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blubberingmess · 4 years

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[Little guy: Bubba] *your view*

Soulmate AU

Pairing: Bucky/chibi!bucky x male!reader

• yes, there will be another part but in Bucky's view :) sorry not sorry

Summary: A life with your grumpy chibi, before you met your soulmate.

Warning: none

Ideas for what chibi!bucky looks like (minus the ears and tail - maybe next time). Drawings aren't mine, also the gif below.

More info about the AU (Please read):

There's no particular time or date when the small version of their soulmate-- or what most people called chibi-- would randomly come out from nowhere, dressed in their favorite/mostly used clothes. They mostly appear when one turned eighteen to twenty-five. On some rare occasions, some chibis won't show up until the person turned to their thirties.

No one knows how it works, not even the scientists. They have never experimented on one because they can't, for chibis cannot be killed no matter how you tried. They only disappears when the real version of them dies. But! They can get hurt, it won't bruise or anything but they can feel the pain.

Chibis don't talk, they communicate through actions and facial expressions from what you've heard. Your soulmate's mood affected the chibi version of themself, will mostly find comfort from their 'guardian' but that's all. People will affect their chibis emotionally, but not physical feelings like pain, hunger, etc.

They also have different personalities, the same personality your soulmate already have and also the personality they would build themselves from how you would treat them.

They eat, drink, sleep like normal people would. They have a mind of their own and as smart as the person they represent.

They also age, their skin wrinkles and their hair grays as well. One woman you found out that her soulmate is twenty years older than her, a few gray streaks of hairs can be seen on her chibi.

Also, they are as small as the size of you hand - even taller depends on your soulmate. But the chibi with the size of your palm are almost always be 6ft < your soulmate. That means if you're smaller than him, your chibi self will be smaller than your palm which means it'll be so much smaller than your soulmate's palm which is.... oh god. You'll get squished! But that's okay, your chibi self can't die ;)

While your soulmate is the person representing your chibi, your chibi's soulmate is your soulmate's chibi :) chibi's are much more emotional - the real emotion of the person. For example; your soulmate is angry at you while his chibi self is not, then that means he isn't actually angry.

More info about them as you read through the story :)

Ask me anything about it if your ever confused or curious and I'll try my hardest to answer it ♡ or this AU is already made, then I apologize if I explained something wrong. This is just how I see this AU would work :)

Also, if you don't like or against fics like this, you are very much welcome to ignore this or unfollow me (igaf, boo) I support LGBTQ+ wether you like it or not~

[Chibi!Winter Soldier]

It was a cold night of December when you first met your chibi, a rather scary meeting to be honest. You were just making yourself a cup of hot cocoa when you heard a shuffling behind you, it was almost inaudible but you heard it.

Slowly turning around, you didn't see anyone, but you did saw something move on the counter just behind the large bowl of fruits you have. There's a pair of steely blue eyes on top of the bananas, quickly ducking down as soon as it saw you snapping your eyes at it. Though, it was no use, it has already been caught and the mop of brunette can still be seen from your point of view.

"You know I can see you right?" Your voice laced with amusement as you spoke, already knew what the small guy is. The chibi tensed, the top of its head poking up more from behind the yellow fruit.

"Its okay, little guy, I'm not going to hurt you," you coaxed the chibi with a soft voice, letting them know you genuinely don't mean any harm. Regardless of how calm your voice sounds, your inner self is currently freaking out at this moment. Heart hammering against your chest as you anticipate on what's about to happen; excited to finally meet your chibi, the mini version of your soulmate!

Slowly but surely, you sees him peek half of his head to the side. Frosty blue eyes staring up at you cautiously-- curiously-- as he analyze your face for a moment before slowly completely stepping out from his hiding place, an arm behind his back.

You immediately noticed the mask that's covering the lower part of his face, and his clothes; some type of tactical gear.

Is your soulmate a soldier or something? An agent?

You were about to take a step forward to properly greet the chibi when he suddenly pulls out a knife from behind him, held by a metal arm, the same arm he's been hiding as he stepped out. A small, but surprisingly intimidating growl emits from him making you lift your hands up in surrender.

"Woah there, buddy! I thought chibis were supposed to be soft and loving? I didn't know they would also want to stab you in the freaking face!"

Another growl before he pulled out something from his thigh holster; a handgun.

You gulped. "Or two. Damn."

He didn't do anything but glare at you, and if looks could kill, you would've been six - no, sixty feet below right now. The chibi's action confuses you greatly, especially after hearing about them being really clingy and sweet towards their 'guardian'; not this!

My soulmate must be a real hot-headed motherfu--

Your thought was cut off by a low rumble that reverberated throughout the whole kitchen, disrupting the tense silence between the two of you. Looking around the kitchen and back down at the small, feisty chibi, you gave him a nervous smile and asks, "You hungry?"

The chibi's eyes flickers at the warm mug behind you then back up at your eyes, silently asking - no- commanding you. You cautiously and slowly dropped down your right hand, stiffening as you heard him cocked his tiny gun.

You doubt it could actually kill you but it still looks intimidating, especially the little guy who is aiming it at you.

"I'm just gonna give you the mug, see?" You grabbed the now warm cocoa and a thin straw you didn't know you'll actually need until now. Slowly making your way towards the counter where he stands, you carefully placing the coffee beside him before walking backwards on your previous spot.

He gingerly lowers his weapons, tucking them back inside his pocket and holster and walked towards the mug, not before giving you a warning look.

"Cookies?" You didng wait for a reply as you began searching through your cupboards, it's not like you expected it considering chibis can't talk.

The intimidating chibi watches you as he took a sip from the thin straw, following your every move with curious eyes. He can't help but feel guilty from his not-so-friendly first impression, it's his instinct to pull out a weapon - well, it's actually your soulmate's instinct, but there's truly nothing in his mind that could push him to actually hurt you.

Your soulmate would've done the same.

Placing the small plate of assorted cookies beside him, you crouched down and watches as he took a broken piece and began nibbling on it, giving you a chance to get a closer look at him.

His mask is now off and resting close to him, making you see his whole face. His lips are pink and a bit upturned on the sides, stubble around the lower part of his face. He looks gloomy and tired, like there's something bothering him for days - even months. No doubt there's not, from how he looks and how he acted a few minutes ago, you could instantly tell that your soulmate isn't like anybody else.

It scares you and excites you at the same time.

You came back to reality when you noticed that something is being pushed right in front of your face, it's a mini chocolate chip cookie. Trailing your eyes from the cookie and to the chibi who's holding it out for you, a smile adorned your face when you saw him looking to the side with a nonchalant look on his face, a small blush on his cheeks.

"Hey bubba? Have you seen my pen?" You mutter-ask from your spot on the couch, looking around for your pen. Bubba (What you decided to call him) opened his eyes from the armrest of the couch on your left, looking up at you while still nibbling on his plum.

It's been three year since your first meeting with your chibi and living with the little guy isn't as bad as you thought it would, just scary. He would still glare at you and send you frosty looks but only when you would do something stupid or idiotic, but he immediately warms up at you after a few days.

Bubba gave you an 'are you serious' look before lifting his flesh hand up and tapping his ears two times before lowering them back down on his half-eaten plum. You kink an eyebrow before reaching up to your right ear and felt the pen you've been looking for the past five minutes, propping your left arm on the armrest behind Bubba.

"Thanks, little dude!"

Bubba just sassily rolled his eyes before he resumed nibbling on his beloved plum, eyes closing in bliss and instinctively leaning back on your arm as he do so.

Who knew the grumpy chibi likes to cuddle and curl up against you when you're reading or working inside your office, sometimes would even take a nap on your shoulder, on top of your head, or your lap kid he feels like it.

What you also noticed is that the little guy likes to eat, a lot, he would practically order you around to make him something sweet or savory, maybe even both. You don't actually mind, you like taking care of him, you just wish you could also take care of your soulmate like how you would take care of the chibi.

You learned that if your chibi would act this way; asking for different kinds of foods and demands affection from you, that means your soulmate is craving them just as much. But sadly, you're not there to actually give him what he needs, you doubt the chibi version of yourself could... maybe?

Oh how it breaks your heart everytime.

Speaking of breaking your heart, how many times had you woken up at the sound of Bubba's whimpers and cries at early mornings around two or four. Everytime he would curl up against your chest, crying and clutching at your shirt as you let him soak your shirt with his tears.

"Hey-hey, it's okay. It's okay, Bubba. Shh, you're okay. I got you, don't worry." you cooed, scooping the chibi with both of your hands. Bubba's shaking immediately subsides the moment he felt your soft, gentle touch on his back, breathing heavily while tightening his hold on your thumb like it's his lifeline.

Glossy blue eyes looking up at you in pain and sadness; almost begging, lips quivering as tears began pouring out from his eyes. Your heart clenched inside your chest as you watched him breakdown in your hands.

You want to calm him down. You want to help him so bad to get rid of the pain, the sadness, but you can't. Unless your soulmate can't calm down, the chibi in your hands won't.

Thankfully, episodes like that don't happened often and doesn't last long - not anymore. A small mood swings here and there but it would almost always immediately diminished after a minute or two.

Your soulmate's chibi must be calming him down. Good job, me that is also not me.

When you go out which isn't that often considering you work from home-- also seeing that you don't have that much friends outside to go away with-- Bubba will be guarded and on your shoulder at all times with his small metal hand on the back of your neck. He'll always have that deep scowl on his face that only softening up when looking at you or when you offer him sweets - ice cream preferably.

You did left him one time, only coming back to a very stressed out and dishielved looking Bubba. Thinking at first that your soulmate is in another one of his heart wrenching episode, but it wasn't. You noticed it the moment you stepped inside the living room and seeing him perched up on the windowsill, his eyes immediately brightens up when he sees you - before frowning once again, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away from you with a pout.

You just sigh and didn't even make a move to hide the smile on your face.

Your chibi is such a drama queen.

[Chibi!Runningawayfromeveryone!Bucky]

You felt something lightly tickled your cheek but you're still sleepy to do anything about it, ignoring the next one your forehead, then on your other cheek, and then your temple. The small of plum and something woody with a hint of gun powder enters your nostril, a familiar scent you grew accustomed to for the past five years with your chibi.

"I'm awake. Geez, Bubba, good morning to you too." you chuckled, patting the said chibi on his head. Bubba grin up at you before giving you a sweet kiss on your nose then began nuzzling into your neck, sighing in content.

The temperature in Bucharest this time of year is quite cold but you're happy that it doesn't bother your chibi, he actually likes it. You decided to have a vacation; just you and Bubba, away from New York, your migraine inducing work - your family. It's all just too much for you to handle.

Bubba was the one who actually chose Bucharest for some unknown reason, he really wanted to go there and who are you to turn him down? Especially when he looks up at you with those big, pleading eyes of his.

Ugh. If this what your soulmate looks like, you don't know if you can handle him. You don't even know if you can say 'no' to him! Now that's scary.

Lifting up your gaze at the ceiling, a frown quickly replaced the soft smile on your face at the thought of your soulmate.

It's been five years since your chibi appeared and you're still yet to see him. You've hang out with the small group of friends you have, relatives, and even visit places you've never visited before with Bubba by your side, but it's all fruitless.

Maybe he's gone? No, Bubba is still here (snoring soundly). Maybe he don't want you? Can't be... right? Bubba likes you and find comfort in your touch. But... maybe it's just Bubba himself and not really your soulmate.

"Bubba stop moving around!" You hissed, gently grabbing the said chibi from your head. He started wriggling around like an excited puppy and tugging at your hair the moment the two of you stepped out from the hotel building, it's a weird behavior you haven't seen him in before.

"What got you so excited, little guy? We're just visiting the market nearby to buy some peaches... Maybe some plums as well. Actually, I'm craving for some corvig."

Bubba half-heartedly listened to you ramble while his eyes roams the market sharply, ears peeled and nose constantly sniffing the air. What you didn't know is that chibis will act like that-- excited and eyes darting from one place to another-- if it means your soulmate is nearby, their senses are tingling and they can feel their heart getting warmer the shorter the distance you are from your soulmate - also Bubba's too.

You stopped in the middle of the market, looking for the particular stall that sells peaches. Bubba is also looking around but for a different reason, absently clutching at his shirt where his supposedly heart is located.

"Why's there no fruit stalls around? Is it on the other side of the market?" You groaned, pulling out your phone. The people around you gave you looks, some with confusion but most of them are uneasiness, thinking you're somewhat scolding your chibi before going back to what they were doing, but now all of them had stepped/walked away from you.

It's not like you cared, the first thing on your mind right now is peaches and plums, also corvig.

You suddenly heard Bubba let out a noise, a squeak-like of grunt before scrambling off your shoulder and down to the pavement with ease. It took you a few seconds to comprehend what just happened before snapping out of it and sprinting towards where Bubba run off to.

Damn, didn't know chibis could run so fast.

"Bubba! Where are-- you." Your last word changed it's aim from Bubba to the man before you, staring back at you with the same surprised expression on his face. His hands are half stretched in front of him before dropping them down to his sides, straightening his back.

Your eyes swing down to the two chibis who are currently busy hugging each other, giggling as hearts and flowers practically floats around them. You watched as Bubba kissed the other chibi on the cheek before nuzzling his head on his shoulder, who squeaked in happiness before burying his face on his chest, obviously much more smaller that Bubba.

The chibi is... you - a chibi version of you exactly; dressed like you and almost looks exactly like you.

Gazing back up at the big version of Bubba or your soulmate, you cleared your throat and was about to step forward to introduce yourself when he suddenly took a step back, his left hand quickly moved to his back.

And then he growls.

You whole body steeled once you heard the sound left his lips and your hands are lifted up in a split second, enough to for him to notice but not enough draw any attention towards the both of you.

With him ready to pull out a weapon behind his back whilst glaring at you with ice-cold, guarded look in his eyes, and you with your hands up in surrender was all too familiar it makes you want to laugh and crack a joke.

"I thought soulmates were supposed to be soft and loving? I didn't know they would also want to stab you in the freaking face!"

Please tag me if you ever tried this Soulmate AU. I really want to read one 💕💕 I hope you enjoyed it. There's a part 2 but in Bucky's view of chibi!You suddenly popping up in his life like fairy god mother.

If there are misused words or wrong grammars, don't be shy to tell me!

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

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Hunt!Tim: Five Times He Murdered Someone And One Time He Loved them <3

Just kidding. This is a fic set in my Roleswap AU, acting as a character study over the course of the series into...whatever the fuck was going on with that guy. I spent so much time and energy actually figuring out his arc and character that when I finished Solitaire I hadn’t said everything I wanted to say, so that’s why this exists. It’s...not funny at all. Tim takes himself far too seriously. I’m very sorry, there are almost no jokes in this. It just doesn’t work.

Content warning for story typical issues; but more explicit depiction of suicidal ideation, kidnapping and physical assault, just in general a very fucked up little dude, and gendered violence that is more explicitly discussed as a possible precursor to further violence. Rest under the cut.

“I’m going to fucking kill them!”

“Well,” Sasha said, tapping away relentlessly on her phone as she sat primly on his couch. During work hours she was always doing something mysterious on her laptop, and after work it was on her phone. She had once alluded to being the moderator of an improbable number of forums. She liked the power. “We could probably make that happen. It’s the Magnus Institute, it’s suspicious if nobody's dying. But four people at once may not be prudent.”

“I don’t care!” Tim yelled. He paced his living room in tight lines, turning sharply on his heel at the end of the room. It felt like he was bursting with pent-up energy and rage, sending his heartbeat thumping in his ears like a war drum. “They’re obstructing justice, withholding evidence from an investigation, probably acting as an accomplice -”

“I’m going to fucking kill them!”

Sasha’s head snapped up, eyes glinting at him behind the big glasses that she always hid behind. “So you do think they were involved in Gertrude’s death?”

“Who cares. They did something, they’re obviously guilty of whatever. Every one of them have rap sheets.” Everyone but that blonde woman, which seemed a little counter-intuitive. “We just have to find something.”

Sasha hesitated, just momentarily, and she carefully put her phone down. “You’re angry, Tim. It’s affecting your judgement. Remember when we talked about that? Deep breaths. Come on, in one and out two. ”

Tim grimaced, but Sasha was right. He stopped pacing, and at Sasha’s encouraging look he resentfully took a few deep breaths. It did make him feel better. His heart wasn’t thumping in his ears anymore. She was so good at calming him down. She was just so wonderful in every way.

Thinking about how great Sasha was effective in clearing his head, but it just highlighted how terrible those women were in comparison. No respect. It was disgusting.

“Thanks,” Tim said gruffly, eliciting a beautiful smile. He collapsed on the couch next to her, disgusted and frustrated. “We’re never going to solve this Robinson case so long as those women are in the way. I won’t tolerate any obstacles in getting justice.”

“I know, and that’s what’s brave about you,” Sasha soothed, clasping his shoulder gently. Her thumb worked into his shoulder, gentle and soothing. “But we have to do it quietly. We don’t just need them out of the way, we need information. I’ll work on the technological side. You can dig up an entire life online, trust me. But if they know any of the secrets about the Institute and the Archives, we have to press them. That’s your strength, Tim. You can get anything out of anyone, because you never give up.”

Tim turned his head and smiled weakly at her. “And your strength is that you’re always there for me.” Her eyebrow ticked, but Tim hardly noticed. “I’ll keep pressing. They can’t stonewall me forever. I have their boss’ address, I’ll just show up there.”

“He’s going to ask for a warrant -”

“Oh, who gives a shit, nobody cares.” Tim snorted. “He’s a pussy if he’s hiding behind those women, anyway.” At Sasha’s carefully arched eyebrow, Tim quickly added, “Coward, I meant coward.”

“So you do remember our conversation about being PC,” Sasha said, making Tim snort. Please. Those sensitivity training the department was always forcing on them was a joke. Tim laughed with the other guys about it afterwards. He didn’t know why Sasha was complaining; she laughed just as mockingly as the rest of them. But she just readjusted her glasses now, a sign she was a little nervous. “Tim, about what you said just before we left -”

“What about it?” Tim said sharply.

Sasha was silent for a minute, before adjusting her glasses again. “Nothing. Just - be careful, okay? People who get too close to the Magnus Institute end up dead.”

If only they would. But Tim grinned at her, bright and sharp, and Sasha hesitantly smiled back too. Tim’s conviction, his bravery, always seemed to make her feel better. Sasha thought too much. She rarely second guessed herself - that was why Tim liked her - but sometimes she just thought herself into twists. She needed someone like him to cut that Gordian Knot. “Don’t worry, Sash. The good guys always prevail.”

Tim would kill them. All he needed was a reason.

ii.

Tim had nightmares, now.

Not full ones. Strange, fragmented dreams that were quickly forgotten after he woke up. Most of the time. But not always. And they were so strangely vivid - as if he was really living that moment over and over again.

It was of that construction site. And of Danny, watching those murders and the corpses with a sick, fascinated smile. And of Tim, defenseless and powerless and trembling and weak, watching it all happen.

Sometimes there would be a man. Just once or twice. The man, who would always be wearing really stupid pyjamas that contrasted wildly with how attractive he was, would frown at Tim.

‘Hey’, Sims said, ‘aren’t you that prick?’.

And Tim would wake up, heart beating fast, thumping in his ears, afraid in exactly that same poisonous metallic way that he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

Tim was going to kill that monster.

****

On a Monday afternoon, Tim sat in the driver’s seat of his car, checking his gun.

Gun, check. Rope, check. Shovel, check. Lighter and gasoline, check. Axe with belt, check, just in case things went really south. Gag, check. Tim had no idea how many secret powers that thing had, he wasn’t taking any chances.

Monday was the only night that they all went home alone. It took two frustrating weeks of stake-outs to realize that. Since he had cornered that bitch Melanie she even walked home with Daisy, who apparently lived close by. It was worth it, though. She was finally feeding him useful information, even though Tim knew that she thought she was giving irrelevant information about what they really wanted. He gave most of it straight to Sasha, who was salivating over all of the puzzle pieces Melanie was casually dumping on them as if they were meaningless. Whatever. That was Sasha’s job.

She had been worried about him lately. Probably. Tim hadn’t really noticed. He was focused on the case. Tim was a perfectionist like that.

Finally, at 5:20, Tim saw the monster - Jon, whatever, he wasn’t scared of him - round the corner. He was a little hard to distinguish in the darkness, but that was why Tim had left the headlights on.

His heart was thumping, roaring in his ears. Tim was giddy with excitement and anticipation and thirst. Catching them wasn’t the best part, but this would feel so good. He had been vividly imagining the look of fear on the thing’s face for the past month, ever since he assaulted Tim. He just couldn’t decide how he wanted to kill him - he brought his nightstick just in case he wanted to bash his face in, but fire was practical and incredibly painful.

Showtime, Tim thought, as he opened his car door and stepped out. After Tim took care of this, he and Sasha would be safe. That was the important thing. He was protecting Sasha from that thing. That was why he did it, all of it.

Jon startled a little when he saw him, but his face was backlit from the headlights and his features were probably obscured. It wasn’t until Tim stepped forward, easily and casually, that Jon began the slight speedwalk of a pedestrian encountering a persistent panhandler on the street.

“Stop right there.”

Jon froze. Not as stupid as he looks, then. Still pretty stupid.

Tim walked forward until he was standing at Jon’s back, already silently drawing out his handcuffs with one hand.

“Detective Stoker,” Jon said, and Tim almost respected the way his voice didn’t shake. “I wish this was more of a surprise.”

Normally Tim appreciated a good intimidating monologue, but he could be more efficient right now. Besides, there was time for that later. Jon turned his head backwards slightly, trying to see his face - perfect - and Tim waited until he could see his expression before he jammed the barrel of his gun on Jon’s throat.

There it was. The expression that few people besides Tim had ever seen, that secret face of man that each person felt so few times in their lives if they felt it at all. The face of a man who knew he was about to die.

It was Tim’s little secret.

“Why -”

Tim bashed it over the head with the barrel of the gun, and it dropped on the gun like a lanky puppet with its strings cut. No use letting it finish a question.

Handcuffs, rope, trunk. Carefully just under the speed limit, barrelling out of London into the cold and emotionless woods. Turning on the stereo - some mindless Amy Winehouse song. Tim found himself whistling along with it, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

It wasn’t that Tim liked killing people, or even things that looked and begged and cried like people. But it was just something you had to do. Tim shouldered that burden, so innocent people wouldn’t have to. As a police officer, he had sworn to be the wolf that protects the sheep. That was Tim - that loyal and heroic wolf.

The thrill was overwhelming. That was why people had sex in public - that excited thrill over possibly getting caught. Not that he would, and even if he did Tim basically had carte blanche to handle his cases how he wanted, but he could. His skin was prickling, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Saliva was pooling in his mouth, which he wiped off with one hand. Adrenaline did weird things. When he looked at the rear mirror inside the car to check on Jo - the monster, he saw the light of the headlights glinting strangely against his eyes, but in another second it was gone.

Tim didn’t have a ‘spot’ because that was fucking idiotic, but all of his dumping places had basically the same characteristics. You had to drive a while to get something really private. It took an hour, but they got to Chiltern hills eventually, and Tim was forced to squint at Google Maps to find the GPS coordinates he had planned out. It felt a little ridiculous to use Google Maps to find a burial spot for somebody but - well, life was weird.

When he stopped, he carefully took out the gag, the axe, the shovel, his own hunting knife, and dumped them in the spot he had picked out. He held the gag and holstered the hunting knife before carefully popping open the trunk.

Jo - the monster was awake. Which was fortunate; there was no fight when they were unconscious. He stared up at Tim with big brown eyes, all innocent and pleading, and Tim rolled his eyes before bending down to securely jam the gag in his mouth before grabbing him by his tied hands and dragging him out. The thing made a bunch of sad noises, and from the sounds of it he had wrenched a shoulder, but that wouldn’t be an issue in a few minutes.

The thing’s legs had clearly fallen asleep, and he stumbled onto the ground the minute Tim let go of him. He kept his eyes on Tim almost frantically, as if he could brainwash him by his eyes alone - could he? Could he? His eyes were fucking freaky.

Jesus. What if he could. Fuck, Tim barely knew anything about his freaky powers. But if he could brainwash via eye contact, couldn’t he -

No. Tim shook himself. That was the fear talking. Which shouldn’t exist. The fear should be gone. He had the thing bound and gagged at his feet, terrified out of its life, he couldn’t possibly still be scared of it. Fucking stupid. He was just cautious. That was caution. Tim was a cautious person.

Time for his favorite part, then.

Tim grinned lazily down at the thing, letting his white teeth flash in the lit headlights of the car. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night, writing all of this out in his mind. “Not so great on the other side, huh?”

The monster’s eyes widened.

Tim dragged him away from the car, not bothering to be gentle. He kicked and pushed on the ground, and although he was bony as hell the guy was tall and desperate, and Tim was forced to kick him down on the ground and draw his gun. He hadn’t wanted to draw the gun - they never fought and kicked and snarled and bit with the gun - but he wasn’t taking any chances here.

“I want you to know,” Tim said, friendly and warm, “that I’m doing this because I made a promise. On my badge and on my life, I protect the innocent from predators. I defend society from threats. There’s a corruption in the world, a sick and rotting infection, and it’s my job to tear it out. But I get no joy from this, okay?” He didn’t know why it was important that the monster knew that. It wasn’t like he was going to hold a grudge. The monster tried to sit up, but Tim kicked him again until he hit the ground again. Tim hated how he was shorter than him when they both were standing. He wanted to look down on him for once.

The monster was always looking down on him. With his little girl gang and his bestest buddies. With that - that moral superiority. He thought he was so smart and popular. Just because he could rip someone’s deepest secrets out of someone, he thought he was better. Just because he knew Tim’s worst fear, he thought that he had power over Tim.

Nobody did. Nobody had power over Tim. Not anymore.

“But you,” Tim hissed, “you, out of everyone I’ve ever killed - I’m going to enjoy you. You’ve crept into the lives of all those humans. You even got fucking Sasha telling me you’re not all bad. Is that what you do? Convince everybody around you that you’re a good person, when you’re a piece of shit inside?” His hand was trembling on his gun - that wasn’t in the script. Why was that happening? “Well, guess what. No matter how great you think you are, you will always be a monster.”

The handle of Tim’s gun was coated in sweat, making his trembling hand slide. Why? The gasoline and lighter were standing by his feet, ready to burn the body. His heart was thumping in his chest, not from anticipation and thrill - why? Why? Why?

“Tim, no!”

Tim, so focused on what he was doing, jerked so hard he almost fired the gun. He whipped around to the source of the voice, and found to his shock a familiar car and a familiar woman standing by it, face set in a fierce determination.

It was Sasha. Somehow, the sight of her was deeply wrong to Tim. She shouldn’t be here. Sasha should never see this. She knew, she had helped - always the finger pointing in the direction to unleash Tim - but she shouldn’t see it. He knew it wasn’t real to her, what he did.

“Sash,” Tim said weakly, hand drooping.

Jon screamed from behind his gag. He might have been calling for help.

“Put the gun down,” Sasha said coldly. She was just dressed in jeans and a messy t-shirt, as if she had come here in a great hurry. How had she kno - okay, Sasha knew everything, it was no surprise.

“Why? Sasha, what are you doing here?” Tim cried, in genuine confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that Jon is innocent of everything!” Sasha yelled, and Tim almost flinched back. “He didn’t kill Gertrude, he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on! Trust me, Jon and his team have nothing to do with any of this!”

“He’s a fucking demon, Sash,” Tim said incredulously. How could she take his side? How? “Don’t you remember what he did to me? How can you forgive that?”

“You’re not a saint either!” Sasha screamed - the first time Tim had ever heard her scream at him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. How had he lost control of the situation so badly? “If you kill him you will break his team.”

As if a single coworker nobody dying will upset anybody. “And how long until he attacks or kills his team?” Tim asked furiously. “They’re the biggest bitches I’ve ever met, but they’re human. Monsters hurt humans, Sasha. It’s in their nature. How long until he hurts someone else? How long until he hurts you?”

“If you kill him,” Sasha said, quiet and strangled and hurt, “I will never forgive you.”

Nobody had power over him - nobody, perhaps, save Sasha. She held his heart in his hands, ready at a moment’s cue to crush it or rip it out of him. He couldn’t bear her disapproving face, her quiet disappointment. If she didn’t love him, if she took that away - he wouldn’t have anything. Nothing would be left. He had to protect that love, protect her.

“Sasha,” Tim said weakly, “out of everybody, I thought you would understand.”

“I do. I’m the only one who will ever understand. That’s why you have to trust me.”

Maye that was the problem. Tim did. She was the only person he had ever trusted.

Tim flicked the safety, and dropped the gun.

Just to make himself feel better, he bent his leg back to kick Jon, but - but, for some reason, he didn’t. It just seemed so tiresome. What was the point? What was the point of any of this?

The point had always been to protect humans from the monsters. To protect Sasha. But Sasha didn’t want his help. What did he have now?

“Take him back to his house,” Tim said dully. He glared fiercely at Jon, whose face was falling in relief. “If you tell the police about this, nobody will believe you and nobody will care. If you tell anybody else about this, I’ll find you again and beat you half to death. Got it?”

Jon nodded fervently.

After that, it was all a blur. Sasha helped him up, took him to her car, and he saw her cut through his restraints once he was safely inside. Tim just gathered up his materials and dumped them in the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat and gunning the engine.

He drove home in a depressed haze, feeling worthless, feeling powerless, feeling exactly like Jon always made him feel.

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. If Jon didn’t know shit about what was going on - and Tim believed that, guy was fucking stupid - then who did? If Jon hadn’t turned into a monster on purpose, then who had turned him into a monster?

Elias Bouchard always gave Tim a bad feeling.

He’d collect some evidence. Give it a few weeks, then confront him. Bouchard would bend and crack. Then Tim would be free. Free of the Magnus Institute, free of how it made him feel.

He roared towards home, unsatisfied and angry, still afraid.

iii.

“Can you pass the rice?”

Tim silently passed Mom the bowl, staring intently at his own plate and silently shovelling potatoes in his mouth. Dad was doing his usual thing and just kind of squinting at his plate and chewing like a cow with cud. Danny was, from the outside, eating food like a normal person. Tim knew that he was vibrating with anticipation.

“So,” Mom continued, faux-brightly, “it’s been a while since you boys came home. Too good for your old folks, huh?”

The passive aggressive route - deal with the criticism, but if you bit back then it was ‘just a joke’. Favored tactic of Ha-eun Stoker.

“Sorry, Mom,” Danny said, one arm thrown over the back of his chair, utterly unrepentant, “work’s been hell lately. Big case came in, and if I want to be promoted to junior partner…”

Sure enough, Mom brightened right up. “Really! Tell us all about your case, Danny!”

Then they were off. Tim zoned out, blankly spooning gamja jorim into his mouth as Danny endlessly rattled off about his accomplishments and Mom cooed and aah’d relentlessly. Dad just chewed, occasionally grunting in satisfaction and approval.

Wow, the coveted paternal approval. Way to make them all jump through hoops for it. Tim rolled his eyes.

Unfortunately, he was caught. Mom turned her piercing gaze on him, smiling pleasantly with perfect teeth. Of course they were perfect; she had work done. All of the other women in the neighborhood do it, Tim, we should fit in. Oh, this necklace is just so in style, I saw Ms. Wallace down the street wearing it. Fucking lemming.

“What about you, Tim?” Mom asked. “How’s work going? Normally you’d be telling us all about your big arrests.”

Ah. The reason why Tim had done everything possible to avoid family dinner. They had this once a month, the only time they could all be assed to talk to each other, and Tim had jumped through hoops to try and escape.

Danny didn’t let him. This was way too entertaining to him.

He knew. Tim didn’t know how, but that was irrelevant. Danny always knew. He couldn’t lie and make up some case. Tim took a careful sip of his dak gomtang, stalling.

Finally, he said, “I took a new job, actually.”

Dad looked up from his plate. Mom’s jaw dropped.

“But you loved your job,” Mom said, for all appearances broken-hearted. “What happened?”

Danny leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, grinning. “Yeah, brother. You loved that job, you’d never quit. What happened?”

“My work partner was caught and forced to sign an employment contract by a middle management stoner, blackmailing me into working with her so I wouldn’t get arrested by the police for my dozen murders.”

Everybody stared at him. Tim sipped some water.

“That isn’t very funny, Timothy,” Mom said.

God, these people were so serious. In the stupidest second of his entire stupid life, he missed the Archive team just a little bit. At least they had a sense of humor. He’d never known those bitches to take anything seriously. But even when they were literally engaging in cult-level shunning of him and Sasha, they were always together. What was with homos and that gay found family shit?

“Kidding. I don’t know, Mom, I was just going stir-crazy. Being a copper just felt like such a dead-end job.”

“But you said you were on track for Lieutenant,” Mom gasped. “How could you throw that away?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” Danny said, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I don’t think Tim would quit his job voluntarily.”

Mom’s jaw dropped. “You were fired?”

Tim was too dead inside for this. “Sure. I’m a librarian now. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Mom positively screeched. “What am I supposed to tell Mrs. Walker now? That my son’s not on track to Lieutenant, that he was fired? I’ve never been so ashamed of you. You’re going to make me a laughingstock, Tim. In all my life, you’ve never once cared about how your actions affected me. Let me tell you right now that this is disgraceful. You’re a grown man, and you’re still acting like a child who blah blah blah. Tim’s a disappointment and we hate him blah blah. How could I have raised such a lazy yammer yammer yammer. I only pay attention to you when I’m yelling at you and I’m totally in the right because Rachel Granger said that yada yada -”

“Well, this was fun,” Tim said pleasantly, wiping his mouth with a napkin before balling it and tossing on the table. He put his chopsticks down and stood up, dusting off his hands. “Great to see all of you again, so much fun, but I have a cat to go iron.”

But Dad was staring at him, even when Mom was fuming in rage. In Korean, he said, “You’re disrespecting your mother, Ji-hoon.”

“For god’s sake, Richard, we speak English in this house. His name’s Timothy,” Mom snapped. Danny rolled his eyes.

“Why not?” Tim asked in Korean, just to piss off Mom. Basira would have sneered at her respectability politics. Melanie would have lost her temper an hour - no, thirty years ago. Why were they stronger than Tim? “You don’t respect her.”

Almost silently, Danny whistled.

“Timothy,” Mother started, scandalized, “listen to your -”

“Why? What can she say to me, besides the same shit I’ve been hearing my entire life? She’s not saying anything interesting.” Tim smiled brightly at his family, flashing all of his teeth. “You know what? In comparison with my life lately, you three are pretty fucking boring. Bye.”

That was when his mother burst into tears, and his father started yelling at him at the top of his voice and thumping the table until the dishes rattled, and when Danny started laughing. If they did anything else, if Dad was about to get out of his chair and smack him, if Mom was going to disown him, Tim didn’t wait around to see it. He grabbed his bomber jacket and stalked out the door, letting it fall behind him.

He breathed heavily on the pretty little sidewalk in front of their pretty little house. The pretty little roses in the pretty little garden bloomed perfectly, and their thorns were all cut off. Down the street pretty little houses made of ticky tacky loomed, and they were all within HOA compliance in their gated little community. Nobody in. Nobody out.

When he was fifteen, Tim hated it because his parents were always trying to impose normalacy on him and he had never fucking measured up. When he was a young adult, he had hated it because he had fancied himself a gritty, street-wise cop who grappled with the dregs of society and always came out victorious. The perfect little families here thought that their gates could protect them from the cold and hard outside world - but the monsters in the world lived and breeded in their backyards, and they were too busy trimming their lawns to notice.

He should go home. It was late, and he had his ridiculous, evil, gloriously imperfect job tomorrow. God, Melanie would hate this place. She would sneer at him for ever having lived here, chalking it up with his infinite list of sins. All you pigs are the same, she would nag, privileged and sheltered. Bitch. Why was she always right?

But Tim just couldn’t work up the energy to drive all the way home. His heart felt scooped out with a grapefruit spoon. Instead he stumbled into the little alley next to the house, where the garbage trucks and the alley cats roamed, and he collapsed into a little patch of scrubby grass. This had been his favorite place to sulk as a child. Or hide from Danny. Danny always found him, of course, but it was the principle of the matter -

“Man, I can’t believe I got that show for free. You should have charged, Ji-hoon.”

“Fuck off, Danny,” Tim said, tone dull with how rote the phrase was.

When he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Danny was dappled in night. The only light was from the streetlights, and the lights of their porch. In the dim lighting, Danny was lit by a bright aura but his features were hidden in the dark. Like an angel, Danny shone, and like a devil, Tim hid in the shadows. Hidden in the corner, like a powerless child.

“It’s a compliment! Normally you’re the most boring, predictable bitch alive. Wind your key and watch you go. But not even I could have predicted the shit you pulled today. Fantastic.” Danny grinned, a slash of the mouth. “You’re dead disowned, buddy. You crossed a line. They’ll never forgive you.”

“Fuck off, Danny.”

“I’m looking forward to being an only child,” Danny mused. “Mom and Dad were always so obsessed with you, it’ll be nice to have them all to myself. When I make junior partner, do you think Dad will clap me on the back? Give me a hug?” He affected a sad look, pulling his face into a mockery of tragedy. “I’m really going to miss you. You always lowered the bar for me.”

“Fuck off, Danny.”

Apparently that was one ‘fuck off’ too many, because Danny kicked Tim in the ribs. He always knew exactly where to hit - right in an old scar in the ribs, a bullet wound that he had never told him about. Tim wheezed, but he didn’t move. No point.

In a brief, strange flash of memory, Tim remembered bending his knee back to kick Jon in the stomach. Jon hadn’t flinched. Had there been no point?

“I know you spent your entire sad little childhood thinking I ruined your life. That’s bullshit and you know it. You didn’t need anyone else to ruin your life, Timbo. You’ve always been good enough at that yourself.” He pulled a faux-surprised face. Every expression Danny ever had was fake. Everything was a mask, plastic and fake. “Even your relationships, right? How’s that Mexican bird you got following you around? She still refusing to fuck you? I should pick her up, I bet she’s real easy -”

Tim saw red.

It was easy, in the end. Maybe too easy. He leapt up, in one easy and smooth motion, and tackled Danny to the ground. Tim had always been bigger but Danny had always been stronger, no matter how long Tim spent at the gym, but that didn’t matter now. Tim was faintly aware he was snarling as Danny hit the ground hard, head bouncing on the grass.

There was no time for him to recover. Tim punched him in the face, keeping him down, before punching him again. He felt bone break under his fist. A nose.

He didn’t remember anything after that. Everything fuzzed out a little, trapped in the swirling of his rage and the thump of his heartbeat. It wasn’t Martin’s anger, it wasn’t Sasha’s cold chase. It was just hatred.

It wasn’t that - that thing inside Tim, the thing he had spent years denying. It was just Tim. Or maybe Tim was that thing, and that thing was Tim.

He was faintly aware that somebody was grabbing him by the elbows, pulling him off. There was screaming. Wailing. He couldn’t really tell. Tim was dizzy, hands wet and sticky. Someone was crying - the nauseatingly familiar sound of his mother sobbing.

Just boys roughhousing, Tim wanted to say. That was a good line, snappy and sarcastic. Just boys being boys, the same line he had heard time after time after time when Danny coated his entire torso in bruises. Monsters, acting like monsters. Men, doing what men always do.

Tim left the scene. He wouldn’t be back. Never return to the scene of the crime, ha ha ha. He wouldn’t be welcome back. It should have felt crushing, isolating, terrifying.

But instead, Tim just felt free. As if a crushing weight had fallen off his shoulders, and he no longer felt suffocated by endless picking and prodding and pushing. It...he didn’t feel scared.

Tim walked down the street, taking the long way home, whistling happily. He hated himself a little bit less than usual tonight. Things were looking up.

iv.

Tim stared at Melanie as she slept.

It wasn’t hard. They kept the lights on, although after a few days Melanie had started to use a sleeping mask. She had recovered from what happened fairly quickly. She still let him keep his arm on her.

It tingled, just a little, where it touched her. She was warm and soft, breathing softly in a gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her face was slack with sleep. No nightmares. Melanie only looked gentle when she was asleep: any other time, her face was screwed up in intent thought or a mean comment or an exaggerated face made behind someone’s back.

It was the first time Tim had slept in the same bed as a woman without sleeping with her. At Sasha’s, he always slept on the couch. It was a little weird. It was really weird. He kept on telling himself to pull away, to rebuild that bridge that had been so effortless with Sasha, to act normal and stop being desperate and needy.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Every time he let go of her, he was alone. No matter how many people surrounded them, no matter how big the room or busy the sprawling London streets, when she was out of the room it felt as if she would never come back.

He hated the way he felt. It was disgusting, crawling in his gut and heart like rot. He hated himself for feeling it, he hated the world for doing it to him, and he hated Melanie for making him feel this way.

He didn’t know love could be this painful.

***

Did he love her?

Tim was fairly sure he couldn’t love anybody. Whatever he felt for Sasha, it couldn’t be love. It could only be a selfish, disgusting poison. Or maybe he really did love her, and love really was poison - if it was the kind of love Tim felt for other people, if it was all he could give.

But Tim knew Sasha, down to her soul. He knew her dark secrets, every skeleton in her closet. He knew what she was running from, why she had landed in England and never left, why she felt just as passionately for Tim’s crusade for justice as he did.

Justice. What a joke.

But Melanie wasn’t like that. She was rough and bitchy and meddling and willfully idiotic, but if you scratched that surface she was perfect. Kind, understanding, forgiving, patient, supportive - the kind of girl Tim had always wanted. Not that Sasha hadn’t been - but Sasha was somebody he should probably stay away from, for her own good.

Melanie had saved him. Melanie was trying to fix him, and she wouldn’t stop until she did. She wouldn’t give up - she never gave up on anything or anyone. Even Tim. Maybe, if it was her, Tim could be fixed.

He squinted at her in the soft lights keeping away the dark lingering in the small windows. Did he want to kiss her? He should, right? Any emotion this strong, anything that made him feel so vulnerable and desperate and insane had to come with wanting to be with her. Not that she could ever like him that way back…

The idea was oddly nice. Men and women couldn’t be friends. But maybe Tim and Melanie could - Melanie, who would never love him in that way, freeing Tim of the obligation to reciprocate.

He settled a little bit more, tucking her a little bit closer under him until he could no longer see her face. The idea was heady - that she was letting him do that, that she could be open and vulnerable in front of him too. That Tim had never really protected anybody, that Melanie was the first person to ever protect him, and that maybe he could pay that back.

Maybe she could fix him. Give him love that was pure instead of corrupted; selfless instead of selfish. Tim needed her.

He tried not to hate it.

***

That night, Tim had a dream that he was fucking Melanie in his old bed in his old flat. Danny was there, somehow, constantly mocking Tim on how badly he was doing, and every time Tim would yell at him to get out he would just laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh -

***

Melanie dragged him to work with her the next morning, as Tim chugged a shitton of coffee and considered braining himself with a hammer so he could forget the dream he had last night. He would literally prefer the construction site nightmares. He could barely meet her eyes, and lived in relentless paranoia that somehow she knew and was going to call him disgusting which would be fair and true and -

“Do you think the old man in Home Alone is a Jesus allegory?”

Tim blinked blearily at her, still chugging his coffee. They had gotten his car keys and car back from Sasha - she still had everything he ever owned, but he didn’t want to deal with that - but Melanie was driving, since Tim’s reaction time wasn’t that good anymore and he tended to zone out. They would take the tube and avoid London traffic except, well…

“I have no opinions on Home Alone,” Tim said blankly. He had been reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra on his phone. So far he had several points of disagreement, his largest was the man’s weird obsession with atheism. Granted, it was hard to be a nihilist and be religious, but Tim had insider information on the nature of the universe and he was working on a thesis - anyway. Anyway. “Why?”

“It’s a good movie, right? We should watch it for movie night tonight.”

“I thought you wanted to watch T2 today.”

“Aw, fuck, right.” Melanie slightly slapped the steering wheel. They didn’t move - traffic was really hell. “I am a slut for fictionalized violence. Isn’t Sarah Connor the most badass action hero ever?”

“She’s awesome,” Tim agreed warmly. “But Schwarzenneger in that movie is just peak. Have you ever seen Predator? It was his best role.”

Melanie snorted. “Predator was so boring. Just a lot of oiled up men flexing at each other.”

Typical. Tim rolled his eyes, propping an elbow below the window, but he found himself smiling anyway. “What do you want me to watch instead, Blue is the Warmest Color?”

“Laugh all you want, idiot. You’re getting the whole rota of required watching for gay people. First on the list is the Birdcage, then right after that Paris is Burning -”

Tim groaned theatrically, drowning her out, but all that did was hit him with the musk of his small, battered car. The smell of Melanie hit him like a truck - her Melon shampoo, her 24 hour deodorant, the dust of the Archives, something unique to her that he just couldn’t place.

To Tim’s horror, the scent pulled at that deep pit in his stomach. Don’t think about it. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t let them know - except for Sasha, who always knew. It made him want to do - stuff that he didn’t want to do. Not really. Tim didn’t want that. Whoever Tim was.

Counterintuitively, the hunger made it easier to keep that fake smile and forced manic energy when they got to the office. He wasn’t really up to it today - some days were easier than others - but that didn’t really matter when he had to aggressively convince everybody that he was fine. The alternative was everybody giving him sad and pitying looks, which was a thousand times worse than any infernal hell torture.

It wasn’t. But he still didn’t want to deal with it.

So he kicked the door open, yelled something meaningless about how the bitch was back, and let Basira ignore him and Martin roll his eyes and Sasha very pointedly ignore him. He noted that Daisy wasn’t in this morning - ever since their planning session, she had been dropping by more frequently to flirt obnoxiously with Basira, but she obviously couldn’t spend all of her time here if she wanted to keep up the pretense with Peter Lukas.

Which was...somewhat of a relief.

Tim collapsed in what used to be Daisy’s chair at her desk, which was for far more important reasons than just because he didn’t want to sit next to Sasha. The upside is that Melanie sat diagonal from him, across from Basira, who didn’t give a shit what he did if she wasn’t using him as a meaningless sounding board for her constant venting. It wasn’t all bad, if he didn’t look too hard at whatever the fuck Martin was doing at any given time.

So he swiveled in his chair as Melanie, Basira, and Sasha disappeared into the library. He stood up to go with her, but Melanie made a gesture that sent him sitting down again. Martin, who was writing something ornate in his journal, snickered.

Six months ago Tim would have snapped at him, but instead he just leaned back in his chair and squeezed his grip trainer. The grind never stopped. “Writing love poetry, buddy? In the Romantic tradition or the...fuck, I don’t know any other poets.”

Martin silently held up his journal. The only thing written was ‘murder kill murder’, repeatedly, up and down two pages.

Well. That was enough teasing Martin for one day. He really had no idea how Melanie was brave enough to get Martin to listen to listen to her - or, worse, why he did.

After an hour or so, spent reading Plato and disagreeing with a great deal, Jon slunk out of his office and blinked owlishly at both Tim and Martin, who had been politely minding their own business.

Tim realized - in the same way that, whenever he saw Jon, he was inescapably reminded that he knew what he looked like when he was about to die - that the room was filled with two guys who had tried repeatedly to kill him. Fuck, he was probably uncomfortable. Good job, Tim. Way to keep terrorizing people. But he really wasn’t capable of doing anything else, so it was hardly a surprise -

“Hullo, Martin. I’m picking up some food from the vending machine, do you want anything?”

Oh. They were going for ‘disturbingly banal’ today. Martin smiled shyly at Jon, who blushed in response. “Surprise me. Thanks, Jon.”

“Want any razor blades in the apples?”

“You know that’s a myth, Jon,” Martin said disapprovingly. Or maybe not.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever met,” Martin whispered.

Then Jon flushed, and leaned casually in what he probably thought was a hot pose and unfortunately totally was against Martin’s desk, and Tim was subjected to their absolutely fucking atrocious flirting for the next ten minutes. At that point, Tim found his breaking point and left the Archives, the terror of being in semi-public outweighed by the terror of Jonmartin. That was what Basira and Melanie kept calling it. He really didn’t know what that meant, but whatever.

But after fifteen minutes of standing in front of the vending machine himself, quietly overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of choices and colors and flavors and sugar, he heard someone else approaching. He snapped his head to the left to see a gawky, hunched scarecrow slouch down the hall, raising a hand apologetically. That man put no effort into his appearance, how as he still that hot -

Maybe Jon and Martin were normal, Tim secretly wondered, and Tim just didn’t understand gay courting rituals. He had to find out, right? How do you flirt with guys? It wasn’t as if he could practice with the two guys in the office. Especially Martin. Tim had never really paid a lot of attention to him before he came back to life, writing him off as a beta male - which ended up being so hilariously incorrect it forced Tim to sit down and reconsider his entire framework of alpha and beta males. Melanie had given him a sticker.

“Uh. Hey.”

Tim stared at him blankly.

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “How...are you?”

Tim blinked at him.

“Well. I would, er, enjoy using the vending machine.”

Oh. Obviously. Tim stepped aside, cheeks burning, and silently let Jon punch in the code for a Mars Bar (for Martin, probably) and a granola bar (because an alarm went off on his desk if he didn’t eat a snack at 3pm).

It wasn’t their first time being alone together since he came back, but as Tim had been more or less catatonic at that period in time he was inclined not to count that. Jon hadn’t seemed scared, anyway. Probably. Tim hadn’t paid much attention.

He should do this. He had to do it. It was all about making up for the shit he did, right? He had to face this. Then Jon would forgive him, not that he had to, and - and something vaguely good would happen. He would find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and the hunger would go away, and the intrusive thoughts would be all gone. Melanie would give him another sticker. Or something.

“You can go for it, you know.”

Jon whipped his head around, shocked at Tim addressing him directly for the first time in a very long time. “What?”

Idiot. If this guy had been in a single fight in his life, he’d eat his hat. From what Jon had seen of his childhood friend, Georgie’s girlfriend who he hated for absolutely no reason, she had probably defended him from every bully. It was almost cute.

“You can get a good one in,” Tim repeated slowly. He turned his cheek. “Promise I won’t punch back or anything.”

“I - do you mean punch you?” The Mars Bar rattled down the machine, dropping heavily into the tray. “Why would I do that?”

Jesus, the guy was thick. “Do you remember when I kidnapped and tried to kill you, or is that just me?”

Jon blinked owlishly at him. “Lots of people try to kill me.”

“Don’t you want to?” Tim cried, a little bit higher and a little bit louder than he intended. “Come on, as if you’ve never wanted to do it? Wouldn’t it help? You got in a week of being a passive aggressive asshole, that isn’t enough. It doesn’t make up for anything. This would.”

“How would that fix anything?”

Tim’s breath hitched. But Jon was just staring, as if he could see right through him. Maybe he could. “What?”

“How would hurting you make me feel better?” Jon repeated slowly. “It won’t change what happened. Punching you wouldn’t change what you did to me. All it would do is make you feel better, as if that fixes it. It doesn’t. Is that how you solve all of your problems? That explains a lot.”

His breath was coming faster, hitching again. He couldn’t control it. “I’m trying to do you a favor, asshole.��

“No, you’re trying to make yourself feel better.” Jon smiled politely and, before Tim could jerk away, clapped him on the shoulder. “I forgave you a long time ago. Not because of you. But I just didn’t want it hanging over me. I gave myself closure and moved on. Sometimes bad things happen to us, and we have to get up the next day and go to work anyway. My friends helped. My family did too. I’m sorry you don’t have that, Tim. You’ll get closure one day.” Jon looked thoughtful for a second. “I mean, getting closure about being almost killed one time must be a lot easier than dealing with the fact that you killed fifteen people in your life? Twice that supernatural people, I think. You know you’re technically a serial killer? I won’t judge, this is a safe space, but I thought you ought to know.”

Somehow, inanely, all Tim could think of to say was, “It’s not serial killing if it’s part of your job.”

“Which is why I’m sure you took that job,” Jon said brightly. “Let’s get back to the office before Martin decides to amuse himself.”

For a second, just for a second - or two, or ten, or a minute - Tim vividly imagined himself ripping Jon’s throat out. Killing him properly this time, putting that look on his face again. It had felt so good, and - and it had made him feel so bad, but that felt good too, and he still didn’t know why, and he wanted to eat Jon so bad. Jon, who was innocent in everything, gentle and kind. Nothing like Tim. That was why everybody liked Jon and hated Tim.

From what he had heard, while Tim was going insane hyperfixating on the chase a few years ago, the girls had spent ages talking Jon down from a breakdown and steering him away from the same path that Tim had barrelled down. Who had done that for him? Sasha made a big show of keeping his head level, but she had used him just as ruthlessly as he had used her. She never had an investment in keeping him sane; just functional.

If somebody had done that for him, would he still be cruel?

They went back to the office, and Tim pretending that the hunger swirling in his gut was just self-hatred. But, then again, they really were the same thing.

When Melanie came out of the library with Basira and Sasha on her heels, talking quietly about some new scheme they were cooking up, Tim found himself reaching out to her. Melanie smiled and squeezed his hand, before gently heckling his choice in literature.

Some stupid part of him - maybe even a large part - thought that once he was clasping Melanie’s hand again, the hunger would quiet down. It had protected him underground, it felt as if it should protect him in the world above.

But it didn’t, and it didn’t solve anything, and Tim tried not to think about the fact that he was slowly unwinding, and that he didn’t want to see what was inside him when everything that was Tim Stoker fell away.

***

A short yet tumultuous time later, Tim was called into Jon’s office.

He hadn’t wanted to come to work. But the alternative of stewing at home - Melanie’s flat - was much worse, and Basira had reported that too many skip days made them all way too sick. Might as well come in. Melanie had spent the night at Georgie’s - like she had the past two days, what a fucking coincidence - so he didn’t have to worry about that awkwardness.

After too long memorizing the face after too many sleepless nights, Tim could imagine it vividly. Soft, uncreased, innocent of how hard the world could be. Tim couldn’t bear it. He had to ruin it. He just couldn’t bear it.

He was the first one in the office, so it was easy to see the poisonous death glare Basira shot him when she walked in. So Melanie had told them - of course she fucking told them, she hadn’t done anything wrong, she wasn’t obliged to lie. Daisy was hot on her heels, and she actually properly snarled at him before Basira pulled her back while somehow giving the full impression that she wanted to do the same thing.

He should probably go hide in the library before Martin came in. He couldn’t decide whether or not this was worse than the shunning. The shunning had driven him absolutely crazy, but at least he hadn’t been legitimately afraid that Martin would stab him and that nobody would stop him.

There was the faint sound of raised voices in the cowpen. Tim knew that they were arguing about him. He already knew what they would decide - wait for Melanie’s verdict. But are you sure she isn’t too close to this? No, she knows the fucker better than anybody else, she would judge if they needed to do anything. What are we going to tell Sasha? The truth, fucking obviously.

Sasha. Tim wanted her to be surprised. He knew she wouldn’t be. That hurt more.

After what felt like an infinite amount of time but he knew was only a few hours, pouring over Sasha’s collection of Vast and Spiral Statements, he heard the library door open. It was Jon, standing at the threshold, and all Tim could think was - oh, man, here we go.

It was a regular walk of shame into Jon’s office, and he couldn’t miss the way everybody’s heads snapped to look at him. Sasha, just as he thought, looked resigned. Melanie was frowning.

Jon’s office was the same as ever, not that Jon went in too frequently. The only strange thing about it was that Jon locked the door behind him. Tim didn’t know what that boded, but it wasn’t good.

Well, might as well take control of the situation. He collapsed on the chair in front of his desk and propped his boots on Jon’s desk, wishing he had a drink to obnoxiously sip. “Is this the part where you threaten me?” He affected a fake baritone, somehow still not even hitting Jon’s register. “ ‘Touch her again and you’ll answer to me’. ‘Stay away from her or you’ll face the consequences’. Come on, I’ve read a thousand creeps the same riot act. Get it over with.”

Jon sat down heavily in his office chair. The office had chipped in to buy him a new one as a birthday gift, much more comfortable than the old one. But he was leaning forward now, arms folded on the desk.

“Would that make you feel better?”

Great, this again. “Yeah, it evokes the emotionally absent father I was raised with,” Tim snarked. “If you aren’t going to say it, what am I in here for?”

He was afraid to know what he was in here for. Melanie had told him that if he did it again, she’d sic Jon on him. And Tim knew what it looked like when Jon was sicced on someone. This wasn’t it.

“Tim,” Jon said seriously, and he was somehow kind about it. “You know what this looks like, right?”

Something ugly and ashamed twisted in Tim’s gut. He fought the urge to sink in his seat. “Yeah.”

“You know why we’re worried now.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tim looked fixedly at the wall, unwilling to meet Jon’s eyes. “I - I’m not going to do it again. I swear. And - and it wasn’t like that. I promise. I’m not - I’m not a creep, okay? Ask Sasha. I’ve never - I’ve killed people, but that’s not nearly as bad as - I’m not going to do it again. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Tim’s head snapped back to Jon, and before he could think about it he found himself half-rising from the chair. Jon’s cold stare had him sitting back down again, but his heart was thumping a drum in his chest. “Then what do you want?” Tim just barely restrained himself from yelling, knowing that the girls were probably listening at the door anyway. “What can I do to convince you that’d rather chop off my own hand than hurt her?”

“You can give your permission to let me ask you some questions.”

Tim faltered. “What? Just questions?”

“Uh.” Jon waved his hand in a circle in the air, as if that meant anything. “You know. Questions. I haven’t really done it since - since I think I did it to you? But I think I can do it on command now. I don’t like to.” His eyes sharpened, and for a second Tim could have sworn that they glimmered. “But I can’t take a chance. Not on this.”

It was like he was falling again, through that infinite void that was the last taste of freedom he had thought he would ever have. It was like he was suffocating again, a mile of dirt piled on his chest, banging incessantly at the lid of the coffin. Nobody saved him, until she did. He was distantly aware that he was barely holding back hyperventilating, but all Tim could feel was dissociated horror.

“You - you can’t. Jon, I - I won’t do it again, you can’t.”

Jon’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I won’t if you give me a flat no. I don’t like doing it.” That was a lie and they both fucking knew it. “But if you don’t, we can’t trust you again. We’d convince Melanie to let you stay with Martin. We wouldn’t leave you in the same room together. You’re not stable, Tim. It’s obvious. We thought it was harmless - or, at least, the only person you were hurting was yourself - but it’s not anymore. We’re all scared. I don’t want to hurt you just because we’re scared, but Melanie is the only one here who couldn’t really defend herself if you decided to do anything else to her.” He grimaced slightly. “Not that she admits it. She always puts herself between us and any enemy. But we have to pay that back. I know you understand.”

He did.

Hate burned in his stomach. What a hypocrite. Giving all of that big talk about choice and options. He knew that there was no option, not if they were going to rip him apart from the one person who he felt safe with.

The one person who wasn’t safe with him.

Tim deserved this. Even if it had been his worst fear a year ago - well, Tim had experienced much worse than that since then.

When you did shit to other people, you make up for it. You make sure that you can’t hurt anybody else again. Jon was right - gestures didn’t mean anything. He had to commit. He had to improve, be better. Otherwise he’d be sent straight back down to that place when he died, and there would be no saving him.

“Yeah,” Tim said, mouth dry, “you can do it. But - but no personal questions this time, okay? Just stick to the subject.”

“They seem to always end up a bit personal,” Jon said apologetically, “but I’ll try.”

Deep within Jon, inside of the unassuming and kind and gentle man, the subject of Tim’s nightmares rose. His eyes flashed green, then shined with a bright and sickly radioactive green. His hair strained against its bun and fuzzed at the end, but it didn’t break free.

“What’s your name, Tim?”

The worst part about the compelling, Tim had decided long ago, was that you didn’t feel brainwashed.

You felt exactly as if you were talking normally, that there was nothing strange about Jon or you. His words didn’t ring with a mysterious power. If you had entered it thinking you were talking of your own volition, you probably wouldn’t notice. But if you knew what was happening, the curtain was lifted, and you were deathly aware of the way the words were ripped out of you with fishhooks. It left Tim gasping, straining for air.

“Timothy Ji-hoon Stoker,” Tim said, and it was almost as if he wanted to. “My dad just calls me Ji-hoon though. So do my grandparents. My last name’s made up as fuck - I think Mom just saw a book at the airport and picked it out from the cover. Kind of ironic, considering everything.”

“Oh, really? Daisy says that she got Tonner because her English wasn’t great and she misheard someone at the airport asking her for a tenner - right, right.” Jon coughed. Wait, was the reason why Daisy barely talked when he first met her was because her English was bad? “On topic. Tim, do you want to attack Melanie again?”

“Of course not,” Tim burst out, and these words, at least, came easy. “I love her. I hate hurting her, I hate how I’m constantly fucking up and doing it anyway. I’m just violent and I don’t know how not to be violent. It’s the only way I deal with things, being violent, and I know it’s eating me up inside but I just can’t stop it. But if there’s one person who can help me stop, it’s Melanie. She’s going to fix me, I know it.”

The words were unbelievably humiliating, the kind of thing that Tim had never wanted to admit, but Jon’s expression didn’t change. Tim wanted to look away, to pretend that this was just an internal narration and that he wasn’t telling this his fucking coworker, but he found himself incapable. Their gazes locked, and Tim couldn’t pull away.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I was scared, and I hate being scared so much. It’s what I always do, ever since I was a kid - I would get scared, and I would try to hurt something or someone about it. I did it to you, I was so scared of you that I obsessed about killing you and covered it up with some bullshit about justice or Sasha. It was just about me, it’s always been selfish. But - but- but -” The words were sticking in his throat, coagulating on the wound ripped open by Jon and his fishhooks. “But I hate her. I hate that I care, and I hate that I need her, and - and I don’t think I did it just because I was scared. I think I did it because I was scared, and I love her, and I hate her, and I’m beginning to think I have some kind of weird complex about women because of my mother’s overly dependent narcissistic personality and my father’s emotional detachment -”

“You just now figured that out?” Jon asked incredulously. “Sorry, you just now started realizing that your toxic masculinity controls your entire justification for your actions?”

“I’ve known for a while but I’ve been repressing it,” Tim said hurriedly, forced to answer that one despite Jon probably intending it as a rhetorical question.

Jon stared at him for a second silently, giving Tim time to catch his breath and try to control his breathing. He was one bad step away from a panic attack, and his hold was still clenched on this throat like a fist. Danny had done that to him one time, the son of a bitch, and he had never forgotten. Should he tell Jon that? Does he have to?

“Tim,” Jon said finally. He looked very uncomfortable, but also resolute. As if he didn’t want to ask, or maybe he just didn’t want to know, but he felt as if he had to. “Are you in love with Melanie?”

Tim opened his mouth to answer him, and found that he couldn’t.

The strange and evil magic didn’t like that. Whatever Tim wanted to say, if there was anything to say, it caught in his throat and made him gag. It choked him. He was well acquainted with the feeling, but it sent him into a panic anyway. His breath started shuddering and heaving, his vision swimming, and he kept on answering his mouth to answer because you have to answer but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, he didn’t know how -

“Forget it! Forget it, Tim, don’t worry about it! Tim, what’s your favorite color? Tim, your favorite color! Answer me!”

“Grey!” Tim cried out. “Grey, it’s grey!”

He didn’t so much stand up from his chair as fall out of it. He didn’t so much let himself sit on the ground as found himself incapable of moving. He just breathed, waiting and waiting to spit up dirt and grime and rocks, but nothing happened. It was just a panic attack, because his hell was within him, and there was no escape.

No escape. There was no escape. Not from what he’d done in his past, not from how badly he’d hurt Melanie and Sasha, not from how he would inevitably hurt them in the future.

You had to cut out the evil things in this world. One bad apple spoils the bunch. When criminals are left to run wild, they corrupt and destroy society. Evil had to be eliminated. Evil people shouldn’t exist.

Evil people shouldn’t exist. It wasn’t a new thought for him. Neither was the thought after that. It was a thought he’d had for a very long time - before he even met Melanie, before he even admitted it.

“Tim, are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

After a few heart-wrenching seconds, Tim found himself calming down enough to answer. “You meant to. You just didn’t want to. I made you do this.” One bad apple spoils the bunch. “Is - is that enough? I can answer more -”

“No, that’s enough,” Jon said quickly. “It’s - it’s not my place to pass judgement on you, Tim. And your, uh, disturbed thinking. Melanie - anyway, we’ll work on it.” He smiled weakly, placatingly. “I’ve been there. The others helped. If it wasn’t for them, I’d be - I don’t know where I’d be, but I’d be a lot worse off. We can help you too. If you let us. I know it’s scary, but it’s worth it. I promise.”

“Right,” Tim said. “Can I go now?”

When he left Jon’s office, everybody was at their desks. He knew what the guilty expressions when they all pretended they hadn’t been eavesdropping, but they weren’t wearing them now. Maybe everybody had grown up a bit recently.

Tim slunk into the library, and for good measure locked it behind him. He pulled out a thick stack of books, a teetering pile of Statements. He needed to research. There was a decision he had to make, and he needed as much proof as possible and a well-laid plan. It wasn’t quite a hunt, but it was close. It wasn’t quite the apocalypse, but it was his own.

But, of course, it was a lie. Tim had made his decision a few minutes ago. He had made it a long time ago. He kept making it, every time. Everything else was just justification.

It wouldn’t fix anything - but it’d make him feel better.

#my writing #the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #hunt!tim #timothy stoker #melanie king #sasha james #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #this one's a roughie try not to read it if you're in a bad place right now #danny stoker #also keep in mind that tim absolutely one of the most unreliable narrators ive ever written if not the most #it was incredibly fun #anyway enjoy

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siriuslyshewrote · 4 years

Text

YOU CAN’T STOP DNA - SHELBY!SISTER X ISAIAH

A/N - Y/N and Isaiah are both 17 in this x Hope you enjoy

“But you can’t stop DNA”

You were rain soaked, freezing, shaking, as you quietly opened the door to the family home. You weren’t surprised it was unlocked - no one would dare to intrude into the Peaky Blinders home, so what was the point of locking it?

Kicking off your boots at the front door, you stumbled slightly, sniffing, trying to stay quiet. The last thing you wanted was to wake up your family.

“Y/N?” Pollys voice called from the kitchen, her voice strained and worried. You heard her footsteps, fast, rushing, as you inhaled, trying to prepare yourself. Trying to be composed.

She, and your little brother Finn, paused when they saw you, and from the looks of them - wearing the same clothes they had been when you left yesterday evening, they hadn’t slept. You felt guilt, as you saw her panicked expression. You hadn’t thought any of them would realise you weren’t home. You hoped it was just her and Finn that realised.

“Where have you been?” Her voice was a mixture of anger and worry.

It only took those eyes, the ones of the woman who had raised you like her own child, who had sacrificed so much for you, in order for you to break. Your lip began to wobble, thick, warm tears dribbling down your cheeks, as your arms reached out for her like they had when you were a child.

“Finn, go tell your brothers she’s home. Tell any of the Blinders you see, on the way, too.” Polly instructed, as she held you tightly, as the front door banged shut behind Finn’s hurried footsteps.

“I’m so sorry, Pol, I’m so sorry.” You almost wailed.

“Love, what’s wrong? Where’ve you been? Everyone’s been searching for you, all fucking night!” She exclaimed, guiding you to the kitchen, into one of the slightly unstable chairs.

You rested your head in your hands, sniffing.

“I don’t know - walking , I guess , I-“

How could you tell her?

The one thing Polly has always emphasised to you - don’t get pregnant , don’t make the same mistakes she did. And you’d promised you wouldn’t. Promised you’d stay in school, wait until you were ready, to get married.

And you’d gone and stamped on that promise in front of her eyes, practically.

She wrapped a warm blanket around your shaking shoulders.

“Y/N, I can’t help, not if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t- it was once Pol. I swear, it was only once we forgot-“

It, of course being protection. We, being you and Isaiah, the boy you’d been seeing for almost a year now. And you’d forgotten about that incident, the one a few months back. You’d assumed you were in the clear. Until you started feeling nauseous, all the time. Started behaving different to how you had before. And yet, you didn’t really connect the dots. Not until last night, when you had been sick for the fourth time that time, outside of Isaiahs house, in the gutter of all places. It was when the possibility really began to strike you.

And so you did what all unmarried women your age did. You went to a place you’d heard whisperings of, and fir the price of your favourite watch - a gift from your eldest brother last Christmas (one that mattered dearly to you, but was the only method of payment you had, and you needed to know. You couldn’t wait), she confirmed it.

There really was a baby inside of you.

Polly paled, her eyes flickering from yours eyes to your stomach , her hands immediately going to your slightly swollen abdomen.

And then her expression dropped, further than before. She knew.

You began to cry even harder, heaving sobs that made it hard to breathe.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Pol. I won’t get rid of it, I won’t. Please, don’t make me, Pol-“

“What did I tell you, Y/N? No babies!” She sighed, disappointment heavy in her voice. “But I can’t bloody blame you, can I? Both me and your mother already had children by the time we were your age.”

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. I know you wanted better for me. I’ve fucking failed you. I’ve failed you all. Mum, Tommy, Arthur, John-“

“Don’t say that, Y/N. This isn’t a good situation, I’m not going to bloody lie. But you could never fail any of us, understand?”

She wrapped her arms around you tighter as you cried. You dreaded the moment your brothers came home, to have to tell them.

“They’re going to kill him Pol. Isa-“

“They’re not going to kill him, silly girl. Not if he marries you.”

“What if he doesn’t want to? How can I do that to him-“

The door burst open, and you flinched, burying your face in Pollys shoulder again. You couldn’t face them.

“Y/N.” Two voices spoke your name at once. Arthur’s, and John’s, in very different tones. Arthur was furious, you could tell without looking at him, as you stayed hidden in Polly’s arms. John was quieter , concerned, immediately. You supposed that it fit them both - Arthur has always been more of a father than a brother to you, and John more of a best friend.

Tommy must have been there, but he was silent.

“Don’t tell them, Pol.” You whimpered, sniffling pathetically, louder than you intended.

“Tell us what, exactly.” Arthur said gruffly.

“If you don’t tell them, I will. I’m as annoyed at that Jesus boy as they will be!” Polly replied, and you gritted your teeth in annoyance. Sometimes you really , really, hated your family’s bloody need to know all of your business.

“Isaiah? What’s he fookin’ done?” John sounded relieved - surely whatever happened couldn’t be that bad if Isaiah was involved. He wasn’t a bad kid.

You stayed silent, as you pulled away from Polly, still in your soaking clothes, as Finn wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders. You tried to smile at your youngest sibling, but you just couldn’t.

Surely they couldn’t be so annoyed? It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened in the family before - Ada had only just given birth to Karl a few months ago. But Ada was 23, married now, had her own home. You - well, you were barely seventeen, weren’t married, having a biracial baby in a time where people were filled with such stupid prejudice and anger.

“I’ve fucked up.” You mumbled, tearily, drawing away from Polly, trying to wipe away your tears.

Finn was beside you again in an instant, wrapping his arms around you - the other brothers crowding around the table - and you saw John holding his cap very tightly, as if in any instant he was ready to go and cut whoever had hurt you.

“Y/N.” Tommy’s voice was calm, though there was an edge to it. “Tell us.”

“You’re all going to hate me-“

“No ones going to hate you.” Poppy told you with pursed lips. “Even if I think you need to think more about your decision-“

“I’m pregnant.” You said, quietly. “And I’m keeping it.”

The room went completely, deadly silent.

“Isaiah?” John enquired, his voice an emotion you didn’t understand. A mixture of such intense disappointment and anger.

You nodded.

Almost in sync, the three oldest brothers pushed back their chairs, making back towards the door. Arthur removed his cap.

“What are you going to fucking do, like?” You said, louder than you spoke before. “Cut him?” Your heart thrummed, anxiously.

“He’s got you in this position-“

“Oh don’t you dare pretend this is about my dignity-“

“I-“

“No! You just want an excuse to cut someone! Don’t you dare-“

“No this isn’t, this is because if he doesn’t marry you then-“ Polly inputted.

“I haven’t even fucking told him! You aren’t giving him a chance.”

“You ‘ave’nt told him?” Arthur asked.

“No. And you dare tell him before me-“ You were more angry than upset now.

“Why are you bloody mad at us?”

“Because this is what you do. You scare people and you intimidate people into doing what you want. If Isaiah wants nothing to do with me when I tell him this, then that’s his choice. And you’ll respect that.” You said, sniffling a little still, but calmer, your jaw set in determination.

“You’d rather your baby be known as a bastard?”

“Yes.” The word caught in your throat, because no, it wasn’t.

There was another silence.

“Okay.” Tommy said.

And that meant things were over. Is would be fine. You just didn’t know if you would be.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #isaiah jesus x reader #isaiah jesus fanfiction #isaiah jesus imagine #isaiah jesus #john shelby #john shelby headcanons #john shelby x reader #shelby sister #shelby!sister #shelby!reader #finn shelby x reader #polly gray

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megatronswaifu · 4 years

Photo

wrote a fanfiction and wanted to draw something to go with it!!

if you want to read some sickeningly sweet ooc overlord with nightlight please take a look under the cut. i’m happy with how it turned out because i really didn’t take it seriously like i’ve tried in the past.

“Nightlight’s Shadow” <2k words rating: GEN tw: mild canon-typical violence

-------------

“What’s wrong?”

Overlord peered through the door, hunching over significantly. The phase-sixer was incredibly bored, having killed everyone he felt like and no missions assigned to him for a long while. When Overlord was bored and without those to maim, he went to go bother Nightlight.

The minibot sat in the shape of a ball on her berth. Her helm was tucked between her knees, and her little horns poked out, the only thing clueing Overlord in that “Oh, that part of the purple dot is her head.” When she looked up at Overlord, he thought to himself that this was the most pitiful face she had made to-date.

The towering bot squeezed into the room, scraping the doorframe with his shoulders as he stomped in (he wasn’t stomping on purpose, it was simply a feature of his size), his pillar audials threatening to pierce the ceiling. Nightlight’s accommodations were definitely made with efficiency and budget in mind. Why would anyone waste shanix and space on the ship just in case someone larger than a pea wanted to visit this room? Overlord thought he should carve out the wall and ceiling so his visits weren’t so difficult.

“What’s wrong?” Overlord asked again, and Nightlight turned to face away, “Why the long face?”

“I’m not a good Decepticon,” the tiny bot started. Her voice was quivering and hoarse, like she had been crying. Little cheekplates having subtle remnant streaks of tears confirmed this. “I’m not scary. Everyone keeps being mean to me. The bigger bots push me and call me names, even when I don’t do anything to them.”

“Why don’t you kill them?” replied Overlord like it was obvious. He had slithered onto the berth, laying sideways lazily behind Nightlight, his legs curled so he could fit. Luckily the slab was medium size, having not been made specifically for Nightlight, but it still creaked horribly under Overlord’s weight.

“I can’t do that! I’m not strong enough like everyone else. I’m not big. I can’t beat them up....I...every time I try to fight back,” her face scrunched up and her voice became even higher pitched and even wobblier, “I...I get my- my tailpipe kicked!”

Nightlight choked and whined, stifling a staticky sob in her forearms. She clearly felt so strongly about these simple tussles that it pained her enough to cry. The poor thing. The blue mech brought her into his chest with his big servo like a hockey stick to a puck.

“Don’t cry,” Overlord cooed, “I’ll give you advice.” Nightlight peeked at him from her arms. “You can’t beat them up and you can’t grow any. But that doesn't have to stop you.”

“When I walk around, everyone moves. As if I have a force field. Nobody gets in my way.” He gestured to Nightlight with his chin. “Why do you think that happens?” She looked away again, not in an attempt to hide her tears, but in thought.

“Um….because you’re really tough,” the moped said, “And, um, you’ll, maybe you’ll beat them up if they’re mean to you.” Nightlight always said things like “maybe” when talking about if Overlord would do something violent or not. Like she wasn’t sure if he was a bad mech, or she didn’t want to accuse him of anything. How kind.

“Yes, that’s true. I’m very tough.”

“But I’m not...it wouldn’t work for me. I’m not really-”

“Yes it would.”

Nightlight stuttered a few syllables of denial before resorting to looking at Overlord with a tipped helm in confusion. Overlord couldn’t help but laugh.

“When I walk around places where nobody knows me,” he said, “Where nobody knows I could mash them to a slurry, my force field still works. That is because I hold myself a certain way. I hold myself with an expectation that everyone fears me,” the duocon puffed out his chest plating a little, and it made a “clink” sound when it tapped his tiny companion, “With confidence. Confidence in myself and that the force field will work no matter what.” He smiled triumphantly. “Lo and behold, the seas part.”

Nightlight looked at him like he was the coolest mech on Cybertron. She had uncurled and instead was facing him, sitting with her knees forward and her pedes behind her. “So,” she spoke with a bit more pep in her voice, “they don’t know you’re strong...but they still kind of know you’re strong because you walk so confident.”

“Exactly.”

“But...but I don’t think I could do that.”

“Why not?”

“Cause what if I pretend to be strong and then they figure out I’m not and they beat me up?”

“If you walk with enough confidence, they won’t challenge you. And if they do, you threaten them. Then they run off like little glitchmice, with not a finger lifted.” Overlord waved his free servo as he talked, and Nightlight rubbed her fists on her optics and cheeks as he spoke, scooting closer to him.

“If I was injured in a way that left me unable to fight, but able to use my words, I would still win. In that moment, when I threaten them, it is not pain they are afraid of,” he explained, half-lying. Overlord loved to taunt, but he rarely threatened. If someone challenged him, most of the time he smashed their head in immediately. “I’m not touching them. They aren’t experiencing it. What they fear is the prospect of pain. All you have to do if you want to scare them off is make them believe you’ll rip them apart.”

Overlord had a feeling he was losing her, given her big optics staring at him. Or maybe that’s just how she looked. He poked her in the chest with acquired gentleness. “I can teach you. I can make you like me,” he said, “You can be intimidating. And nobody will ever bother you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

-------------

Nightlight had such a tall stack of datapads in her arms that the top of the pile concealed her face. She had to stumble slowly in the hall and occasionally, carefully glance to the side of the stack to see that there was nobody in front of her, and issue out “excuse me”s and “I’m sorry”s accordingly.

Overlord’s lessons on being braver and more intimidating had not yet been put into practice. Fortunately so, in Nightlight’s optics. The two wheeler hadn’t come across anybody who felt like bullying her for a whole week, and she was hoping her lucky streak would last forever. She didn’t want to try out what she had learned from the phase-sixer, even though out of everybody on the ship, he was probably the best person equipped to teach it. Nightlight didn’t want to mess up.

Turning a corner like an old bot driving slow on the highway, she scooted forward on her pedes and shifted her grip on the datapads. She felt the datapads sliding, and she “eep!”ed as she steadied them, and they settled back in place. “Whew,” she whispered.

Despite her dearest wishes on shooting stars, Nightlight didn’t get much time to be relieved. Just as she found her footing again, some mecha decided to sneak up beside her and stick their pede out. The minibot made a brief yelping sound before landing on her front, some of the datapads breaking her fall, layered like a deck of cards. The rest scattered and clattered around them. The floor and the pointy edges of the datapads poked and scraped her chassis and hands.

“Oops,” said the bot above her, laughing. She recognized him from his voice. She didn’t know his name. “Heh, watch where you’re going, squirt.”

Nightlight stayed on the floor for a moment, facing down, steeling herself and her urges to cry. It was action time. She got up, pushing herself with her tiny servos, whipping herself around with gusto and pointed her finger right in the mech’s face.

“How about YOU watch where YOU’RE putting your STINKY PEDES, BUSTER!!”

The Decepticon stood with his mouth agape. He stared at Nightlight like she had grown another helm. Her being any bit of aggressive was pretty equivalent, really. “Wha-” he snorted, before barking out laughter that scraped Nightlight’s audials from being too loud. “What’s your problem, Autobot model? You think you can just waltz up in here and get sharp with me? You lookin’ to get pummeled?”

“You’re the one asking for a beating, stupidhead!” Nightlight yelled back with surprising volume, looking up at the considerably taller mech, even stepping towards him with gritted teeth. She stomped at him and almost jumped towards him doing so, looking like a dog trying to chomp at a chewtoy placed above it. “Get out of my way or pick these up,” she pointed at the datapads now, “and take them to room L2400! Or I’ll rearrange your face so much you’ll have to get your whole head replaced!!”

Nightlight, venting hard, felt equal amounts proud and equal amounts terrified. She had used the strategies Overlord taught her! Nightlight had tried her hardest and her best, put on her scariest face with her scariest voice. Hours of practice with Overlord, of him showing her how to be unabashed and angry, were coming to fruition.

The mech looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he froze up, his expression contorting into a wide-eyed frown. He frantically vented, taking a few quick breaths before letting out what Nightlight could only describe as a “squawk”. His helm darted between facing forward and towards the datapads. He was shivering so hard his chassis rattled. Was it working?

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it, I’ll pick up the datapads!” he threw himself at them, scooping them up like they were shards of his spark. Nightlight couldn’t help but look on with her mouth in the shape of an O. “Just leave me alone, okay?! I don’t want any trouble anymore!”

“Really?!” asked the purple minibot, “I, I mean, yeah! And I don’t wanna ever see your dumb ugly face ever again, got it?!” She shook her fist at him, throwing in a growl to her intimidation tactics. It sounded like a baby cyberwolf.

Taking no time to look back or even respond, the mech rushed off with the datapads in his hands. He screamed and practically jumped in the air when Nightlight yelled “L2400!” to remind him of where he was supposed to be going.

When the bot disappeared in the hallway, Nightlight stood still. She seemed to start to gradually vibrate, before exploding in excitement, jumping around the hallway, squealing and screaming, dancing and throwing her fists all around. She did it! She did it! She was intimidating! She could stand up for herself! She didn’t have to be bullied anymore! She was a real Decepticon!

Nightlight then felt a little guilty. She put her servo to her mouth and thought. The mech looked so scared. Had she been too mean?

No, she hadn’t been. Overlord told her that she should stand her ground, go full force, and dish back exactly what her bullies were doing to her. There was nothing wrong with that. An optic for an optic, and then some. The moped bounced in place. Overlord would be so proud of her!

“...I have to tell him!” she said, out of breath. She dashed down the hallway despite this, giggling and cheering, back in the direction she came from.

As Nightlight skipped away, Overlord stood at the other end of the corridor, in direct line of sight of where her bully had been standing. He backed away into the darkness with a wicked smile.

#tf oc #nightlight #overlord #maccadam #sunnyd #tried posting this last night but i am pretty sure tumblr ate it #or something #cause it got like 2 likes and i was like #DAMN Y'ALL HATE IT THAT MUCH?#i got unreasonably sad about it LMAO #but then i went to take a nap and i was like #oh nvm it's fine laksjfdlkads #so now i'm grabbing you guys by the head and forcing you to read it #you WILL consume my content OR ELSE #and thank you to my friends who helped me feel better #i owe you one

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eramsey28 · 4 years

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Waiting Game

This story deals with death and complications due to pregnancy

Disclaimer – Pixelberry own all characters, basic plot and some of the dialogue.

(Pairing Ethan Ramsey and my MC Dr Dawn Moore)

“Eavesdropping again, are we, Moore?” Ethan Ramsey asked as soon as he noticed Dawn standing in the corridor watching him walking Mrs Martinez.

She looked down, slightly embarrassed, “No, of course not Dr Ramsey, it just looked like you were having fun. I was just on my way to my next patient, actually.”

“I care about the wellbeing of the patients in this hospital, Rookie. That’s all.” He told her, sternly.

“Right, ok I’d better go, Dolores Hudson isn’t going to examine herself.”

Ethan put a hand on her arm, stopping her, “Hold on, did you say Dolores Hudson?”

Dawn looked up at him, puzzled, “Yes?”

He frowned, “I’m coming with you.”

Dawn was delighted to find out from a heavily pregnant Dolores that she was one of Ethan’s few friends; they had known each other since his intern year at Edenbrook. She couldn’t wait to tell her friends that the intimidating attending actually had friends.

------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple of hours later, Dawn emerged with Ethan from Dolores’ room feeling emotional. Dolores had just been told she had preeclampsia and her baby was in danger. She was understandably angry and upset at the news and Dawn couldn’t help feeling like it was her fault.

Ethan stopped her outside the room, “Go home, Rookie. Your shift ended two hours ago.”

Dawn nodded her head in answer, too tired to fight. “Thanks, Doctor Ramsey, let me know if there’s any change.”

“Dawn, I’m taking you off this case. You’re too immature to handle it; I’ll do it alone.” He told her, he didn’t sound angry, just very serious.

She looked up at him, the hurt evident on her face. “Yes, Doctor Ramsey. See you tomorrow.”

She bumped into Bryce on her way to change and he offered to take her out to cheer her up. She looked up at him grateful for his offer of a distraction. Ethan’s words had really hurt her, she wasn’t immature!

He took her to a concert for a band he had never even heard of, they had a great time dancing and trying their best to sing along to songs they’d never heard before.

------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple of hours later, Bryce was just leaving Dawn outside her building when her pager went off. She looked down at it, frowning. “Oh, no.” She said, looking sad.

Bryce put a hand on her shoulder, “What is it, Dawn?” He asked her.

“My preeclampsia patient has just been rushed to emergency surgery. I have to get back to the hospital.”

He hugged her tightly, “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

Dawn thanked him and then headed for the train station.

When she arrived at the hospital, she found Ethan sitting alone in a waiting room; she paused before she said anything. His eyes were red rimmed and he’d obviously been crying.

“Dr Ramsey, what happened?” She asked him, quietly. She was about to ask him again, thinking he hadn’t heard her, when he finally answered her.

“Dolores had a seizure, full eclampsia. She was rushed into surgery; we had no choice but to deliver the baby. It’s fifty-fifty he’ll survive the night.” He swallowed a lump in his throat; his gaze fell to the floor.

Dawn felt sick, but she had to ask, “And Dolores?”

He looked up at her, the agony evident on his handsome face; in a voice barely above a whisper, he told her what she was dreading, “She died.”

Dawn felt the tears on her cheeks; she felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her, “Dr Ramsey, I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what to say to him; she felt as though she had killed Dolores herself; she felt guilt but also she felt overwhelming sadness for the baby as well as for Doctor Ramsey.

“I’m fine,” he answered her as he stood and swiftly walked away, leaving her standing alone, in tears in the empty waiting room.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn made her way to the NICU; she felt like she had to do something to make it up to Dolores. She decided to sit with the tiny baby overnight, as though her presence might save him. She took a seat on the loveseat by his cot and reached a gloved hand in to stroke his hand. His fingers instantly curled around her finger.

Her eye caught sight of his name then, “Ethan Hudson,” she read to herself, feeling fresh tears falling on her cheeks.

Ethan stood in the doorway, silently watching her as she held the baby’s hand. She was still wearing the black dress and heels she was wearing when she rushed in, he felt guilty for making her come back; she had obviously been out somewhere. He couldn’t help but notice how pretty she looked; the dress accentuated her curves and fell just above her knee. She looked exhausted and dejected as she sat there, whispering encouragement to the baby.

He cleared his throat, making his presence known, “Why are you still here?”

“I want to stay with him tonight. I hate the thought of him fighting for his life alone.”

“He isn’t alone though; there are plenty of doctors watching him, Rookie.”

“I know, but I want to be here.” She told him, her voice still hoarse from crying.

He nodded and then looked down at the baby, his expression gentle for a change.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked her.

She looked up at him in surprise, “Of course not, there’s plenty of room.”

He snapped on a pair of gloves and then took a seat next to her. He reached into the cot and stroked the baby’s hand. Dawn watched the interaction and felt her eyes fill up with tears again; she turned her head away, hiding behind a curtain of her long, dark hair. Ethan noticed, of course.

He put a kind hand on her arm, surprising her. “I lost my first patient in my fourth week. He had stage four metastatic melanoma; I made no mistakes, he just fought like hell and lost. I liked him. He wasn’t much older than I am now. I knew he didn’t have long, but it still hit me hard. It happens to all of us, no matter what we do, we can’t save everyone.”

Dawn sniffled next to him, he grasped her hand in his, his fingers tracing soothing circles over her knuckles; she looked up at him, her green eyes shining with unshed tears. “Does it ever get easier?” She asked him.

He sighed, “Grieving a lost patient shouldn’t be seen as a weakness, Rookie. Good doctors should value life. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset. I want you to know, Dawn, this wasn’t you fault, or mine, or Dolores’s. We all made the best decisions we could at the time with the information we had.”

“But she trusted me, Dr Ramsey, she put her life in my hands and I let her down.” She cried harder, sobs escaping her now.

Ethan put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close, “I know, always remember this; even when the patient is mean or stubborn, their life is in your hands; that responsibility has to come first.”

Dawn pulled back, “Why are you being so nice to me? You’re usually so…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish her sentence.

“Demanding?” He questioned, with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. He looked away, trying to think how to answer her; “There are doctors with unlimited patience, I’m not one of them. Energy I could use to make someone’s day better or socialising is put towards my patients. They’re who I’m here for.”

Dawn nodded her understanding, “But you are a teacher too.”

“I am. One of many, but you shouldn’t model yourself after any of us; idolatry among physicians is absurd. We’re here to teach you practical medicine, but you need to find your own way of being a doctor.”

Dawn looked puzzled for a moment, “But, how do I do that?” She looked uncertain.

Ethan couldn’t help smiling at her, “You already are, Rookie.” He swallowed and then looked down, a slight blush on his cheeks, “I’m sorry I called you immature earlier. You’re not and I shouldn’t have said it. You’ve handled this better than most experienced doctors would. I’m proud of you”

Dawn looked surprised for a moment, a blush heating her face, “Thank you, Doctor Ramsey. Apology accepted.” A comfortable silence fell over them for a few minutes. They took it in turns stroking the baby’s tiny hands and talking to him.

Dawn couldn’t take her eyes off the little name tag on the cot, her eyes would dart to it and then dart to Ethan; “She named him after you,” she told him, her tone matter of fact.

Ethan’s eyes fell on the name tag, showing a flash of surprise, his eyes filled with tears and he looked away. He swallowed audibly before answering, “I…I see she did.” He said eventually.

“You knew her a long time,” Dawn said, mostly to herself.

“I did. Over ten years; at first I only emailed her to check in, but she was recently divorced and lonely, so we emailed more and then we’d meet up for Sunday roasts or coffee sometimes.”

Dawn smiled, “She sounds like a good friend.”

“She was. I didn’t make friends easily, still don’t, I guess. I was always grateful to her for her friendship.” He swallowed and glanced back at baby Ethan, his eyes red.

He was surprised by the touch of Dawn’s hand on his, it felt warm and comforting. He looked into her big, green eyes; they were filled with warmth and compassion.

“I’m so sorry this happened.” She told him gently, not breaking eye contact.

He felt tears spring to his eyes, he didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t look away. “Me too,” he told her after a pause, before swiping at the tears beginning to run down his face.

They sat together all night; he made them cups of coffee with the secret machine in his office and they talked a lot, about a variety of things. Dawn felt like she was finally getting to know the real Ethan Ramsey and he wasn’t as scary or intimidating as she and her fellow interns had first thought.

She eventually fell asleep with her head resting on his broad shoulder. He looked down at her, a tender expression on his face. She had had a very hard day and he couldn’t help feeling proud of the way she had handled it. He felt warmth in his chest when he thought back to her comforting him. She really was one of a kind.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this one, it took me forever to write! If you would like to be added to my taglist, please let me know.

Taglist: @openheart12 @jamespotterthefirst

#open heart #open heart book 1 #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey fanfiction #dr ethan ramsey x mc #ethan jonah ramsey

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clintashaotp · 4 years

Text

Author’s note/summary: I have decided to do the April challenge this year! That means I’ll be posting a fic each day this month. I’ll do my best to get one for every day, and with all the extra quarantine time hopefully I’ll be able to keep it up. So without further ado, here’s the first one. I may have lost the prompt for this, but I do remember what it was! SHIELD Natasha x HYDRA Clint, and she’s trying to bring him back to her side. I loved this prompt so it’s a little long.

2,349 Words

I Can’t Recognize You Anymore

...

It’s been months since they’ve talked, like really talked, but Natasha hasn’t been known to give up on anyone ever. She knows him better than anyone, she keeps telling herself. There’s no way he’d just abandon her like that. He wouldn’t.

She can still remember when she saw him standing with the rest of the HYDRA soldiers, facing against her with a stone cold face and a gun pointed at her chest. It was like a sick punch to the gut, but she had kept her guard up and managed to escape with just a few cuts. But she couldn’t shake the memory of the look on his face.

For the first few weeks, she wondered if it was possession. She had seen what he had done under Loki’s control, and she couldn’t rule out mind control or something else. But when she started looking through his travel logs, she saw with a sinking feeling that every personal trip he had taken had coincide directly with a HYDRA strike somewhere around the world.

She then wondered if he was being blackmailed. It was possible. Maybe someone had threatened his family, or maybe he was working with them because...she couldn’t think of a good reason. Deep inside she knew it wasn’t true, but she couldn’t stop coming up with theories. It couldn't be possible that he would turn on them like that. They were his family.

The next time she sees his face is during a mission in Italy. She hops on her motorcycle, the hard drive already stuffed deep in her pocket, and accelerates the gas so hard the front wheel pops up off the sidewalk.

“Get out of the way!” she shouts, and people jump off the sidewalk as she plows down the street. She can hear the roar of an approaching truck behind her and knows that it has to be HYDRA, so she revs the engine again, speeding down a sidestreet, trying to stay close to the buildings.

That’s when a second truck skids to a stop feet ahead of her, right where the sidestreet meets the main road, and Natasha instinctively steers her motorcycle sideways, skidding to a halt right before she would have bashed her brains open along the side of the black armored truck.

She jumps off the vehicle quickly and starts to sprint towards the nearest open store along the street, but an arrow flies just past her left shoulder and buries itself in the wall in front of her.

“Don’t move,” yells an all too familiar voice, and she freezes.

If this were anyone else, she would pull out her guns and shoot the living hell out of them before they could blink, but she can’t do that to Clint. She could never do that to Clint.

“Turn around,” he barks, and she raises her hands to shoulder height, turning slowly to see eight men pointing guns at her. Clint stands on the hood of the truck, an arrow already notched but not yet pulled taught. He’s defensive, but she doesn't think he’s ready to kill her just yet.

“This doesn’t have to get messy,” she says calmly. “Just let me go. We don’t have a fight here.”

“Nice try,” Clint sneers, and Natasha’s heart pounds at his expression. It looks like someone else is smiling out of his face. “Give us the hard drive, Black Widow.”

“You know I can’t do that, Clint,” her voice is low and calm, as if she is talking to a child, but the second his name leaves her lips his expression hardens and he pulls the arrow into position, aiming it right at her heart.

“Don’t speak to me,” he says coldly, and though he sounds calm, he looks anything but. “Search her,” he says to the men, and they start walking towards her, putting their guns back in their holsters so they can check the pockets of her suit.

It takes her half a second to whip out her Widow’s Bytes, and she flings them at the group of men. They all go down at once, electricity coursing through their bodies, and she takes the moment of distraction to sprint as fast as she can around the corner and as far away from Clint’s arrows as she can.

“Fury, I need extraction now,” she barks into the com. “HYDRA came, they took the hard drive and wrecked my bike, I need a ride out right now.”

“On it, Romanoff,” his voice says in her ear, and it takes ten seconds for her to see the jet appear in the sky as its mirroring is turned off. She sprints towards it, and hears the revving of the car behind her.

“Open the hatch!” she yells, and she sees it lower. She’s getting closer, and now she just has to outrun the truck. She glances over her shoulder to see it round the bend, speeding towards her, and she speeds up as much as she can, sprinting full tilt towards the open door.

She dives into the back of the jet, rolling when she hits the ground, and slams the button to close the hatch.

As it raises, she catches a glimpse of Clint’s face behind the windshield of the truck. She can barely recognize him.

“What the hell happened out there, Romanoff?” Fury barks, and Natasha doesn’t reply, sinking lower into her padded chair. The Director’s office is fairly intimidating, and though Natasha doesn’t get scared by practically anything, she feels a little less than at ease under Fury’s one-eyed gaze.

“HYDRA happened,” she replies shortly.

“You’ve taken out thirty HYDRA agents at once before! Why didn’t you just shoot?” when she doesn’t reply, he leans over the desk, both hands on its surface, staring at her. “Romanoff. Why didn’t you shoot?”

“Clint was there,” she finally says. She doesn’t meet his eyes, looking down at the desk. “Clint was heading the team and I couldn’t shoot him.”

Fury doesn’t talk for a while. He turns to face the windows, looking out across the city below them. Natasha thinks for a moment he is going to reprimand her, but when he turns back around he hardly even looks annoyed, much less angry.

“I don’t know what happened to Barton, but we need him. We need him back, Natasha, and if you still believe in him than I do. I trust your judgement. So what, we lost the payload, but now we need to get him back.”

“I agree, sir.”

“That’s your next assignment,” Fury says stoutly. “Find Barton. Bring him back to us.”

“I’ll do my best,” she nods. She doesn’t need an exit cue. She knows when the conversation is over.

She turns and walks out his door, leaving him staring out the glass, trying to find answers in the dotted skyline below.

She hacks every file she can find, searches through the SHIELD database, and tries to find a way into the HYDRA server but is blocked by several AIs. She even asks for Tony’s help decrypting a file on Barton’s travel logs from HYDRA, but after Tony is denied access she knows she has to find another way to get to him. Little did she know that she didn’t have to look for him at all.

When he was with SHIELD, they would go to the same coffee shop every Saturday morning and get a latte and sit under the trees in the nearby Arboretum to talk about the week, and get a little time to themselves. She hadn’t gone since he left. The memories were a little too painful, and she was trying to get over her caffeine dependency, but this Saturday she’s already in the area so she decides to stop and take a walk in the Arboretum.

Black coffee in hand, she plugs in her earbuds and starts down the calm gravel path. The scent of flowers is heavy in the air, and she can’t help but smile. It is a nice peaceful break from the stressful hunting of her partner.

That’s when she feels something. That familiar prickle on the back of her neck. Eyes. Someone is watching her.

Instead of whirling around to see who it is, she pauses her music, keeping her headphones in, so she can listen. Heavy footsteps, probably boots, heavy heels, probably a man, around 6 foot to 6’3, probably around 220-240 pounds. Muscular, confident, not trying to be sneaky.

She pulls out her phone but doesn’t turn it on. When she sees the face in the reflection of the black screen she almost drops her coffee.

She won’t confront him, not now. Unless Clint makes a move towards her, she won’t try to strike against him. While she could probably bag him now and bring him to SHIELD, if he’s following her her, he’s either going to attack her or trying to talk. If she tries to take him in now, it will make a scene, and it’s too public to start a shooting match.

He’s a good distance away, and she can’t tell if he wants her to notice him or not. But she doesn’t turn around to look. Her hand drifts to her pocket where she keeps a throwing knife for emergencies. If he jumps her, she’ll whip around and nail him straight in the chest with it.

She walks for a few more minutes, not checking behind her, turning her music up a little so that he can choose to approach her if he wants.

She finally sits down on a bench at the end of the path, but when she glances subtly behind her, he is already gone.

Another week passes, and Natasha can’t find any information on his whereabouts. While he was nearby recently, their job requires frequent travel, so on Monday she starts a facial recognition search among security cameras. The results take almost a week, so by the next Monday, she prints out the most relevant searches and lays them out on a desk so she can look at them.

All of them are unmistakably Clint, and she feels a creeping, paranoid sensation in her stomach when she notices where he is.

Their coffee shop. The gym that they always went to together. Her laundromat where she used to go every week. Her favorite jewelry store.

“He’s trying to find me,” she whispers to herself. Of course. She doesn't need to look for him, he’s looking for her.

“Damn right I am,” came a voice behind her, and Natasha draws a gun in half a second, her fingers already hot and twitching on the trigger as she whirls around to aim her gun at the man standing in her apartment doorway. “Sorry to startle you.” he dangles a key from his left hand. “You forgot to change the locks.”

“Clint, what are you doing here?” she keeps her voice even and calm, her hands still steady on the trigger.

“I needed...closure,” he shrugs. He throws her keys down on the floor, and pulls a knife out of his boot strap, staring at her evenly.

Natasha takes half a second to assess the situation, and it takes a split second for her to decide what to do. Thank god she left her com on her desk after the last mission, because she reaches over and grabs it, putting it into her ear.

“Clint Barton is in my apartment. Come and get him,” she grins, and watches his face drop slightly.

“And here I was thinking we could have a little heart to heart,” he raises an eyebrow.

He lunges at her, knife raised, but she knocks his arm away, punching him hard on the side of the head. He grunts but swings his leg, knocking her chair over and she leaps to her feet just in time to receive a well placed kick to the ribs. She gasps as she falls back against the wall, but uses her momentum to leap onto his shoulders, tightening her thighs like a vice around his neck.

He struggles, and grips his knife tighter, but she hits his wrist at the perfect pressure point that makes his hand open and his knife falls to the floor.

“Tasha,” he gasps, and it is then she realizes she’s actually cutting off his oxygen. Her heartbeat seems to slow down as his words reach her. She lets go, back flipping off of him onto the floor and drawing her gun on him, keeping it trained steadily on his chest.

“People are coming, Clint. We’re going to take you in,” she says coldly. “You’ll pay for the people you killed.”

“I know.” his voice is low, calm, and defeated. “I know, Nat, why do you think I’m here?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care,” she spits, but they both know she’s curious.

“I can’t kill you, but I can’t stay away from you. I can’t even shoot you. How am I supposed to go against you? I can’t do it anymore, Natasha, it’s torture.”

“What are you saying?” the trembling of her voice betrays her false calm, and she takes a deep breath, steadying her hands on the trigger.

“I need you. I need you, Nat. I can’t stay away from you anymore. Take me in, torture me, keep me in a cell for the rest of my life. I’d rather you kill me than the other way around.”

A bang of the door slamming open alerts Natasha and Clint to the presence of the SHIELD agents in her house, and she backs up as they swarm her bedroom, pulling Clint’s hands behind his head and snapping cuffs on his wrists. He doesn’t struggle, just looks at her pleadingly.

“Wait!” Natasha says quickly, and the agents freeze, just about to drag him through the doorway. She steps forward, standing level with Clint, looking deep into his eyes. “I’ll visit you,” she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear, and backs away, letting the agents wrestle him out the door. She catches his sideways smile just before the door slams behind him.

#clintasha #natasha romanoff #marvel #clintashaotp writes #clintashaotp fanfic #clintashaotp april challenge #april challenge day 1 #april challenge 2020 #clint barton

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silvanable · 4 years

Text

Match-Up : Ikemen Sengoku

@moody-typos

heterosexual female . she/her . gemini sun . virgo moon . sagittarius rising . taurus mercury & venus . aquarius mars . isfp . slytherin . pukwudgie . chaotic neutral . choleric-sanguine

・・・・・

i am definitely seen as an outspoken individual, most of the times optimistic and smiley. i am very playful and i do try my best to be as open and as approachable as possible. i enjoy making people laugh, smile and happy, and i try to help out whenever i can.

however, as i can be very moody, some people would say that i am intimidating and very much cold upon meeting me, even if leaving such an impression isn't my goal most of the time. some have told me i am very secretive and mysterious as well.

given what others have said to me, i appear to come across as independent and cheery, though overly blunt or even rude at times. if i want to leave a good impression, i will be pleasant and open, but if i want someone away from me, then i will be very cold and very serious — i am very much capable of both ends of the spectre.

i am a playful individual and i can act childlike at times. i adore teasing others — you'll find me selling random stories to people just to mess with them — and i find myself most comfortable in a relaxed atmosphere. in class, you will probably see me cracking jokes, pick-up lines and blabbing with teachers. i am excited person who loves challenges, so i am pretty much a 'fight me' or 'make me' kind of person.

i have a large palette of interests and i am extremely curious; i am very likely to know bits and pieces about all sorts of stuff! i am very interested in medicine ( i'm studying it ), botany, astronomy, astrology, languages and so on. i am a fan of action movies, anime, horror games and stories, supernatural and paranormal, among other things. i also write and draw! that being said, i cannot do maths even if it killed me. i do get bored very easily so i will oftentimes switch back and forth between my interests and hobbies. i also love hiking and nature, and i am an equestrian, too. i like baking, but my abilities in kitchen, and around house in general, are very much limited. that doesn't stop me from adoring food, though — i am told i am a very peculiar ( and cute ) eater.

i am a very opinionated person. it takes a path to hell and back to make me change my mind about something and i am very stubborn when it comes to my viewpoints. i think i can be considered narrow-minded given the way i speak, though i truly try my best to be the opposite — i strongly believe that world isn't simply black and white and that there is more to everything. i dislike narrow-minded people, honestly. i try my best to be logical and have down-to-earth, practical views. that's why many of my friends come to me for advice; they always say how they know i will tell them my honest opinion and not what they want to hear.

i am very much argumentative and open for discussions! i don't have a problem expressing my opinions and thoughts, or asking questions; my curiosity drives me to do so. i used to have a shorter fuse in the past, though now i try to be more analytical. i enjoy topics such as philosophy, faith and psychology! i'm also very likely to ponder and ask questions about the said topics as i think about them a lot.

despite my confidence, i do have moments where i can be very awkward when it comes to being given attention or speaking in public or so. as such, as much as i adore attention, there are times in which i'll completely despise it.

my temper depends on my mood and surroundings; some people will admire me for my calmness and ability to not give a damn, while with some others i can get fired up and irritated very easily. i am the type to give silent treatment and say something really cold when angry — some people consider me to be very harsh with words, which is why i dislike occasions and people where i have to be careful about what i'm saying; i hate to be held back. i am very likely to be tolerating out of respect, but once i reach my limit, i will always open up and tell everything as i see it, which, again, mostly comes off as harsh.

i also strongly believe in the 'forgive, but don't forget' policy.

for someone so communicative, i am a very private person and kind of a 'hermit' — i am what you can call an extroverted introvert. i don't fancy the idea of easily opening up and you probably won't see me talking about my emotions. if i do end up opening up too much by accident, i will probably laugh it off, or brush it off as a lie, joke, or irony. i also don't like to cry in public and it's hard for others to imagine me crying, while in fact i am very easily pushed to the point of tears.

speaking of emotions, i do find them hard to comprehend at times, as well as to express them. i am, in fact, very emotional person, but i do not know how to act upon feelings, so i will portray myself as a cool and confident individual. i find it very hard to say 'i love you', so if i am expressing my affections, it is through small physical gestures, dramatic/poetic speech, gifts and acts of service.

and although everyone thinks the opposite, i am a sucker for affection and i adore physical contact as it is a way for me to express my emotions and affections. i consider physical touch — such as cuddles, hugs and kisses — to be my main love language, with giving gifts taking a second place or so. hell, i'd say that i am extremely touch starved. many people have the impression that i am very innocent, and while i can get flustered or awkward easily, i am very much not a pure angel. i consider myself to be a sadomasochist through and through, and i do have darkish tendencies and attractions. i am also kind of a tough-love person? to an extent?

i value communication and honesty in relationships the most, although loyalty is a big thing for me as well. however, it might take me a while to come clean and be honest about my own feelings. i wouldn't call myself 'possessive', but i can get slightly jealous or angsty if i feel like i'm not in control or like i could be betrayed — i don't have all too pleasant experiences with past friendships and such, thus i have some form of a fear of betrayal or being replaced.

in terms of romance, i dislike people who don't know what they want and who are incapable of compromise. along with that, i also dislike too childish personalities or those who are too dependent — i like to believe in a good balance between dependence and independence. i also value intelligence and capability of mental stimuli, too, as i am curious and love to learn, while also idealising a deeper connection more than just pure attraction.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

it was a real toss up on deciding who i would do match-ups for you. my waifu deserves the best after all, so i hope you’re pleasantly surprised!

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

↪ GUIDELINES

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

ー Masamune Date : The One-Eyed Dragon

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

this entire relationship would be exciting and challenging, without question.

you have a very strong and attractive aura about you, you have a presence in a room whether or not you want to be noticed.

you would have masamune’s eye right off the bat.

everything from the way you speak your mind so forwardly to the way you hold yourself so confidently would have him intrigued.

he’s never seen a woman like you before.

he would try to use his charm on you, flirt with you and try to enact his game of cat & mouse.

one of which you would not partake.

you were always so friendly and playful with people that when you sudden turn cold and serious on him, he’s taken by surprise.

i would be lying if i did not say that things would definitely be rough between you two because of your fear of replacement or betrayal-- masamune, while honest about what he wants from you and his intrigue of you, is not someone you would mark as loyal.

but just like you, he is curious and very stubborn, he would not give up.

masamune would use all he can as he gets to know you, even going as far to invite you to indulge in your baking in the kitchen

not to mention he would try to win your favor with his sinfully delicious cooking

he’s the kind of guy who would absolutely watch you as you eat, just admiring the way you do it and how you enjoy everything he cooked specifically with you in mind.

the moment he makes the mistake of upsetting you ( or worse, tell you he would kill you if nobunaga asked ) he would quickly find how mistaking he was.

suddenly that cold and distant woman comes back, except this one is far meaner.

you’ve been angry with him before, angry enough you were so fired up you yelled at him and avoided him. but this?

you’re giving him the cold shoulder, won’t speak or even look at him unless your duty requires it, and even then he gets no more than a brief nod or short replies

.it takes a lot to even begin to get you to be blunt and straightforward with why you were doing this to him.you might come to forgive him but you certainly would not forget what he said.

masamune would be a heavy mix of a physical and gift-giving person to show affection.

this man does not know what the hell personal space is & sometimes you swear he’s does it on purpose.

of course, you would constantly remind him that you cannot be bought, especially because you long for something more in a partner & azuchi’s resident playboy was not the candidate for that.

i feel over time you would grow closer though.

he is curious and very challenging, with your personality to challenge right back, i feel as if he could goad you into falling into a game.

he would try to teach you how to ride, only for you to tell him you can do so just fine by yourself, & he takes that to try and test you.

absolutely believe that was how you ended up in a race across azuchi castle grounds on who could beat who & little does he know you’re actually a skilled rider who can and does absolutely give him a run for his money

over time things exactly like that would bring masamune to realize he was falling for you.

you demanded respect and by God you practically wrestled it from this man & ever moment of it he enjoyed.

you definitely wouldn’t believe him the first time he tries to tell you he’s in love with you.

you had heard so much from him before and knew, from his very mouth, that he “sees what he wants and gets it”, so you brushed it off as another one of his games.

i see you taking a while to come to terms with any feelings towards him.

a lot of your emotions would be in conflict with themselves because of your logical & practical tendency but also because of your fear of opening up only to be hurt.

i would entire expect once you are certain of your feelings you would begin to express them through small gifts you made or even random hugs or smooches in the hall.

mercilessly surprise him in the middle of a conversation with a cheek kiss and then run-off, acting as if you had not just made a declaration of war because he couldn’t grab you and kiss you back.

certainly there are a lot of rough patches and difficulties you would face, it would be a slow development between you.

but the relationship would prove to never dull & could grow much deeper and closer together, as you both have a knack for excitement and dedication.

one last note but you two would absolutely mind fuck with the rest of the oda force by tag teaming them with your troublesome duo, masamune would bait them in and you would absolutely drag them under with your wild, teasing & stories.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #ikesen #match-up #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen masamune #date masamune #masamune date

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madrut16 · 5 years

Text

Day 8: Haunted

For Day 8 of the @choicesjulychallenge

Book/Pairing: Bloodbound (Adrian x MC)

Rating: PG-13 (Warning: mentions of abuse)

Summary: After waking up from her nightmare while in Vegas, Isabel is forced to relive the worst night of her life and is forced to reveal what exactly happened with her ex Derek.

@kinda-iconic @endlesshero1122 @desiree-0816 @choicesfannatalie @krishu213 @choices97 @jlpplays1 @riseandshinelittleblossom @brightpinkpeppercorn @ladykateofhousebeaumont @shelley-parah @tabithacarlisle

*If anyone else wants to be tagged in future Bloodbound fics please let me know!*

“A...drian...”

Isabel jolted awake as a muffled scream escaped, and she gasped loudly as her heart hammered in terror as the setting of the Vegas hotel room slowly registered with her. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and she jumped away instinctively.

“Isabel...it’s me, you’re fine,” Adrian murmured, his eyes roaming all over her trembling form.

Everything was still fresh and she painstakingly began to separate him from the version she had just seen in the nightmare.

She shook her head. “Thank god...it’s not real.”

“Another nightmare?” he questioned, his brows furrowing in concern. She felt herself start to calm down. He wasn't going to hurt her.

She gave him a nod. “You...you were in it...this time. At least, it looked like it was you. I felt...I felt so safe. But, then you...reached out...and...you suddenly...ch-ch...,” she trailed off, unable to bear finishing the sentence. “Oh god, it was horrible!”

“Then what? What did you see me do?” he asked, now becoming worried.

She opened her mouth to answer when a familiar violent flashback began to consume her from just over a year prior. Memories of the one night she wanted to desperately forget.

"No," she whimpered.

She used to have them constantly but this was the first one to hit her since meeting Adrian and becoming his assistant and then more. She had hoped that they had stopped for good, that he had somehow been able to cure them. But she knew the truth, that wasn’t how trauma worked.

Once again she saw the image of Derek standing in front of her while she was pressed up against the wall. It started out as yet another argument, which he usually won with his slick manipulation and fierce temper that could intimidate her like no other. This time, however, she had refused to back down and he met it with icy coldness.

She remembered him seizing her, his short nails digging into her skin enough to draw blood and the slap that came afterward. How much her cheek stung in pain and her eyes watered. That and the violent shaking she was used to putting up with since they had started a few months earlier. Yet that night for some reason it wasn’t acceptable to her anymore. She realized what everyone was trying to tell her for years had been true. She was being abused by him, probably for years at that point.

She then remembered with a sob when Derek grabbed her neck, just like in the dream with Adrian, but that time it was painfully real. She recalled the knife and how tightly it was pressed, first to her collarbone, the red making her start to panic as it seeped out through the blade. Then, when that didn't satisfy him, he moved it to where his hand held her. Isabel could still feel the warmth of the blood trickling down from both wounds that had cut gashes a couple of inches deep. He had just started to make the fatal or near fatal cut when suddenly her army vet neighbor broke into the apartment and saved her.

In mere seconds, she relived all of this and a wave of panic began to flood into her which she was also used to, being a standard accompaniment to the flashbacks.

“Isabel? Talk to me!” Adrian pleaded in bewilderment. He tried to reach for her once more but she quickly backed away from him to the edge of the bed, something she thought she had finally learned not to do. “What did I do?”

“Not...you...him," she tried to choke out before her mind shut off its ability for rational thought. "No! Not...not again!”

Her sobs were deafening as she started to hyperventilate as the invisible walls closed in, threatening to crush her. "Oh God, I can't...I can't breathe!"

The trauma Isabel thought she had under control continued to resurface all at once. She held her now impossibly heavy chest and she gasped for air, curling up in the fetal position as the distinctly familiar feeling of being suffocated rocketed through her.

Adrian looked at her in shock and extreme worry, trying to process everything. He had never seen her so fearful, so helpless. His analytical mind then lingered on her last words while in the dream and suddenly a look of realization hit him like a slap to the face.

“No...I...hurt you?!” The color drained from his face and he looked at his hands and then back at her, his expression darkening. “Shit, no...no! Goddammit!” he growled, his eyes flickering from brown to red. “I thought I was past this!"

Then, he abruptly got up in haste and Isabel vaguely heard the doors to the balcony slam shut. After several more minutes, she started to come down from the panic attack. Eventually, she returned almost back to normal and the pressure lifted, leaving a tired ache in its place.

Still sniffling, she scanned the room and realized that Adrian was gone. Her hand reached for the space he had left, no longer afraid. In fact, she wanted to be as close to him as possible. Confused, she sat there until she let out a gasp, figuring out why he had left so suddenly.

"Oh no. Adrian."

Her eyes flicked to the balcony and she noticed him out there leaning against the balcony and her brows creased with concern at his gloomy expression. Did he really think that it was his fault? She had to remedy that. She hated talking about anything related to Derek, the feelings she got whenever she did were still blisteringly painful. But, she couldn’t deny the truth or prevent the inevitable, his ghost was starting to haunt what she had now. She couldn't put off this conversation any longer.

Putting on her silk nightgown, she made some green tea before walking over. Her eyes widened as she opened the glass door and saw that some of it was cracked and the frame was bent.

Hearing her as she stepped outside into the twilight, Adrian looked over at her cautiously.

She gave him a half-hearted smile as if signaling that she wasn't hostile. “Hey.”

“Isabel.” He swallowed as stopped in the open space next to him. Hesitating, he asked, “Are you alright?”

Letting out a sigh, she gave him a tired smile. “I will be.”

That's the answer she always provided when the question had been asked before. A standard reply. But somehow, when she said it to him, she wished more than ever that the empty phrase would come true.

“I’m sorry," he said abruptly, bringing her out of her head. "I don’t know what has become of me lately.”

Taking a sip of the warm beverage in her hands, she frowned. “What do you mean?”

He looked down at the concrete in shame. “I wish that I could tell you that I would never be capable of what you saw in the dream...but clearly you know that I am.”

“Wait...you mean...what you did to Langdon?”

She knew that ever since he killed him that he felt remorse, but she had no idea that it was this extreme.

He nodded reluctantly. “Vampires...we have a dark side. All of us, including me. And back when I was...loyal to Gaius, I gave into it. Let him nurture it. And I’ve tried for so long to fight it, almost a century now. I thought I finally had this under control,” he looked away from her, his jaw clenching as he stared out towards the horizon. “But I guess not.”

“Adrian...I’m not mad at you for what happened back there. I was...shocked and yes a little frightened for a moment...but not angry. I know that you lost control and that you would give everything to take it back. That you just wanted to protect us. It doesn’t change how I see you.”

“Are you sure of that?” he implored his gaze meeting hers. “You were pretty scared of me just now, in there." He gestured towards the room. "I caused that."

Setting the mug down on the railing, she closed the gap between them. "No, you didn't. I don't know if what happened earlier caused the dream but it was just that...a dream. I know that you would never actually hurt me."

He gave her a dubious expression. "But, you--"

"Adrian, no." She interrupted, let out a sigh. "Believe me, I spent five years with someone who actually did. Almost died because the last time he went a little too far. It's how I got these."

She pulled her hair off of her neck, revealing her two silvery-white scars now clearly visible from the bright lights of the Strip shining on them.

Her words reached him and as he looked at them, his eyes widened in horrified shock. "What? Who?"

"Derek." The name felt like pure poison. "That's why I won't talk about him, I can't. That panic attack after coming out of the nightmare was from me remembering that night. It's not the first time and it certainly won't be the last. It had nothing to do with you."

"I had no idea," Adrian told her. "I'm sorry that happened."

She shrugged. "Yeah, me too. And I hate that I'm still not over it, that after all this time he still has a hold on me."

He gave her an incredulous stare. "Of course he does, it's abuse. That's hard to let go of."

"I know," Isabel replied. "But, it hasn't just brought pain. A lot of good things wouldn't have happened if that hadn't." Meeting his gaze, a tiny smile appeared, like the sun shining through a gloomy sky.

His expression began to brighten as well. "Like what?"

"Well, for starters, I wouldn't have met Lily and now we’re practically inseparable," she answered. "And, I wouldn't have had the courage to turn down a job offer at Mannon and risk not being able to find another one. And I definitely wouldn't have applied to be your assistant. I wouldn't know you."

Her smile widened when she saw that he was finally starting to believe her. "You're sure that you're not afraid of me?"

Isabel responded with a kiss that left them both feeling spellbound. "Does that answer your question?" she quipped, her fiery personality poking through again.

His signature grin graced his features. "Maybe, I might need a little more though, just to be sure."

She rolled her eyes but was more than happy to oblige, relishing in the feeling safe in his arms once more.

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices july challenge #bloodbound #bloodbound 2 #adrian x mc #adrian x isabel #trigger warning: abuse

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cordoniasmost · 5 years

Text

As the World Burns - Part 5

Story: Blood Bound

Pairing: MC (Amy) x Adrian x Jax x Dracula x ? (it’s basically a clown car up in here, y’all!)

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual innuendo/discussions, pregnancy, date rape

Word Count: 1865

Find Part 4 Here

A/N: This is the final part in this series.

When I stumbled on the theory about MC being pregnant as the reason for the “darkness within” line from yesterday’s chapter of BloodBound (Book 2, chapter 14), I had to write something super dramatic and funny (read: ridiculous) because what’s life without a little whimsy? Haha :) This series is going to be 5 parts. Enjoy! (This really went off the rails… sorry not sorry! lol)

Tag List: @furiouscloddonutpeanut @averysheart-raleighsdick @kingliamsbish @dr-brianna-casey-valentine @angrypainterfarmopera @maiajaychoices @desiree-0816 @mrsagentbreakdance

Amy sat backstage wondering what the fuck just happened. She held her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to try and regain her composure. It can’t be Gaius, can it? Her mind was swirling and she was having trouble focusing her thoughts. She felt Jax beside her protectively, his sword retrieved from the stage and slung over his back. He was rubbing slow circles on her back trying to comfort her.

“This is fine, Ames. We’ll figure it out,” he said soothingly. “It’s going to be fine.” She wondered if he was trying to convince her or himself, but either way she was grateful that he was still standing by her. Adrian, on the other hand, hadn’t said a word to anyone. It was hard to read the expression on his face, but mostly he just looked shocked.

As they were all trying to collect themselves, Dracula had managed to find a couple of women in the studio audience and had an arm slung around each of them, a promise of things to come no doubt. Amy gagged at the thought.

Gaius had disappeared into a side room with a flash of his teeth at her. Some people might have mistaken it for a smile, but she knew better. He was taunting her. The bastard. She wanted desperately to make him pay but her thoughts and emotions were confused. Amy also knew that Adrian and Jax had both wanted to kill Gaius before all of this happened. Now that they thought he had violated her? It was going to be a thousand times worse. She was surprised neither of them had made a move yet to take him out, but it was only a matter of time.

While trying to collect her thoughts, she heard the click of heels on tiled floor as someone approached them. She looked up, her gaze settling on the woman walking towards her, clipboard in hand and headset slung around her neck. “Amy, a word please,” she said before spinning on her heel and striding off to a private section of the backstage area. Amy pressed her hands to her knees, pushing herself up into a standing position.

“Do you want me to come with you, Ames?” Jax asked her, his hand still on her back.

She shook her head. “No, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll be right back.”

Amy took purposeful steps, breathing deeply as she walked toward the producer. “What’s going on?”

She woman smiled at her. “That was incredible TV, so I wanted to thank you for coming on the show.”

Amy scowled. “Yeah, I’m sure it was great for ratings watching my life go up in flames,” she mumbled.

She woman chuckled. “That’s just the way this business works. It’s nothing personal.”

It felt pretty goddamn personal to Amy but she didn’t have the energy left to argue.

“Sure, whatever,” she said.

“I did want to let you know that we twisted things a little bit out there. The results we read on stage weren’t entirely accurate.”

Amy’s head snapped up, her eyes searching the producer’s for any sign that this nightmare wasn’t actually happening.

“What do you mean?” she breathed. She felt a flicker of hope ignite deep inside her but she was afraid to acknowledge it for fear it’d be snatched back just as quickly.

“Obviously one of the guys you’re in a relationship with would have been incredibly boring for viewers. So, we decided it had to be one of the other two no matter what the test results said.”

Amy was starting to see red. “Can you get to the fucking point? You’re screwing with my life here. Just tell me what you did!” she yelled, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jax take a step toward her, his eyes narrowed. She only had a few seconds left before he’d come over and do something they’d all regret. Neither Jax or Adrian was particularly jealous, but they were protective of her and likely wouldn’t react very well to news that they’d all just been fucked with for the sake of TV ratings.

The producer smirked at her, handing her a manila envelope. “That was all just for show. Here are the real results. Congrats, Amy,” she said without sincerity, already turning and striding away, tossing a wave over her shoulder.

Amy held the envelope with a shaky hand. Jax had closed the space between them, pulling her into his arms. “What’s wrong, Ames?”

She let out a shaky breath. “That producer just told me they didn’t give us the right results, that all of that was just for show.”

She could feel his body stiffen around her, anger beginning to radiate off of him. “What?”

She nodded, stepping back out of his arms. “Yeah, they fucked with us for ratings.” She felt disgusted, like she needed a scalding hot shower to wash off this day.

Jax laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know who I want to kill more at this point, Drac for making us go through this spectacle, Maury fucking Povich, or Gaius.”

“I vote all three,” Amy said, her voice hard. “But let’s get Adrian and open this envelope first.”

He glanced down at her hands. “What is that?”

“The real results.”

***

They found Adrian sitting by himself, staring off at nothing in particular. His body was rigid and he appeared to still be shocked by everything that had happened. Amy approached him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Adrian?”

He blinked a few times, awareness creeping into his eyes. “Hey Amy,” he said softly, giving her a small smile.

“Listen Adrian, the producer just told me that they didn’t give us the real results out there. They were going for TV ratings and didn’t mind fucking with our lives to get them,” she said, her tone angry.

“What?” he said, practically shouting. “What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed and he jumped up from where he’d been sitting, beginning to pace.

“Just what I said. She gave me this,” she said, holding up the manila envelope, “and told me they were the real results.”

Adrian stopped pacing and his eyes widened. He sat back down, his gaze never leaving the envelope.

“I wanted to open it privately here with you and Jax,” she told him, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze.

He exhaled slowly. “Okay, yes. Let’s open it.”

She let go of his hand, breaking the seal on the envelope. She reached inside and delicately pulled the paper upwards until she could just read the black type enclosed inside. A smile broke out across her face, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“What, Amy? Who is it?” Adrian asked, his eyes wide.

She couldn’t find her voice in this moment, the amount of relief she felt was indescribable. She handed the envelope behind her to Jax who quickly scanned the words on the page before grinning over at Adrian.

“Congrats, man! You’re going to be a father,” Jax told him, reaching over to hand him the envelope and clapping him on the shoulder.

“I’m what?” Adrian asked in disbelief. “But I thought- But Gaius-”

He couldn’t seem to complete a sentence as slowly the events of the day caught up to him.

“I’m going to be a father? I’m going to be a father!” he shouted, jumping up and pulling Amy into a tight hug.

“Oof! Be careful, you’re squeezing me so tight I can’t breathe,” she laughed against him.

He instantly let her go, holding her at arm’s length, eyes filled with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

She laughed. “No, I’m fine now that I can get air into my lungs again.”

He pulled her back in for another hug, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “I can’t believe it. I never thought this would be possible after I was turned. I… lost my son and I’d given up hope of ever having another child. This is beyond any dream I could have ever imagined. You’ve given me the greatest gift I never dared to wish for. I love you,” he told her, his voice hoarse.

“I love you, too.”

From somewhere behind them, Amy heard a slow clap. She turned her head to see Gaius making his way toward them.

“What a happy little family. Too bad that baby will never be born.”

Amy felt the anger welling up inside her. She wanted to make Gaius pay for everything he’d ever done to her, and this was the last straw. Just as she was about to step forward, she felt herself being pulled behind Adrian’s body. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from Gaius’s view almost completely before glancing down over his shoulder. “You will let me deal with him. We’re not putting our baby at risk for him,” he growled at her, his fangs bared but his eyes never leaving Gauis.

She felt his muscles tensing. Oh, shit. He’s about to do this here, she thought, glancing around the room. It had thankfully cleared out shortly after filming and Drac was nowhere to be seen. It was now just the four of them.

“You won’t hurt my family,” Adrian said, his tone lethal.

Gaius threw his head back and laughed. “Your family? Oh, please. I was the only family you’ll ever have, Adrian, and you betrayed me. And for what? This?” he said, pointing at Amy and Jax.

Rather than say anything else, Adrian began to lunge forward. Jax threw out his arm across Adrian’s chest. “I’ve got this. You’re going to be a father. Let me take care of our family this time,” Jax said, reaching back and grasping the handle of his sword.

“You? What do you think you could possibly do against me?” Gaius taunted.

Almost faster than Amy could see, Jax had crossed the space between himself and Gaius, drawing his sword in the process. As if to demonstrate his lack of intimidation, Gaius turned his back at that moment to begin walking away. Jax was faster than he expected, though, and swung his sword just once. Gaius stopped walking, falling to his knees before slumping over. When his body hit the ground, his head rolled off, blood pouring from the opening in his neck where his head sat just seconds before.

“Holy shit, Jax,” Amy said. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

He smiled at her, his face blood splattered. He’d never looked hotter. The fuck is wrong with me that fresh blood spatter gets me hot? She wasn’t going to over analyze it at this point.

“Guess that’ll teach you never to doubt my skills again, Ames,” he said with a wink.

She held out her hand for him, her body still pressed against Adrian’s. Jax strode towards her, wrapping her and Adrian both up in a hug.

Amy exhaled slowly. It was really all over, both the looking over their shoulder and hunting for Gauis and this crazy pregnancy drama.

“I don’t know about you two, but I’m ready to get the fuck out of here. I could really use a nice relaxing evening at home,” she said. “With at least three orgasms.”

Adrian laughed, reaching down and placing his hand protectively on the small swell of her stomach. “I think we can manage that. What do you think, Jax?”

He chuckled. “Let’s go home.”

#choices bloodbound #bloodbound #choices bb #bb #choices blood bound #blood bound #adrian x mc #adrian x mc x jax #adrian x amy #jax x mc #jax x amy #play choices #choices #choices fan fiction #choices stories you play

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chuckling-chemist · 6 years

Text

Cobalt Marksman

More Aracae content! ))

“You would a good archeradicator.”

The first time Aracae heard those words, she was barely out of the caverns playing with the bow she was given. She wasn't on target, not perfectly, but for a bow so big for her body, such a smooth shot without the slightest waver in her arms as she drew back the string indicated finessee. She clung to these words, these silken words spoken by higher caste peers in awe of her skill, and lived off them. Cobaltbloods like herself, royalty or not, didn't sit neatly in a bubble of the middle-class, skill-job midbloods or the silvers and golds of highbloods. You had to climb up, or fall down. And either way, you were probably resented.

With those words alongside the encouraging claps on the back, she chose to climb.

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

She lived off those words for the next few sweeps, never living. Always training. Hunting. Raising her skill. Cobaltbloods had to make a name for themselves somehow, through art, defection, military prowess or sheer terror. They were known for being either obsessive or chaotic. Sometimes both. But being an archeradicator was none of those things. Archeradicators were positions set up and sought by indigobloods for their noble and honorable job.

Aracae wasn't dangerous. More importantly, she didn't want to be seen as dangerous. She could quickly shoot perfectly in a headwind, riding hysterically on an antlerbeast and blindfolded, sure, but she wasn't dangerous. She was just a kid. She never turned her skill on another troll, only on deadly lusii threatening her. What harm could she really do?

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

Except archeradicators don't pause when their superior tells you to cull a disobedient lowblood. Archeradicators aren't supposed to question who they cull, they just do. They're executioners. That's it.

Certainly, they never refuse an order the way she did.

And when an indigoblood - someone she thought was a friend - told her to cull the rustblood that dared mock her, told her a good archeradicator would never hesitate at the draw. Good archeradicators don't choose who’s lawful, they merely carry it out. And of course, the obnoxious indigoblood would know more than Aracae ever would, because her whole ancestral line were archeradicators. She was a natural fit for the job.

But Aracae couldn't shoot the kid. The rustblood was just a kid too. She had every right to make mistakes as the indigoblood or Aracae did. And anyway, they were just words. It wasn't going to do anything in the long run. She heard purplebloods throw nasty words her direction and she's fine. What could this rustblood do?

The indigoblood fumed. She called Aracae all sorts of slurs, called her useless, called her good for nothing, but none of it mattered. Aracae’s pride was in her own conduct. Her distinct lack of chaotic or sinister energy. The way a tantruming indigoblood saw her, friend or not, meant nothing.

Eventually, the indigoblood realized this. Or maybe she continued to act rashly, Aracae couldn't say. She hastily jumped at the rustblood with her claymore, but Aracae shot her in the back of the knee before she had a chance to finish. Then again, this time on the other leg. She wasn't going to kill, but she didn't have to. Even an indigoblood struggles to move without legs.

She tried to approach the rustblood after that, but the small troll ran off during the commotion. Not that Aracae could blame her. Any troll who so callously turns on their friend, especially a highblood, is perceived as dangerous.

If that's what dangerous meant though, maybe Aracae was dangerous. Being dangerous was better than being asleep in a four wheeled device driven by wigglers with hair-trigger tempers expecting her to take their thinly-veiled insults better than they ever could.

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

In her sixth sweep, she grew to resent the words. With each perigee, she watched as the same highbloods who praised her shunned and threatened her. Those who sided with her were given the same treatment. A few even tried to attack her, but never got far. Not when she trained for so long, not when they relied on their sheer intimidation factor and bulk to scare her and floundered when it failed them.

Word spread how she was like the other cobalts. She was dangerous. Not the way highbloods generally were either, with the unchecked aggression that she could only watch as they turned it on lower castes, or the way they spoke of murder over lunch the way others might the weather. They were dangerous. Not dangerous the way she was.

Aracae leaned she might rather like what being dangerous actually meant.

She learned to climb trees wholly to take enjoyment in watching the same indigobloods “destined” to become archeradicators fail to draw the bowstring without breaking the wooden limbs on their practice weapons. They would still grow up to become threshecutioners, or perhaps ruffiannihilators if their strength was high enough (an indigoblood could never truly fail their seventh sweep ordeal the way midbloods could), but Aracae's whole being filled with glee as the same trolls who did nothing but talk up their natural talent failed to display even that.

They would still get highly valued positions, but she could forever take smug satisfaction that if she tried, she could have beat them.

Eventually, she ran into the same rustblood. She can't remember when, but she did. The poor thing was battered, bruised and broken. Sopor alone would never fix it, and Aracae lacked a medicalizer. So instead she enlisted the help of one of her remaining friends and patched her right up. She struggled performing basic tasks for a while, but with some time resting in Aracae’s manor, she did heal. And she wanted to learn how to defend herself.

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

But she made a better teacher.

It was hard, yes, but the reward was far greater. Aracae never liked the concept of culling defenseless trolls, and being an archeradicator had nothing to do her increasing love of the Hunt. But she learned just how far her patience went, learned how to conduct herself properly. Leaned how to balance being dangerous and being soft. When to push forward and when to pull back. And the reward, watching someone improve the way she did when she was small, was the only vindication she ever needed.

Unlike her skill with a bow, this wasn't natural. This took practice. She failed more times than she could count. It was a learning experience not just for the rustblood, but for Aracae as well. Never before had she needed to know things like gentleness or restraint. She wasn't a jadeblood, almost always raised in the brooding caverns to learn such. But here? Teaching a terrified rustblood? It was an impossible trait to ignore.

But she could never be a teacher. Jadebloods and only jadebloods - those unfit for cavern life, but still capable of being around kids, just not wigglers - became teachers en masse. And seadwellers could teach other seadwellers. But a cobaltblood moving so far downward?

They would sooner make her a defecting archeradicator.

“You would make a good archeradicator.”

She never made it to her Seventh Sweep Ordeal. She, alongside the rustblood and her lusus ran far away. They found a new home on another continent, living in tents and even eloping once. But life had different plans for them. The rustblood decided to join in on the continent’s once glorious piracy industry and make a name for herself. But Aracae didn't want to do that. She wanted to be a teacher.

She used her remaining resources to build a new, modest hive in the dense forests. She hunted alongside her lusus and sold the pelts in nearby villages and cities. She offered trolls looking for an escape from whatever they wished - the cult purplebloods called a church, the ill-fated destiny of goldbloods with bifurcation, highbloods and lowbloods wanting something different than what their caste told them - in exchange for following her code of honor. To swear off the senseless murder and flagrant hyper-violent reactions they were taught.

She taught herself how to shoot a rifle only shortly before she taught her Hunters, dismayed at how quickly she picked it up until she remembered Alternia wasn't in charge of her skill. She was.

“You would have made a good archeradicator.”

The words are spoken by her future oliveblooded kismesis - or whatever they were - by accident, back when they first met. He was a young cavalreaper ready to die for defending Alternia, back when he still believed Alternia needed a defense. She bristled at the words, naming him all the other triumphs she's had - positions unique to her. Achievements more fulfilling than executing the damned. She's a leader, a hunter and a teacher. A safe haven for those with nowhere to go. A blight of honor and true nobility to those who raged at imaginary slights. She took charge of a dying pirate port and helped put it back on the track for glory. She was more than her skill.

He would never credit her for defecting as impressively as he did. He amounted it to his insistence he only fight defensively, and the Empire’s lust for bloody conquest. She did and still does believe him. He wasn't much the type to make himself look better if it was untrue. The bastard had too much honor for that.

A trait both of them shared. A trait the Empire found disgusting.

“You would have made a good archeradicator.”

The words tumbled out of Aracae’s mouth before she can stop them. It was in reference to her most recent pupil, a young brownblood her kismesis found half dead in a tree some sweeps ago. She met Aracae scared and angry. Now, merely two sweeps later, she stood tall and proud in the chilly air of her seventh sweep. She looked confused, eyebrows quirked to give her face a quizzical expression. “If you were my caste, they would have loved for you to be an archeradicator. But honestly? It's not worth it.” She smiled warmly. “Far as the drones know, you're dead. Do with that info as you wish.”

The brownblood expression turned into an amused smirk. She told Aracae she wouldn't dream of it. Working for the empire doesn't bring nearly the thrill abandoned ruins did. Not to mention, as a brownblood she would never even get the chance to achieve the noble and esteemed echelons of military work. Brownbloods generally got reduced to menial guard, janitorial and stocking positions. If she were lucky and interested, her ability with a bow might get her as a cavalreaper. And while the girl was certainly lucky (despite her insistence to the contrary), she was most definitely not interested.

The pride that seeped through Aracae’s expression though as she talked couldn’t be helped. She would never be an archeradicator. She was 1000 things better. And that’s all she needed.

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#fantroll #fantrolls #homestuck #hiveswap #fanfiction #look i'd love to do Aracae for a meme if i had art of her #my writing #aracae

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lichlover · 6 years

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this week on “midnight conversations with the tfw discord yield the weirdest shit"

Reality rips itself apart, but this time, there’s no scythe that follows.

Instead, the rift ripples and surges across layers of void-deep blackness, with only the faintest of lights pushing through the other side. Kravitz takes one look at it and sighs.

“It’s a Sunday,” he says. “I thought they took Sundays off.”

“Necromancy never rests, huh?” Barry, bless his heart, doesn’t sound nearly as apologetic as he’s trying to be. He stands up from his desk, and Lup stretches, popping a few choice joints in her arms and back. If a little action will get her out of filing six different debriefs, she’s all for it, even if she’d just started to make a dent in her latest read. The prose is dry and the research is shaky at best, but she’s enjoying taking a red pen to it and making notes in the margins for her own experiments. As for the debriefs—well, the Raven Queen is omnipotent, and she sees nothing wrong with writing “We kicked ass” across a formal document if that’s the truth.

That doesn’t matter, anyway. They’ve got a bounty to hunt.

Or that’s what it looks like, at least, until Kravitz holds up a hand. “Not a bounty,” he says, and Lup and Barry deflate as one. “Gods above, I hate these. They couldn’t have taken off work after five like everyone else?”

Lup twirls her pen. “So what is it, then?”

“A summons.” He looks more irritable than angry, but Lup recognizes the rhythm Kravitz’s fingers are tapping out against his thigh. “And not necessarily necromancers, either. I’ll have to just, ah… call Taako, I promised I’d be back by seven for dinner prep…”

Barry glances sideways at Lup, who shoots him her best I-got-this smile and materializes her scythe. She reaches across her desk and pokes him with the handle, and it promptly dissolves again as he turns around, startled, Stone of Farspeech in hand. “Hey. Y’know what? Go home. Lemme handle it, I got this.”

His poker face is even worse than Barry’s, and instantly Kravitz looks nervous. “N—No, no, I should take this one. Chances are they’re just looking for an emissary. I’ll manifest, just give them a quick spiel about the balance of life and death, shouldn’t take too long—”

“Yeah, but what if you get held up? You know how this line of work goes.” Better than she does, actually; Lup’s been on the job for a fraction of the time Kravitz has, but it doesn’t take centuries of experience to know that nothing ever goes as planned. If Lup’s walking into a trap, well, she can handle herself, and she’ll have a fantastic story for the dinner table. If she manifests in front of a bunch of snot-nosed novices with a stack of spellbooks and shaky knees, then the work’s practically done itself.

A win-win scenario. What could possibly go wrong?

Kravitz relents. Probably less because he has faith in Lup’s ability, and moreso because he knows he’s not going to win an argument with her, but a victory’s a victory. “Okay,” he says. “You have a point. But there are some ground rules, alright? You can’t just go in guns blazing and put the fear of the Raven Queen into their hearts.”

“I thought that was all it is.”

“Well—no. You have to be careful.” Kravitz holds up a hand and ticks off his fingers as he goes, like he’s reciting guidelines from memory. He may very well be, Lup thinks. The astral plane has more of them than she’d expected, including a few on colorfully rendered posters hanging up around the office. “If they’re not necromancers, and they may not be, you cannot threaten or coerce them into surrendering their souls. Same goes for if there aren’t any liches around. If any of them are warlocks associated with the Raven Queen, you can kinda check in with them, make sure they’re not abusing their power. No need to bring the scythe, either—we’ve had some property damage issues. Oh, and—” Kravitz winces. “Do not step outside the summoning circle. No matter what you do. It won’t destroy you or anything, but it will discorporate you, and it fucking hurts.”

He takes a deep, albeit unnecessary breath, and levels his gaze at Lup. “Repeat that back to me.”

Lup hums. “Nerf the necromancers and liches get stitches, everybody else is chill. Check with the warlocks. No swinging scythes around indoors. Stay inside the circle on pain of—pain. I told you, I got it.”

If anything, Kravitz looks more nervous. “You’re gonna kill it, babe,” Barry says, and then, “Wow. Real bad choice of words there. Or real good, I guess… uh, they don’t need two emissaries, do they?”

“Circle’s not big enough,” says Kravitz, matter-of-factly.

That’s the difference between him and Lup, who just snickers. “I love you,” she tells Barry, “but if you go over there and put on your lich act, they’re either gonna lose their minds laughing or actually lose their minds.”

He pulls an insulted expression. “I’m intimidating!”

“Very,” says Lup, and maneuvers around the desk to give him a kiss on the forehead. She swings around and flaps her hand at Kravitz. “Stop dawdling and just go, will you? It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Kravitz’s scythe appears in his hands, and he twists the handle between his fingers, still radiating anxiety. “Just—call if it goes bad. Or if you can’t, uh… project your resonance or something, get creative. Barry, you’ll keep an ear out?”

“ ’Course.”

“Okay.” He stares hesitantly back at the rift, then rips his own out of the space next to Lup’s desk. “Okay. I’ll be off. Lup, just…”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” She winks at him and flashes a thumbs-up. “Go placate Taako’s wrath. I’ll be five minutes.”

Kravitz returns the thumbs-up, looking only slightly ill, and disappears through the rift.

“Alright then.” Lup vaults over the edge of her desk, just narrowly missing the mug sitting next to her book. It’s part of a matching set she shares with Barry—WE’VE GOT CHEMISTRY, it says, accompanied by two cartoonish beakers overflowing with pink liquid. An unsolved Secret Santa gift from the Candlenights prior; she suspects Lucretia, who’s more partial to science puns than she’d like everyone to believe. “I guess I’m up.”

When he wants to, Barry’s pretty decent at playing it cool, but she catches the flash of worry that skitters across his face. “You’ll be careful?”

Lup raises an eyebrow. “It’s me.”

He raises one right back, and, well, that’s perfectly fair. Lup concedes with a laugh as she steps forward, taking Barry’s face in her hands. She can feel the beginnings of stubble poking through, dotting his chin and climbing up his cheeks. “Fine. I’ll grant you that. But I promise I’ll be careful. The most careful. I’ll be so careful, it’ll blow—your—socks—off.” She punctuates each word with a tiny kiss over the patches of stubble, and Barry rolls his eyes, but breaks into a smile nonetheless. “Like I said. Five minutes. You’ll never even know I was gone.”

“Well, thank the gods for that,” Barry murmurs, trying and failing to suppress his grin. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

“No shame in needing a competent woman, babe.” She presses one last kiss to the corner of his mouth and twirls on her heel. “Let’s see how these chucklefucks handle death in fishnets, shall we?”

And with that, a one-liner she’s rather proud of, Lup steps through the rift.

Interdimensional travel by someone else’s parameters isn’t nearly as relaxing as it sounds. The astral plane tilts dizzyingly around her, and Lup knows she has seconds before she re-materializes in whatever dreary basement they’ve constructed for the benefit of atmosphere. One thing she’s learned after just weeks on the job: clichés exist for a reason. Apparently occult rituals really do draw power from dark and stormy nights, and there’s nothing a cult loves more than a dungeon in which to do their summoning.

Well, then, Lup ought to live up to expectations. She doesn’t take on her reaper form just yet—tonight may not require any reaping, and besides, she never tires of the horror on people’s faces when her flesh starts to melt. (She doesn’t even need to do it that way, not really. The payoff is just hilarious and gratifying every time.) But Prestidigitation boils in her veins as the lights surrounding her shift and sharpen, and with a roar and a loud pop in her ears, Lup erupts into the material plane.

She wills it, and immediately smoke billows from the ground at her feet and sparks shoot from her fingertips. It awards her a few strategic heartbeats to survey her surroundings, which she’ll pretend was on purpose. The first thing Lup notices is how well-lit the space is. Candles are scattered across the floor and mounted on the walls, and someone’s draped black fabric over what she assumes are windows—they’re above ground, then. That’s refreshing. Two exits that she can see: a staircase on one side, and on the other, a heavily bolted door. Apart from a few tables shoved to the side, though, the room is mostly empty. Except for its inhabitants, that is.

There are four of them. Lup blinks; usually cults have a minimum of five members at least, and even then, that’s more of a fantasy tabletop roleplaying group than a nefarious death-dodging horde. They’re clad in dark purple robes, all of which look a little too big, and the figure in front is holding an enormous spellbook, which he drops in a heap of dust to the floor. Lup looks him up and down, taking in his ratty boots and trembling hands.

Amateurs. Easy to spot from a mile away.

He falls to his knees, and the others follow hurriedly suit, bowing their heads with a collective whimper of fear. “O, g-great deity of life and death,” he stammers, fumbling for the spellbook, and spares her only a glance at first. Then his hands freeze, and he looks up, mouth slightly agape. “You’re—you are even more glorious in person.”

“Thanks,” says Lup, breezily. Her ears flick and twitch, searching for the telltale hum of arcane power, and chart it in a lopsided circle around her. When she shifts to prop a hand on her hip, her tongue tastes faintly of iron. They may be novices, but hot damn, there’s some powerful magic at work here. “I get that a lot. But, uh, if you’re looking for the Raven Queen, I’m afraid you’re not gonna reach her at this hour. Or any hour. If you’re picking up what I’m putting down.”

He stares at her, owl-eyed, from behind blocky spectacles that remind her of Barry’s. “I—I—”

“So,” she interrupts, and all it takes is a simple evocation spell—not even the twitch of a finger, really—to set tiny flames dancing about her heels. This lot might be about as dangerous as Steven the goldfish, but upping the intimidation factor never hurts. “Care to tell me why you fellas are trying to summon a goddess on this fine evening?”

“First, uh—” The poor thing still looks utterly terrified. So the flames might have been a bit overkill, but Lup’s not about to dial it back now. “To—To whom am I, uh, uh, speaking?”

“Emissary of Death, hon. Reaper of unruly souls, Raven Queen’s smokin’ hot answering machine, so on, et cetera. You gonna answer my question?”

He audibly swallows. “We—we didn’t think we could do it. We weren’t trying to hurt anyone, I swear, we just—it was a dare, a stupid thing, I’m not even level five, I didn’t think I could summon a—an angel of death—”

Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? Lup sighs and snaps her fingers over the boy’s shaking form, commanding his attention. He’s a kid, she thinks. They all are, and kids do stupid shit, especially when they feel like they’ve got something to prove. “Usually somebody doesn’t try to summon a goddess unless they’re serious about it.”

“I know, I just—I mean, Trav over here’s a warlock, he thought it wouldn’t hurt to check in with his patron anyway, it was just—I told you, it was stupid. Stupid.”

Lup’s head snaps to the kid’s companion. “You’re in the service of the Raven Queen?”

“Trav” nods. He looks delirious with terror.

“Cool, cool. That’s a privilege, okay? Don’t do anything particularly asinine and represent us well out here. And don’t, uh, drink and cast.” She glosses over her stammer with a jaunty wink, and he stares, but at least he’s stopped cowering. The other two look more awestruck now than terrified.

There’s about a full five seconds of silence, punctuated only by the resonance of arcane energy around them, before Lup claps her hands and breaks the spell. All four of the wannabe cultists jump.

“Well!” she says. “I’ve got some very important business to get to. Summons left and right, you know the drill. But when I leave here, you four are gonna clean all this up and then go do something productive, okay? Contribute to society. Read a book. And no more summoning goddesses, please.”

“Yes,” says the boy with the spellbook. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Awesome.” Lup flashes them a brilliant grin. “Keep it real, boys.”

She pushes her boot through a line of chalk, smudging it, and the world flips inside out. Five minutes, give or take. She’ll be back in time for appetizers and then some. There might even be time for an impromptu makeout session with Barry back at the office, which Lup wholly feels she’s earned after a job well done. Not bad for her first summons—in fact, she decides, it really couldn’t have gone better.

The funny thing is it doesn’t come up at the office.

Instead it’s nearly a month later, at one of their bi-weekly family dinners. The kitchen is abuzz with activity and overflowing with delicious aromas, and Lup stands in the eye of the hurricane, whipping batter with practiced ease. The actual storm rages around Taako next to her. He stands over the stove and tosses spice after spice into a bubbling soup, sampling it erratically and muttering something about his unrecognized genius. Occasionally he’ll flick his wand at the cutting board across the counter, and a vegetable will slice and dice itself and float obediently to the pot. She’s sure he’s showing off, but Angus, who’s hard at work nearby picking the seeds out of a pomegranate, seems to get a kick out of it every time.

When her brother is in cooking mania mode, it takes nothing short of a miracle to snap him out of it, which explains why he doesn’t look up when Kravitz wanders over to their station. She waves the whisk at him as he approaches. “What’s goin’ on, Ghost Rider? Taako says you’re not allowed around the cooking utensils. Or, uh, the ingredients, for that matter.”

“Yeah, I… don’t exactly have the magic touch.” He smiles half-heartedly at his own joke, but Lup can already tell something’s up, because Kravitz’s face settles back into something impassive almost straightaway. “Lup, can I talk to you?”

“Uh…” Lup glances back at Taako. He isn’t even looking in their direction as he sorts through herbs, still mumbling to himself. “Sure thing. I think these two’ve got it covered.”

Angus catches her eye and gives her a thumbs-up.

So Lup follows Kravitz from the kitchen, through one of the gaping entrances and into an alcove adjacent. One of Taako’s several bulletin boards hang from the far wall, cluttered with newspaper clippings and recipe notes marked up in red pen. Kravitz spares it an affectionate glance before he turns to face her. “So.”

Lup crosses her arms and cocks an eyebrow. “I’m in that much trouble, huh?”

“No—no.” He sighs, and it’s a work sigh, one of the rare few reserved for unruly reapers and souls that can’t seem to find their way to the astral plane. “Do you… remember responding to a summons, about a month ago?”

“Oh, sure, ’course. Dropped in on four boys fucking with the barrier between planes. Told ’em to stay smart, stop trying to summon goddesses, may have scared the shit outta them, but only a little bit. I thought it was a job pretty well done.” Her eyebrow creeps higher. “I’m guessing you’re not looking to congratulate me?”

“We have connections,” says Kravitz. “To the material plane. It’s how we find out about the cults and the necromancers and such, and, well…” He drags a hand down his face. “Lup, I dunno how to say this, but when you appeared to those men, you seem to have… inspired them.”

That doesn’t sound good. “Inspired?”

“I mean, they’re fanatics. They’ll latch onto any divine energy they can get into contact with, and, well… it’s not that you didn’t do well.” Kravitz holds out a hand, appeasing. “You did. But usually I take care of these things, and I do so in such a way that—well, they just—they don’t talk about it afterwards,” he says, hurriedly, and Lup remembers that for all Kravitz’s gentlemanly mannerisms and grade-A dorkdom, there’s a reason he’s one of the Raven Queen’s favored reapers. “So this isn’t your fault. It isn’t anybody’s fault—nobody knew what was going to happen.”

“Kravitz,” says Lup, and a laugh bubbles through the word, soft and questioning. “What are you talking—”

“Those boys started a cult,” Kravitz says. “The Order of Devotees to the Angel of Death.”

Lup stares flatly at him as the cogs in her brain whistle and steam. “What?”

“A cult,” he repeats. “Dedicated to you.”

She starts laughing.

It’s like a reflex. It’s also wildly unprofessional, but Lup can’t help it, and she’s never really given a shit about professionalism anyway. She giggles and cackles and braces her hands on her knees, and tears form in her eyes, threatening to streak her eyeliner. When she’s finally able to look up, eyes watery with mirth, she sees Kravitz’s mouth twitch and it sets her off all over again. It has to be a full thirty seconds before she can regain any shred of composure, and even then, she’s feeling questionable at best.

“Wow,” is all she can say.

Although it looks completely against his will, Kravitz snorts. “Yeah. Wow is… wow is right.”

“But they’re not—they’re not hurting anybody, or doing any bad shit, are they?”

“As near as we can tell, no. It’s a cult of worship, nothing more. But it—” With a flick of his wrist, he materializes the leather-bound book she recognizes from countless missions. “I mean, they’re—ahem. Composing hymns to your, uh, glory. They seem obsessed with your, um…” He gestures helplessly in Lup’s general direction. “Your physical appearance? There’s no good way to say that, is there?”

Lup almost cracks up again, but instead, she manages a shrug. “So my smokin’ hot bod started a cult. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”

He looks at her disbelievingly.

“Kidding. Look. As long as they’re not doing anybody any harm, it’s no big deal, right? If they do get up to some bad shit, I’ll show up again and reap their asses. No mercy and no favoritism from the great Angel of Death.” She flips her hair and postures herself in her best all-powerful stance. “Cool?”

Kravitz fidgets where he stands. He’s only slightly taller than her, and she knows she commands an intimidating presence regardless of whether or not she wants to. “You inspired a cult, Lup. It’s not like you meant to, but that doesn’t just—that doesn’t just fly when you’re under the service of the Raven Queen.”

“I get you,” says Lup, “I really do, but what can I do? Deities kinda have a non-interference policy with their followers, right? That’s what we’re here for.”

“You’re not a—”

“Deity, yes, I know. I was making a point.” She releases an entirely unnecessary sigh. Something hisses and pops in the kitchen behind them, followed by a muffled curse and the familiar scent of ozone. “If anything comes up—absolutely anything, Kravitz, if they put a pinky toe out of line or even look in the direction of a necromantic incantation—I’ll do whatever needs to be done. But they’re not hurting anybody. They’re dumb kids obsessing over a gorgeous gal. Can you blame ’em?”

He still looks uncertain. The book dissipates, leaving static crackling in its wake. “Kids?”

“Twenties, ballpark,” says Lup. “And scared outta their minds. They didn’t even think the summons would work, and it’s not their fault that I showed up lookin’ all flawless, now, was it?”

“I mean…” Kravitz’s voice is heavy with skepticism, but she can tell he’s starting to thaw. “You were perfectly reasonable with them, right?”

“Entirely.”

“And you didn’t say anything about sacrifices or do anything… uh, demonic. Right?”

Lup places a hand over where her heart would be. “The very thought offends me.”

“Well, then.” He clasps his hands and shoots her an awkward, tight-lipped smile. “Our Queen hasn’t said anything on the matter, so… cool? I guess?”

“Cool,” says Lup, and flashes him a grin. “No sweat, skele-man. I promised you I got it, and I do. Now I gotta get back in there before Taako figures out I’m—”

“Lulu!”

“Oops,” she lilts, and whirls on her heel. “I’m toast.”

Lup is very good at her job.

She hasn’t had it for very long, but the thing about reaping souls is that if you don’t develop a knack for it after a certain period of time, you’re just not cut out for eternal undeath. Luckily, Lup’s always been rather good at whatever she puts her mind to. It’s a demanding occupation—that’s for damn sure—but she doesn’t mind spending her days bounty hunting as long as she’s doing it with style. Death in fishnets has become a harbinger of doom and some really fantastic pyrotechnics, if she does say so herself. She’s been racking up souls as the year goes on, building a reputation for herself among the most insidious circles, and between Kravitz and her husband’s lich-inspired dramatics, they dare not venture out for fear of meeting their end at the hands of the Raven Queen’s three finest reapers.

And if one of the feared Emissaries of Death takes a break every once in awhile to drop in on four of her devotees for a bit of ritualistic wine and cheese, well, that’s no one’s business but her own.

#happy candlenights!! a goofy lighthearted fic for your holiday #the adventure zone #taz balance #fic #lup #kravitz #barry bluejeans #reaper squad #mine

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lisatelramor · 6 years

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Not Left To Stand Alone Ch21

Takumi was sitting at the kitchen table with both Kudo daughters when Saguru went looking for him. Ran was elsewhere in the house and he had passed Kudo in the study on his way. Takumi looked up from watching the girls draw at the sound of Saguru’s borrowed cane. Saguru hadn’t stopped to think much about how the last twenty four hours were affecting Takumi before, but now that he was sure Kuroba wasn’t going to die at any moment, he could see signs of strain. Takumi looked like he had slept worse than Saguru, dark circles under his eyes, and there was a listlessness to how he had been watching the girls. It shifted to focus and worry as Saguru entered the room.

“Is Kid…?” Takumi asked vaguely.

“Better,” Saguru said. “He won’t be moving for a while, but for the moment he is stable and aware enough.”

“Good.” Takumi slumped. Midori elbowed him as he covered part of her paper and Takumi shifted away without complaint. “Before we go, can I see him? Just… The only time I saw him up close, he was bleeding out…”

“Of course.” Seeing Kid alive if not well might help ease Takumi’s mind.

“Kid’s the thief Tou-san’s always chasing right?” Midori asked. “The one in white?”

“Yes, Kid is a thief in white,” Saguru said.

“Oh. I like him. He left Kaa-san flowers once,” Midori said drawing a flower then, probably meant to be one of Kuroba’s roses if the red color was anything to go by. “It’s sad he got hurt.”

“He’ll get better,” Hanae said. She smacked down the green crayon she had been using to grab a brown one. Stripey brown lines branched out from the mass of green swirls. “He always gets away. Tou-san says.” Her sister nodded like this had to be the only conclusion since Kudo’s word was truth.

“I’m sure he will,” Saguru said hoping it would be the truth. He squished the part of his brain reciting facts about recovery times and infection rates, about how his own infected bullet wound had ruined his knee worse than it would have otherwise been. He was allowed to hope against the odds. Saguru looked to Takumi. “Did you want to see Kid now? I know we can’t stay here much longer. Aoko-san is worried and I still have to turn in my report on last night.”

Takumi nodded. He followed Saguru from the kitchen. “Hakuba-sensei,” Takumi murmured as they neared Kid’s room. “What are you going to put on the reports?”

“Kid escaped. He was shot down, but the site was clear when we arrived.” Saguru glanced sidelong at Takumi’s troubled expression. “That Kid is most likely injured but got away with the gem. Neither of us saw anything.”

The frown deepened. “…even to Kaa-san?”

“No, I’ll tell her the full truth.”

“…It feels wrong,” Takumi said so quietly Saguru almost didn’t hear him. “Kaa-san always told me it was important to tell the truth to the police.”

Saguru sighed. “Sometimes it’s more complicated than truth or lies. Sometimes truths can kill and lies save, and sometimes they make things worse. It’s something you’ll have to judge on your own. In this case it’s better not to say everything for both Kid and our sakes. We did help a criminal after all.”

“To save his life,” Takumi said. “And Kudo-san helped too.”

“Exactly.”

Takumi frowned at him, but he set the topic aside as they reached Kid’s room. Kuroba was asleep again, not peacefully though. A grimace of discomfort showed on the small part of his face not hidden by the mask. Takumi took one step into the room and stared like he was trying to decode something from Kuroba’s mass of bandages.

“I…somehow I didn’t think it was possible for Kid to get hurt badly,” Takumi admitted. “He’s practically a legend at this point.”

“It’s easy to forget there’s someone mortal behind the mask,” Saguru said, because he had almost forgotten as well over the years, more intent on Kid than remembering Kuroba existed behind him.

There was scuffling behind them and Midori and Hanae poked their heads into the room. They craned their necks at Kid in the bed.

“He’s not very big,” Hanae said, sounding disappointed.

“Are you supposed to be here?” Saguru asked.

“Kaa-san didn’t say we couldn’t,” Midori said. She tugged on Takumi’s arm and lifted her hands so she could be held up. Takumi did, though he looked at Saguru like he was trying to figure out if this was okay or not. Midori made a soft unhappy sound when she was high enough to see Kid clearly. “He looks sad.”

“He’s a thief. He should be sad because he’s in a detective’s house,” Hanae said. “Once he’s healthy he’ll probably get arrested.”

“I’m gonna draw him a picture.” Midori wiggled in Takumi’s arms until he set her down again and she pointed at Kid. “What does he like?”

“Er. Gems?” Takumi said.

“Birds,” Saguru suggested. “He keeps doves.”

Midori nodded and tugged her sister away. Hanae went complaining the whole way that, “He’s a bad guy, Midori, why are we cheering him up?”

Takumi looked after them, his face scrunched somewhere between bewildered and reluctantly amused. “I’m kind of glad I don’t have siblings after all,” he said.

Kuroba shifted in the bed, discomfort growing on his face. It made Saguru want to smooth it away but it was far far better than the blankness of unconsciousness. “Have you seen enough?” Saguru asked.

Takumi looked back at Kid. It was surprising that he didn’t cross the room and try to peek under Kid’s mask. At his age, Saguru wouldn’t have hesitated to satisfy his curiosity. “Yeah,” Takumi said. “I’ve seen enough.”

***

It was a quiet trip to Aoko’s. They both had thoughts on their mind, and the closer they got to Aoko in Ekoda, the more nervous Takumi became. Saguru didn’t blame him; he was also nervous to see Aoko face to face. An angry Aoko was more than a little intimidating. He shouldn’t have to worry about dodging mops these days at least.

Aoko was on them within seconds of Takumi opening the front door. Saguru didn’t think she’d slept at all last night from the looks of it, her eyes red rimmed and hands just a bit shaky the way limbs got after too much caffeine and adrenaline mixing badly together. Her hair was a mess of wild tangles that made her look larger and Saguru found himself taking a step back at her desperate expression. She crushed Takumi into an embrace the moment she was within arm’s reach.

“You absolute idiot,” she growled. “I raised you to be smarter than that. You could have died.”

Takumi tentatively hugged her back with the arm not trapped between their bodies. “I’m sorry, Kaa-san.”

“You’d better be you brat,” Aoko choked. There were tears in her eyes. Saguru looked away. There wasn’t anywhere to go to give them privacy. “You’re grounded. Indefinitely.”

Takumi nodded into her shoulder, clinging closer.

“You’re okay? You’re not hurt?”

And this time Takumi choked on tears. “I’m fine. I’m…I was so scared…” He shifted so he could hold her with both arms just as tight as she was holding him. “The building exploded and I didn’t know where you were. People were screaming and you were still in there. And then Kid got shot and there was so much blood.” He was crying in earnest now and Aoko held him close as he let go of all the fear and worry from the last twelve hours.

Aoko rocked back and forth on her heels as Takumi cried. There were tears in her eyes but she was glaring fiercely past his shoulder at nothing even as her voice was gentle. “It’s over now. I’m okay. You’re okay. It’s all over.” Saguru wasn’t sure how long they held each other as Saguru tried to blend into the wall. Eventually, Takumi’s tears slowed and Aoko’s rocking stopped and they pulled apart. Aoko wiped tears from Takumi’s face with her handkerchief. “Go to the kitchen and get yourself a cup of tea,” she said to her son. “It will help.”

Takumi nodded and slid his shoes off before walking toward the kitchen, still wiping at his face.

Aoko looked after him like she wanted to snatch him back into a hug again. As soon as he was out of sight though, she rounded on Saguru. Worry morphed back into rage. “You should have said the moment you realized he was on site.”

Saguru winced. “Aoko-san, it was only a few minutes before the heist began. I only glimpsed him on the security cameras; I had to go see that it really was him.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

It was, but what would Aoko have done? Stopped coordinating the entire heist? She was the central driving force, everyone else pivoted around her and Saguru wasn’t really needed anywhere. “I found him and I tried to get him out before the heist,” Saguru said. “It was inevitable that we got caught up in the fallout.”

Aoko shook her head. It had been inevitable though, if not caught in the heist itself, then the crowds of panicking people instead. “Then you should have called as soon as you were out of danger. Or as soon as Kid was out of danger, dammit. You’re such a fucking hypocrite. Or did someone else make me promise I’d call if I knew anything about Kid so we could keep each other up to date?” She snorted at Saguru’s flinch. “I thought so. God I’m just so…Rrgh. Fuck Kid.” She ran her hands though her hair, tangling it further.

“I should have called,” Saguru said. “I forgot. I am sorry.”

“Fat lot of good sorry does anyone,” Aoko said tiredly. “How bad?”

“Expect months of recovery.”

“Damn it. I hate him. I hate him so much.”

You do but you don’t, Saguru thought as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“You’re not going to tell me where he is, are you?”

“It is probably best for everyone involved if you don’t know where he’s at for the moment.” It wasn’t that he thought Aoko would arrest Kuroba or actually try to kill him, but having Aoko show up right now would be the last thing Kuroba needed for his health.

“Fine.” Aoko closed her eyes. “Fine. Can you leave? Please.”

“I’ll leave immediately.” He did just that, backing away toward the door only to be stopped by Aoko’s voice when he touched the doorknob.

“Hakuba. I need your report on the heist within the next twenty four hours. Write an official one and one for my eyes only please.”

“Of course. …May I ask the casualty rate from last night?”

“No one died. I have two officers that are in critical condition and half a dozen others hospitalized. Five people in the crowds ended up in the hospital from the panic. Dozens more have minor injuries.”

“Thank you.” Kuroba would hate to hear this. “Goodbye, Aoko-san.”

She didn’t say anything else, so Saguru left. He wondered if there would only be animosity between them after this. Aoko was not a friend, but he hoped he had not forever lost the possibility of her becoming one.

***

Saguru stopped at his apartment before heading back to Kudo’s. He stood in his entryway for a good five minutes feeling the emptiness of the room pressing in on him. It struck him again that he’d almost lost Kuroba last night. There would have been no more evening conversations over tea or random gifts of food left on his kitchen counter or that specific double tap on his door that when Kuroba was using his manners instead of barging in. Just four short months and Kuroba had become a center point in his life.

There was something wrong with him because the thought of losing Kuroba felt almost on par with losing Mel had been, with only a fraction of the history to account for that feeling.

Saguru stood in the shadows of the entryway where the light from the afternoon sun didn’t reach and considered it rationally; love was love regardless of the time experiencing it. And he was in love with Kuroba. There wasn’t a point in deluding himself to that reality anymore. The emotions wouldn’t go anywhere. Saguru didn’t expect them to and friendship was enough between them, but he couldn’t deny the existence of his emotions anymore either.

The soft golden light of afternoon peeking through the window didn’t really fit the weight of this revelation. But then so rarely did nature choose to align with emotional turmoil outside of popular media.

Saguru loved Kuroba and had almost lost him; if it was in his power, he would not lose someone he loved like that again.

***

Saguru broke into Kuroba’s apartment to gather changes of clothes and other things Kuroba might need. Kuroba’s things joined Saguru’s own in a large cloth grocery bag repurposed into a makeshift suitcase. He wasn’t sure all what to bring; clothing and toiletries were obvious, but anything else was anyone’s guess what Kuroba would want. Saguru added the mp3 player he found on Kuroba’s bedside table. With a concussion he wouldn’t be able to do anything mentally taxing for a while, but music could straddle the line between entertaining and relaxing.

He took the time to update both his mother and Kuroba’s on the heist fallout, and then he was off again, headed back to Kudo’s home.

Kudo raised an eyebrow at Saguru’s bag but didn’t comment on it. It was rather rude for Saguru to invite himself to stay longer, but rudeness be damned, he’d sleep better within shouting distance of Kuroba.

After settling his things into a guest room offered by Ran and getting Kuroba’s things to him, Saguru sat down with Kudo and his wife in their study, children thankfully elsewhere for the moment.

“Takumi-kun got back to his mother in one piece?” Kudo asked lightly.

“More or less. I am afraid I’m in bad graces with her at the moment as well. I imagine this will make parent teacher interactions even more awkward in the future.” Saguru sighed. “Takumi-kun is my student,” he added when Kudo raised an eyebrow.

“An interesting bit of luck ending up the teacher to Kaitou Kid’s son.”

“You have no idea.” What sort of expression would Kudo make if Saguru revealed they were neighbors? That would be giving too much away though, and they were at least pretending that they couldn’t easily pick apart Kid’s identity like freeing a boiled egg from a fault-littered shell.

“…You know Kid pretty well, right?” Kudo asked.

“Well enough.” Not well enough; Kuroba kept himself a step away even as he had opened up around Saguru. There would always be depths to him that Saguru wouldn’t be allowed to see.

“How would you say his life is?”

Kudo didn’t look like he was prying to find clues. He looked contemplative, a crease between his brows and a quirk to his lips that spoke more of concern than a desire to tear away the last veils of Kid’s identity. How odd. But then, if Kuroba could become interested in Kudo’s wellbeing after years of interaction it wasn’t really that odd for it to go both ways. Saguru had felt that way even at the height of their rivalry. “It’s very busy,” Saguru said honestly. “He works, has a son, and is Kid. I sometimes wonder at how he functions with as little sleep as he seems to get. He’s a good father even if a bit misguided at times. He’s lonely. He seems to have many acquaintances and few close friends. I’m not sure he knows how to stop wearing masks anymore, or if he’s afraid of what he’d find if he put the roles away.” Kudo’s expression softened into something like sadness or perhaps compassion. If Saguru remembered right, Kudo was someone who caught his criminals, but didn’t let them throw their lives away. It was something that had tipped Saguru’s opinion a bit more toward favor. Even if he had once pointed a gun on Kid. “Why?”

“We’ve talked a few times. He’s come close to breaking before…I was wondering if it was still true or if life got better since we last talked.”

Ah. Between Aoko’s divorce and Jii’s death, he could see it straining Kuroba to near shattering. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken unlike Saguru’s own breakdown. “I’ve seen him smile and laugh and mean it. There are bad days, but good ones too.”

“I’m glad.” Kudo shared a smile with Ran then and Saguru again got the feeling that he was missing something vital in Kuroba’s history with the Kudo family. There were possibilities he could speculate on, but without proof he wouldn’t put weight into any of them.

But there was Kuroba now to think about. The past would keep its mysteries. “He’s going to be recovering for a long time,” Saguru said. “Can you keep him here until he can move on his own?”

A wealth of meaning shifted between Kudo and Ran before Ran shrugged slightly. “It isn’t a problem,” Kudo said. “He’s welcome here.”

“And so are you,” Ran added.

“Thank you.” It was more than generous for them to do this. “Kudo-san, about last night…the crash site; it’s been cleaned up?”

“I called in a few favors,” Kudo said. “There might still be traces of blood, but nothing usable to track back to him.”

Good. Saguru nodded. “That should buy some time then… The ones who set everything up are likely wondering if he lived or not.”

“No body means they’re going to play it toward him living,” Shinichi observed. “The gem?”

“Kid hid it.”

Kudo nodded. “I was surprised he went with the roof, but I guess he wasn’t given much choice in his escape route. The bombs pretty much ensured he could only flee up, and where the bomb damage wasn’t there were officers cutting off his route. The weather was too perfect for the glider too. It felt like an obvious setup.”

“He was flying a bit off the best direction of the wind. That might have been what saved him.” Saguru tried to recreate the trajectories of Kuroba’s entrance wounds. Gliding the direction he had been, with the angle of the wounds… “Kudo-san, do you happen to have a map? I’m curious what buildings the sniper might have been at. I know Ao—Nakamori-keibu had a watch at certain perimeter trying to keep the chance of a sniper down.” Saguru stumbled over Aoko’s name and pretended he hadn’t.

Kudo pulled out his phone, fiddling with it to bring up a map of the area. He set it on the coffee table between them. “This is the museum,” Kudo said. “And Kid left in this direction…” His finger scrolled the map forward.

“You found us about here, correct?” Saguru asked, pointing to what appeared to be the correct alley.

“Yes. Depending on Kid’s speed, he’d have to have been hit within this radius to crash there…” Kudo traced a circle above the phone.

“Meaning his shooter had to be within a certain radius to hit him.”

“Exactly.”

“Fifteen hundred meter radius?”

“Extend it a bit further to be on the safe side…” They bent forward over the phone, studying it intently. “The damage is worse on the right side.”

“Half from the crash, but I concede to your point; the bullet wounds come from that angle. It was a taller building. The entry wounds were almost even with his height.”

“Mm. Maybe a bit from below…too straight for his leg wound otherwise….” Kudo shifted the map around before they both agreed on a potential area. “I know this area. The tallest building around there is an office building.”

“It’s outside of Nakamori-keibu’s radius too.” Saguru felt the tingle of satisfaction that piecing pieces together always gave him. It was paired with the gut feeling that the sniper’s location had been important. He zoomed closer. Ambrosia Industries? It was foreign, and it also sounded vaguely familiar for some reason… He’d had a case that involved them at one point, he was pretty sure, but it had to have been a very long time ago.

“Something wrong?” Kudo asked. Saguru looked up into sharp-focused eyes. He also looked like he was on the edge of some sort of connection.

“I’ve heard of the company before.” When though? Not in Japan, in London, back, far back.

Kudo took the phone and looked the company up. “Ambrosia Industries…Not much on them.”

“They make cosmetics don’t they?” Ran asked, leaning in. Saguru had almost forgotten she was there. “Sonoko has a few things from their brand. She said they had the best anti-aging creams.”

A cosmetics company? That sparked something. Saguru took the phone from Shinichi. Yes, under the international subsidiaries was a different name. Elysium. “I had a case almost fifteen years ago looking into an employee from Elysium. My client thought that the employee had stolen her research data, but there hadn’t been any clear trail to link that they were using it in their formulas.” He frowned. “That was the case I got my knee shot out.” A bit further down on the list was another name he remembered. He gripped the phone tight. “And I was investigating a theft from Progenetics almost a year ago when…when my partner was killed.”

“That’s…” Kudo’s brow furrowed.

“It is entirely possible for that to be circumstantial and unrelated.” Saguru handed the phone back. The rest of the names didn’t spark any memories, though there was always the possibility that there were other connections. “It makes me wonder, though, as all three instances involved gunmen.”

“I have come across a few of these places,” Kudo said slowly. “Murder cases.”

Of course murders. Kudo worked almost exclusively with murders. “Thefts for me.”

“They were mostly crimes of passion though; the setting didn’t seem important to them. There was one that was one employee killing the other though. They never explained why, just turned themselves in.” Kudo tapped his chin.

“It would be a bit odd to use the roof of a place you were associated with to attempt a murder,” Saguru said.

“Or it could be the perfect cover because it would be unexpected.” Kudo shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Right. Kudo had taken out an international crime organization before he was twenty. He was probably something of an expert on shadowy dealings and large scale crime rings. “Kudo-san, how much do you know about what Kid is searching for?”

“Only that it is a large gemstone and that there is another interested party.”

“There was more than one Kid,” Ran added softly.

Kudo’s eyes flicked to her and he nodded. “The first Kid was active about seven years internationally before he vanished. The second Kid appeared eight years later and was much younger than the first. A protégé perhaps, since his methodology and skills are very similar to the first. With the sort of people that follow Kid, I can guess that the first Kid either died or was crippled.”

“He died,” Saguru said bluntly. “In what appeared to be an accident. A very public accident. His identity was found out by the organization chasing him and they ensured he wouldn’t be able to defy them again. How Kid has avoided something similar happening, I have no idea. Perhaps because he has made no effort to stand out in his civilian life.” It was too easy to picture ‘accidents’ happening to Aoko or Kuroba or Takumi, leaving nothing but blank eyed corpses behind. With Aoko it would not even be hard to arrange. Perhaps they had already tried, but with all the danger already present in Aoko’s day to day life, it had fallen into one more close call among many.

“The second Kid was a teenager when he first appeared,” Ran said. “Both Shinichi and I got close often enough to figure that much out.”

“He was sixteen when he first took Kid’s mantle.” All three of them winced at the implications. It was funny in a way; at the time it wouldn’t have felt odd. They had all been teenagers that ran into danger on a regular basis. The violent side of humanity and its dark possibilities were very real presences and dangers in their lives. And yet at sixteen they had felt adults already. At over thirty, looking back they had all been barely more than children dealing with things that they would have tried to protect their younger selves from now. “He’s spent the last decade and a half trying to take down a crime organization on his own.”

Kudo and Ran exchanged a look, Kudo’s questioning, Ran’s accepting. “I owe Kid,” Kudo said after a moment. “Not many people know this, but he helped several times in taking down the Black Organization. Not always willingly.” Kudo rubbed a hand through his hair. It stood up at the back, for a moment making him look much more like Kuroba. “I said I wouldn’t get involved in anything at that scale again if I could help it.” Kudo looked Saguru in the eyes, clearly struggling.

Oh. “He’s bad at accepting help,” Saguru said drily, “but at this point I don’t think he has much of a choice. Kudo-san, I don’t want to see Kid die. I’ve permanently lost the person I care for most in the last year, and then alienated the majority of my friends through my own actions; I don’t intend to lose anyone else. If that means coming out of retirement and going against a crime organization of an unknown size and reach, I will do it. I have far less to lose these days than I did before.” As he said the words, the resolution that had been building in him since he knew Kuroba had survived solidified. He had failed to save Mel or get him justice. His detective pursuits may very well have gotten Mel killed. But if there was any chance that his skills could help Kuroba, he would use them. Even with such a large chance of failing. “Would you be willing to help me in this?”

“I…” Kudo trailed off. He looked at the phone in his hands. “You’d be surprised how many detectives care about Kid. More than we should considering we try to catch him time after time. He causes chaos and dangerous people follow him, but Kid doesn’t use guns, does his best to not hurt anyone be it bystander or officer doing their job…” It was hard to be indifferent or remain angry at someone you interacted with for over a decade even if said interactions were anything but friendly. “I care. I’ll hide Kid here until he recovers completely if that’s what he needs. But…”

“I’m not asking for you to take an active role rooting out the shadows,” Saguru said. “I need your mind and your connections; those will be more than enough. I intend to do as much legwork as I can myself.” He was aware of the irony, a man with a cane doing the legwork, but for Kuroba he’d do it.

Ran touched Kudo’s elbow. Kudo swallowed thickly. “I can provide connections and help talk over whatever you find. I’d offer more, but I can’t be open about working on this, not with a family.”

“I understand.”

“I can make sure Kid is taken care of in the meantime,” Ran said.

Saguru nodded, grateful his mind spun plans, poked at connections as he closed his eyes. Fragmentary details stood out at him—snipers and connected companies and the multitude of wounds Kuroba has had since Saguru returned to Japan. Aoko’s angry face, Kuroba’s locked bedroom door and equally locked closet, accidents that were not accidents, Jii’s death, Kuroba Chikage’s absence from this heist, Kudo’s half smile when he talked about Kid and the years spent chasing him. Nothing clicked yet, but it was a start. “We will have to talk to Kid. Undoubtedly he has evidence we can work with.” He had almost two decades to throw himself at the problem; he had to have gotten somewhere with it. But Kuroba wasn’t a detective, and he didn’t have the connections he needed to take down a large scale organization. He was smart enough that he likely put most of the pieces together by now, but that didn’t mean he could do anything with it on his own.

“He’s probably asleep again,” Ran said. “Ai-san has him resting as much as possible so it might be a while before you can talk.”

“I understand. He has a lot of recovering to do.” And there were other things Saguru could do. Namely talk to his father; he wanted his perspective as well as Kudo’s on taking down a large scale criminal enterprise. And there was one other thing to take care of while he was at the manor. “I think,” he said slowly, “I have one more errand to do today after all.”

“Okay,” Kudo said. “Do what you need to do. I have a write up to do for the Kid task force, so I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“Ah.” Ran pulled out a slip of paper. “And our cell phone numbers if you need to get in touch.”

“Thank you.” He quickly entered the numbers into his phone and sent along his own contact info in a text. “Let me know if anything changes while I am gone?”

“Of course.” Ran smiled. Kudo was already lost looking up something on his phone again, the sharp thinking face firmly in place.

#detective conan #magic kaito #nltsa #fanfiction #not left to stand alone #My writing

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rosebloodcat · 7 years

Text

Harry and the Ink Demon Chapter 2- Discovery

Joey Drew, Harry had decided, was utterly barmy. The building had looked confusing on paper, but apparently the former studio director had thought it would be a grand idea to turn the place into a full on maze.

Harry had already gotten lost twice, but after living in Hogwarts for six years he had quickly gotten his head around his mental floor plan of the building. Though even that was a work in progress as he discovered the various changes Drew had made to the building. He was going to tear out a few of the walls, that much he'd figured out. But he'd found a few interesting things during his exploration.

He'd found a handful of tape recordings left by a few old employees (and they didn't sound very happy with their boss, not that he blamed them), some old drafts and model sheets of Bendy from the animator's cubicles/closets (he'd bagged those, even the one sticky note of an overly cutesy version of the little devil), an employee cafeteria (he was keeping that, unless the there were nasty magics on the lower floors), and a couple other knickknacks that may have belonged to former employees that he'd stowed away in his satchel. He wouldn't keep all the things he'd snagged, but having a few things to bid off to collectors would certainly help fund getting the studio up and running again.

He knew could be a klepto at times, a hold over from when he'd had nothing to call his own, so a good portion of it would be stowed away at home.

Maybe he'd give a few of the toys to Teddy. Or Luna, she'd grown rather fond of the toons when he would draw them with her menagerie of creatures (She wanted to help at the company once he got it going).

But that hadn't been the most bazar discovery he'd made in the dilapidated studio, no. That honor belonged to the machine he'd found early on in his exploration. A contraption that looked like a warped chimera of a water heater, a fire hose pump, and a clockwork engine of some kind. It had made his skin crawl, and his magic roil inside him. Something about it just felt- Unnatural. He wanted to blast the thing teeny, tiny pieces and hand the remains over to MASUCA's Department of Mysteries. He didn't like it one bit, and when his instincts gave him those kind of warnings, he would usually listen to them.

But with how the piping from the machine wove into the building, he wasn't sure if destroying it was safe or a smart idea. For all he knew, it could have brought the studio down on his head. And now he had to turn the blasted thing on. He didn't want to, not even the curious side of his that had survived the war wanted to touch it, but he wasn't getting a choice in the matter. For one single reason.

Drew had somehow turned the machine into the main source of power for the entire Studio.

It was worse since Harry had been allowed to see the reports and knew for a fact certain doors in the studio could only be opened if the power was on. And the light would be needed as he went deeper into the building, what with all the windows being boarded up.

And if Harry was cussing out Drew as he stalked through the halls? Well, who would know other than him?

Harry rubbed his brow, struggling to ward off his impending headache. This was not what he wanted to be doing.

THUD! Clatter!

He jolted in alarm at the sudden noise that cut through the mostly silent studio like a freshly sharpened knife. Harry's head shot up, green-eyes flicking about to find the source of the sound. His shoulders sagged in relief when he spotted what had caused the noise. It was just a board that had fallen from the ceiling of the t-section ahead of him.

"Bloody stars, that gave me a start. This place is gonna need more work than I thought," the wizard said with a tired sigh, running a hand through his bangs. He would need to re-tie his tie his hair soon, he noted, feeling various strands snag on his fingers. He strode further down the hall, squinting up at the spot where the board fell from.

"That's odd..." He muttered, squinting upwards.

Harry couldn't find the spot where the board had fallen from. There were no holes in the ceiling that matched it, and the boards that were there were pressed too close together to even be loose. It couldn't have fallen from there, unless...

He growled.

"Is someone pranking me? If there is, this ain't funny lads!" He called, aggravation showing through in his tone and bringing out the slight Scottish/Irish verbal ticks he'd picked up from Seamus and Professor McGonagall. He glared at the ceiling, as though he thought if he glared at it long enough that it would make the hidden prankster reveal themselves and grovel for forgiveness. It didn't.

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head.

'Now then, left or right?' he thought to himself, 'Let's try right.'

He turned down the right path into a small room with six pedestals, and a large switch framed by two large black pipes against the opposite wall. It looked strangely, well, toony. Almost like someone had drawn it onto the wall, if it weren't for the faint shadows being caste, Harry would have thought he'd been punk'd by the same person who may-or-may-not have rigged the falling board. He didn't know how to describe how just plain weird this place was.

"Well, I guess I've finally found the break room Franks mentioned in his recording Now how do I get this thing working?" He approached the switch (lever? It was hard to really tell), which was oh-so-helpfully labelled 'Main Power' with a little 'Caution' placed right under it. A flashing screen sat next to it, reading 'Low Pressure'. He stifled a groan. "Oh, why can't anything ever be easy? Just once in my life I'd like things to be simple."

He knew from the recording that he'd need something from each employee's desk to get things running, and there were six pedestals in the room. It wasn't much of a leap to assume he would need that many items (and he wasn't going to call them sacrifices, the term didn't sit well with him. At al). Now the question was, what exactly did he need?

He looked back at the pedestals, there was a picture behind each one. Perhaps the pictures were what he needed to find?

"Let's see here, I'm going to need a wrench, an ink bottle, a toy, a gear, a book, and something related to music." He muttered, Harry dug through his bag for the things he'd picked up while wandering through the studio. Surely there were a few that would do the trick.

"I think the record I found would go with the music note." He set it on the pedestal, and froze when a soft light started up, casting light on the object he'd just placed. Either there was one of those pressure switches he'd heard about there, or there really was magic at work there. He swallowed nervously, eyeing the pedestal with distrust.

"Th-then the ink well from one of the animator's desks." He hesitantly put it in place, and jolted when the same thing happed again.

"And the wrench." The process was repeated, right down to the eerie light. They were the only things he'd found that matched the pictures, he'd have to go back through the studio to find the other three objects. He shook he head trying to ward of his anxiety. He really didn't like this.

"Now, where would those- ACK!!" Harry jumped in alarm when he turned around the corner and almost walked into a Bendy cutout that had most certainly not been there a few moments ago. It was positioned right in the middle of the hallway, almost like it was trying to block his path. "Who put this here?!"

Harry scowled, his nerves still somewhat addled from the 'sacrifice' room. Someone had to be pranking him. And it really wasn't funny. He started to wind himself up to track the prankster down and give them a piece of his mind ala Molly Weasley. But a flickering light caught his eye.

"What the-?" He knew that kind of light. After spending years in the magical world (where electricity was practically non-existent), he would have had to be a fool not to.

That was the light of a candle. More than one. Who would be lighting a candle in a building full of flammable items like paper and rubber ink? Were they mad?! They could make the studio catch fire! Harry side-stepped the cutout, his expressions furious.

There was someone in the room with the candles. Someone wearing dull brown overalls and standing far too still. Harry quickened his pace, he anger fading with each step. He inhaled sharply once he reached the threshold of the room.

There was a body strapped to something that looked eerily like an operating table, hanging limply with their chest ripped open, ribs broken and wrenched wide, showing a hollowed out chest. Like their heart had been ripped out, and the rest of their body left to rot in the open. The scene looked even more horrifying with the light of the candles illuminating the from. And the wizard, though he'd never met them, recognized the person in question.

'This-this can't be possible...'

"B-Boris?" Harry stared in open horror at the scene before him.

Boris the Wolf had been Bendy's closest, and rather absent minded, friend. A sweet, lovable character who was more like an oversized puppy and didn't have a angry bone in his body. Harry had always had a soft spot for the wolf, he'd reminded the wizard of Hagrid and Remus. Intimidating in some aspects, but almost bursting at the seams with kindness for the people around him.

Seeing him strapped up like that, his insides exposed and with toony X's over his eyes, it seemed too surreal to be possible. Toons weren't real, it shouldn't be possible to-to kill them like this. But the rancid smell that permeated the room said otherwise, a horrid combination of rubber ink and rotting meat. Harry reacted in the only reason way to finding and impossible cadaver, he bent to one side and retched.

Braced against the wall, the wizard kept heaving until there was nothing left his stomach to force out. He coughed hard, grimacing at the taste of bile in his mouth.

Harry wasn't a squeamish person, not since the war, but he just... He hadn't been prepared for that. He hadn't been prepared to find the-the corpse of one of the cartoon characters he was so fond of. He raised his eyes to see inky writing scrawled on the wall.

"Who's laughing now?!"

'Not me, that's for sure.' Harry thought, turning his mournful gaze to Boris' prone form.

"I wanted to know if magic had been used here, but this wasn't what I expected. This is just- Oh Boris," He breathed, his voice quivering as his eyes roamed over the Wolf's form. Flashes from the war flickered at the back of his mind, but he forced them back with a shudder. This was- He had to find out what happened here, how this was even possible, and more importantly, find out who had done this.

Harry tore his gaze from the gruesome sight and started searching the room for something, anything that could explain what had transpired here. But there was nothing, just Boris, the table he lay on, the writing on the wall, and an old, rather pathetic looking plush doll of Bendy. He would have to find his answer's elsewhere.

He carefully picked up the toy, knowing it was one of the things he needed, not daring look back at the wolf.

He hesitated at the door, he wanted to pull Boris down from the table and give him some respect by not leaving him like that. But MASUCA, from what he'd gathered, was far more strict about following the laws they laid out. They were closer to muggle procedures about law enforcement, Harry could respect that. He could respect them trying to keep the scenes from being tampered with and not risking important evidence being damaged. Even if his morals weren't happy about leaving a victim in such a state.

"I'm so sorry Boris, I can't do anything for you right now. But I promise, once the authorities know about this, I'll make sure you get the proper respects. You have my word." Harry said, his voice sounding pained as he looked back at the wolf. He had no idea if anyone, let alone Boris could hear him, but making the promise helped ease his mind. He steeled his resolve and headed back into the halls.

He had to locate the last two items he needed to "appease the gods" (and that was an incredibly worrying phrase for something like this) to get things going. He could only hope ho could find his answers once that was done. But as he left he couldn't help asking,

'Just what have I gotten myself into this time?' - - AN: Well, done with this one. It's a lot shorter than the last one, but I wanted to focus on the important pieces of the story. After all, listening to Harry wander around a studio with nothing really going on is actually kind of boring, right?

I think the descriptions came out pretty good, don't you?

#Harry Potter #hatid #harry in batim #Harry and the Ink Demon #bendy the dancing demon #Bendy and the Ink Machine #batim #fanfiction #fanart

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ajokeformur-ray · 7 years

Text

For the matchup thing

I want to request for Phantom of the Opera, Harry Potter, Hannibal and Sherlock, if it’s not too much of a trouble. I just started following your blog and I am absolutely smitten. I’ve already read all of your imagines, and I can’t wait for more to come.

Anyway, I identity as female, I’m pansexual and I’m a Gemini ENTP Slytherclaw.

Appearance: Well, my icon is actually me. I’m Asian, around 5’ (153 cm), I’m pretty thin(ish), but athletically built with some muscle. I have really dark brown eyes (near black), and black hair. I look very intimidating when I’m not smiling, I also smirk a lot.

Interests: Reading, mostly science or historical fiction, also a few classic literature and philosophy books. I love to draw too, I’m better at pattern stuff than realistic sketches. I also write, mostly fanfc for my friends, but I enjoy writing essays and poetry about topics that I’m interested in. Likes: Making people laugh, crying over videos of dogs, dogs, cats, animals in general. Intellectually stimulating conversation, late night talks about philosophy, physics, space, debates. Aesthetically pleasing stuff, making people happy, feminism, spreading love. Sassing people, punching Nazis, surprise people by my strength.

Dislikes: Nazis, racists, homophobes, sexist etc. Random people touching me (friends are totally fine), mean and rude people (especially those who shout at servers in restaurant). People who say things that are contradictory, people who bully others. Look for in a relationship: cuddles, people who feel strong, solid, and steadfast. Reliability and trustworthiness are pretty important to me. Preferably older than me, because I like feeling safe and having protection. Someone I could go on adventures with, or teach me new things. Also a bit of possessiveness and jealousy.

A little more about me: I speak Cantonese, Mandarin and English fluently. I have been learning French and self teaching Latin. I’m going to start German classes soon. I love singing, I’ve been in many choirs, for around 8 years. I’m a first soprano, and going to a choir festival/competition in Germany last month was the best time of my life. I have been fencing semi professionally for around 10 years. I fence epee and foil. When I get angry, I sometimes cry. Like that time in primary school I saw some guys bullying a lower grade boy, and I got into a fight with them, and I was so pissed I started tearing up.

Sorry if it’s too long, I tend to start babbling on and on. Thanks for doing this!!! 😻😻😻

Thank you for such kind words! :) I saw you in my notifications and I was a bit surprised by how much you read, but flattered. Also - ohmygoodness thank you so much for the tip! It was incredibly generous of you! <3

Edit: You asked me to make your matchups longer. Pieces I’ve added on are in italics, to make it easier to see where I’ve gone from. Hope you like this length! :)

Hannibal - Alana Bloom

- You’re a bibliophile who reads a lot of different genres of books. You’re artistic and your hobbies are relaxing but self-expressive. Alana would likely want to read some of the essays you write, though she wouldn’t go behind your back to read them if you said no, and she’d encourage any academic interests you have. If you ever got curious about the field that she works in, she’d probably pull a few strings with Jack to be able to take you to her workplace and show you around, though it would be on a day when it’s relatively quiet and they don’t have any immediate cases or paperwork to attend to. If there are any book/cafe fusion places near you, it’d be your most popular place for a lunch date, even if there’s a drive to get there.

- After a day working, I think Alana would enjoy coming home to you, a bottle of wine and any pets the two of you would have. You’d curl up on the couch together, knees touching, and talk about the subjects you’re both interested in or even anything and nothing all at once, and just bond over the deep conversations you have. She would want to hear your views on everything, even taboo subjects that some people don’t like to talk about, such as Death Row (this is also linked into her field so she can gauge how much you agree with or disagree with her profession). Anything you disagreed with would become a lightly-heated debate, both of you respecting the others’ point of view. If you couldn’t at least calm the debate then you’d agree to disagree and leave it as it is.

- She’s compassionate, strong, and sometimes stubborn in her opinion when she thinks she’s right. She’s perceptive so I think to begin with, she’d ask you if she can touch you but as you get closer, she’d stop asking and go off of body language. Alana is a fast learner and the two of you would quickly and easily fall into a pattern of touching each other casually - a hand on the shoulder when you walk past, a hand on the small of the back as you pass through a door to a shop or restaurant... It’d be very relaxed and low-key, especially in public.

- Alana is so strong and she’s more than capable of looking out for herself and others. She’s fiercely protective of those she loves, like you, and she goes kinda cold when she’s angry, a contrast to your tears. She’s incredibly trustworthy and would be willing to teach you things, if you asked her to, though it’d depend on the subject and how much you want to know. But either way, she would do her best to teach you or show you whatever it is that you wanted to learn. She would also be really good at encouraging you to stick to a goal or deadline, either for educational or personal matters.

- You can speak some of the hardest languages to learn and that’s pretty damn impressive and shows only a sliver of your intellect. During the competition in Germany last month, Alana would have been one of your biggest supporters. You probably bond over how the both of you will defend those who are vulnerable. There’s no way that Alana would ever allow anyone to hurt you. The two of you would be invited to every one of Hannibal’s dinner parties and he’d come to see you as a respected friend, like Alana. When things went down and the truth came out, she’d flee the country with you if she had to, going anywhere at all to guarantee your mutual safety. Either way, her home is with you.

Phantom - The Phantom/Erik

- Your vast intellect makes a refreshing change from “those fools who run my theatre” and he’s only too happy to supply you with books from his expansive library. You both draw so Erik ends up putting more string along the walls to accommodate your drawings as well as his. When you’re writing, he tends to go off composing so his home would be filled with the sounds of chords, mutterings, and two sets of quills scribbling furiously on expensive parchment. You’re both quite peaceful, quiet souls and this would show in your home, too. You would have your own room and Erik would have his, though they’re connected by a door that he has the key to.

- You definitely have intellectually stimulating conversations - when Erik is in the right mood. He doesn’t have a bedtime per se so tbh neither do you; you both just run off naps (Erik) or sleep when you’re tired (you). Rarely are you sleeping at the same time but wait for the right moment and you might be able to persuade a so-tired-he’s-swaying-on-his-feet Erik to come cuddle with you! Despite his own lack of bedtime, Erik does try to get you to go to bed at a set time, just because he doesn’t want you to become too much like him (this is an inside joke in your relationship but to him, it’s a real worry). You’re both very sassy and would probably let off steam in this way. Most of your conversations, serious or not, are filled with sarcastic comments, dry quips, sly smirks and chuckles. On the occasions when Nadir comes over, he leaves thoroughly entertained by how the two of you talk to each other, his heart lighter at the sight and realisaton that his dear Erik is - at last - truly happy.

- Erik would treat you with the highest of respect, as you’re his long-time friend and eventual s/o. His actions are never excusable but they’re explainable and going off on a chance here, but I think your love for him would make him want to be the kind of man you think he is so he would tone down the bullying he does towards others when he’s after something, though if they attack you or his loved ones then it’s no holds barred, I’m afraid. He would quite literally kill for you and this isn’t something you’d ever be able to stop him from doing - it’s too ingrained in him, too much a part of who he is. Everything he does used to be to protect hinself, but now he has you - even if you don’t live with him, he considers you in every decision he makes - and so he’s a little less reckless and a lot more careful, though he still takes calculated risks when he has to.

- Cuddles would take time to develop in the relationship but they’d definitely be there, usually after you practically plead for him to break away from his music for just five minutes. Once he’s lying down with you, no worries - he’s not moving, having decided he quite likes the way you hold him. He’s strong, independent and answers to no one (apart from Nadir from time to time). He’s a lot older than you (I think he’s meant to be in his forties, maybe fifties) and would be able to protect you, physically and otherwise. He’d be happy to teach you things you’re interested in and is definitely quite possessive - enough to kill, as in canon. When you sing, he calls you his “little songbird”. He doesn’t mean it to be derogatory or offensive, but you sing and you’re shorter than he is so in his head it makes sense. Sometimes he’s worried that you being with him means that you’re caged and he wonders if he should set you free. One day he brought this up and your reaction was enough to steel his resolve - you weren’t caged. In being with him, you were free. He became a little more confident in the relationship after that discussion.

- You know so many languages that it’s admirable tbh, and you sing. I daresay it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for him to want to become your teacher. If you agreed, at set times each day he wouldn’t be your partner, he’d be your teacher and he wouldn’t go easy on you. Then when the lesson is over, Erik takes the Phantom’s place and he becomes your partner again. An easy, smooth transition. He might even teach you how to properly swordfight or at the very least, use a proper dagger. He appreciates how angry you get over social injustices and how fiercely you defend those who cannot defend themselves. I think your protective fierceness would show him that the world, or, his world, can show compassion - you’re his world and you’re full of compassion, towards him and others who are vulnerable.

HP - Lily Potter

- Lily is an exceptionally-gifted witch with Muggle parents, so I think she’d know your favourite authors and would be able to discuss them with you. Overhearing your conversation would be Remus; he tried not to listen but you’re talking about books so really, what did you expect? Sometimes though, Lily wants to be alone with you so she’d ask the Marauders to buzz off. She likes to sit there and watch you draw patterns on the sides of your parchments when you’re in class and Lily would likely charm a few of them to move around and make you giggle in the middle of class. You’d be very close with the Marauders but Lily would always be sure to get time away from them so that she can spend quality time with you. It’d never feel like a juggling act, though. That’s the last thing ever of them would ever want to put you through.

- You spread happiness like it’s going out of fashion and it’s one of the many things that Lily loves about you. The two of you would almost pull people in with how much you’re laughing and joking together - put in the same room as the Marauders, and it’s practically a party! Late at night, if you’re in the same dorm room, you lay cuddled up on one of your beds, gazing up at the canopy where Lily has made it look like the night sky, talking about anything that comes to mind. If you’re in different dorm rooms - you gotta sneak around for a bit but with James’ invisibility cloak, anything’s possible! You’d steal away little moments during the day together, sneaking into corridor alcoves for quick kisses, notes pressed into palms as you pass each other in the corridor on the way to class, hand holding under the desk when you have a class together and have managed to snag a seat next to each other... It’d be safe, secure, with each other. The closer war looms over your heads, the closer the two of you get.

- You share a lot of the same dislikes so if anyone offends either of you or anyone in your vicinity, they better watch out because they’ll be sassed by two different people at the same time. You’d spend most of your time together in the library, surrounded by books. I think for a lot of the younger students, you’d become some kind of after-class tutor club where they’d come and ask questions or even study with you. You’d definitely become some kind of role model couple for the younger students, and even some of the students in your year have a betting pool going for what time the two of you will get engaged etc. Sirius started that betting pool but ssssh xD

- Lily would probably be a few months or even a year older than you and she’d definitely look after you and protect you. If you trimmed your hair by even a millimetre, she’d notice and comment on it, elbowing one of the Marauders so they’d chirp in with compliments, too. She’d be more than happy to teach you things and you could easily go off with the Marauders on nightly adventures, dragging Lily along with you. You’d be a more relaxed influence on Lily, getting her to loosen up a little and break out some of those mischievous thoughts she has, betrayed only by that glint in her eye, and she’d be a more disciplined influence on you as far as academics go, not that you need it.

- I headcanon that Lily angry-cries too so when you’re both angry, it’s dangerous to be near either of you. You would easily defend anyone who looks like they need it, even from themselves if that was the case. You’d be each other’s best friend, comfort place, and would be sources of laughter and happiness for those lucky enough to be around you. You’d become a source of strength for others, particularly those in your inner circles, as the War looms closer. Just by being yourselves, you’d remind others that love is right there if one only looks, just like Dumbledore said.

Sherlock - John Watson

- John blogs and you draw and write so the two of you could easily spend an entire day doing your own things in each other’s company, occasionally getting up to make tea or get takeaway if John is too lazy to cook. He would be the type of s/o to come home with a new book every time he leaves the flat, just to see you smile. He would ask to read the poems or essays you write but wouldn’t be mad if you said no - just curious. If he was kept up late with a case and couldn’t make it home to you, when he did come back he’d have flowers, chocolates, a book... He’d curl up on the couch beside you with an arm slung over your shoulder, holding you close as you snuggle in while watching a crapy TV re-run bothh of you have seen ten times or more but are too lazy to change it over, much to Sherlock’s chagrin.

- You’re also the couple to cuddle up in bed and watch cat videos for about six hours even though you boh have things to do. You talk about anything, from Sherlock to the latest case, to your childhoods and your futures. Anything and everything would be spoken about and one of you would fall asleep, the other to follow soon after. John always wakes up first and is usually pretty content to let you sleep in, but when you need to be awake early for whatever reason or if John just wants you to get up, he’d sit on the side of your be, with a hot cup of tea on your bedside table and lull you awake with forehead kisses and maybe wandering hands if you’re into that.

- You dislike the same type of people and as far as rudeness goes, Sherlock sometimes goes over or close to the mark but John just glares at him or says, “Bit not good” and Sherlock would apologise to you, even if you hadn’t been spoken to by him directly but were affronted by what he’d said to someone else. You’re both very protective so those who know you, yourselves and each other are always well looked after, even if there isn’t much time for love in your lives. You’d make time, for certain, because there’s no-one more important than you in John’s life, though Sherlock comes in close at second.

- Cuddles are a must with John, especially when he’s having a nightmare. On those nights, he’ll curl into your back and sob quietly for all those he couldn’t save… Including himself. He would protect you with his life and each case provides several adventures so you’d get all the adrenaline rushes you need! John doesn’t really get jealous but if anyone tried to make a move towards you, he’d stalk across the room and kiss you soundly, telling the other person in no uncertain terms that you’re taken. He’s not really possessive, though, he’s more... Set in his relationship with you and he wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of that. If you ever wanted to break up, he’d have a hard time letting you go, for sure.

- He’s impressed by the sheer number of languages that you speak and loves your singing voice, going to every performance if you do those. If you ever got angry at him, the sight of your tears would kill any anger he has and he’d have to come over and pull you into a hug. His resolve is strong but his love for you is even stronger and he’s never really mad at you. He’s just worried, I suppose. He’s very forgiving, after a time, but don’t push him. He’d treat you with so much respect and love and you’d have such a tight, strong relationship with him.

#hannibal #harry potter #phantom of the opera #bbc sherlock #alana bloom #the phantom/erik #lily potter #john watson #submission #edited on 28th august by request #hope you like this version better

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