraman reposing a wedding party for their next picture. 

“Shit,” Dad hissed, moving to sit in the space between the passenger and driver's seats. Brent was still leaning on him for support while napping and nearly fell into me, yelping awake. 

“W–what’s going on?” he muttered, looking around with glossed eyes. 

Zeke took a right, driving slowly in front of the estate. The reception of the wedding was in full swing; there was a DJ in his own booth, stark white tables with bouquets and used plates on them, and a separate garage dedicated solely to being a bar, two tenders at the counter built into its entrance.  

“That’s the carriage house,” Dr. Sims realized, looking at the bar. “It has to be,” 

“That doesn’t look like much of a carriage house,” Brent remarked groggily. 

“Carriage house is just another fancy word for separate garage,” Dad hummed. “This is the only one we’ve seen so far. If it’s not under that restaurant? This is it.” 

Zeke pulled into an alleyway and parks the truck, turning in his seat to look at all of us. “Well, what should we do?” He asked. “We can always come back later—”

“We need answers now,” Dad strained, “The sooner the better.”

“Dad, there’s a wedding,” I stressed, “We can’t just crash it.”

Brent shrugs. “Well, we wouldn’t be crashing the wedding. Just breaking into the bar,”

“Just?” 

Dr. Sims sighed. “We could use the information. Knowing now would let us move forward with a plan tomorrow,”

Zeke nodded, more to himself than to anyone else, eyes traveling to the floorboard as he trilled his lips in thought. “We need to draw those guys outta the carriage house,” he said, face growing more thoughtful. “Make some sort of distraction.”

“We’d need one to get them out of the bar, and another to keep them away for long enough,” Dad sighs. “Dunno how we’d do that,”

Zeke’s thoughtfulness gained a smile, and he sorta chuffed to himself. “Oh, I’ve got some ideas.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” I whispered incredulously to Brent. 

He was glaring at me as we crouched behind a manicured shrub, trying our best to hide in the shadows the setting sun was casting. Dad was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Dr. Sims or Zeke. They were all getting in position for this horrible plan we cooked up in about fifteen minutes. 

“I mean I can’t, that’s not how Conduits work,” he scoffed like I was an idiot. “I can only play with the steel I put out,”

I blinked. “Wh–, that’s not how Conduits work. You should be able to do anything with steel.”

“What, and you can control any water source? C’mon Jean, this isn’t Korra,”

I glared at him before sticking a hand out and pointing it towards the water fountain just beyond our shrub, etching a gap in the trickling waterfall from its scalloped tier to form a middle finger. 

Brent balked. “What? How did you do that?” he demanded. 

“Oh, sorry, it’s a water tribe secret,”

“You know what—”

There was a sudden alarm from the giant mansion, catching the attention of everyone on the grounds of the plantation. Dad, that had to be Dad. All the attendees of the wedding awkwardly glanced at each other, confused at what was going on until someone came out of the mansion itself shouting something about a fire alarm. 

I felt pretty bad. I mean, we were crashing someone’s wedding. That’s not an experience you’re supposed to get more than once — or at least, you’re supposed to aim for it to be a one time thing. So they’d get no do-over, and the memories of their big day would be this. An evacuation to the far side of the property, near the entryway gate. But it was a necessary evil. 

Not necessary enough, apparently; the barkeeps didn’t move. They shifted around awkwardly but made no move to leave the little building. 

“Son of a bitch,” Brent growled. 

My jaw clenched. Dad said if his smoke setting off the alarms didn’t do anything, it would be our turn to try something, with Zeke and Dr. Sims as our hail marys. “We’ve gotta figure out what to do,” I muttered. That’s what we were talking about before our argument; how exactly to draw the two barkeeps away from the bar. 

Brent’s eyes narrowed as he looks around. “Y’think you can control alcohol?” he asks. “It’s liquid.”

“It’s liquid but not water,” I whisper. 

“I mean, it has some water in it, right—”

“Would you shut up?”

Brent glowered, glaring at me for a moment before looking around. “So you can just control any sorta water?” He asks. 

“I mean, yeah, sorta,” I shrug. “It can be—”

“Can you control the water in the tap?” Brent interrupted me. “Flood the bar?” 

My sentence died off in my throat when I processed his question. I mean…could I? I could sense the water around us, feel the gators lurking at the edge of the waters and the pulse of the water’s ebbs. The sink, though, was something entirely different. My vision shattered into normal and whatever I could use to sense the element, the sparkling crystal blue in my vision snitching on where it all was. And there was barely anything in the sink. “There’s not much,” I muttered, looking at him.

Brent cursed under his breath. “Okay, okay, uh,” he muttered to himself, looking around. His eyes zeroed in on something, and he pointed to it. “What’s that?”

I looked at the white box he was pointing to near the edge of the property and was about to ask him how the hell should I know when my vision pushed deeper, through the plastic and metal to the plethora of water below. It pulsed from the machine like a heartbeat, in cadence with the scream of the fire alarm. “I think…” I drew off. “I think it’s a well. I can see water going from it into the house right now.”

Brent’s eyebrows knit close together as he tried to come up with a plan, looking around. The light from a lamp post caught in his eyes, and I watched them dip from seafoam to pure silver before flashing back to his normal color. “The well is steel,” he said, absolutely sure of the fact. “I’m gonna go fuck with the pressure gauge, turn it as high as it can go. If you can somehow send water to that tap, then good. If not, try to make the pipes burst,”

“Wh–, burst?” I whispered, incredulous. 

No use, though; Brent was already gone, content with his idea of vandalism and destroying property. 

The fire alarms died off, and there was a reassuring call to the wedding attendees from someone in the same outfit as the barkeeps that prompted them to begin walking back to the center of the property. Shit. There goes plan A. 

There was a line of men that went for the bar, keeping the tenders busy for a moment. Off on the side, Brent was messing with the well, and after a few moments, there was a shriek by the DJ followed by more shouting. “Gator, gator!” Someone yelled in alarm as the crowd scurried. Someone tripped in the stampede and went sprawling into the dessert table, the 3 tiered wedding cake on it slowly teetering. 

I’ll give it to the groom — he tried to catch it. Tried being the keyword. The second tier on the cake slipped to the side, staining his black suit jacket as the top tier slammed into his face, his head snapping back with the force. 

The shouts from this happening was enough to cover up the sound of Brent pushing the pressure gauge to its highest setting, the bar snapping under his strong grip. I watched the flow of water spike like blood pressure, flowing off to the house and near every tap in a bull rush. 

At the bar, a group of jazzed up men watched the groom take a facefull of cake much to the bride’s wailing, reaching over the bar to demand something while throwing glances over their shoulders at the commotion. 

One of the barkeepers grabbed a rag from under the bar, and briskly walked over to the sink.

And the moment he turned it on, I stuck my hand out and let the pressure loose, the forceful spray of water that came out shooting out making the bartender stumble back as it hit him square in the chest, making him yelp. 

There were some more screams, and I heard someone specifically yell “What the fuck is going on?” while the two bartenders tried their best to turn off the sink. But Brent’s idea worked; with enough pressure behind the blast, turning the knobs to turn the water on and off only changed their temperature, the steady spray of water combined with my influence enough to break the sink entirely. Brent rushed close to me as one of the bartenders dove under the visibility of the countertop. 

“What’s going on?” Brent whispered, looking between my outstretched hand and the chaos behind us at the dessert table. 

I shrugged. “Something about an alligator?” I said back, unsure. “Groom lost the fight against vanilla, though,”

My power over the flooding suddenly stopped as the barkeeper turned off the water valve on the sink, pausing the assault in its wake. I lowered my hand and cursed, about to tell Brent the bad news when I saw the one super soaked bartender stomp off, out of a back door and towards the mansion while the other handed a wet rag to the wedding attendees, who all rushed towards the cake covered groom. The poor barkeeper left behind looked down at his feet, shaking his head, before following his coworker out of the backdoor, coming around to the front to begin pulling down the garage doors, locking them closed with a key. 

They were leaving the bar alone. We managed to clear the area. 

Brent and I looked at each other triumphantly, leaving the sobbing and exclamations behind us to do an awkward crouched jog towards the carriage house. “Back, go around back,” Brent whispered, leading the way. 

The wedding party was shouting now, all staring in one specific spot as Brent and I rounded the corner of the carriage house. Brent yelped, jumping back into me and making me stumble and nearly fall before a firm hand gripped my arm and yanked me back up, steadying me on my feet. “You two okay?” Dad asked, looking between us. 

“Scared the shit outta me,” Brent breathed, hands on his knees. 

“Brent—”

“Yeah yeah, don’t curse, I know,” Brent muttered, waving Dad off as he tried to steady his racing heart. 

The shouting got louder, began to get closer, and I peeked around the corner with Dad, concerned — there was no way they knew we were here, right?

No; they were chasing what had to be a 5 foot gator around, trying to shoo the giant lizard away from the center of the wedding reception. The scaly creature scurried at a pace that scared me, ducking behind the same manicured bush Brent and I were hiding behind moments ago — before dissipating into a cloud of pixels. Blue light dissipated into the shine of the lantern light moments before an angry older man practically drifted around the bush with a raised white wooden chair intent on bopping the creature and stumbling over his steps when he realized it was just gone. 

“Brent,” Dad said, stepping back from the corner to look at him. “Can you use your powers to uh, lockpick the door or something?”

Brent shrugged, face doing that grimace most people do when they’re unsure of something like a test answer or where someone’s keys are. But he dropped to his knees, sticking the end of his finger against the deadbolt of the door as his arm dipped silver. 

A few minutes later, there was a hard huffing sound behind us as Zeke climbed the small hill, the ends of his pants legs wet as he threw his — or, Cole’s — sling bag back on. “Got your message,” he said to Dad. “What’re we waiting on?” 

“Fuck this,” Brent growled angrily, his third attempt at picking the lock just as much a failure at the first two. He stood straight and threw a punch, splintering the thick wood door and pushing the lock through its form onto the other side, where it landed with a moist thud.

“You…realize that the lock was steel, right?” I ask him. “You could have drained it and weakened it.”

“Yeah, well, it was pissing me off,” Brent snipped, shoving his hand through the gaping hole to unlock the knob. Dad just stood off on the side, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Brent threw open the door and Dad waived for us all to go in, closing it as well as he could behind us with its broken handle. “Eugene’s gonna keep watch,” Dad said, looking around. “We just have to find this…”

He trailed off, and I think we all realized what he did at the same time; we had no idea what we were looking for. This wasn’t exactly ‘hidden entrance’ friendly; the shelves in the back were stacked with alcohol, freezers lining the floor. The bar had cleaning materials and rags and a bunch of little fancy shakers and stuff in the alcoves under it, and there was a wine cooler the size of a fridge. 

And other than the bit of water damage I gave the area, that was it. There was nothing else. 

“Do you remember how Cole got underground?” Dad spun in place to ask Zeke. 

Zeke shook his head. “No, I–I wasn’t there,” he said, looking around. “I barely remember what happened that day,”

Dad cursed, kicking at the water at his feet. Brent looked around, saying, “It’s an underground entrance. Just keep looking down, we’ll find it eventually,”

Brent could be so snippy when stressed, it honestly pissed me off. He was lucky he wasn’t in smacking range. 

We looked. And looked. Dad opened the broken door and had me push all the water out of the room and to the grass, Brent putting up a wall of steel against it once it was closed again in case anyone returned. We searched every shelf, moved every bottle in case one was a false switch for some magical trapdoor or something. There was nothing behind the wine cooler or under the bar counter. 

Dad eventually stopped, straightening with a groan and pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck,” he hissed, “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

Zeke sighed, hands on his knees as he looked under the bartop again. “Gotta say, it ain’t looking too bright.”

Dad sighed hard, the end of the sound becoming a groan before he moved his hands and blinked hard a few times, eyes meeting mine. He looked dejected and on the verge of calling off the search and declaring it was time to leave when Brent said, “Dad, step back,”

Brent was looking at the ground where Dad stood; the concrete had dried up for the most part, but instead of a stain of wet, there was a jagged line of white at Dad’s feet that moved in an awkward and wide shape, like someone ran the long side of a chalk stick around this section. Brent bent down to run his hand along the white, straightening and rubbing it between his fingers. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, looking up at Dad before he could chastise him and pointing to the bit of floor that had the white grit lining it. “It’s here. The entrance is here,”

“What?” I asked as Dad gave Brent a look of disbelief, “How do you know?”

Brent pointed at the white. “This is calcium carbonate,” he began. “When new concrete gets wet, it does this thing where when the water rises, it takes the free calcium in it and pushes it to the surface. Efforflescence or something.” He then looked down and grimaced. “That also means they probably haven’t been mopping this place at all, which is disgusting.”

Leave it to Brent to know something about architecture. “So it means this is new?” Dad asked. 

Brent shrugged. “New enough. It can take like fifteen years for all the calcium to come out.”

“This place became a wedding venue tenish years ago,” Zeke chimed in. “There was a whole ceremony and everything. I only went for the finger sandwiches and the corporate babes, though,”

Brent shot me a bewildered look as I did everything in my power to not snort at the image of this portly and graying man prowling for women with a handful of mini-sandwiches. 

Dad dropped to his knees, hands gliding against the concrete like he would be able to find a gap he could peel apart. “They sealed it,” he realized. 

“How do we get down there?” I asked, looking between everyone. “If it’s paved over, there’s no way we can enter the base.”

Dad’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the smooth ground before saying, “Brent, steel up and punch this until it breaks,” pointing to a section of floor. 

Brent looked at the top of Dad’s head like he was insane but listened, skin going from tanned to silver in the blink of an eye before he balled up his fists and dropped, pounding them into the ground. He punched one, two, three more times before something gave away and there was a tiny divot in the ground, shattered concrete bursting away from it. 

That was all Dad needed; his hand came out and drained from the pebbles, taking on concrete as his power. He waved Brent off and let his own arms become encased in the man-made rock, pounding away at the ground to break it further with deafening crunches that made me press my hands to my ears. 

Dad chipped away at the concrete, punching and digging like a dog with both a bone to pick and a bone to bury. He absorbed more and more of the concrete as he made the hole, this three foot wide gap that he tried widening more and more with every hit down. 

And then, slowly, as Dad kept up the attack, something began to peek out from under the concrete; a steel grating, the only thing separating the floor from some long and very deep chasm below it. “Well that's not structurally sound,” Brent muttered beside me as Dad began to tear away at some of the concrete, yanking it up out of its spot.

I didn't really care. All I knew was that under that grating was nothing more than a glorified elevator that would take us down to what could potentially be answers about what was wrong with me.

There was just one big, glaring issue. “How the hell are we supposed to get down there if the elevator ain't got electricity?” Zeke asked when Dad stopped to catch his breath.

Dad pursed his lips, looking down at the tight, thick grate that sat under the bar. “I'm not sure,” he muttered, displeased. “But we're getting down there, no matter what.”

Dad continued to beat away at the concrete for a few minutes longer until there was a gap about four feet wide, enough for one person to stand on comfortably — if we could get the elevator to move. That was our next big issue. Dad sat back on his feet, glaring down at the next obstacle as his mind seemed to move at a mile a minute, trying to come up with a plan. “Brent,” he eventually said. “How much control do you have over your steel?”

“I was telling Jean this earlier,” he began, “I can't just control any steel—”

“Not all steel, just yours.” Dad corrects, looking up to where we stood. “If we can destroy this, you can make a new floor to fit the shaft and glide us down.”

Brent bit his lip. “I...I might be able to do that?” he ventured, unsure.

Another good forty-five minutes blew past while Dad excavated a wider perimeter around the old elevator shaft, trying to make enough room for Brent to come in with a steeled body and begin pulling against the metal, draining it as he did so until the grating began to crack under his palms and he yanked it.

Some of the metal came up with his pull — other pieces fell down the shaft, careening around as they disappeared into the darkness. We all paused to watch the pieces of metal fall, the thunk that followed coming about eight seconds later.

“That uh…” Brent drew off, straightening. “That means it's pretty deep, right?”

Dad sighed. “Let's just get this new platform built and…hopefully it'll work.”

“Hopefully we won't fall to our deaths,” Zeke corrected.

Dad gave him an exasperated look, but didn't say anything.

Hour two came and went by the time Brent straightened, having spent a good quarter of it hanging halfway into the hole. “I think I got it,” he said, looking at Dad. “It fits the grooves and stuff on the old shaft,”

His hands stayed out, rigid and tensed as they stayed pointing towards the solid steel flooring. He was still using his power over the floor to keep it in place. What had Dr. Sims called it? Conduvergence? Whatever it was, it seemed Brent had to keep his hold on the steel he produced if we didn't want to drop into the darkness.

Dad crawled into the hole first, Brent leaving a big enough gap for him to be able to move around while crouched. He inspected the platform, made sure it was fit securely to the old build of the original shaft's flooring before looking up at the gap, saying, “Jeanie, c'mon, your turn,”

I looked at him like he had lost it, my silent plea to not have to go on Brent's Tower of Terror ignored with a quick motion of his hands as he beckoned for me to hurry it up.

The shaft groaned slightly as I stepped down on it — and Brent did too, readjusting his feet on the ground as the muscles in his arm flexed. He must have been feeling every pound we were adding to this thing, which did absolutely nothing for my fear of falling to my death. Dad grabbed my shoulders, moving me out of the way of the gap as he called up, “Think you're okay to hold Zeke too?” to Brent.

“Yeah,” Brent huffed. “Yeah, I'll just — I'll fly after you guys when you get down there,”

Another moment and Zeke was coming down into the hole, the platform jerking under his feet and making me yelp as my soul left my body. “Hey, hey, you're okay,” Dad said behind me. His grip on my shoulders tightened though, knuckles going stark white, and it did nothing to reassure me.

“Sorry,” Brent groaned above.

Zeke settled in place and Dad looked up at Brent and nodded. “Take it as slow as you can,” he instructed.

Brent nodded, the steel of his arms flaring and becoming aural as the platform began to slowly move down.

I stayed holding on to Dad for dear life as the platform rattled against the old shaft, feeling like it would give way and send us spiraling down. I knew, theoretically, all I'd have to do was use my powers to protect myself and it would be fine — but that didn't make the ride down any more comfortable. I wasn't exactly scared of heights, but I didn't like the idea of falling into a dark hole.

That was another issue — how dark it was. The lower we got and the further away from the hole we went, the harder it was to see...well, anything. Holding on to Dad became less about fear and more about just keeping a hand on him to know he was still there. One of his arms left my shoulders and a moment later there was a bright light, His phone's flashlight on and the light bouncing around the silver walls. A second later, Zeke clicked on a small one as well, shining the light around.

“Hey, look,” Zeke said, prompting us to turn. There was an archway opening beside him, the entrance to the underground tunnels growing longer and longer until the steel platform hit the floor, making us all stumble.

“You guys okay?” Brent called from above, the grinding sound echoing up the chasm.

“Yeah, yeah. Come down here,” Dad called back up, shining his phone’s flashlight towards the small pothole sized sun way up high. “Jean, take out your phone, use its flashlight,” he commanded me as he lit the way for Brent to come down.

The edges of Brent's wings scraped against the walls as he flew down, the horribly shrill sound making us all cringe until he shed the wings and landed hard on his feet. “Jeez, it's dark,” he muttered, searching for his own phone to use his flashlight. ”No good reception, either,“

I looked at my phone; one singular bar, and everyone knew that was hardly a step up from no service. Honestly it would have been better to not have any service, that way it wouldn't feel like the phone was lying to you when its messages wouldn't go through. “I should have messaged Eugene,” Dad cursed, realizing he missed the chance. His flashlight went from shining up at the opening of the shaft to down the long hallway, pristine white walls almost untouched after all this time and shining the light back tenfold. “Alright. Stay behind me, you guys,”

The hall was so clean and bleached that our phones' flashlights bounced around again and again until our little group was encased in a warm glow. The walls didn't look painted but they definitely weren't metal, the texture smooth and glossed as I let my hand glide over it.

“Weird,” Brent muttered, pointing his phone's flashlight up at the ceiling to expose a long row of rounded, defunct in-ceiling lights.

“What did that guy say these were used for?” Dad asked, not turning around. “The Underground Railroad, right?”

“This looks way too nice to be some dug up tunnels for that,” I muttered, pulling my hand away and tucking my hoodie's sleeve over my cast.

Zeke huffed, “Well, you gotta remember, we're talking about the First Sons here. They weren't gonna be caught in some dingy little cave system,”

Dad put out a hand, silently signaling us to stop as his light caught the glint of a piece of metal up ahead. “Stay back,” he warned us, stepping forward.

One hand stayed holding his phone while the other lit up a light amber, the rough scrape of him activating his concrete power echoing down the hall. He crept up to the exit poised like a large cat ready to jump on prey, and nearly did exactly that as he stepped out of the hall into the room.

His ignited arm immediately fell, and his shoulders seemed to sag a bit. “Well, this complicates things,” he said, before turning and beckoning us forward.

I was expecting a single large room, maybe some sort of observation deck like those old viewing galleries for operating rooms. Not this. Not two stories of something straight out of Star Trek.

Every wall was a sculpted slope, pier-like patios poking out and away from stairwells to overlook the giant futuristic atrium. There was a tube in the center of the room that led to a defunct and dried up pool in the center, each patio wrapping around the tubing like it was the center of a roundabout. Everything was pristine white or accented in the lightest blue in this courtyard, the wide open space dimpling in some spots to curve in, creating lateral archways for other hallways. There were a few emergency lights that barely illuminated rounded doors, leaving the rest of the room in an eerie dusk that our lights had to fight through to illuminate. “Well,” Zeke huffed, looking around. The ceiling was so high our lights couldn't even reach it. “This is gonna take a bit longer than an hour of lookin', huh?”

[thedeathofmabe]

I recently finish InFAMOUS Second Son (I know, really late) and I can't stop thinking to make a Fanfiction Crossover with Assassin's Creed. But not just there, I really want to make something with Prototype. So what do you think?. AC x InFAMOUS x Prototype?. Anyway, I'm really sorry for the lates updates in AO3 for being so long. I study medicine...so... well, I'm diying everytime lmao.

[in-our-veins]

I wrote a fanfiction for inFAMOUS: Second Son in Fetch’s pov, mostly it has to do with the past, some flashbacks. I wrote it when I woke up and watched a video, and that single video made me think about it, and I was a little emotional, probably cause I just woke up, and Brent’s death is still sad. :/ Might not be everyone's cup of tea, so, I guess, ignore it if you don't like it.

>>Salvation.

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

‘Smoke Wooing’ Delsin Rowe/Reader story

Anon asked:  so your delsin fic was amazing and hit me right in my shameless thirst (tysm) I thought mayyyybe if u ever needed an idea for a follow up you could totally add some sweetness into the mix and have it be another one of those ice cream dates where del totally asks the reader to be proper full time gf while trying really hard to like,, not sound lame and embarrassing and maybe could burn their initials into a tree w smoke power bc that’s cute af??? anyway your fics are amazing??? ily??

A/N: Thank you for the ask, Anon! I accidentally deleted your actual ask, but luckily I saved it for the AO3 fic. Here you go! I love writing this one. <3

He wasn’t subtle, but if you ever dared call him a rebel he’d say that was just his full-blooded Akomish grandfather guiding him to do what felt right. Delsin would grab your wrists, sway you back and forth in a mock boogie-dance and give you his winning smirk; deep-set eyes making your knees weak. No… no one could call him a wallflower even if he were in a mood to paint literal flowers on walls.

Delsin, of course, did very little without the end goal of garnering attention - tagging Seattle from the east to west and everything in between included - and while that intimidated you at first, it also made his whole aura undeniably attractive.

So, it came as no surprise that when Delsin asked you to be his official girlfriend, it was with the flare of a conduit street artist that’d saved the whole city. Singed fire art branching across four buildings, several maple trees and a whole corner block of the Lantern District. Cop cars lined the street while you were lead up a fire escape blindfolded to see the display and at that point you were far too smitten by him to not say ‘duh’ and ‘kiss me.’

Before that there’d been several return trips to that little ice cream stand on Eighth Avenue, a couple times spent repeating the events of that first time with sometimes more.

You thought he was cute, funny and the perfect mix of rigid immaturity. That lure of light he represented in your safe and albeit lonely life, brought you out of your hovel when you'd normally stay in and listen to music.

Tonight you dump the tunes and oven pizza, follow him with spray paint can in hand, and like so many times before, find yourself laughing behind a musky bandana while committing some minor crimes an hour before mandatory curfew.

Even with nearly six months after D.U.P. left the city, the regulations they put in place are still written in the bylaws, and it’ll take a majority vote in November to abolish it. Depending on which district you're in, the cops are either lax or strict on the ‘no one out past nine’ rule.

It’s a little before eight, and the sun is setting in cotton candy red and pink.

You both wind through the alleyways and cut across a few streets when it’s faster, regardless of foot traffic. The tang of chocolate ice cream and Delsin’s hot, sweet kisses come back like the memory of a wet dream as you both jog between One-Thirtieth Street and Eighth Avenue.

Thornton Creek passes by where Delsin had licked every adhesive layer of melted sweetness off your tits while rubbing you under your shorts until you got off in public just before that couple and their dog entered the park. It was one of the most daring things you’d done up until then… all artistic mischief and outrunning cops excluded… well, except for that one time you’d set fire to your math teachers garden in the burbs. That dude had been an asshole, though.

“Come on, Miss Legs-for-Days. Shake your tail feathers, alright,” Delsin eggs you on with that apple-wood smoke tone of voice and twists around to face you, walking backward so he can hit you with a dashing smirk, “We’re not getting anywhere with you slowing down The Taggers Brigade.”

“Two people with one backpack don’t qualify as a brigade, Banner Man,” you reply with a shitty smile that he can't see behind the black bandana mask you’d tied on before meeting him on the balcony of your apartment.

“Yeah, well… a group of snot-nosed dicks doesn’t qualify as separatists either.”

“Do you see me making excuses for the BTS? No. If anything I’m the one who came up with this plan.” It was fifty-fifty but you drew up the sketches.

“Well, someone’s just a bucket of fun tonight,” he says with a handsome grin.

“Hey, soo...” Delsin pauses long enough for you to walk up beside him before he throws an arm around your shoulders, “... totally hypothetical question: but would a date around Thornton Creek Park or say, The Space Needle, with some smoke acrobatics, get me enough credit to ya know, not be called Banner Man every ten seconds?”

You can read the rest (all 8.7k of it) on AO3 HERE. You can, if you want, tip your writer HERE.

[apendice-chileno]

Also forgot to post  this messy one scene of @esamastation fanfic, Solar Maximun