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jvsons · 3 years ago

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DECIPHER DEAD | ACT SEVEN

ARKHAM KNIGHT! JASON TODD X READER

MASTERLIST | DECIPHER DEAD MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT • 4,037

WARNINGS • mentions of weapons and violence, slightly implied sexual themes, mentions of memory loss, rekindling trauma and troubling events, heated arguing

SUMMARY • He felt grief, one of someone forced to lead a life they could not remember. The tragedy of its simplicity kickstarted a flare in his heart, earning the truth was the first step. The shallow waters rose in his heart of a way to begin, danger rocking the waters in the thought of loss.

But even he would not be able to live with himself if this persisted any longer.

ENCRYPTION LOG #5

WHY SHOULD I BE SCARED OF MYSELF?

Chemical compounds are abnormal. Initial effect is similar to something like a fear toxin, an addition to fear, violence. Patients still show lingering effects, such as self harm, night terrors, and constant self-talk. A cure to dim the amygdala is currently in progress, results should hope to return the infected back to normal.

Swiping the device on your arm off, you brought your hands to your face. The fabric was coarse against seemingly melted skin, the effect of your leisure in the Venezuelan sun for what had felt like hours.

For almost three weeks you’d been slumped over in the Militia’s lab, working over 20 trial and error cures for the mysterious fear substance. Not one had even began to lead you in the right direction, forcing your hand in direct observations of men driven insane. You’d stood behind glass windows, watching as they screamed and dug at the fabric that bound their hands together.

This evening, you’d been ushered out of the lab due to an emergency maintenance. The mountains were far too hot for work, leaving you hunched over on closest boardwalk, accompanied only by the chirping of seagulls and rushing winds. Even with a mind at peace from consistent screams of agony, you’d been at a mental block, only being able to document notes that may serve any sort of purpose later on.

“ALERT. SUBJECT ‘0.1’ IS TRACKING YOUR LOCATION.”

You let out a quiet sigh, putting rest to the flashes on your arm. Within a minute, the sound of boots hitting wood was evident, encouraging you to take a glance back. Expectedly, there was the Knight, head turned to the ground with a hand hovering over the release button on his visor.

“Hey.”

The Knight stopped before you, setting a bag of fast food down next to your case before sitting himself.

“Hey.”

He pulled out a burger and fries, offering both to you with a shrug.

“Maintenance should be over before midnight.” His eyes wandered to your arm. “Any progress?”

You shook your head, bringing the hand that wasn’t supporting your knees up to brush a flock of stray hairs back. He nodded, gaze now cast to the beach. You followed, focusing in on a group of seagulls fighting over a strand of seaweed.

“They like French fries, right?”

“Probably, try it.”

You took a small handful of French fries from your bag, sending them to land beside the group of birds. At first, they all snapped to look at you and the Knight, only turning for the food the next second. Your face dropped as they started fighting again, grabbing another fistful of fries and chucking them ahead.

You narrowed your eyes as the Knight let out a quiet snort, covering his face when you looked over.

“Sorry, your face was just funny.”

“Sounds really nice when you put it like that.”

The Knight’s eyebrows perked up, opening his mouth to apologize. Even through the bag of fries you held in front of your mouth, he could still see the smirk hidden behind them. An eye roll was sent your way shortly after.

“You ever been on the beach before?”

“No, you?”

The Knight shook his head, balling both of his wrappers up before standing. You grabbed your case, holding the bag out after you dumped your own trash inside. The nearest garbage was only a few steps away, surprisingly not overflowing with waste at the lightest push. Looking back, you saw the Knight leaning against the rail’s edge, looking down at a projection on his arm.

“It’s only ten to seven,” a glance was sent your way as you took your place beside him. “We still have hours to kill.”

“So what you’re telling me is..” you turned, facing him with a rising smile. “You want to go on the beach.”

“Shut up.” He retorted, sending a look of feigned anger your way. “You know you want to, you’re just to scared to say it.”

“You didn’t even say it!”

The Knight only shrugged, bending to grab his visor before turning back to you.

“You coming?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You stepped down from the rails, turning for the stairs leading down to the beach. “Stop walking so fast.”

The Knight stopped on the last stair, taking a glance at the sand before looking back to you. The first step was taken at your liberty, almost tripping at the lack of traction on your boots. A few paces and you were accustomed to the lack of structure, heading down to the water with the Knight in tow.

You stopped before the wetted expanse ahead, sitting on the nearest strip of dry sand to the water. The Knight sat beside you, planting the ears of his visor into the sand to prevent any from getting inside.

“I hate the sand.”

“Imagine coming out here with a bathing suit.” You laughed, stripping your left glove off. “It would get everywhere.”

You’d felt sand before, but only the fake, packaged type. What your hand grazed upon now was entirely different, less soft to the touch, instead more gravelly and easier to mold.

“I still wish there was a beach back at Gotham. Maybe people would stop claiming fishing is the most fun thing in the world.”

The Knight’s gaze was cast out to the ocean, unmoving in the way he took in the waves. Eventually, he looked back at you, eyebrows furrowed in the slightest.

“Do you still think about Gotham?”

“All the time.” He sighed.” It’s hard not to when you’re raising an entire army to go back there, but I think about that damn place more than I should.”

“Your last trip there go good?”

“It was alright.” The Knight half shrugged, gaze flickering to the side. “What about you?”

“Yeah.”

You looked down, drawing mindless shapes in the sand. “It’s really frustrating, so I try not to. Every time I try to recall something past that year, I just.. can’t.”

Your eyes shifted to the Knight, now holding a contested expression. His eyes were narrowed in the slightest, chewing on his cheek, dropped down to the slight fiddling of his fingers. Something he always did when he had something to say.

“You know something.” You frowned, turning fully to face the Knight. “Tell me.”

Save the soft rocking of waves and the whistles of wind that encouraged them, the atmosphere fell silent. You awaited an answer, worry pooling at your chest upon the sight of his lips drawing in a thin line.

“I can’t.”

Your face dropped. The Knight looked away, letting out a prolonged breath when you pulled his shoulder. He was forced to look at you now, eyes wavering as they met your own.

“Decipher, seriously.” He took hold of your hands, placing them at your folded legs. “I can’t tell you right now, trust me.”

Trust you?

“No, no.” Your hands snapped away from his hold, finger pointed directly at his face. “You don’t get to do this.”

Your spare hand raised up, ripping your visor off of your skin. The heat rose to the exposed areas at once, the very glisten of your ghostly irises strong enough to render you blind.

“Can you explain this, Knight?” You spat, pointing to the eyes you could hardly see from. “You’ve been hanging me by a thread for over a year! Oh, and in case you forgot, you almost killed me, but I still trusted you after that. Now I find out you’re keeping things from me?”

The Knight looked away once more.

“Why?”

No answer. You backed away with a scoff, only able to take a single step upwards before the rough material of his glove seized your bare wrist, the both of you now rooted in place.

“I was afraid you’d leave the Militia, Decipher!” The Knight’s voice wavered as the last words died out, yet he only pulled you closer in the moment of silence. “I was afraid you’d leave me… you knowing this might change everything. That’s why I didn’t tell you, I wasn’t doing it to be an asshole of hang some advantage over you, I promise.”

You sat back, eyes frozen on the pure look of distraught that painted his face. He’d known it as much as you did, the trust you’d been working to build for the past month hanging on by a splintering thread. Every second you remained still, the realization that he was right seeped in. The very fact that you were contesting dropping everything, running away for good, had proved him perfectly right.

You were as reliable as you were unstable. He knew that better than anyone.

“I needed you in the Militia, so the safest time for me to tell you would have been before we departed Venezuela.” The Knight sighed, nearing the end of the sentence. “But you deserve to know, and I won’t keep it from you.”

“It’s not that easy though, is it?”

The Knight shook his head, raising a hand to keep his hair in place. You finally brought yourself to stand, following his rise the next second. A few moments of silence passed as you looked forward, glazing over the clashing hues of yellow and orange over rocking waves.

He felt grief, one of someone forced to lead a life they could not remember. The tragedy of its simplicity kickstarted a flare in his heart, earning the truth was the first step. The shallow waters rose in his heart of a way to begin, danger rocking the waters in the thought of loss.

But even he would not be able to live with himself if this persisted any longer. He couldn’t stand to watch you fight for clarity in a life that was promised as a second chance, not after he’d almost lost you once. So he turned to you, and the look you gave back was nothing short of loss.

“I don’t know if you’ll get the answers you want, but we’ll go to Gotham. Whenever you’re ready.”

One year ago.

Gotham City.

Rain clad boots joined in with fresh rain puddles, spraying foggy droplets onto the streets below. A gloomy world was cast in a seemingly darker glow by wandering eyes, taking in the city’s expanse despite their urges to pull away. The sight of Gotham was one that made all linger, she was that beautiful.

So as she was beautiful, this city had never treated Jason Todd kindly. His gaze was static, lingering on the bustling masses splayed throughout Bleake Island. Car horns blared in his ears, headlights glared against his visor, yet he did not pull away from a scene any citizen from Metropolis would deem an eyesore. Here, chaos was in certain, beauty.

He was on the move passed five minutes, casting his dull grapple to the air in silent faith that it responded. It did, every time, yet a sliver of uncertainty with an unknown origin still made him wonder. Silky lights lit the rooftops he tread on with leisure, beholding him to his own reflection every time his eyes met the rain.

He scoffed, wondering what kind of ditch he would crash in tonight. The emergence of quiet beeps on his arm had the thought pushed back for a while.

“What do you want, Slade?”

The Knight’s eyes were hard on the holographic display of the assassin. He could still make out the sharpness of his glare through the fuzz.

“How’s Gotham been? I trust she’s been kept in check since I’ve last been.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“So I thought,” The Knight’s features shifted blindly. “I’ve caught word of a trafficking gig on the rise, supply is pumping straight into Gotham.”

Slade watched expectedly as his visor tilted to the side, the light of his eyes averted to his gloved hand. Somehow, he knew sleeping in for an hour would prove useful.

“Send me what you got, I’ll deal with it before tomorrow.”

“That’s one Hell of a promise, Knight.”

He raised his dormant hand, ending the call and laying his right arm to rest. Mere seconds passed before buzzing was on the rise again, guiding his fitted arm right back where it had been. A quiet his and he was without the visor, eyes clear to read the intel displayed on a sea blue digital form. Blurry photos greeted him next, the grain within each shot all the same to him. All until the last picture.

His eyes widened, as if he was somehow seeing things. In fact, he was not. Not even in the slightest.

A small picture, though slightly more clear than the rest. The operation had been depicted so nonchalantly, anyone but him would have missed this. He was certain.

The men were loaded on a small jet-ski, speeding off to the ocean without a single look back. A few grainy frames allowed him to make out a symbol he thought he’d never see again on anyone but himself. The symbol of Arkham Asylum.

Mere moments passed before he was speeding through the streets of Gotham, the location hardwired into his brain. The sky eventually grew solemn, hundreds of dead trees surrounded him as the shadowed gates of Arkham Asylum came into view, open wide at the leisure of his targets. The Knight found himself spiraled into a familiar world of questions as he parked his bike, stepping onto the soils that had held him captive for over a year. Numerous inquiries lingered alongside him as he stopped against the pier, striking a match and tossing it to the three jet-skis that held more boxes of cargo that he could count.

Even so, a question one often asks is the kind that’s personal, sometimes too knowing in a way that it becomes selfish. Without questions, people wouldn’t know how to fight for the knowledge they so desperately needed. Without curiosity, they wouldn't know either even existed in the first place.

However, he was always an optimistic questioner. Nothing good ever came from people with their chins held high, shaking nerves hid away in the disguise of skin. Yet he could not help but hope, and hope was what he did, all until death. Even so, there are just some things that spark a reaction in us we cannot forget, even after the deepest root has met stone.

The crumbling walls looming in front of him served a reminder to a time not so long ago, back when he was full of questions. He could still sense the underlying taste of blood in the air as he entered the building, a familiar smell that had forced his hand at the hundreds of ramblings he’d pass years ago. Now, the scent was soothingly faint, yet he still felt bile on the rise in his stomach at the ghostly laughs that played a cruel reverb off each rotting tile.

The Knight kneeled down beside a shard of glass, trailing his fingers along the scarce remains of the substance that hadn’t dripped into the cracks below. Pressing the glove to his arm, the sample was revealed as whiskey, the time of spillage estimated to around an hour ago. One calibration to his visor and his world was captured in a light green haze, a hologram displaying the nearest splatter only two feet away.

The trail led him along the halls of intensive treatment, splatters clinging to the walls in a new pattern that indicated struggle. Each sample morphed in drastic change, bringing him outside and to Arkham East. There, the trail evened once again, leading the Knight to none only than the Arkham Mansion.

Silence greeted his entrance, wandering ahead only with the soft buzz of his visor. The Knight’s gaze lifted as he walked, wandering along the titan infected roots that spanned across the ceiling. A scoff followed, grateful in the least that he escaped before they broke out.

The rise of light chatter stopped him in place, backing away from the door to the records hall. Looking up, he aimed his grapple at an open vent, sliding into the confined space and into a small room. A few steps and he was overlooking the hall’s expanse, switching off the visor’s tracker for magnification.

Destruction was all that he could see, from smashed file cabinets to the hundreds of papers that had been pulled from them. Finding little use in his visor, the Knight pulled his sniper out, fastening the scope so he could see exactly what the men below were doing. A quick tap to the ear and hearing enhancement was switched on.

“You find anything yet, Razor?”

“Man, I don’t even know the name of the bitch we’re looking for. I’ve just been taking papers that have female names.”

“You idiot, her name is Y/N, L/N. Boss said she’d have a record here.”

“Ooh, she sounds hot.”

“That’s what I was thinking!”

Fighting the urge to groan, the Knight twisted the barrel on his sniper. Just seconds later, two of the three men were slouched to the ground, shots to the chest to ensure instant death. The last looked up in fear as he hit the ground, zip kick winding around his ankle as he turned to run.

“Who- who the Hell are you!” The man yelled, eyes widening as the Knight began to reel him in. He opened his mouth once more, only to be slammed against the ground, head kept in place by the Knight’s boot.

“Your boss into drugs?”

A frantic nod was sent his way.

“Thought so.” The Knight shifted his boot, freeing the man’s mouth from the carpet. “Who’s Y/N, and why is he looking for her?”

“I don’t know who she is, man! I just heard she’s good with pharmaceutical shit, you know? She’s probably good with drugs.”

“Thanks for your help, now you get to take a nap.”

“WAIT!”

A burst of smoke and he went silent, the Knight kicked his body to the side as he began tapping on his arm.

Setting calibrations for keywords “Y/N, L/N”

A quick search of the room proved fruitless. The Knight moved on to the West Wing, walking past the offices that dotted the hall, pushing into the records room. In his entire time at Arkham, he’d only been in this room once, forced to place his own record in the criminal section.

To his surprise, there were not many file cabinets dedicated to holding pharmaceutical information. One gaze estimated a mere 15 labels, and finally, the one on the very bottom highlighted in blue.

The Knight kneeled down, taking hold of the handle while pulling a lock pick from his utility belt. Less than five jangles and he was in, stepping back at the sheer depth of the cabinet. The interior’s surface was littered with papers, the small stack taken into the Knight’s hands.

DOCUMENT CATEGORY : INTERN

SEX : FEMALE

AGE : 17

BIRTHDAY : N/A

KNOWN FAMILY : N/A

PLACE OF RESIDENCE : THE POINTE COMPLEX, MIAGANI ISLAND

AFFILIATES : DR. JONATHON CRANE

The Knight’s eyes widened in the slightest, turning to the next page.

Y/N L/N IS A PART TIME INTERN THAT HAS BEEN WORKING ALONGSIDE ARKHAM STAFF FOR 4 YEARS. DESPITE HAVING NO KNOWN FAMILY, SHE CAME TO THE ASYLUM WITH NOTABLY IMPRESSIVE SKILLS REGARDING TECHNOLOGY AND PHARMACEUTICALS. SHE DOES NOT OFTEN WORK DIRECTLY WITH PATIENTS, BUT SPENDS MOST OF HER HOURS DEVELOPING MEDICAL PROTOTYPES AND TAKING BEHAVIORAL NOTES. PLEASE REFER TO ANY FOLLOWING DOCUMENTS FOR FURTHER INFORMATION.

The Knight sighed, setting down the papers while typing The Pointe into the device on his arm, watching as an apartment complex on Miagani island popped up. He hopped over the railing supporting the later half of records, configuring the location to his motorcycle.

“Let’s hope you’re not useless.”

The sharp clink of a grapple rang out amidst rain pounding against concrete, hooking over the building’s edge and bringing the Knight up with it. He paused after pulling the grapple to his side, peering down at the tracker embedded in his arm, now flashing red in sense that his location had been reached. His gaze carried onto the streets below, coming to a close at a small sign that read The Pointe.

Crouching at the building’s edge, the Knight pulled his sniper out once more, setting the magnification to gain a glimpse into the apartment’s rooms. Just as he lifted the scope to the second floor, the entire building burst into flames, sending debris flying into the streets below.

“Guess I’m right on time.”

Strapping his sniper away, the Knight flipped his visor’s thermal vision calibrations on, searching for any abstract shapes amongst the fire. When none came to, he grappled to the nearest building untouched by the explosion, spurred on by the rise of gunshots on the other side.

Discovering ten separate heat signatures, he tapped his visor back to normal, now inspecting the crowd clearly. Nine men sat behind two cars, peaking out once every few seconds to send warning shots towards the apartment. Turning away from the screaming, he focused in on a lone woman, cocking a pistol before sending a bullet flying back. One of the men slumped over seconds later, dead on impact.

Once three men were taken out, the Knight jumped down beside her, holding her gun up to the sky as her finger coiled around the trigger, and sending the next bullet up with it.

“Who the Hell are you?” She asked, recoiling in surprise. The Knight rolled his eyes under the visor, tapping her pistol with his own.

“I could ask you the same question. Now shut up, and focus.”

Without complaint, she nodded. The Knight dropped a spare hand to his utility belt, pulling a grenade from one of his front pockets and handing it to her. After the explosion went off, they broke from cover, splitting to track down any survivors. When the Knight found none, he turned, watching as she grabbed the last man, slamming him against the hood of a car.

“Who do you work for?” She pressed, knife slipping from her pocket to sit against his throat. “Why are you after me?”

The Knight scoffed when he didn’t answer, pushing her to the side before putting a bullet in his chest.

“They’re part of a drug operation, thought you could be useful since you’re good with pharmaceuticals.”

“And what makes you think killing him was the right move?” She asked, waving a hand to the ghostly complexion that was her eyes. “Don’t I look a little.. I don’t know, freaky to you? I could be the bad guy here.”

“Right.” The Knight crossed his arms, leaning against the car’s side. “I’m going to assume you’re the bad guy when there are ten armed ones that are on the other side.”

She shrugged, stuffing her pistol into the right pocket of her coat. “Okay, so I’m not the bad guy. What now?”

“I want to know how they caught wind of you.” The Knight started, bright gaze of his visor hard on the one returned. “Nobody just knows someone if they don’t get their hands dirty.”

“I don’t have a choice.” She retorted, eyes narrowing in the slightest. “I think I’ve gone completely fucking crazy, since I can’t remember anything past the year I’ve spent stealing from the low lives that prey off the innocent, and there are only so many ways you can make money off of these scumbags.”

The Knight’s gaze dropped to her neck, trailing across the numerous marks that spanned across skin. Yet, confused as he was surprised, he nodded.

“Are you good with technology?”

“You could say that.”

The Knight pushed off of the car, pulling a small device from his utility belt.

“Join the Militia. I can promise you a second chance there.”

Her eyes widened, right hand rigid as it took hold of the piece of technology offered.

“We operate in Venezuela, but there’s a small base in Gotham.” The Knight turned his back, grapple aiming to the skies above. “You’ll stay here for a while, I’ll contact you tomorrow for pickup.”

Within a matter of seconds, he was gone.

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batarella · 5 years ago

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The Commander - Part 11 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

This part has the most character development for our Commander here. the good stuff is about to begin. BUCKLE UP.

WORDS: 3356 WARNINGS: DEATH. AND JASON FLUFF BECAUSE WE ALL NEED THAT

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

The sun never shined this brightly into her room before.

Beauty. Perfection. Bewitching, captivating beauty.

Y/N couldn’t help but run a finger across his stubble. Jason was still asleep, facing her. He never looked so peaceful with his mouth slightly parted and the muscles on his face relaxed. It was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes.

It was like waking up in a lone bed by a lake. A clear, turquoise lake with a silent waterfall at the far back. With so much green around her, she couldn’t breathe any speck of corrupted air. There would be no one else but her, and she’d jumped into the cool waters. Nothing else in her mind, but the feel of it calming her skin.

She didn’t want to get up. Not even if she needed to.

And today, she really needed to.

Today, the wretched, horrible day.

October 31st.

Their last day at the barracks in Venezuela. By noon, they’d have cleared the building. By sundown, all units should have boarded the jets.

By 19:00 tonight, they arrive at Gotham.

But Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason. He was still asleep. She didn’t want to just wake him up. The last time he spent the night, she woke up alone in a wrecked bed.

Jason’s eyes slowly parted open, and immediately, he smiled at the sight of her like she was the sun.

God, he had her heart in such a twist.

Y/N inched nearer to him and placed the softest kiss on his lips. He groaned, with the same sexy voice he always had after waking up.

And it was like the waterfall fell harder into the lake, the sounds becoming more eminent and the water so much colder, sinking into her flesh.

He reached for her hair, letting her locks tangle into his fingers. Y/N closed her eyes with her nose touching his lips. Jason kissed her again, and very slightly pulled away.

“I’d love stay in, but we have to go,” she reluctantly said.

It was over too soon. The five minutes she had, an escape from who she was, what she had to do to live. This was all it was. He nodded and sat up. Jason swung his legs over the bed and grabbed his pants on the floor.

Y/N did the same, walking over to her closet and picking out a fresh set of clothes. “I’ll go out first. Wait a few minutes until everyone else had cleared the quarters then you walk out.”

Jason laughed, like what she said was just adorable. After placing both arms through the holes on her jacket, she walked up to Jason, still sitting on the bed, and he craned his head to look up at her. Y/N held his face.

“Tonight, I’m just the commander.”

He slowly stood up, “You’re never just the commander.” His lips met her forehead and he walked over to pick up his shirt and hoodie, putting them on. Y/N walked to the door, barely opening it just to squeeze herself up.

She took one last look at Jason.

“Ten minutes.”

He gave her the best smile she’s seen in her life, with his teeth showing and his eyes all crinkled up at the corners.

Jason was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Y/N smiled back and closed the door.

Xxxxxx

Five hundred, seventy-two soldiers.

Five hundred, seventy-two rifles strapped to their upper bodies.

The Knight’s insignia, painted over their arms, and their uniforms the same red as the sirens. And on their faces, a gas mask covering the whole of their faces.

Five hundred, seventy-two units, in ten straight columns, all facing the platform where the woman in command, the Militia Commander, was standing.

She waited for the siren to come to a halt. This was their last assembly, a little past noon. A short while after this, they board the jets.

“PORT ARMS.”

The rifles were brought to the front of their bodies. The Commander’s arms were behind her back. She watched for any movement out of place. So far, there weren’t any.

“RIGHT SHOULDER ARMS.”

All arms parallel to the floor, the rifles were brought to rest on their shoulders.

“PORT ARMS.”

“ORDER. ARMS.”

The rifles were brought to the floor, with their one hand holding it up.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This was her biggest task to date.

Fifteen thousand dollars a day. For twelve weeks. That was what Jason promised her, to be given at the end of the night.

The Militia Commander’s face never faltered when her voice echoed throughout the halls.

“SIXTEEN COUNT. MANUAL ARMS.”

Five hundred seventy-two men. And not a hair out of sync.

At the front lines were the soldiers, including the checkpoint commanders. More than three hundred of them. Behind them, the brutes. Then the combat experts armed with swords. Finally, the medics stood at the far back.

Everything they’ve done, the build-up from the weeks of training. It all boils down to this night.

It started with Scarecrow releasing his first dose of the toxin in Pauli’s Diner, where a police officer shot five people and the rest dead from being mauled by their own friends and family. Then Crane sent out his warning. ‘Tomorrow, this will seem like child’s play.’

By now, the whole of Gotham will have been evacuated, save for the criminals, the thugs, the people with no other places to be.

They had the whole night. And with the five hundred soldiers in front of her, Gotham City will be theirs.

Jason stepped beside her. By the time the rifles came at a halt, the commander smiled. He turned his head to her, nodding.

“SQUAD ALPHA, AT EASE. ALL UNITS REPORT TO THE JETS AT 15:00 HOURS.”

“SIR, YES SIR!”

Like a final battle cry, her soldiers moved in orderly lines to the gates. They only had two hours and they leave the barracks for good. This morning they boarded all the drones and weapons caches left until the building looked nothing short of abandoned.

She stepped out the platform and grabbed her duffel bag sitting on the floor. There was a slight buzzing, coming from inside the biggest pocket. Placing it back on the floor, she opened it and dug out her clothes.

A sudden tightness came from her chest when she pulled out her phone. It was vibrating.

No.

Fucking no.

Before she flew to South America, she’d blocked her location, any tracking that could possibly affect her or the militia. She blocked every number possible. No one would be able to reach her no matter how much hacking had to take place.

All except one contact.

And she told that person never to call unless she absolutely had to.

Her fingers were shaking when she pressed the button to answer it.

“Susan?”

Jason went up to her, and she kept her eyes on him as she spoke. He pushed his visor open. He could tell something was wrong.

Susan, her uncle’s ex-wife. Y/N could hear her breathing on the other end, and she heard sobs. She knew her aunt could hear her.

“Susan, what’s going on?”

She heard her cry her name, in the softest voice. Like it would break if it were any louder. She heard Susan take a deep breath, and for a while, she was silent.

“Floyd is dead….”

She couldn’t see her own face.

And every word her aunt said after that, she couldn’t hear.

The marching of five hundred men, she couldn’t hear.

Her own breath, she couldn’t feel.

Like the clouds had stopped moving, and the air sucked into a vacuum. It was a messy blur, and the noise that just kept blowing into her ear. An empty, horrible noise. Like an inaudible screaming that sounded much like her own voice.

Susan was bawling at the other end of the phone. Eventually, Y/N heard a dead ringing. She dropped her phone to the ground.

Jason must’ve heard, because he looked just as distraught as she did.

“Y/N-“

“I have to go…”

To the empty rooms. To the abandoned training grounds. Anywhere. She just needed to move. Anything else and the ground would shake beneath her feet and pull her to the mantles. The floor wouldn’t stop spinning, and she had to keep herself up with her hand against the wall. Move. Move. Move. Where the noises wouldn’t reach her and the colors weren’t so loud.

She should have known. Floyd’s thinning hair, his boney physic, the slightest limp when he was escorted into the visiting area in Belle Reeves. And even before that, how he narrowly missed a shot, he wouldn’t stop beating himself over it. How he talked to her like it was the last time, how she never visited him again.

It was all there. How did she not see it.

‘A tumor. Right in the temple. There was no way he could have been saved. Not even if he wasn’t in prison.’

Her feet wouldn’t stop moving, not even when the walls looked crooked, moving closer together like it was to trap herself within them.

Y/N found herself in the combat grounds.

And by the doorway, her body sank. She took the rifle from her back and slammed it against the steel grounds.

And she released the same wordless cry that was inside her head, but much louder. Her cracked voice bounced off to the walls, louder and louder in search for any release of the painful tightness in the pit of her chest.

There was so much noise, yet so much silence. It was all at the same time. Like the wind was blowing right into her but she couldn’t find any air to breathe.

Her hands gripped on the rifle, her tears landing on the muzzle as her screams faded into echoes. She screamed again, and again, so much the twisting reached her throat. Her voice gave out and no longer could she cry. She fell to the floor, silent.

‘Breathe in. Breathe out.’

Her uncle’s voice, the same one she hears every time she fired a shot.

‘Breathe in. Breathe out, Y/N’ Floyd said. ‘Fire.’

She did as he would have told her. She slowed her heartbeat. She counted her breaths. She focused on the wall opposite of her. Farther. Focus. Focus.

Breathe.

Two arms wrapped around her, pulling her head onto his shoulder. Jason buried his head into her neck. She laid there, close to lifelessness, and stared at the ground. Jason pulled her even tighter.

“I’m here…”

Y/N let the tears fall, even on his armor. But she didn’t move. Even for a long while, none of them moved.

“You two kids done?”

Deathstroke. He was behind her.

“Slade-.”

“Squads Alpha through Foxtrot have boarded the jets. We need to go. Commander-“

Jason unwillingly pulled away. “Lawton. He’s dead.”

Her eyes stayed on the floor. She couldn’t see Deathstroke’s reaction.

“Deadshot?”

Jason nodded. He took both Y/N’s hands and slowly pulled her to stand up. “Come on, Y/N, we have to go.”

“Get over it, kid,” Slade said. “Your mentor had it coming.”

And her next move, no one even predicted. Jason didn’t move fast enough when the Commander charged for Deathstroke – fucking Deathstroke- holding his neck with her arm against the cement wall.

“Y/N!”

“He was my uncle, you son of a bitch.”

“I thought you hated him,” Slade said, pushing her away. Jason stood between her and Deathstroke, but even he wasn’t so sure if he was protecting her from Slade, or the other way around.

“Enough-“

“He raised me.”

Slade didn’t have an ounce of empathy. “Did he raise you? Or train you? There’s a difference. You barely have a life outside your firearms.”

“I kill only when I have to-“

“How many lives have you taken, huh?” Deathstroke was provoking her. “The same as I have.”

“That’s because a third of the people you’ve killed are innocent!”

“Commander! Slade!” Jason pushed her from stepping too close to the old man.

“Get your head back into the field, Commander,” Slade said. “We’re not about to drop everything because of you.”

She threw Jason’s hand away, then stormed out of the combat grounds.

“Where are you going?”

The Commander walked to the dark meeting room. The floor stopped spinning, and the walls stopped moving. Everything was silent now. Even Jason’s footsteps trailing just behind her. She walked into the room and Jason caught the door before she’d slammed it behind her. She sat on the chair, her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m so sorry…”

Jason kneeled in front of her and took her hands away from gripping her own hair too much. She was shaking, and her flesh felt dead cold. He took her face in his hands. “I’m here. Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”

“He was dying. The last time I saw him- God, I can't get his voice out of my head.”

“I know. I know,” he pulled her close and she had it in her to hug him back. “Don’t worry about the militia. Don’t worry about Slade. Just look at me. Look at me.”

She did, and she felt his lips against her forehead, so soft she could break from it.

“You can stay behind if you want. You don’t have to force yourself. We can handle this. You’ve done more than enough, Commander Y/N.”

She pulled him closer and sobbed into his shoulder. “I’m sorry-“

He shushed her, then let her cry in his arms.

He was dead. Floyd Lawton was dead. Her phone blocked any of his calls. He could have called her days ago. Yesterday. Calling to say goodbye. And she didn’t let him.

Her mentor. Her Father. The one she wasn’t born with. The man who took her in after his sister, her mother, didn’t want her. The man who raised her and loved her in his own way.

Jason didn’t let her go. Her tears had soaked his shoulder. Never, not even by herself, has she cried so much. She’s never experienced death, not when she never had many people close to her to begin with.

Is this how people feel? The friends and families of the hundreds of people she’s killed. Is this how they cope? After she’d fired the shot?

Has she caused hundreds, maybe thousands, so much pain? The same she felt right now?

His hand stroked her back. “Here,” Jason slightly pulled away. He handed her phone with a slightly cracked screen. “Call her.”

Her.

Of course.

Her. She grabbed her phone, and Jason nodded. He sat beside her while she found the contact and called.

The light of her life. The only good, most precious thing in the world before she met Jason. The one thing she always fought for. The one person she will never let darkness touch. Her.

She’d have heard the news by now. Every ring on her phone made her heart beat a little faster. Then she heard her sweet voice.

“Y/N?”

“Zoe…” Y/N cried, and she felt Jason’s hand wrap tighter around hers. He kept his eyes on her, and whenever he did, she calmed. “Zoe, I’m here…”

Her little cousin, who should be twelve years old by now. Who wasn’t much of a cousin as she was her sister. Zoe looked up to her like she was the best, most perfect woman in the world.

It was the other way around. Zoe was her happiness.

“Zoe…”

“Dad is gone,” she heard her say. Her voice was deeper, no longer the child she’d endlessly play with.

Y/N closed her eyes, the tears never-endingly dropping down her cheeks.

“Zoe, I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“You never visit anymore…”

“I know, monkey.” That was what she called her. Monkey. “But I’ll be there. And I’ll visit every week from now on.”

“You said that last time.”

She felt Jason’s thumb rub against the back of her hand, and she held it even tighter. His lips found her temple.

“I know. But I mean it this time. I promise.”

Floyd would want that. He loved his daughter more than anything. He’d want Y/N to take care of her.

“Promise…”

“Yes,” she said. “I promise. And I’ll buy you any toy you want. Every single week. You name it.”

“I’m twelve, Y/N. I don’t want toys anymore.”

“Of course,” she coughed a laugh. “Of course. Anything you want then. Books. Clothes. I’m rich now,” she glanced at Jason, who also managed a smile.

“You are?”

“Yes,” she wiped the tears away. Just the sound of her voice, everything felt better. “I have to go now, monkey. Can you give your phone to your mom, please?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Zoe.”

“I love you, too, Y/N.”

There was ruffling, then she heard her aunt’s voice.

“Susan. Where are you?”

“We’ve evacuated the city. We’re in Bludhaven.”

Jason just watched her, and she went on telling her aunt what was about to happen. It was difficult to ask that from them. Especially right now.

But they had to go.

Y/N hang up on the phone. And instantly, she went back into Jason’s arms.

“Wait for me at the jet. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jason cupped her cheek. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be okay.”

He kissed her forehead, then her lips. Just one sweet kiss. He held both her hands and squeezed them tight.

“Don’t take long.”

She nodded, then Jason left the room, closing the door behind him.

And there was silence, save for a voice whispering into her ear.

It was what he’d want. What he always wanted for her.

Y/N breathed in, then her eyes darted over to the duffel bag.

He was preparing for this moment. That’s why he gave it to her. He knew he was dying.

With the slightest hesitation, she pried the pockets open until she reached the deepest compartment, one she hadn’t touched unless she absolutely needed to.

Floyd never gave her an alter ego. He taught her everything he knew, and made her do it exactly as he would.

He always called her his heir.

She opened the pocket, and a deep red peered out.

Y/N emptied the contents, took everything with her and went for the locker rooms. He gave these to her before he was arrested. She told him she didn’t want it, but her uncle was persistent.

It was the least she could do.

Dull red leather, a suit specially made for her, and silver plates for her shoulders, chest, arms, and lower body. Tight black boots, strapped up to her leg. A gun wrapped around her wrist, this time big enough to fire the same bullets as an M99 sniper. Another gun on her other hand, her rifle.

She faced the mirror.

Then she pulled the white mask over her head.

And staring at her reflection was the bright red light, glowing from the gun optics attached to her right eye.

Floyd Lawton never wanted her to be a sidekick. He wanted Y/N to be HIM after he was gone.

She stormed out the building, out into the hangar where the final jet was about to take off. The aircraft’s exit gate was wide open, leading up to the back where thirty of her men were strapped to the seats.

The Arkham Knight and Deathstroke awaited her at the entrance. The moment she stepped in, the gate folded back up and the jet prepared for take off.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Three hours, and she could feel the jet descending. The Arkham Knight, Deathstroke, and the Commander stood at the front lines where the gate at the back of the jet slowly descended.

She was the woman who led an army of five hundred seventy-two units, mercenaries recruited from all places around the world.

She was the woman about to take control over the City of Gotham, to take Batman head on.

She was the Commander to the Arkham Knight’s Militia.

The red on her optics burned bright at the first taste of Gotham’s darkness.

She was Deadshot.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive @lucy-roo

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schnitzelbutterfingers · 5 years ago

Text

the forgotten one- chapter 2

A/N: hiya there! here is the second chapter of ‘the forgotten one’! this is also emotional, and angsty, but don’t worry. there will be some fluff in the next chapter. seb and jazmin the mother will arrive at boston. ethan’s still processing the news and he’s afraid. SO afraid. and abby... well you’ll find out!! sorry this took almost two weeks. sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? but i finally completed it!! as always, forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. lmk if you want to be added or removed from the tags. enjoy!!

summary: Louise Ramsey, the mother of the famous, brilliant diagnostician Ethan Ramsey, is back into his life. However, Louise holds many secrets, dangerous secrets, that could harm him, Dr. Abigail ‘Abby’ Chacko (my MC), and the very few lives he actually cares about. It is up to Ethan, Abby, and their friends to save each other from what is about to come.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x mc (dr. abigail “abby” chacko)

warning(s): violence and blood. there might be some fluff along the way, but you get the gist. DON’T READ IF YOU”RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH DEATH, VIOLENCE, and BLOOD.

word count: 3042

masterlist

Seb’s POV

When he saw Amma standing still, a tear tracing her cheek, it practically grieved his heart. He looked elsewhere, when his eyes landed on a picture of him and his baby sister. It was when Seb graduated from John Hopkins University at the age of 24, getting accepted to a residency program in Northwestern Memorial Hospital, where he was working presently. He had a bouquet in his hand, made by his sister. It was swelled with red roses, white calla lilies, and orchids. They were smiling, and Abby was lowering her lips to his cheeks, a gesture in which he adored. Merely looking at it made the running pains flow through his blood, banging at his heart.

Instantaneously, he heard a small thud. He turned around and directly perceived that it was the sound of knees, because he regarded his mother on the ground, sobbing and screaming. Amma suffered from anxiety and depression, something is being treated by Dr. Joah Jehovah, a psychologist. And it took all of his willpower to not imitate her actions.

Her sister. Stabbed. By some freak. After barely surviving the assassination attempt. He questioned God again and again as to why his baby sister should be punished like that. What did she ever do? She suffered frequently through her childhood, and she suffered just two weeks before, and now... she’s suffering again. Will she be able to endure this?

No, Seb chastises himself. Don’t think like that. She has survived worse, she’ll survive again.

After comforting Jazmin and blinking back some tears of his own, he forcibly opened his MacBook Pro and breezed through American Airlines, trying to buy the first two tickets to Boston, Massachusetts. This had been their second time flying to Boston this odd year, the first time when Abby was stuck in the contamination room.

First class seats. Like I would care at this point. They purchased economy seats out of hurry and rushed to the airport. The whole flight, Jazmin was trying to conceal her face with a crimson scarf, not presenting anyone her tears. There were two oblivious people in the front seats, laughing and smiling uncontrollably, and he desperately wanted to yell furiously at them, tell them to stop before he loses his unconscious mind. If it was possible, he would want to shout from the top of his lungs on the airplane. But that’s not fair, even to the two passengers. Because they’re really excited to see Hamilton. How did he know? They’re holding two tickets out in the open, and it wasn’t difficult for Seb to read them. Ah, the benefits of observation.

He was trying to stay strong for his mother, but a few times, he excused himself to the bathroom, where he would shed some tears, hoping, praying, for her angel sister to survive.

They landed in Boston, and when they were getting their luggage from the rack, he only saw her. And Ethan. He had no idea what Ethan was going through.

Seb and his depressed mother are now in a taxi, going to Edenbrook Hospital. The sun’s shining goldenly, a few clouds in the sky, perfect for a picnic date. Ragged tears of nervous sweat are prickling on his head even though the weather is chilly. There is snow, kids making snowmen, snow angels, snow ball fights. It reminded him of Seb’s and Abby’s childhood.

The siblings almost never had the chance to play out in the snow because Abraham and his people would whip them with a belt. Whenever their father is not there though, Amma would sneak them out and they always made the most of their time playing out in the snow. He can still remember their grins and how Abby got her first frostbite for staying outside for five hours. Eventually, Jazmin had to drag their butts back into the houses, where they shared hot cocoa. When snow was falling in her first winter in Boston, she was so excited that she called Seb to let him know. He had a small smile on his face as Abby ranted to him about what she and her roommates will do.

He can note how Amma was trying to possess a determined face. The ominous silence sounds almost deafening, Seb takes out his phone and dials Ethan’s number. Someone picks up but that someone is not Ethan. It’s Naveen.

“Naveen?! How is Abby?” Seb places the phone on speaker phone, so his mother can hear what Naveen has to say.

“Abby’s surgery was successful. The stab wound affected her liver, but Dr. Tanaka and the surgeons managed to fix it. She is now sleeping in Room 24B.” He paused for a moment. “Are you and Jazmin in Boston?”

��Yes, Naveen. We’re on a taxi heading to the hospital.”

All the while he can hear himself thanking God, the angels in heaven and all the saints for taking care of his baby angel. Jazmin is spilling joyful tears and sobbing. However, he also wants to know where he is. Where his anxious friend is. He nervously takes a deep breath and questions the senior doctor.

“...Naveen? Where is Ethan? Harper was the one on the other end the first time. At that time, I knew it was because Ethan didn’t have the strength to talk to me. Abby is alright now. Why is he not talking to me?”

There is dead silence on the other end. The only sounds he can detect are the cars on the other lane and the taxi’s radio playing I Can’t Feel My Face by The Weeknd. Wow, what a great song accompanying my mood, he thinks sarcastically. Ultimately, he hears the chief gathering a deep breath.

“Come to the hospital immediately. I will tell you what happened.”

“Okay, Naveen. Thank you.” he says as he frantic cut the call.

Seb and Jazmin share a concerned look. As they drove through Edenbrook’s main entrance, he couldn’t help but think. Whatever is happening now, it’s not good.

________________________________________________________________Ethan’s POV

Relaxation. Ease. Relief. Relief.

Relief was the word he used when his longtime mentor Naveen survived. Relief was the word he used when Abby won her hearing, an obstacle that almost stopped her from saving more patients and sufficiently advancing her career. Relief was the word he used when he saw his Rookie again after two months in the Amazon, fighting off a virus with the W.H.O. Relief was the word he used when he felt her head on his shoulder while driving her back to her shared apartment from the dinner with the governor. Relief was the word he used when he had her on the luxury yacht, distracting him from the opulence and Leland Bloom. Relief was the word he used when he passionately kissed her outside of his apartment after the softball game, the first time in a long time. Relief was the word he used when he caressed her with his lips during the Mass Kenmore heist. Relief was the word he used when he announced on national television that he wasn’t single, which somehow, didn’t make him feel anxious. Relief was the word he used when Abby overcame the toxin, which threatened to take the lives of her and Rafael, already killing Danny Cardinal and Bobby Gunderson. Relief was the word he used when they cuddled and clung fondly to each other in the ski resort, blocking the sounds of the wind rattling against the windows, a huge blizzard taking place outside. And now...

Relief was, no, is the word he is using to accurately describe how Ethan feels after his Rookie’s surgery.

He does not want to undergo that. Ever. Again.

If he ever sees Louise Ramsey in his sight, he will lose it. He will lose it. He will lose. It.

He started believing in that woman again, only to be driven back to square one. She rubbed a huge pack of salt deep into the wound in his heart. In fact, it was Abby who recommended that she should hear Louise out.

*Flashback*

Ethan can’t sleep. He tries to close his eyes, hoping that the next time he unravels them, it will be five a.m. He reveals his eyes again and groans. His clock reads 1:12 a.m.

The radiant moonlight is shining through the windows and onto his satin sheets, the sole source of light in his room.

Ever since his mother came to the ER, admitted in there for an apparent overdose, that was all he could think about. And Abby..

He shut her out. Once again. Thinking about how he slammed the on-call room door in her face made him wince with guilt. He hadn’t sighted her after that. How were they supposed to be in a relationship (are they in one?) if he keeps shutting her out again? He can’t even open up his feelings to her, the one who shared her past, her present, her deepest, darkest secrets...

Ethan instantly decides to contact her.

The phone picks up on the second ring.

“Ethan? Is everything alright?” Abby sounds awake, not tired at all. He hears papers shuffling on the other side.

“No, Rookie. I wanted to apologize for the way I acted today.”

There is a long moment of silence. “What are you talking about? What are you apologizing for?”

She sounds genuinely curious and confused, he wants to scoff at her for neglecting what happened. For not being mad at him. For not shutting him out. Just like he did many times.

“I closed the door in your face after you had attempted to console me after Louise came in the ER. It was downright impolite of me, and I am sor-” he is interrupted.

“Ethan, don’t ever be sorry for that. I understood that you needed some space. And besides, I have to admit.. if I was in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.”

She pauses for a moment, and this time he almost hears the sound of her unique heartbeat. “I will never know the pain you suffered during your childhood after knowing that your mother left you. But I do know this. I will always be there for you, Ethan Ramsey. Whether you like it or not.”

His heart swells with genuine emotions and tears starts to burn through his eyes, but he forces to flutter them away, his throat tightening.

“Abby.. I... thank you. That means a lot to me. And, for the record, I’ll always be there for you, Abigail Chacko.”

Abby laughs wholeheartedly, hearing the words she used back to her, the first pleasant sound of his whole day that makes his stomach flip.

The laughter dies down, and there is silence stretching for a long time. At the last moment, Abby promptly breaks it, a sense of relief flooding through his cells.

“...How are you, really? With everything that’s been going on with your mom, I mean.” Then, there is a painful quietness that seemed acutely uncomfortable. She breaks it again, with a gentle voice. “I’m sorry. I know how painful this situation is, and just wanted to-”

He waves off her apology with one question, a question that had been racking him for a long time. “..What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

“...What do you mean?”

“If you had a similar circumstance where someone who hurt you came back again into your life, in a long time, what would you do?”

The once visible moon is now being hidden by a cloud, showing off a little bit of brightness, as if performing an act of humility as he waits for an answer. After an eternity in what was only a few minutes, she answers.

“I would forgive them.”

Ethan isn’t genuinely shocked to hear this, but it still makes his lips slightly part. He knew Abby’s and Seb’s childhood, which, from what he undoubtedly heard, could have been more painful and terrible than his own. They got beaten up and assaulted almost every day, Seb had told him days after they became friends. So, he decides to ask this one question.

“..Why?”

“..I didn’t say I was gonna forgive them quickly, did I? It takes time for a person to truly forgive someone, and to me.. that’s okay. If they haven’t changed, I will still forgive them, but not immediately, but if they did change and they want to be a different person, then I will forgive them, no matter what they did to me.”

Ethan lets out a sigh he has been containing for a while, instantly recognizing his need for oxygen. If her father came back, as a changed man, would she forgive him? How can she do that? No, the key question is, how will she do that? Before meditating deeper into his thoughts, she disrupts him.

“Is this about your mother, Ethan?”

“..I.. I’ll admit I have been thinking about that. I also have been wondering.. I’m like my mother aren’t I?”

Bewilderment substitutes her gentle voice. “What are you talking about? You’re not like your-”

‘I push everyone away, especially you. Every time when you try to get close to me. That’s exactly what my mom did to me and my dad. She left us without a note. I left you to the Amazon with no reason as to why I did it.”

“Ethan-”

“Tell me, Abby. Tell me that you weren’t hurt by my actions and I will let this topic go.”

Another impressive silence, until he hears some cars honking on the bustling streets of Boston. And he hears her familiar voice on the other side, bringing remorse but an equivalent amount of considerable comfort in him. “..Ethan.. you may have hurt me. A lot. I’ll admit that. But you are not your mother, do you understand that?

Ethan tries to swallow a small lump in his throat. “You’ve changed. From pushing me away to letting me in. I am honored to be a part of your life in this way. And, to answer another question of yours, in my opinion, I think she really wants to change. For Mr. Ramsey and for you.”

His throat tightens again as he hears her speak once more. “It takes a lot of courage for someone to visit their family after 25 years. Maybe she does really want to change. But I’m not making any options for you. This is your choice and yours only.”

She still aids him, even though he shut her out today. She still cherishes him, even though What did I do to deserve her? he thinks.

“Ethan? Are you there?” he hears her troubled voice. He speaks to alleviate her worry.

“...Thank you. For this, I mean. For always being there for me when I need you.”

She sighs contentedly . “Ethan, I told you once before, and I’ll tell this again, until you get it in your head. I’ll. Always. Be. There. For. You. Whether you like it. Or not.”

*Back to present*

“Ethan?” He hears a familiar voice from down the hallway. Seb. Next to him is what he presumes to be Jazmin. Their eyes are pinkish, cheeks blushed and streaked with tears.

How is he going to talk to them? How is he going to talk to Seb, the one most beloved friend that he has, cares for and trusts? How is he going to talk to Jazmin? Even though they hadn’t really seen each other before, they usually communicated on the phone a lot, and she seems to be the dear mother he never had until now. And he.. he failed them.

Seb speaks up first, looking at him straight in the eye. “We know everything, Ethan. We know.”

Ethan stands there. Not moving. His face looks deathly pale as he looks at him and his mother. They.. know? But ho-

“Did Naveen have anything to do with that?” Ethan replied angrily.

The successful surgeon sighs profoundly. “Yes, he told us. But before you say anything, just hear us out, okay?”

Ethan speaks low, in a terrifying voice that makes interns want to get away from him. He cuts Seb out before he states anything. “..I’m sorry. I apologize. I really am sorry. I can’t believe that woman really put her through this, and it almost seems unbelievable. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have started to trust Louise again. And I promise you that when I get that witch in my hands, I will-”

Jazmin instantly ceases him with a raise of her hand. “Son, do you think we’re mad at you?”

The attending’s eyebrows draw together as confusion overtakes his senses. They’re not enraged at me?

She chuckles slowly, as if sensing uncertainty. “To answer to your lack of certainty, I’m not mad. I’ll never be mad at you. you are not your mother. You are not Louise Ramsey, do you understand me, young man?”

Emotions. Sentiments. They’re flying around him as she announces these words. Suddenly he recalls the similar words his Rookie said.

But you are not your mother, do you understand that?

“I..”

Seb scores him off. “Ethan, stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do. You never made a mistake and we know you love our Angel as much as we love her.”

“I... I love her, don’t I?”

His best friend snickers. “Took you long enough.”

Next to him, Jazmin is sending the doctor a goofy smile.

Suddenly, the moment of ease was interrupted gently by Caspian, a male nurse.

“Abigail Chacko?”

Ethan almost passed out from hearing her name. To not make the moment more awkward, Seb responds for him. “We’re here for her.”

“Abby is conscious and is asking for Dr. Ramsey.”

_______________________________________________________________

Mystery Man’s POV

I walk outside of the ‘prestigious’ hospital. No one minds me. They’re absolutely that stupid, aren’t they?

Louise calls me. “I escaped. Now tell me, what should I do next for our plan to be a success?”

I respond cautiously to her with ease. “Our secret spot. I’m on my way there. Meet me at 5 A.M. Sharp.”

Louise chuckles wickedly. “Marrying you does have its perks.”

I smile wickedly. “It indeed does.” Right away, I cut the call.

________________________________________________________________

A/N 2: any idea who the mystery man is? hint: it’s not alan.

A/N 3: sorry for the cliffhanger!! i promise you that you’ll know more soon.

tags: @missmiimiie @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble @udishaman @caseyvalentineramsey @queencarb @choicesstan1 @newcolonies @arcticrivers @angela8756 @takemyopenheart @rookie-ramsey @ohchoices @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @drariellevalentine @openheartfanfics

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart choices #pixelberry #pixelberry open heart #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years ago

Text

Make It Right [BTS Mafia AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 3,239

Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland

AN: I need to quit fooling you people. Because the trust issues are going to get worse. Maybe this is a silver lining? Maybe? Yes? ...I’ll go away now.

Chapter 55: Sea

“Praying that we’ll remain in this desert till the end. Praying that this isn’t truly our reality.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Two Days Later Jeju Island – Seogwipo South Korea

When Taehyung first came to, he felt warmth blanketing his entire body. Every so often, a gentle brush of cool air passed over him. His limbs ached and it felt like a stone was being pressed against his chest. Breathing was a seemingly impossible task. When he could breathe, the sensation of phantom glass fragments scraped along the insides of his lungs. Coughing was a regular occurrence. Through said coughing fit was how he was able to pull himself back to consciousness.

For a moment, he believed he had, in fact, died. There was a part of him that even accepted it. But he wouldn’t have accepted it with a smile, of that he was most certain.

There were people waiting for him; people he would potentially be leaving behind.

The faces of his brothers and of the woman he loved yanked him from the abyss.

An old man sat next to him, moving a fan slowly over his body. Sweat seemed to cover him from head to toe and there was a large basin of ice beside him. Again, Taehyung coughed and tried to sit up. But the old man placed a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to lie back down on the futon. What energy he managed to muster quickly slithered out of him, the weight of exhaustion overwhelming him all over again.

Had he actually died?

“Don’t make such a fuss,” said the old man.

The stranger’s skin was bronze from being out in the sun, his worn and wrinkled hands and face gave testimony to the life he lived. His hair was a salt and pepper gray, frazzled from being whipped around in the ocean breeze just outside. Despite his seemingly austere appearance and gruff tone, his dark eyes were gentle as he continued to move the fan back and forth over Taehyung’s prone form.

Taehyung squinted slowly, the light peeling in from the window almost blinding him. He tried to lift his arm to shield his eyes, but found it more difficult than he’d anticipated. Sensing his distress, the old man shifted so his small frame could block as much of the light as he could.

“Where am I?”

The question croaked from Taehyung’s throat, surprising him. Attempting to swallow, he mentally reeled at how terrible he sounded.

He heard the man scoff, a sympathetic smirk pulling at his thin lips. “My home,” he replied simply, resting the fan on his knee, “you’ve got the devil’s luck, young man.”

Taehyung tried to smile but realized it probably looked like a grimace. “You don’t know the half of it, Oroshin.”

He watched the man’s smile widen a measure. “You’re young, but I see you still have some manners.”

Again, he attempted to sit up and failed. The old man seemed to take pity on him, reaching out with his thin arms to help him. When he was up, Taehyung winced at the tight feeling around his chest. He rubbed at it gingerly as the elder pressed a cold compress to his temple. Willing himself not to shrink back at the sudden cold, his eyes wandered around the abode to serve as a distraction.

He could tell that it was the home of a local fisherman. Quaint, humble and quiet; save for the crashing of waves along what he could only assume was the beach nearby. The salt was prevalent in the air, seeping in through what cracks existed in the house. Even though he could feel the cold wind, the floor was warm beneath him.

“Did you save me?”

Dipping the cloth into the ice water, he wrung it out and pressed it back to Taehyung’s head. “The gods saved you, my boy. You were already washed up on the shore when I stumbled across you.” He watched his eyes shifting to his shoulder and Taehyung reached up to touch the dressings over his injury. “I managed to purge the toxins out of you.”

His eyes narrowed. So it was poison, he thought angrily, shifting his gaze to the space between his knees, Lee Jooheon, you son of a bitch…

Taehyung lifted his eyes to meet the old man’s. “How long have I been out?”

“Couple of days now. The worst of it passed yesterday.”

Even though he still ached all over, Taehyung quickly shifted to sit on his knees, bowing his head low to the old man. “I’m in your debt, Oroshin.”

“Nonsense. It’s human nature to help those in need.”

Taehyung raised his head. “It’s a cruel world we live in now. Your kindness is rare in it.”

“Your view of the world is too narrow, my boy.” The old man lifted the fan and smacked Taehyung’s wrist with it. “Now enough of this. Sit comfortably.”

He did as he was told, sitting with his legs crossed in a more comfortable position. “Oroshin, I hate to burden you further, but would you mind taking me into town? I need to get back to Seoul as soon as possible.”

For an uncomfortably long moment, the old man peered at Taehyung – as if gauging what his motive was. But there was only one thing on his mind. He needed to get back to his brothers and warn them of the danger that was coming. There would still be time for them to find Eden and return her to the place she belonged.

…at Jungkook’s side.

Jooheon’s words slammed through his body like a wrecking ball, causing him to visibly shudder. Taehyung couldn’t believe it now that he was lucid. How had Jungkook managed to hide such a huge secret from them all? Then again, they’d all been so busy anticipating the moves of the Jade Fangs that a lot of things could have gone amiss. Something as small as eloping could easily be overlooked.

That didn’t mean he was any less salty about it.

When I get back, he and I are gonna have a little chat…

“Well,” cut the old man’s words through his thoughts, “it’s a good thing this washed up with you then.” He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out Taehyung’s wallet.

He bowed as he took it from him, opening to see the paper money was worthless. So were his cards. But his ID was still intact. That was the only thing that mattered. If he could prove who he was, getting money would be easy. He peered at the old man expectantly who raised his brows at him.

“I’m assuming my phone didn’t make it?” The elder shook his head and Taehyung sighed. Of course it wouldn’t have made it. That would have been the luckiest break he could get outside of being alive. “I’ll just have to buy another one.”

“Eat something and then I’ll take you to town. You can’t function on an empty stomach.”

Taehyung flashed him his best boxy smile despite the agony he continued to feel. “Thank you, Oroshin.”

After filling his stomach with three full helpings of rice, soup, and freshly caught fish, he thanked the old man profusely for his kindness. When he asked his name, the elder simply smiled and told him to come back when all his business was taken care of. Taehyung promised he would return to repay him for saving his life.

There wasn’t much time to waste. He needed to procure funds to buy a plane ticket back to Seoul. He would worry about a phone once he landed safely. Besides, Taehyung didn’t think he could handle the slew of missed calls and voicemails demanding to know of his whereabouts. He went on blind faith that everything was okay; that his brothers were able to find something out on their end since it was obvious that his own trail was a perfectly placed trap.

The flight back to Seoul was only an hour, but he felt like time crawled at an agonizingly slow pace. The time he had alone on the plane was enough to cause Taehyung to fester in his own guilt. He was angry at himself for falling for such a setup, and he was even angrier that he hadn’t seen it for what it was.

Maybe Hyungwon was right, he thought bitterly, narrowing his eyes as he stared out the window, we’ve gotten fucking soft.

But he stood by what he said. This wouldn’t have been a problem had they taken the Jade Fangs out five years ago. Sacrifices be damned. At least they could avoid the headache inducing bullshit they were suffering right now.

He replayed the scene on Dragon’s Head Cliff repeatedly. No matter how many times he thought about it, Taehyung’s conclusion was the same every single time.

…if I hadn’t dodged, whatever came at me would have hit me straight on. He frowned. They were really trying to kill me.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Curling his hands into fists on the arm rests, he closed his eyes – attempting to stave off an oncoming migraine.

They would be dealt with.

They would all be dealt with.

Taehyung wouldn’t rest until he made sure of it.

Seoul - Cheongdam; Gangnam District South Korea

As soon as he landed in Seoul, he purchased a phone at one of the stores in the airport, activating it on the spot. There were several voicemails and he rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time to listen to them. Now that Taehyung could confidently say he’d met the Reaper at the Gates of the Underworld and walked away, the only person he wanted to see was the woman carrying his child. He had to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming; still sleeping from the effects of the poison.

Taehyung needed just a little more reassurance that he wasn’t dead. That he wasn’t already in Hell.

Hailing a cab, he gave instructions for the driver to take him to Raelyn’s hospital. The woman was so stubborn, insistent on continuing to work as her belly continued to swell with the life in her. Taehyung told her constantly that she didn’t need to work anymore, especially while she was with child. But she was hellbent on having her way and who was he to deny her the freedom to do as she pleased?

He’d have been a fool to try.

Taehyung quickly paid the cab driver, thanking him for getting him to his destination so quickly. He raced through the parking lot, up the steps and just barely clipped his shoulders in his impatience in waiting for the sliding doors to open wide enough to give him entrance. One of Raelyn’s co-workers that he recognized spotted him, her expression forming into shock before melting to discomfort almost immediately. He skidded to a halt in front of her, blocking her path as she seemed to mentally prepare herself to flee.

“Eunsoo-ssi,” he huffed, attempting to catch his breath, “where’s Raelyn?”

She averted her eyes, shrinking back from him as he took a step toward her. Canting his head slightly, he couldn’t hide the confusion on his face. She’d never treated him like this before. In fact, he remembered her playfully doting on him like she would a younger brother. This sudden standoffishness seemed a little unwarranted.

“She…” Eunsoo paused, taking a breath, before lifting her face to meet his gaze. Her brows were furrowed harshly and he could swear that her eyes looked glassier than they had just a few seconds ago. “She’s at the funeral hall.”

Taehyung frowned. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, I have to finish my rounds.”

Eunsoo quickly bowed, side-stepping him to disappear around the corner to the next hall. His gaze followed her as he was left in the main lobby alone.

What the hell is going on? he thought as he made his way toward the elevators. Pressing the button to give him entrance, he pressed the button that led to the mortuary floor where funeral services were typically held. Did something happen to one of their co-workers?

It didn’t take him long to make it to the funeral hall. Various other families were dressed in their traditional mourning attire and rows of wreaths with white carnations lined the walls. White ribbons hung from them, traditional hangul printed on them with the names of the deceased. He barely took notice of them, his eyes frantically searching for any sign of Raelyn.

The weight of sorrow that filled the hall was palpable, making the uncomfortable feeling welling up in his chest almost unbearable. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but Taehyung swore that a dark cloud of dread was hanging over him. He quickly shook his head, attempting to chase the nagging voices from his mind.

This was crazy. He needed to get his head together.

Just as he took another step, he stopped as someone dashed out of one of the rooms. He blinked when he realized the woman dressed in a traditional white mourning garb was Jimin’s older sister. She covered her mouth, smothering a sob, and Taehyung could only blink when she paused just seconds before colliding into him. It seemed to take her a moment to recognize who he was, as it did him for her. Her face was puffy and swollen from all the crying she’d done.

“N-Noona,” Taehyung stammered out, an icy sensation slithering down his spine, “what are you doing here?”

Her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably, her hands reaching out to grasp at the sleeves of his jacket. “Oh, Taehyung-ah,” she choked out, curling her fingers into his arms, “Jimin-ie…he…he…”

Slowly, he craned his neck to peer at the three wreaths lining the walls just outside the room she’d vacated from. He read the names on each of the ribbons draped over the wreaths. Taehyung’s heart froze for half a second before slamming viciously against his chest.

“No way,” he murmured, looking back at Jimin’s sister, “…Noona.”

Instead of answering him, he watched her collapse to her knees – a wailing sound bursting from her. Taehyung heard his very soul shattering as he pivoted on his heels, his legs carrying him into the mourning chamber.

It was crowded, bodies shuffling around as people cried or whispered among themselves. Taehyung didn’t bother removing his shoes as he stepped up onto the small landing. He saw Raelyn out of the corner of his eye. She was the first one to spot him, making her way toward him. But instead of relishing in the comfort of her embrace, the very thing he had so desperately been seeking out since he’d woken up, Taehyung stepped just out of her reach. His eyes focused on the three portraits situated on the table where various foods and flowers were placed.

“Taehyung-ah.” Seokjin called to him, but his voice sounded muffled from the incessant buzzing in his ears. He heard him say his name again and he still couldn’t hear it well.

All he could focus on were the smiling faces of Jungkook, Eden, and Jimin looking back at him from the black frames encasing their visages.

As he took another step, he saw someone move to step in his path – blocking his view of the pictures. When he lifted his eyes, he was now staring into Hoseok’s stern face.

“Where have you been?”

Taehyung continued to stare at Hoseok, blinking slowly as his mind attempted to catch up. He opened his mouth to speak and found he couldn’t find the words.

“We thought you were dead.”

The phrase shook Taehyung; rattling his bones. He visibly flinched, took a breath, then glared up at his older brother.

“Hyung,” he finally managed to say, his voice dropping a full octave, “what is this?” Raising a hand, he pointed to the side of him and gave a wide flourish to the entire scene surrounding them. “What the fuck is this?”

A hand fell on his arm and he felt Raelyn’s swollen belly pressed against his side. She buried her face into the curve of his shoulder, suppressing a sob as she pulled him close. His body felt stiff, like he’d turned into a marble statue. This was all some joke. It had to be. There was no way that any of this was real.

“How?”

“The Jade Fangs were responsible,” cut in Seokjin.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no way that—”

Yoongi sighed gently. “You told us her location, Taehyung-ah.”

It was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his body.

“W-What?” That was impossible. He hadn’t been able to obtain that information. “I didn’t—”

“We realize that now,” added Namjoon. When Taehyung glanced at him, he nearly hiccupped at the dark expression painted over his brother’s face. “They texted us from your phone. It was all a setup from the start.”

Again, silence filled the small space around them save for the members of Jimin’s family who came, as well as friends.

“They’re gone, Taehyung-ah.”

Twisting his face to look back at Hoseok, he noticed his other brothers crowding around him in a semicircle. It wasn’t until his vision went out of focus that Taehyung realized he was now crying.

“What?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “What do—”

Hoseok’s face softened, his brows furrowing before he closed his eyes. “They’re gone.”

The sun slowly set over Seoul’s cityscape. Lights blinked with life in succession, illuminating the darkness. Taehyung listlessly stared out over the vast expanse while standing on the hospital’s rooftop, lips puckered out while indulging on a sucker. He didn’t remember running from the mourning chamber. He didn’t remember banging his knee on the steps as he tripped over his own feet upon his ascent.

No one chased after him. They knew better. They knew he would likely implode if they did.

Taehyung didn’t stay for the cremation process. He would have thrown himself into the flames right along with them. Selfish? Of course he was. He was man enough to admit that all he could see was red.

Pulling out his phone, he crushed the candy between his teeth. Scrolling through the numerous voicemails left by Hoseok, he stopped until he saw Jimin’s name. His thumb hovered over his name, trembling, before he pressed down on the screen.

It automatically played the message on speaker mode.

“Ya, Kim Taehyung,” came Jimin’s voice from the receiver.

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, hearing the pained chuckle that followed.

“…you son of a bitch. How could you just take off for the gates of the Underworld alone? Huh?”

His grip tightened on the phone, feeling his arm shaking from the force of his hold. There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence before he heard Jimin speak again.

“Don’t even think about stirring up a bunch of shit without me. Jungkook and I will be there soon.”

Without any warning, Taehyung fell to his knees. The phone fell with a clatter beside him as his hands gripped onto the roof’s railing. His whole body shook, his silent sobs rattling through him. The tears that streamed from his face were hot and thick. He swore he could feel his own blood leaking from his eyes.

Jungkook.

Jimin.

Eden.

They were gone.

Mercilessly ripped away from the life they more than deserved to live.

Someone had to answer for this.

Someone was going to answer for this.

“I’ll make them pay,” he growled, glaring at the landscape as he ground his teeth together, “I swear to your God, Jimin-ah…”

I’ll fucking kill them all.

6 notes · View notes

bleedingthirium · 6 years ago

Text

Gavin x Reader [loss of pet]

Summary: You spent the night trying to keep your cat alive, only to receive a phone call just as you arrive at work that your cat had passed away at the Vets. Nines knew something was wrong but not in time for Gavin to insult you with a pet-death joke. Author Note: I don’t know why I wrote it this. It was meant to be Nines x Reader but my Gavin muse took over (curse that boi!). No one asked for this fic. And I’ve been stuck on it for a long while so I’m sorry if it’s horrible. Also, my writing is all over the place. Listen, I’m no professional, alright? NO EDITING, WE DIE LIKE DOUCHE-BERRIES! Warnings: Loss of pet, grief, Swearing (because it’s Gavin) Word Count: 8,939 (sorry not sorry) Category: Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Friendship, Slow-Burn Romance Characters: DCPD Boys (Gavin, Nines, Hank & Connor)

You barely slept, you had been up all night with a sick cat and no access to an emergency veterinarian clinic. There wasn’t one that was open close by and the only thing you could do was ring the after hours number for advice. Which you did, multiple times throughout the night, to the point where you were so exhausted that you burst into tears begging them to just open the clinic and let you in. The best they could do was allow you to come in first thing in the morning. That’s assuming your cat lives long enough to see the morning through.

You had a distinct feeling that your cat had been baited. There had been reports in your neighborhood of cats being baited but you hadn’t managed to find the culprit. You had been lucky thus far, particularly since your cat didn’t often wander too far from home (you swore he/she was the laziest cat in the world.), but it wasn’t until you came home that a horrible stench hit your nostrils the moment you opened the door, making you almost gag. “Oh god, [Cat’s Name], what did you eat?!” you jokingly groaned as you stepped further in the house, hand flying up to cover your nose and mouth, failing miserably to block the smell. “[Cat’s name], here puss, puss, puss” you muffled the stereotypical cat talk as you cooed for your lazy cat to show itself. You were met with silence but that didn’t surprise you. As if he/she’d get off her lazy ass to greet you. Ah, times like these you wish you had a dog. At least somebody would be happy to see you come home. The stench was putrid though, so your attention in locating your cat quickly shifted to finding the source of the stench. You wondered throughout the house, eyes on the floor because you definitely knew your cat had an accident somewhere, but it wasn’t until you reached the hallway that your eyes landed on different sets of unwanted piles that had you rather concerned. Piles which lead to the bathroom in a messy trail. Your E/C orbs quickly studied the details of each different pile; recognizing blood in both the defecation and the vomit. Panic began to set in as your heart begun to race, beating so hard you thought it was pulsating in your temples! Walking further in, mindful of where you’re stepping, you peered into the bathroom to see your [coloured] cat lying on the bathroom tiles. “[Cat’s name]?” you whispered in fear as you slowly stepped closer before kneeling down on the floor by your cat. [Cat’s name] didn’t even look at you. The only noticeable signs of life was the heavy panting as your cat was struggling to breathe. A trembling hand reached out and stroked the [colored] fur, immediately he/she felt hot to the touch! That would explain why your cat was lying on the bathroom floor; it was the coolest place in the house. “Oh [cat’s nickname], C’mon sweetie, let’s get you some help, hm?” you gently cooed as you placed your hands beneath your cat’s body and lifted him/her up. Your heart dropped when no sound of protest came from your cat, just the lifeless flop of its body sagging against your own. Bringing your beloved cat over to the kitchen, you placed him/her down upon the table with another hushed coo “There we go, baby… just hang in there…” carefully sliding your hands out from beneath his/her body, you quickly walked over to the kitchen sink and grabbed a clean washcloth, running it beneath cold water before wringing it out slightly. Bringing it over, you placed it on your cat’s forehead, behind his/her ears and dabbing away at the soft [coloured] fur. There was no lack of protest from you cat who, like most cats, hates water. Your heart sunk even further knowing there’s very little the vets would be able to do… but you still pulled out your phone and dialed the vet’s number now that you have your cat settled for the time being. The phone call to the veterinarian clinic wasn’t hopeful at all. They had closed for the night and all they could do was offer advice on what to do until you could bring the cat in tomorrow morning. Even so, the chances were slim because if the cat had been baited, as suspected, the window of opportunity to receive an antidote was very limited. In order for a reasonable chance of recovery, [cat’s name] would need to have received the antidote within the first 30 – 40 minutes. Unfortunately, you had been at work all day so you definitely knew you had missed that small window of opportunity. The only advice the veterinarian could offer was to try and get the cat to throw up, the less poison in the gut, the better. You mentioned how your cat had already thrown up but also noticed there was blood in both the vomit and the faeces. It was when you mentioned this that the other end of the line went quiet for a moment or two, making everything seem so deafening quiet to you… You breathed through the words you dreaded to hear, “He/she may not make it through the night. From what you’ve just told me, his/her chances of survival are very slim. Bring him/her in first thing in the morning and we’ll see what we can do. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to ring us throughout the night if you need help.” To be fair, there was no point in being on the phone to the veterinarian because there was just nothing more you could do, but you couldn’t help but feel that the last hope you were holding on to had disappeared the moment you heard the click on the other end of the line, bring the phone call to an end. It was at this point that you placed the phone down on the table beside your cat, you took a seat facing the tired face of your little snuggle buddy, and just gently stroked a single finger upwards on his forehead, repeating the same motion in a gentle caress. Your other elbow rested on the table, thumb resting between your teeth as you mulled over what the veterinarian had advised to do, making sure you weren’t going to forget any vital piece of information despite the fact that there was only a singular instruction you had to follow. Your E/Y orbs glanced over to your phone, heart beginning to beat fast in mild anxiety about calling the only person you know who has cats. He’s not a veterinarian by any means but you know he owns a cat himself. Maybe he could give you some more insight? He wasn’t a very well received person in general but you definitely considered him a friend. You just didn’t know whether that feeling was reciprocated, which was why you were hesitant to call him. You also had no idea whether he was still at work or not, but you knew he had a shitty day so you decided to leave giving him a call. The rest of the night was exhausting and long. You panicked when your cat closed his/her eyes but the logical part of your brain reminded you that [Cat’s name] is probably just as exhausted from fighting off the toxins in his/her body. As long as you can see the rise and fall of his/her chest, you’ll be fine. The only time you left your cat alone was to make some coffee to help keep you awake (because there was no way you were going to fall asleep in case anything happened), or to go to the toilet. There were a few lows during the night where you clasped your hands tightly together and prayed. You weren’t religious at all but you were desperate for a miracle as you begged for anyone who was listening to please, please save an innocent life that didn’t deserve to be taken so cruelly. Throughout the night you tried to encourage [Cats name] to, at least, drink something. Even by dipping your fingers in water in hopes that [cats name] will at the very least, lick it off. The lack of fluid intake was a red flag in itself. The night painstakingly progressed as you kept looking over at your phone, desperately wanting to hear a familiar voice right now, someone who’s been through veterinarian emergencies with their own cats, but it was early hours of the morning. The minute the sky began to lighten from its dark blanket of nothingness, you leant forward and placed a lingering kiss on the soft forehead of your cat before you quickly made your way to your bedroom where you changed into a new set of clothes, reattaching your badge, holster and any other accessories you carry with you as a Detective. A quick brush of your hair and tying it back up into its typical ponytail, you quickly made your way to the laundry room where grabbed the carrier cage and brought it back to the table. Your cat had barely moved at all during the night and with the sun rising, it was now finally the time to take him/her to the vet. Again, no sound of protest came from her you beloved cat as you carefully placed him/her in the carrier cage and locked it up before carrying him/her out to the car. Just like it is with water, [cats name] would usually be protesting with a mix of whines and mewls from being locked in a carrier cage. Instead, he/she is curled up into a lifeless little ball except for the rise and fall as he/she breathed; which you swore had gotten shallower over the past few hours. Still in the same clothes you wore yesterday, your ponytail a mess but a quick pull with two parts of your hair had your ponytail back in a more tidier position, you placed the carrier cage on the passenger seat, securing it tightly with a seatbelt before you buckled yourself in and began the anxious drive to the vets. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were the one upholding the law, you were pretty sure you would’ve broken the speed limit on multiple occasions; and you certainly wouldn’t put it past yourself that you would’ve ran through a few red lights too. You reached the vets just as the sun had risen above all the buildings and you could feel the warmth getting ready to set in for the day, but it did nothing to warm that cold dread you carried in your heart. The moment you stepped through those doors, you were greeted by the veterinarian who was aware of your case and immediately took the carrier cage off of your hands, asking questions that didn’t offer a lot of hope when you delivered your answers; there was no improvement from your cat, you swore your cat was worsening… The vet had told you that he’d do everything he could and would ring you with any updates. There was no point in you waiting around because it could be a while before you knew anything, so you decided to head in to work and just remain on desk duties in case you had to leave last minute. You had almost arrived at the Precinct when you heard the ringtone of your phone going off, interrupting the deathly silence that had filled your car, the vibrations of the phone angrily buzzing against your pocket and not being answered quicker. Knowing you were practically breaking the law, your hand left the steering while and fished around in your pocket for your phone, thumb blindly pressing the lock screen for the green accept button. “[Y/N, Y/L/N]” you quickly greeted as you turned slowed the vehicle down to safely turn into the carpark of the Precinct. Perhaps it was just as well that you arrived because the next bit of news wasn’t something you wanted to hear. “I’m sorry but [cat’s name] didn’t make it. The toxins had already damaged [his/her] liver and kidneys and the heart rate was dangerously low.” Your hand clutched the steering wheel tightly to the point where it creaked beneath your grasp, knuckles turning white. You swore you could hear the blood rushing in your ears like you had just dived headfirst into a sea of icy cold water. Drowning. That’s what it felt like right now. Drowning, you couldn’t breathe, the only thing grounding you, in reality, was gripping onto that steering wheel. “I…uh, thank you…for, uh everything you’ve done.” You felt like you should be angry that you couldn’t be seen to during the night with your vet, knowing the sooner you saw the vet, the more chance your cat had of survival. But you couldn’t come to feel such an emotion other than the cold emptiness that washed over you. “What would you like us to do?” “I…I don’t know…” “We have multiple options; we can hold on to the body and you can take [him/her] home and bury them, if you wanted [him/her] cremated, we can organize that for you … or we can dispose of the body.” That last part had you tearing your phone from your ear in disgust and your forehead dropped to the steering wheel as you held back an anguished sob that was threatening to erupt. How could they be so heartless like it was an everyday occurrence? Perhaps for them it was, but for you? You just lost one of the most important souls in your life. Pressing your lips together before inhaling sharply, you brought the phone back to your ear and tried to keep your voice steady, though it was evident your tone was fall of grief as it wavered slightly, “I, uhm, I’ll…I’ll cremate…” “Okay. We will need your details and payment –“ “I’ll be in after work.” You said before you hung up in disgust. The more they were on the phone to you, the more you began to suspect they were only interested in settling debts rather than the care of an animal that was dead or alive. You could feel the familiar burn of tears stinging at the corner of your eyes but you stubbornly blinked them back. Whilst you had been hoping for a miracle to pull through, there was the logical side of you that knew [cat’s name] wouldn’t make it. You had spent all night preparing for the worst. Phone dropped into your lap as both hands were placed on the steering wheel for the need of physically grounding yourself, you let your headrest back against the headrest and closed your eyes. Your heart was pounding loud enough for you to hear but the blood had stopped loudly rushing through your ears. Inhaling deeply, you held your breath for five seconds before exhaling slowly. You repeated this a few more times until you felt you were on top of your emotions and you were able to step out of the car without breaking down. You work colleagues deal enough with emotional victims, suspects, stress of their own workloads and private lives without you bringing your own problems to work. Picking up your phone again, you pocketed the device and stepped out of the car, deciding to head into the Precinct with your head held high. Your day had already begun pretty shitty – how much more worse can it get? “Detective [L/N]! You’re here early!” a friendly voice greeted that you knew could only belong to Connor. Your eyes glanced up to his smiling face before looking past him to see Hank slumped over his desk, typing at his computer screen. Your eyes snapping back to Connor. “I could say the same for you both. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Lieutenant here this early.” You were surprised at how cheery your voice sounded, but you took it as a good thing. At least no intruding questions would be asked. If you could keep up the charade until your shift ended, that would be grand. “We pulled an all-nighter.” Connor mused, head tilting ever so slightly, proud that he used one of the more social terms in deciding to work nonstop overnight. You found yourself nodding in understanding. Figures. Why else would Hank be doubled over the computer desk as though he was struggling to type away, meanwhile the android still looking immaculate as ever. Lucky them, eh? “Looks like you did too, Detective? They’re the same clothes you wore yesterday.” The android mused his observations aloud as he followed you into the kitchen. You tried to ignore the android as you focused on preparing yourself a cup of coffee, giving him an answer in hopes that he’d pick up on the tone you were placing down to be left alone. “I just had a … busy night, Connor.” “Busy, what, getting laid? ‘Bout fuckin’ time if you ask me.” You didn’t even need to lift your head up to know who spoke so crudely; all within a joking manner of course. And if it hadn’t been for your current circumstance, you would’ve quipped back with a remark of your own like you always did. If it was one thing you and Gavin shared, it was quick quips back and forth. Ignoring his comment, you continued placing some milk in your coffee before finally turning to look at Gavin, ready to tell him today wasn’t the day you were ready to deal with his shit. “Jesus Christ Y/N, you look like your cat died or something!” How on earth you managed to keep your coffee in your mug rather than spill it on Gavin was a miracle as you stood there and silently seethed. “You’re a real fucking asshole Gavin.” “It’s my reputation, doll.” [E/C] orbs spared a glare at Gavin before dropping them from his smug face once you felt the familiar sting of tears pricking at the corner of your eyes once again. Head down, you walked past Hank who you barely spared a glance to when he was one of the work colleagues you always had time for (both him and Gavin, despite how different the two are or don’t seem to get along with each other). “Hey. You alright?” you heard him gruffly ask, to which you just gave a quick “Yeah, fine.” As you continued on to your desk that you shared with Gavin and the RK900 model that had been assigned to help him on cases. Hank had glanced at you with furrowed brows, not buying the bullshit excuse but he knew better than to pry so he left it for the time being. Though spotting Gavin in the kitchen didn’t take him long to put two and two together (or so he thought). “You say somethin’ to piss Y/N off?” Hank gruffly asked Gavin as he filled up his fifth cup of coffee for that morning. “How the fuck should I know?” “To be fair, Lieutenant, Detective Y/L/N knows how to deal with Detective Reed’s crude humor.” “See? S’not my fault then. Probably going through whatever it is women go through.” Gavin grumbled as he left the kitchen. Connor’s brown orbs watched Gavin leave before taking a few steps towards the counter and leaning his back against the countertop while he patiently waited for Hank to finish preparing his cup of coffee. “I don’t think it’s Detective’s Y/L/N hormones or menstrual cycle.” “Oh Christ Connor! Not before I’ve had my coffee. Fucking hell…” “Detective Y/L/N looked distraught when she walked in.” “Yeah, and now she looks pissed off. That’s what happens when you work in a place like this while having Reed as a partner.” Hank wasn’t getting what Connor was implying; that something else, something personal from home, had caused your usual bubbly and social mood to plummet overnight. Or perhaps he might have figured something was wrong but you weren’t willing to share therefore he wasn’t going to pry for answers. You knew he was there if you ever wanted to talk. Connor kept quiet, his LED spinning blue, threatening to flicker to yellow but he remained calm for now. He cared about you and it disturbed him to see you so… down. If he could just get a moment alone with you, perhaps he can try and find out what was wrong. Unlike Connor having no clue what was wrong, it was Nines that almost picked up on the problem immediately. The sudden change in behavior, you haven’t slept, you haven’t showered, haven’t changed your clothes nor brushed your hair. You looked…exhausted. As though you were just done with the world. There had been a distinct tone behind your voice when you called Gavin out on his rude remarks; normally you didn’t carry any maliciousness in your tone. Nines knew when you called him an asshole this time, you actually meant it – and it wasn’t like you to call anyone anything rude unless said in a joking manner. Cold blue eyes watched as you walked over to your desk, your own orbs avoiding eye contact and lack of greeting was evident; not that it bothered Nines overly. He had warmed up to you, so he was a little concern over your behavior. Normally refraining from stepping into someone’s personal territory, Nines quickly scanned your levels and wasn’t at all surprised to analyze your serotonin levels were at an all-time low. The cause of this remained a mystery, Nines only hazarding a guess at a success of 80% that it had to do with your cat, as it was right after that remark given by Gavin that your hostile levels spiked before decreasing rapidly as you walked away from him. When you reached your desk, you sat down and pulled yourself in, settling down as you always do, eyes snapping to the photograph of your cat like they always did, your first thought was that you can’t wait to see [him/her] tonight. For a split second, just out of habit, you forgot what had happened… and when your mind yanked itself back to reality, you were disgusted at yourself. Your heart began beating heavily against your chest, your vision blurring with the tears that you knew you wouldn’t be able to hide this time. Reaching over you yanked the framed photo down, so it now laid face-down, before you sharply stood up, sending your chair backwards with a spin and left your desk without a word. Nines watched your actions like a hawk. 95% success in assuming your cat had died. “Hey! Where the fuck’re you going? We got a whole heap of shit to do!” Gavin called out after you but all you could do was keep a hand over your mouth to stop the pathetic sound escaping as you made your way up to the roof of the building for some air and privacy. “Detective Reed. A word.” Nines’ business tone interrupted Gavin’s shouting at your escaping figure. “What? You know where the hell she’s goin? We’re swamped and I don’t have time to deal with this crybaby shit.” Turning his attention to Nines, Gavin made his way back to the desk, placing his mug of coffee down with a sigh, a hand coming up for finger and thumb to press on his nose; occasionally the scarring tissue would ache when his stress tensions are high. When he opened his eyes and dropped his hand away, he was greeted with Nines holding a framed photo of a familiar cat. “Y/N’s cat? So what?” “Correct me if I’m wrong, but given the fact that I am hardly wrong about my conclusions, there will be no need to correct me…I believe that Y/N’s cat did die within the last 12 hours. Your comment was ill-received, distasteful and an apology is in order.” Hardened features dropped at hearing the news, dread swelling up inside him, enough to make him want to puke. He took the photo before his grey orbs glanced in the direction of which you escaped to, knowing exactly where you went. Your mood made sense and Gavin felt like a complete asshole. Especially after his comment. “Fuck.” Grey eyes glanced back down to the framed picture of the beloved cat. Occasionally you would send Gavin photos of dumb things your cat did, or strange positions your cat would fall asleep in. He would do the same to you. It was never spoken about at work, but it was something that the two of you bonded over – especially when you knew a case hit your or Gavin hard and the little things you two would text each other late at night was just what you needed. “Fuck!” Gavin seethed under his breath again as he placed the photo down. Nines said nothing more on the matter but watched as Gavin left and followed in the direction of which you disappeared. The RK900 placed the photo back down, facedown, as you had previously left it so it looked undisturbed. Ice cold eyes glanced up to see Connor watching the whole scene, his LED spinning yellow; obviously having overheard the conversation and was now worried about you and your emotional state. He knew something was different about you this morning; you looked stressed. But he would never have guessed it was something as upsetting as this. “Con? Hey? Connor! You alright there?” Hank tried to grab Connor’s attention the moment he noticed the LED flickering from the calming blue to the troubled yellow. “Detective Y/L/N’s cat died.” “Ah, fuck. That’s never easy.” No, losing a pet wasn’t easy, and Gavin knew all too well what that felt like. He’s lost two cats in the past. It’s not easy. Fucks with your heart. It’s why he didn’t tell Tin-Can to fuck off when the android ordered him to go apologize. (Because Gavin wouldn’t be caught dead in receiving orders by androids). Making his way to the roof, he quietly opened the door and immediately spotted you leaning on your elbows over the rooftop ledge. Ignoring the world that continued to carry on below you, your gaze focused on the horizon slightly to your left but not to the point where you’d be able to spot Gavin through your peripherals. He watched as your head turned to gaze forwards before dropping your head in defeat. He’d never admit it, hardly ever shows it, but he’s fond of you. He cares for you. Fuck, if he had a good grip on emotions and all that sappy shit, he’d probably come to realize he’s been falling for you – just too damn stupid to realise it. It might explain the pang of guilt that stabbed him repeatedly in his chest. He’s angry. Not at you, but at himself, and it shows as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket and casts his eyes up to the sky, silently praying he doesn’t fuck up his apology. Wanting to fucking punch something, curse at whatever ungrateful god there is for placing such misery upon a heart that knows how to cheer up a gloomy office with sassy comebacks or a genuine laugh that, admittedly, the DCPD lack such optimistic sounds, sounds like a much better option right now than to have you witnessed in a mess by someone who’s not great with emotions and shit. Gavin was smart, he was good at his job – a damn good detective, but he lacked the intelligence when it came to you; if it wasn’t obvious on how he didn’t pick up on your sadness earlier and continued with his remarks. Lifting his hands that were still in his pocket so the corners of his jacket stretched out in an open gesture, he announced his presence “I’m open. You can take a free hit. Or more. I fuckin’ deserve it after what I said.” You turned to see him open to receiving whatever attack you would place upon him, his features stern but there was a slight sadness to them. “I don’t hit girls, Gavin.” You mumbled, turning your gaze back to your tightly clasped hands. “Har. Har.” You heard the flat tone of his sarcasm as he took slow steps towards you, having gauged that you weren’t hostile with him. “Look –” Gavin Started, his voice low and gravelly but with a softer tone around the edges. Resting against the concrete wall with his back to the view in front of them, feet crossed at the ankles, having no intention of leaving you anytime soon. “Save it, Gavin. I don’t care.” “I’m sorry, alright? What I said…was…fuckin’… I shouldn’t have said what I said.” “It’s fine.” You mumbled, knowing what that most of the time he doesn’t think before he speaks (which is what made you such a great asset to the trio. Where the two boys lacked emotion and empathy, you were the one that was able to bring that softness to the table). “It’s not. If Nines hadn’t said anything… “How did he find out?” “How the fuck should I know? Probably his robot psychic-ness or some shit like that.” Stealing a sideways glance at you, his heart did this stupid fluttery thing whenever you smiled or laughed at something he had said. The lighter tone of his voice disappeared as he uncrossed his ankles only to cross them again with the opposite ankle. “So what happened to [Cat’s name]?” “He/she, um… was baited.” “Shit.” “I got home and he/she was nearly unresponsive, vital signs were low… I couldn’t get him/her to the vets until this morning.” Your voice was steady but it cracked when you almost sounded like you were begging for forgiveness, “I tried everything! All night. Nothing worked. I did everything I could!” All shit aside, Gavin wasted no time in pulling you into a hug, your immediately burying into his chest as a sob broke out, before another and another. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” you wailed into his shirt and his arms tightened around your shaking frame. “Why didn’t you ring me? You know I would’ve come over.” His voice steady and calm. A small hiccup came from you as you tried to answer him, you would have scoffed had your sinus’s not been clogged from the sudden onslaught of tears. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?” “Yeah. And I look fucking beautiful.” “No. You look tired Gavin. You already had a long day…I couldn’t add more burden to that.” “Bullshit. Sleep is for the weak. I can’t sleep when I’m dead, alright? Whatever shit day I have, I can handle it. Next time you fuckin’ call me. I don’t give a shit what time it is, you call me and I’ll be there.” You merely nodded your head against his chest, your own arms snaking around his back and gripping his jacket in two tights fists, fabric tightening but he didn’t mind. Your cries had quietened but you were still distraught and Gavin stayed with you until you calmed down. He knew exactly the type of hurt that came with losing a pet, and he knew how much [Cat’s name] meant to you. Which was why he didn’t crack any wise-jokes, or tease you – he stayed there as long as you needed him. Because, fuck, if he wasn’t there for you during the worst hours of your life, the least he could do was be there for you now. After a while, you pulled away from Gavin and he let you go; both of you immediately missing each other’s warmth but would never admit it. You immediately hugged your arms to your body, and took a step back, too embarrassed that you broke down in front of Gavin. He seemed to have picked up on your awkwardness and tried to make it easier for you. “Just don’t go around tellin’ people I give good hugs. Don’t wanna make ‘em jealous, y’know?” Again, his heart fluttered when you scoffed, though your lips turned upwards into a small smile. Your glazed eyes met his and he gave a gentle wink before pulling you in for a side hug, leading you both back to the precinct. “C’mon. We got shit to do.” You walked back in the precinct but excused yourself to go freshen up in the women’s toilets, knowing your tears would have left trail marks through the leftovers of yesterday’s foundation. You still had to sort out the vet fee and whatever needed to be organized regarding the cremation of [cat’s name], as well as cleaning up whatever mess was in your home. You hadn’t bothered to clean up right away because attending to [Cat’s name] had been more important. You knew your house was going to reek big time, but it didn’t matter. You can air it out spray air freshener when needed. Walking back out with your head held high, though features were a little firmer than usual, a gruff voice caught your attention and you stopped in your tracks as your eyes settled upon the gentleman you had grown fond of since joining the DCPD; Hank. “Hey. Listen…uhm…I know what’s it’s like to lose someone you love so if you ever need someone to talk to, kid, ‘m here, okay? It’s never easy.” You smiled softly and murmured a gentle “Thank you.” “Now I’m not condoning this, but I have a good history of drowning my sorrows in a bottle. So if you ever need a stiff drink, I’ll be your drinking buddy. Responsibly, I promise.” Hank held up a hand in the air as if to mimic a scout’s oath or something before it dropped on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze. His hand was warm, large and there was a certain comfort to it – like, the type of comfort you feel from a father. Safety. That you know it’s going to be okay. Not to say that Gavin didn’t provide you with those feelings – you were just surprised at how easily your heart managed to calm down and not feel so overwhelmed. “Heh. Thank you Hank. Really.” “Yeah, no problem kid.” Upon arriving back at your desk, you were surprised to find a cup of tea waiting for you. You glanced up at Nines who had said nothing about yours and Gavin’s disappearance, either Gavin told him to keep his cakehole shut, or Nines chose not to say anything for the sake of discreet, piercing blue eyes met your grief-filled E/C orbs before glancing down at the mug and then shifting over to where Gavin sat, indicating that Gavin had made it for you in your absence. You smiled softly at the mug of steaming tea, sending a smile Gavin’s way despite the Detective being engrossed in a case file on his desk. It wasn’t until you settled yourself in at your desk and brought the mug closer, that Gavin peered up and snuck a peek at you as you gratefully wrapped your fingers around the warm mug. Nines watched the whole scene unfold with curiosity. Honestly – part of him wanted to shove both your heads together and tell you both to physically connect (kiss), but he knew Gavin was sweet on you and would approach you when the time is right (assuming Nines hadn’t intervened in the meantime, because, really, watching the two of you dance around each other is exhausting. Yeah you both thought no one knew – well, it’s a police station, everyone knows! Everyone except you two). The day progressed and a case came through but you opted to sit this one out, wanting to remain at your desk and focus on paperwork. Gavin didn’t complain, he hates paperwork so it was very much a ‘rather you than me’ situation. He knew, given the circumstances, that you probably wouldn’t want to join in today. Hell, he’s surprised you didn’t take the day off. But each to their own and all that, he supposed. Hank and Connor kept an eye on you when Nines and Gavin went out to investigate a homicide. Hank more so than Connor, but it was only done in a discreet manner. Hank often glancing over at you, making sure you were still doing okay, a couple of times he refilled your coffee mug when he went to get himself another coffee; small things like this you were grateful for. Made you feel less alone in the world. The late evening came and you bid your farewells to everybody. Piercing blue eyes belonging to Nines studied you for a moment, analyzing your signs; your anxiety levels were high, your serotonin levels plummeted further to the point where Nines was concerned for your wellbeing. “Will you be alright, Detective?” the blunt question had Gavin snapping his head up from his computer, his grey eyes narrowing in concern and watching you sharply. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day. And I still have… things…to sort out.” You offered a half-truth explanation with a small smile. Truth was you really didn’t want to go back to the vets but you had a bill to settle, as cold and unfeeling as that sounded. “Goodnight Nines, Gavin.” You murmured as you switched the monitor off on your computer. “Have a pleasant evening Detective.” Nines replied while Gavin merely waved a hand in a farewell gesture like he always did. You passed by Hank and Connor’s desk on your way out, placing a hand on the Lieutenants shoulder, “Thank you for the coffee today, Hank.” You were really thanking him for his concern for keeping an eye on you but you didn’t want people to overhear any personal conversation of today’s events. He waved his hand midair, “Don’t worry about it kid. Go home ‘n get some rest. You got my number, call me if you need.” This time it was your turn to offer a kind smile and a squeeze to his shoulder. “Goodnight Detective.” Connor’s warm sincere voice filtered through and you bid him a farewell before finally leaving the Precinct. Gavin felt a pang of jealousy stab at him upon seeing you interact warmly with Hank despite the moment you both shared privately on the rooftop. Was it because this was more of a public display of affection that you weren’t shy on showing – because Gavin put up a front as being an asshole? He didn’t even get a chance to process why he felt jealous knowing there was clearly nothing going on between you and Hank when he heard Nines’ voice in his ear; the android leaning over to speak in hushed tones. “You keep glaring at Lieutenant Anderson, I’m the one that’s going to start feeling jealous.” “Can it Tin-Can. I’m not jealous.” “Right. And I’m not an android.” You left Precinct feeling a bit better; more comforted, but the moment you got in your car and you were completely isolated from that company, you really felt the grief begin to close in. Both hands gripped the steering wheel as you rested your forehead against it, inhaling and exhaling slowly. You can do this. Heh, and you thought Gavin was an asshole; he’s nothing compared to the money-hungry vets who would rather receive money than act on compassion. Surely in times like these, one would issue an invoice – allowing the raw moment of grief to settle after the first few days of shock. A big sigh left your lips as you sat up straight and switched the ignition on. The sooner you dealt with this, the sooner it was over and you can go home. It was almost two hours until you finally arrived home. The peak-hour traffic was horrendous both to the vets and back again. You completed some paperwork for the vets, and the cremation service; it hurt even more knowing you couldn’t say goodbye, thinking about your cats body just lying there and then not being able to receive him/her back for another two weeks. You just wanted him/her home! You almost burst into tears once you pulled up into the driveway but the figure standing at your door had you suspicious. You knew who it was; the signature jacket he wore almost everyday gave it away. He turned when he heard the sound of your car pull up and sheepishly waited for you. You glanced past him to see a pile of things on the chair you had set up on the front porch, your eyes reverting back to Gavin who’s rubbing the back of his neck as though he’s deeply embarrassed. He’s not though… he’s just… awkward at it. You weren’t a one-night stand to him; he wouldn’t treat you as such. Not that he’d ever take advantage of you in such a state either. He knew he hit a new level of low in his asshole behavior today, he just wanted to make it up to you, and be there for you. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were in a deeply emotional mess right now, he would’ve told you that you look like utter shit. Complete and utter shit. You looked exhausted, there were bags under your eyes, you look like you were going to burst into tears any moment as well as passing out. Gavin may be…well, Gavin… but he’s very observant. Especially you. Despite this mornings’ slip up. “Hey, uh… thought you could use some company tonight…” he lamely started, waving his hand in gesture behind him, “Or I could leave this here if you’re not up to it.” Locking the car behind you, you carried the paperwork from the veterinarians and any personal items (cat’s collar, mobile phone, car keys) up to your house. “No, that’ll, uh, that’ll be nice.” You said, your voice wavering slightly as it threatened to break again. “But my house is a mess. Everything just…happened.” You lifted your hand that held your set of keys up in the air as though it explained everything and then dropped it back down in defeat. “S’alright. I get it.” The gentle voice soothed your anxiety regarding the state of your house. His voice was still gruff but you knew him well enough to hear the gentle tone that laced the around edges. A small nod of your head, you unlocked your front door and lead the two of you in. The smell hit the both of you but neither said anything. You did kind of warn him prior. Not that you knew this, but he had been through some similar scenarios with his cats before, so the smell or the state of the house didn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact, he kind of took charge of the situation. Walking in, he set everything down on the kitchen countertop, before walking over the window and opening it up, helping to air out the house now that someone was home. You began to help as well but he stopped you, “I got this. Cleaning stuff’s in the laundry yeah? Okay, well you put your flowers in some water, dish out dinner and I’ll clean up.” “No, Gavin, It’s fine. I-“ “Shut up, I got this. You just make sure I got your order correct.” As Gavin left before you could argue with him more, you looked through the bags he brought with him. He brought a bouquet of flowers; and not some cheap bouquet you buy from the grocery store – no, these were proper flowers from the florist. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Gavin entering a florist after a long day to buy some flowers. He thought they might help brighten up the house a little after such a gloomy turn of events. Girls like flowers and all that shit right? In the same bag was a variety of your favourite snacks; your favourite biscuits, favourite chocolate… In the other bag was Chinese takeout; your favourite. As if he got your order wrong, he knew exactly what you liked; Fried Rice without the Prawns and Prawn Crackers. Because you treat the Fried Rice like a guacamole dip, dipping the prawn cracker into the fried rice. He remembered this from when you both pulled an all-nighter at the Precinct. You ordered Chinese takeout and he watched your little quirk with utter amusement. You wouldn’t have noticed it at the time, but a few times he turned his head to stifle the grin that was spreading across his face. You were just fucking adorable. He had a reputation of being a bad-ass to uphold and he didn’t want you to see past that exterior. Pulling the takeout containers out of the bag, you placed it all on the countertop so all you and Gavin had to do was grab the containers, some utensils and plop yourselves down on the couch. You pulled two beers from the fridge and instinctively grabbed the cat food too, while you were there. Again, it was that moment where you just automatically did what you normally do and you went to go grab a spoon from the drawer to scoop the cat food out, forgetting momentarily that [cat’s name] wasn’t alive anymore. Your hand trembled as realisation dawned on you and your fingers slowly curled in toward your palm. Your gaze blurring from the tears that threatened to fall. “You’ll have those moments. It’s normal.” A hushed voice from the kitchen doorway announced Gavin’s presence, his arms crossed, a rag hanging from his hand that was tucked under an arm. You cast your water E/C orbs over to him, a look of feeling so lost washed over your features like a storm. “I…I forgot.” Your voice equally hushed, a slight mixture of shock and surprise (not the good kind of surprise) was held in your tone. “It’s normal. I had ‘em too when I lost Ginger. The next few days are gonna be hard, tonight and tomorrow morning will be the hardest. Kinda why ‘m here. Not gonna let you go through it alone.” He wasn’t going to sugar-coat any of this. He knew it was hard, he knew it was going to be even more hard for you because you tend to wear your emotions on your sleeve. He knew what it was like to go through it alone and he certainly wasn’t going to let you feel that shitty way. You tried to smile in appreciation but your bottom lip trembled and any ounce of strength you were holding on to had crumbled away. Gavin watched you fall apart again for the second time that day. Throwing the rag on the kitchen bench, he pulled you into his chest again, wrapping his arms around you and placing his chin atop of your head so you were safely nestled in the crook of his neck. He swore to God, if he ever found out who baited your cat, he was gonna show ‘em no mercy. It took every ounce of his strength not to tear down the street and start demanding answers in a violent manner, especially when the whimpered sound came from you. His arms around you tightened and he began to sway you ever so slightly. He didn’t bother to tell you to hush or that it’ll be alright. Word were meaningless right now, no amount of ‘I’m sorry’ will ever fix what you’re going through. Gavin continued to hold you until you pulled away, taking a few shaky breaths as you wiped your eyes. And holy fuck you looked even more exhausted than you did before! Part of the reason for Gavin coming over with dinner was because he knew for a fact you hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He doubted you would have been able to stomach anything, and he hadn’t seen you eat anything at all today except for coffee after coffee. Having not slept, you would have gone 36 hours without sleep already. He would have sent you to bed, but he knew he needed to get some food in you before you send your body into a state of its own shock. “C’mon. Foods gonna go cold.” Gavin muttered as he scooped up most of what he could, leaving you to grab the beers, leading the way into the living room where you both made yourself comfortable on the couch. Gavin’s grey orbs took a final glance around the room, making sure he hadn’t missed any messy piles before officially settling against the couch cushions, groaning in relief. It had been a long day for the both of you. “I’ll close the windows soon. Smell should be aired out by then.” Gavin murmured as he took the beer from you and watched as you sat down next to him, curling your legs up underneath you. Again – adorable. But now wasn’t the appropriate time for him to be thinking too fondly of you like that. “Thank you, Gavin. For today. For everything.” You said with a wave of your hand around the room, motioning an explanation for Gavin having a long day at the Precinct, only to come over to yours with flowers and dinner, and to also tidy up messes that weren’t his to clean up. “No problem.” “I mean it. I couldn’t have done it without you.” “You shouldn’t be alone. You didn’t need to be going through this alone, especially last night. Just wish you would’ve called me.” “There was nothing you could do Gavin. [Cat’s name] was dying and I…” “Still. I coulda been there for you, y’know?” “But you’re here now.” Gavin’s eyes lifted from his food to glance at your sincere but utterly exhausted ones. Fuck, if that didn’t tug painfully at his heartstrings, he didn’t know what did. “What I said earlier…I shouldn’t have said it. And I am genuinely…sorry.” It was still weighing heavily on his heart, and if he could take those words back, he would. In a heartbeat. “It’s okay, you weren’t to know.” Your eyes locked with his grey ones, a gentle expression crossing his features, a soft smile played on those usually stoic lips of his. “Dinner, shower and bed. You’re not stayin’ up to watch some shitty unrealistic cop show until god knows what time. You’re beautiful but you look like shit and you need some sleep.” Finally dipping his fork into his Chinese food, he placed a generous amount on there to the point that it toppled off the small mountain, lifting it up to his mouth, he was about to take a mouthful when his eyes locked with yours again and saw you staring at him. “What?” You shook your head, though you couldn’t stop the shy smile that appeared on your face. “Nothing.” “No. What is it?” “You…called me beautiful.” Shit. He hadn’t meant to let that slip out. Not now, not today of all days, probably not ever with the way his courage was when he was around you (which was nada). But from what he could understand when studying your observations and body language, his slip of the tongue had been welcomed. There as a pause from him before he confidently confirmed, “I did.” And you did. You welcomed it. It was an extremely shitty day. You were keen on Gavin as much as he was sweet on you. Hell, he would have courted you good and proper had he known you fell for him. This small happy feeling was definitely welcomed amongst the sadness; gave you a feeling of hope to hold on to. You both shared a gentle smile before focusing on eating your dinner. It wasn’t long until the exhaustion really did begin to hit you and you were literally falling asleep while eating dinner. Gavin debated whether he should let you crash on the couch but he knew it wouldn’t be good for your neck or back. He helped you to bed, not bothering with a shower or changing into your pyjama’s because the minute your head hit the pillow, you were asleep within seconds, leaving Gavin to pull the blankets up around you. He paused for a moment to watch you, it was bittersweet almost. You looked so peaceful but he knew you’d be an emotional wreck the next morning when the event come crashing back into reality for you. It’s why he chose to stay. He’ll crash on the couch for the night. It’s not a problem. He left the door ajar for you, unsure whether you prefer the door closed or not, and made his way back to the living to tidy up and put the leftovers away in the fridge before he, too, crashed on the couch. He knew what he was going to do next; buy you a nice frame to have by your bedside and place his favorite photo of you and your cat in it. You sent him a selfie where you tried to take a nice photo of you and your cat but your cat decided to give you a lick, so you captured the moment where your face scrunched up in ready for a squeal. To him, it was a beautiful photo; captured you in your natural happiness, and captured your cat’s loving nature as well. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. He’ll tuck that idea away for a rainy day because he knew that no only would tomorrow morning be the hardest time, but also when you had to wait for that urn to be delivered. That was another hard time to go through. He'll be there for you. [Should there be a part two? Like, Gavin finding a cat for reader, or reader asking Gavin to go with them to look for a new cat and they make a whole date day of it and Gavin’s just REALLY invested in it. It’ll be a little bit after the death of course. Tell me! Come chat to me via inbox or via anon ask box. Lemme know all your thoughts!]

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alonely-dreamer · 6 years ago

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The Valuable Sun | Chapter 5

Summary: Brooklynne Stackhouse is Sookie and Jason Stackhouse’s little sister. Like her older sibling, she is a telepath, but her powers are far more stronger and far more uncontrollable than her sister’s. After a series of murders in Bon Temps, Sookie takes it upon herself to investigate, taking her younger sister with her in a club called Fangtasia, where they meet vampire and sheriff Eric Northman.

Pairing: Eric x OC

Warnings: 18+ (language, violence, blood)

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Words: 2458

Schedule: A new chapter will be posted every Monday. Chapter 6 to 9 are available on my Patreon for early and instant access.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Eric found an air mattress in his office which Doctor Ludwig used as an operation table. Brooklynne paced around as Bill and Eric watched the fifty-year-old dwarf take her tools out. Sookie was lying on her stomach, three giant scratches bleeding across her back. The blonde slowly woke up, though maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t.

Brooklynne started to make her way towards her sister but Eric stopped her as she walked past him. He took her hand and invited her to sit next to him.

“Let her work,” he said, and she hesitated, giving a look to her injured sister, but then taking a seat next to the vampire.

“What kind of doctor are you?” Sookie asked as she saw Patricia putting surgical gloves on.

“The healing kind,” she replied. “I’m Doctor Ludwig, what’s your name?” she asked, bringing a hand to one of the three scratches on Sookie’s back, making the telepath scream in pain.

Her screams made both Bill and Brooke jump. The vampire was standing behind the doctor, watching her every move carefully.

“Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse,” she managed to reply despite the pain. “Am I dying?”

“Yes.”

“No!” both Bill and Brooke said in unison.

“She cannot die,” Bill continued. “You will save her!”

“Back off, vampire. Let me do my job!”

“Forgive him,” Eric said. “Bill is abnormally attached to this human.”

Brooke frowned, wondering what was abnormal about caring about another person.

“Well, we don’t have a lot of choices. She’s been poisoned. You ever heard of Komodo dragons? Their mouths are teeming with bacteria. After one has bitten you, it will track you for hours, days, just waiting for the toxins to slowly eat away at your nervous system till you’re good and helpless, then it will devour you alive.”

“I was… scratched by a dragon?”

“No, but this poison is similar, but way more efficient. Don’t think I’ve seen it. It’s hard to tell without further testing and we don’t have that kind of time.”

Sookie’s breathing was getting worse and her eyes eventually found her sister, sitting not far from her, on a chair next to Eric. She’d probably have asked her what she was doing here if she had been able to.

“Give us some privacy. I need to remove her clothing. The sister can stay and assist.”

Bill reluctantly left with Eric, leaving Brooklynne alone with her dying sister. She helped the doctor remove Sookie’s shirt and held her to the mattress as she started pouring a liquid on her wounds. Sookie started screaming in pain, the smell was horrible, a mix of burning flesh and something else Brooklynne couldn’t describe. Bill came back as soon as he heard her scream and helped Brooke hold her down. The liquid might have been some kind of alcohol or magic potion, but it cleaned the wounds efficiently. Doctor Ludwig dragged her fingers inside each scratch, removing whatever substance the creature had left inside to poison Sookie. At some point during the treatment, Sookie passed out, which was for the best as the doctor wasn’t anywhere near finished.

It took about two hours for the poison to be completely out of her body. Doctor Ludwig cleaned the blood from her back with a cloth and inspected the wounds one last time before instructing Bill to feed Sookie his blood to finish the healing process.

Brooklynne was sitting on the ground, her back against the bar, exhausted by her exercises from earlier, and the memory of her sister’s screams. She saw a pair of black sneakers stop before her and she looked up to find Eric holding a hand out to her. She took it and he helped her get up. Pam and another vampire neither Brooklynne nor Sookie had ever met came back inside the club at the same time. Pam looked pissed.

“The area has been scanned,” she said as she rolled her eyes.

“Tracks were human, but the smell was distinctly animal.”

“What kind?” Eric asked.

“A filthy one,” Pam answered.

“We didn’t recognize it.”

“How intriguing… Send an alert through the appropriate channels. Find out what the neighbors know.”

The two vampires nodded before they left. Brooklynne could feel her sister’s eyes on her, and she could already hear her scold her for being here. She turned slowly and saw it on her face that she wasn’t happy. She was nodding at whatever Bill was saying but wouldn’t look away from her.

“Would it be okay if we stayed here for the day?” Bill asked. “I don’t want to move her.”

“Of course. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

“I don’t want to leave her.”

“Longshadow kept a coffin out back. I’ll make it available to you.”

“I thank you for your hospitality, Eric.”

“No problem. I’m sure you two will find a way to repay me,” the vampire smirked. He winked at Brooklynne before he left the room through the ‘Personnel Only’ door.

“What are you doing here, Brooke?” Sookie asked from where she was lying on the black air mattress.

“I…” the youngest Stackhouse looked down at her hands. “Eric came by the house. Brought me here,” she shrugged.

“And you went with him?”

“I was bored at the house. And he helped me control myself! I blocked the voices tonight, I’ll let you know!”

Sookie frowned. “I told you to stay away from him.”

“And I told you not to tell me what to do!”

Sookie rolled her eyes, then sighed. Her eyes landed on Bill, like she was asking him for help. The vampire raised his hands, silently telling her he wasn’t going to get involved in this fight.

“What do you mean you blocked the voices?”

“I… Well, I can control myself now. Like you.”

“Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?” she asked with an impressed tone. “You can’t hear me, can you?”

“No. I can��t.”

“That’s… that’s great, Brooke!” Sookie breathed out a laugh.

“Maybe, if I had been allowed to leave the house, I’d have controlled it earlier.”

“That’s not fair,” Sookie told her. “You never could control it. Gran kept you inside for a reason.”

“Yeah, well now I’m tired to be kept inside.”

Bill cleared his throat, interrupted them. “Sookie should rest, she’s been through a lot,” he told Brooklynne. “And you look like you could use some help too.”

“Go,” Sookie told him. “Go rest, we’ll be fine.”

Bill gave her a small smile, then nodded, before he followed Eric’s footsteps and left them alone. Sookie was about to say something but Brooklynne stopped her before she got the chance to open her mouth.

“Save it. I don’t want to hear it,” she said before she walked out.

***

When Brooke got out of the bathroom ten minutes after she walked in, Sookie was already asleep. She made her way to the couch in the corner and laid down, facing her sister. She fell asleep almost instantly, which was to be expected. Brooklynne tired easily.

Sookie woke up in the middle of the afternoon. She was wearing a red shirt from Fangtasia. She had nothing else to wear since her shirt had been torn to pieces by a giant bull-headed creature. She was greeted by Ginger who was cleaning up the club. It was Ginger’s scream that woke up Brooklynne. She jumped awake to see her big sister pointing a gun at the waitress, or whatever Ginger’s job was.

“What…” she breathed out. “Sookie!”

“Eric’s been keeping Lafayette in the basement,” she explained. “Take me to him!” she ordered Ginger.

The two sisters followed her down the dark and cold basement where they found their friend sitting in a corner at the other end of the room.

“Oh my God,” Brooke breathed out as she saw the chains around his neck.

“Give me the key!”

“I don’t have it, I swear!”

“Lafayette,” Sookie called as she crouched down near him. “Lafayette are you okay?”

“Sookie? Is that really you?”

“What happened to his leg?” Brooke asked Ginger.

“I… I… I shot him.”

“You what?!”

“He was trying to escape! Eric would have killed me!”

Brooklynne felt like she was going to be sick. The smell, the view… it was all too much. I can’t believe Eric would do that, she thought. But then, she realized, she could indeed believe it. She could almost hear Sookie say I told you so.

***

Sookie waited patiently for the night to fall. Brooklynne avoided her gaze for the rest of the afternoon. She had returned to the couch where she had fallen asleep and started to regret having told Eric she’d go to Dallas with him. When she got the courage to tell her sister about what she had done, Sookie had said she wouldn’t be going anywhere with Eric, especially not to Dallas, and especially not alone.

Bill woke up first and was relieved to see Sookie awake and in good health. Sookie wasn’t as happy to see him, but she hugged him back when he took her into his arms. He frowned when she didn’t smile back at him.

“Are you still angry about our fight? Sookie, none of that matters now…”

“You’re right. I’m alive and in once piece, unlike my friend Lafayette who Eric chained up like an animal and left to bleed to death!”

“What?”

“You better not have known anything about this, Bill Compton, because if you did, I don’t think I could ever forgive you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“She’s referring to the human in my basement,” Eric said as he joined them into the room. Brooke looked up at him but then looked away when he looked back. “The human that traded sexual services with a vampire in order to sell his blood. Which, as you know, is a grave offense.”

“His name is Lafayette,” Sookie snarled at him as she went his way, “and you ought to be ashamed of yourself for what you’ve done to him!” she said before she slapped him as hard as she could. Eric barely budged.

“Sookie!” Bill reprimanded her, worried as to how Eric was going to react.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he told her with a smile. “And may I add, that color suits you very well.”

“Go to Hell!”

“Sookie, enough!” Bill stopped her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, it’s not nearly enough! They’ve tortured him and bitten him and shot him and kept him down there in his own filth for weeks!”

She paused, waiting for an answer from the vampire, but it’s Bill who spoke up first.

“Is this true?”

“There are others who would have done far worse, and you know it.”

“You’re gonna let him go right now or I swear I’m going to the police!”

Eric instantly growled at her, showing his fangs, his face inches from hers, the sudden movement making Sookie jump. Brooklynne jumped on her feet, worried the vampire would hurt her sister.

“I do not respond well to threats,” he told her.

She swallowed but didn’t move. Eric’s pupils moved to the corner of his eyes where they found Brooklynne a few feet away. He then looked back at Sookie as he stepped away.

“But perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement,” he smiled. “Please,” he gestured for her to follow him. “You too,” he told Brooklynne.

The young telepath hesitated but knew she didn’t really have a choice. She looked at him warily as she approached, making sure she stayed close to her sister as they walked out of the club and into Eric’s office.

It was a small room, big enough for a desk, two chairs, a couch and a few shelves where he had stocked boxes of Tru Blood. He leaned against his desk and started to explain what it would take for him to let Lafayette go.

“Your sister already agreed to come with me to Dallas.”

“Brooklynne isn’t going anywhere alone with you. You took advantage of her!”

“I did no such thing,” the vampire said, and he sounded almost offended. Not for him, but for Brooklynne. “I asked and she said yes.”

“She didn’t know any better!”

Brooklynne would have felt insulted if she didn’t think her sister had a point. She should have listened to her sibling. The fact that she was surprised he had kidnapped and tortured Lafayette for weeks proved that she wasn’t ready to make decisions for herself, not when it came to Eric anyway. She should have known better. He was a vampire, after all. But then again, so was Bill. And Bill would never do such a thing, or else Sookie wouldn’t be with him.

“You can come too, if you want. Two telepaths is better than one, I suppose.”

Sookie frowned. “If I go to Dallas and help you find your friend, then you’ll let Lafayette go?”

“You are not going to Dallas,” Bill protested. “You almost died last night!”

“I am old enough to make my own decisions, Bill.”

“I will pay all of your expenses, of course,” Eric interrupted the couple. “And, yes, I will release your friend.”

“And I want $5000. For both of us,” she said, looking at Brooklynne who feared it wasn’t a good idea to be bargaining with Eric right now. Bill gave her a reproving look to which she responded: “What? I’ve missed a lot of work and I need a driveway. And Brooke’s never worked a day in her life, she could use the money.”

Brooke chose to stay silent and avoided Eric’s gaze when he turned to look at her. She felt stupid for trusting him. For spending the night on his lap while Lafayette was suffering in the basement. She was ashamed of herself.

“Your human is getting cocky,” Eric said silently. He obviously didn’t appreciate her negotiating with him.

“They will take $10000 each, and I will escort them,” was Bill’s response.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Yes,” Sookie insisted. “Ten thousand and Bill comes with me or it’s a deal breaker.”

Eric considered it. She gave another look at Brooklynne who was still looking at her feet, looking like she had just been caught doing something bad.

“You surprise me,” he told Sookie. “And that is a rare quality in a breather.”

“You disgust me,” Sookie merely replied.

“Perhaps I’ll grow on you,” he said, as his eyes fell on Brooklynne once more.

“I’d prefer cancer.”

Bill tried hard not to smile too much at the exchange.

“You need to leave immediately,” Eric told the vampire.

“I will make the travel arrangements. But I will need your credit-card number.”

Eric nodded. “See you in Dallas.”

**********

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @colie87

#true blood #eric northman #eric x oc #eric northman x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #oc #sookie stackhouse #bill compton #imagine #reader #eric x reader #eric northman x oc

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musutofu · 6 years ago

Text

【 Fading Memories 】

♡ pairing | Kirishima x ᶠᴱᴹ Reader ✑ word count | 4.6k ✎ genre | angst ✗ warnings | kidnapping, body horror, self mutilation

A wash of darkness has settled over the sky; another day lost to the avarice of night. As the sun dips lower the clouds bleed bruised violet like uneven patches of spilled ink over a black canvas. Only a few patches of untouched paper shine through the thick shroud of clouds heavy with rain and the sky dark with a new moon. The stars are only pinpricks of light, nearly choked out of existence with the coming storm. There’s a picturesque beauty to the darkness of the night sky and it’s framed by the window like a proper work of art. Each dot of light is like a point on a map hung in the sky, connecting star after star to string together the celestial bodies shining through the haze of clouds; a picture within a picture. A grey fog appears with each exhale and clings to the cold glass, leaving a fleeting canvas for art of your own. The path of your finger creates a new constellation that fades with the disappearing condensation, but the few moments it stays overlayed against the stars is long enough to set a crack in the dam that’s been keeping your terror at bay. It trickles down your back like a poisoned waterfall, toxins seeping into your skin with each passing moment spent longing for a world outside this room. The heavy breath heaved in with the hopes of quelling the paranoia roaring to life inside you rattles in your lungs, choking more than soothing. It does little to keep thoughts of the grim reality outlines around you at bay. The shadows of the unfamiliar room still press in on all sides like the presence of an unwanted visitor. It’s more suffocating than your heaving lungs. They watch with eyeless faces as you go through the motions of stepping one foot in front of the other until legs unsteady with anxiety carry you to the singular chair poised in front of a desk. The chair creeks under your weight but holds firm as you curl your legs up to your chest, holding them to steady the shivers. Nothing seems to calm the tremors as the poison continues to flow down your spine, eating away at your nervous system all the while. If your mind isn’t the first thing to go while being held captive in such an accommodating prison than your body will as the chills threaten to shake you apart. Every muscle in your body is straining like threads as the tension in your muscles tears at the seams of your limbs. You hold your legs tighter, gathering them up and tucking them under your chin as if your head will be enough weight to hold them in place. It forces your gaze straight ahead, eyes locking on the mystery you’d unraveled hours before. There’s a message written on a piece of paper from one of the desk drawers, ink smudges into blue pools by tears long since dried. It’s a message deciphered with only scraps of evidence, an encrypted message with only two available cyphers. One belonging to your captor, the other two you. It’s hidden in the green brown swatches of color captured in the squares of paper that litter the desk like tiles. A collection of twenty photos–all aerial shots–of a sparkling forest, cresting over hills like algae over waves. Hidden in the thick foliage are dirt paths but only fragments of them. No photo connects to the other and all the paths lead seemingly to nowhere except for a single splinter that leads the way to the gates of some rural building. Each is marked with a time scribbled on the back in scratchy penmanship. That detail that had seemed arbitrary at first was the first layer of the code. Now each photo is laid out one next to the other in chronological order. With such a small change everything shifted into place and the message was decoded. No message was written, just the name of who was supposed to receive it: you. It’s almost as if you’re writing a love letter to yourself as you carefully rewrite the same jumble of nonsensical lines for a third time. Alone they’re scribbles on paper, much like a single puzzle piece without its companion, but as you fit them together a picture appears, two words; your name. Each photo was taken so they characters would be written alternately from first to last, converging on the one area that’s missing from all of them. It had been the point of interest for the botched mission that ended with you in captivity. A simple recon assignment for a small team and a publicity stunt for your agency. In an attempt to prove that their Heroes were fearless even in the face of a direct threat using your real name. It had seemed like a jab at the fact that Heroes are still human, still people once they take off their suits and every cell in your body is burning with fear at the thought of them even taking that away from you. It really does feel like your humanity is being bled out, fear and panic crowding the civility out of your brain until there’s nothing left with the desperately feral need to survive. A guttural sound placed somewhere between a growl and a whimper gurgles in your throat as the door that remained silent since you woke creaks open. For as modern as the room looks the door sounds antiquated as it squeaks open on rusted hinges. Had you been thinking past the threats outside of your own psyche folding in on itself like a cat’s cradle you would’ve used your chair to block the door, but the time for planning has passed and the door opens unhindered. For a moment, the darkness clawing its way in from the outside hides the intruder until a beam of muted light catches on the pale blue hair poking messily out from under a black hood. It falls away from their face just a fraction as they lift their gaze to meet your fiery glare and the individual images snap into full focus. Standing before you–blocking your only means of escape–is Shigaraki Tomura, leader of the League Of Villains. Belatedly, you realize no other Villain would have the patience of finesse to plan such a pointed trap all to bring you back to him. He takes one lurching step towards you as if he’s moving based on rickety cogs and mechanics, the next step is smoother, and so is the next until he’s rushing towards you with enough eagerness to startle you out of the odd rigor mortis you’ve fallen into. Like a bug fearing the sudden light you skitter off of the chair, bracing your hands in a white knuckled grip on its high back. It offers the most pitiful of barriers but it’s enough to keep him at an arm’s length. Though he doesn’t seem happy with just seeing you from a distance. “I’ve missed you,” are the words he settles on after a moment of contemplation. When words don’t immediately fall from your tongue swollen silent with simmering fear his hand leaves his pocket with deliberate delay. Though just out of reach the sight of his hand still strikes a cold spike of fear through you, shocking your spine ramrod straight as he scratches at the already irritated skin of his neck. Without a care for the damage he’s doing–not as much as he could inflict on something other than his body–he tears open scabbed scratches with jagged nails until blood stains his fingertips. “I missed you.” He says it again as if it wasn’t loud enough the first time, his voice more insistent. His only answer is you shuffling closer to the desk, dragging the chair across the floor as you go. He falls for the ruse, following your movement to remain the focus of your eyes. He is, though in your periphery the door is wide open, an unguarded exit for your escape. With one hand still planted on the chair you reach behind you. Beneath the paper with his decided message is another that’s filled with what look to be idle doodles, scribbles of random items on paper. To untrained eyes, they are, but with a Quirk like yours they’re a saving grace. Your fingertips wander over the soft impressions the pen left in the paper, reading the dips and curves through memory until you find one that would best assist you. This will be a one off attack, Shigaraki isn’t one to fall for the same trick twice, so you move at once. The breadth of your body covers the soft blue glow of your Quirk bringing your drawing to life and you tense in preparation. Shigaraki’s cracked lips part to speak again, probably the same words, and you strike. The smoke bomb smack him square in the forehead, chair knocking him onto the floor as you shove it at him. He does down blinded and disoriented, arms flailing dangerously in an attempt to catch himself. He does for a moment, one damning hand latches onto you as you sprint for the door. His grip burns through skin and muscle before slipping from your wrist but the damage has been done. Like overcooked clay your skin begins to flake from your muscle and muscle from bone as his Decay chews through your body like moths through fabric. It’s a searing sort of pain made all the more agonizing by its languid pace. His grip had been loose, the lightest graze as a last ditch attempt at keeping you locked away but it was enough. As if it’s a gushing wound you wrap your unafflicted hand around your rotting wrist, cradling it to your chest as you run through the dark maze of halls. It’s hard to see in the low light of a stormy night, but it’s enough to keep you close to the walls as you search for a way out of this labyrinth. A soft snowfall of dust kicks up as you skirt around pile of deformed metal guarding the entrance to another hall, several sets of footprints having already tread through the blanket of downy grey before you. It’s hard to keep your presence hidden as you tiptoe around liter and dried leaves the League must’ve tracked in but you manage, shoulder bumping the sagging walls to guide you further out. With eyes set ahead you miss the obstacle in your path and it catches your foot as you skirt around a corner and you go down hard, just barely catching yourself on the hand not being eaten away by Shigaraki’s Quirk. The brunt of your weight draws a labored groan from wooden floors and a squeak from your throat as the shock of impact shoots up your wrist. You venture a look back in the hopes of finding anything but some sort of trap locked around your ankle. There’s luck in that regard although you almost wish there wasn’t as your eyes make out exactly what took your foot out from under you. It’s still there, caught under the curve of your ankle. A carcass; one of a dead alley cat. You bite your tongue until you taste iron to hold back the nauseated sounds trying to surface. It’s matted fur is chewed away at its belly, replaced by the squirming white bodies of maggots; a knife sticking out of its burst belly. As quick as a cobra strike you’re back on your feet and skittering away from the poor decaying creature. Only you’ve lost the wall in your mad dash and are left with only degrees of darkness to keep you from curving down another hallway. Just as you find an opening where the shadows seem murkier in the hopes that it’s adjacent to a solid wall, a flash of silver comes shooting out of the darkness. There’s not enough time to analyze what’s flying at you as you try to dive out of danger. It knicks your cheek and you feel the cold sting of metal being chased by the warmth of blood welling to the surface. Though you’re less worried about the injury and more concerned with evading who or whatever caused it. And just as suspected a figure steps out of the darkness, eyes flashing dangerously in the low lighting. For a moment, your mind begins to piece together the staccato features floating in the shadows but your body has already left it behind as you sprint back the way you came, nearly slamming into a wall as you skid to a stop. It’s only your hand that stop the head on collision and your wrist goes numb for a moment as it absorbs another shock of your momentum. It feels like pins and needles are poking through your skin–not unlike the feeling of your other hand slowly disappearing–but you definitely feel the strike of another blade grazing your arm. Belatedly you realize you have your back to your enemy and roll to correct yourself, taking down a heavy tarp that was making a perfunctory effort at keeping out the cold night air. It raised goosebumps where the tarp isn’t touching as it’s fallen over you like a blanket. The scratchy plastic pokes at you like barbs, clawing to cloud your vision like you aren’t fighting for your life. In the end it’s the person you’ve been doing such a poor job at evading that lifts the heavy veil from your head. The face your brain had tried to piece together from mismatched puzzle pieces made of police reports and Internet forums turns out to be correct, but it’s small comfort seeing as it’s the face of death to people in your chosen profession. Though she doesn’t seem like much of a murderer as she tosses the tarp to the ground and leans forward like she’s trying to see past your body and into your soul. She’s a round faced girl, oversized sweater covering what you assume are bloodstained hands. The choppy bangs over her face sway in the slightest breeze as she sniffs at you, tongue peeking out of his mouth. It makes you painfully aware of every drop of blood in your body. Some of which is still leaking out of your face in arm in languid trickles. After another flurry of panicked heartbeats thrumming in your ears she steps back to lean against the wall across from you, kicking up one foot to balance herself like this is a casual situation. Perhaps it is for a girl like her but you aren’t up to sitting around to find out. A thick thud stops you before you can get very far in your escape. You’ve only moved a few centimeters from the spot she had you bolted to in fear, but a blade much bigger than the first two daggers she threw at you is now protruding from the wall. There’s a sharp bite through your skin and suddenly cold metal presses into your stomach, drops of your blood dripping off the edge of the blade. “Leaving so soon?” She looks to have barely moved from her original spot as she questions you in a coquettish tone. You venture of few steps to face her, braced tight against the wall as if it will envelop you and keep you from harm. The most it does is remind you the window you’re leaning against is broken as shards of glass press in jagged shapes against your shoulder blades. “Don’t go,” she continues. “Let’s be friends.” Her tongue sweeps over a dagger, the one that had slashed open your cheek, though still leaves some of your blood on the blade. She only needs a drop to activate her Quirk, though it’s doubtful the facade will last long with how little she consumed. Even still, her face begins to melt. Peeling away from her skull from the scalp down in goopy rivers of grey, like a candle melting under the heat of a flame. Beneath it is your face, unblemished by the cut she gave you and when it reaches your–her–limbs, her hand is left unharmed. You stand frozen as she stares at you with your own eyes, but only for a moment. With your hand that still throbs from catching your body weight you grab the hilt of her sword, kicking off the wall to dislodge it and launch yourself forward. There’s a sickening crack and her–your–her face crumples in on itself from her nose. The cartilage is shifted, smashed at an odd angle and dripping thick rivers of blood over her parted lips. She starts to melt, keeled over in pain. As she shifts back into herself you steal the dagger she’d dropped after stealing your face. Without looking to see if she’ll recover you steal away with a pocketed dagger and sword in hand, running along the wall you’d been pinned to. With each step it gets colder, the loamy scent of a breeze getting heavier until a gust of stormy wind calls you towards an exit. The door hangs partially open on its hinges, croaking as the wind swings it on unseen waves. Each creak sounds like a beckon to freedom, but it’s silenced by a roar of something sinister just behind you. The cold is chased away, sweat behind to bead at the naps of your neck and your eyes shoot from one spot to another in search of a place to hide. Just as the crackling blue light rounds the corner that had hidden salvation from you you dive into a hold rotted into the wooden wall, cobwebs and dust enveloping you in their soft embrace as Dabi’s flames go shooting past you in a brilliant sapphire plume. The door groans in earnest then sizzles as it melts under his assault. A few heavy footsteps walk closer, pause, the indignant click of tongue, then a retreat. Still, uncertain of your safety you remain hidden in your burrow for as long as you dare, worried about the arrival of reinforcements. When you emerge three hinges hang loose like broken teeth in the rotted gums of the door frame that’s yawning open like a gaping maw. What remains of the door sits sizzling in a molten puddle on the ground, deadbolt still glowing white hot as it burns in the frame speckled with spots of auburn rust. The building seems to growl at you as the wind whistles through the broken windows and out the ruined door in a way that makes the frame of the dilapidated building groan. The air seems to trace down your spine, drawing a shiver from your frame as you step over the boiling metal and into the drizzling rain. The building is only just out of eyeshot when you stop running, soaked and shivering, arm still in burning agony as the strange disease crawls up your wrist. It won’t stop. Not until your entire being has turned to dust. Already the tips of your fingers have disintegrated, and your fingers are only cracking bone. Terrified, you look away, eyes focusing on the dagger stolen from Toga. It’s still smeared with blood and the strange grey substance that melted off of her and you wrap it in a scrap of your suit before biting down on it. It sets an ache to your teeth as you bear down on it, but it’s a necessity for what comes next. It’s hard to think about so you let your mind wander as far as the pain will allow. It doesn’t go far, only bringing up memories of when your suffering was made worthwhile. The memory of a glaring white light and screaming comes to mind. Your arms feel warm despite the freezing cold, the memory of your newborn sons in your arms chases it away. They’re tiny hands holding your fingers and each other, still unsure of life outside the protection of your body. And tucked between the white light and the heavy heat are thoughts of red. Of dark roots and puffy eyes as Eijirou gives you one of those heart stopping, shark toothed grins. His cheeks nearly splitting open under the weight of his happiness. It’s safe in the memory, and warm. You aren’t so afraid anymore and you stay in that room from four years ago, lost in the most perfect moment as your present body, still just as pained and tired as you’d been then, raises Toga’s sword and brings it down on your arm. The memory shatters, falling to dust in your hands just as your rotted arm falls dead to the ground, still decaying. It feels as though your jaw will break as you screech against the makeshift gag. It takes a moment but the pain becomes manageable, just over the cusp of tolerable, and you struggle to your feet. The muddy ground makes it hard to stagger back to the steaming pile of metal standing guard at the front door but you make it, dabbing the stump of your arm into the smoldering metal once, twice, three times, until the wound is cauterized. It’s unsanitary but better than nothing. The bleeding has stopped and you try to wash away the worst of the bloodstains with another scrap of your ruined Hero suit. It offers little protection, meant for less grueling missions, as you stumble through the forest in search of the other building you’d seen in the photos. It looked to be northwest of the building though it’s hard to tell up from down with the sky dark and cloudy and brain muddled by blood loss, but away is away and you walk with the building the League claimed to your back, hoping desperately that they don’t have guards posted in the brush surrounding it. It’s unclear whether you get far enough for you to be safe, but it’s definitely enough for you to be lost and exhausted. The world shimmers around the edges, trees swimming and diving between each other like some elaborate dance. Overhead the clouds part and the darkness lifts to a soft lavender but it’s hard to notice with tunneled vision. One final step saps everything from you as if the roots of the trees dig into you upon contact. They squeeze you dry and you allow it, blinking away something wet in your eyes that could be tears, rain, or blood, before swaying to the right and failing to catch yourself. It goes dark before impact. Another white light greets you when you come to, too painful to be heavenly, too uncomfortable. A lumpy pillow covered in a scratchy paper case digs painfully into the nape of your neck and there’s the distinct pinch of an IV in the crook of your elbow. All your limbs feel rubbery but mobile and you lift your opposite arm to scratch the needle out of your skin only to pause when your fingers encounter the heat of skin and the chill of metal. Three of your fingers rest a few millimeters away from where the IV is taped into your skin to dissuade the meddling you fully intended to do, but your pinky landed on something distinctly not skin. It’s not quite metal as you thought, a few degrees cooler than your skin and a bit malleable as you press into it. The pressure of your finger registers as touching your arm, but the distinctly painful memory of screaming in the mood as you amputated yourself with a Villain’s sword is still fresh in your memory. Even so, you flex the fingers that shouldn’t be there and the paper sheets crumple, your brain registering the feeling of it being gathered in your fist. The sore muscles of your neck creak as you roll your head to look at the phantom limb posing as your hand only to find that it is a hand, though not yours. Except it is. It responds as you go through the motions of flexing it as you would your original and it responds in kind. It’s almost unreadably real, only the smallest seams that looks more like a scar telegraphs the prosthetic that seems to have been made perfectly for you down to the matching skin tone. You move to look back up at the ceiling, arms back at your sides as you process all that’s happened. As you sift through the murky memories marred by fatigue and your brain’s uncanny ability to dull the potency of unpleasant memories, the door to your room swings open. A pang if fear shoots to your stomach as the memory of waking up in a foreign room shoulder their way to the surface. The nausea rises, bile pushing up your throat as two pairs of footsteps–one lighter than the other–shuffle around the room. But all it takes is a small voice to quell your rising anxiety. “Is Mommy okay?” The soft voice like the ringing of a bell is all it takes to soothe you. There’s a sigh them the sound of something being set down in one of the chairs. It must be Eiyuu if it was Katsuou that spoke. Your sweet second born so unlike the abrasive man Eijirou named him after. Protective and emotional just like his father, it’s doubtless that your son has been crying over the thought of you being anything other than Mommy. Not a Hero and certainly not the broken woman lying motionless in a hospital bed. Eijirou sighs. “She’s fine, bud. The doctors said we just have to wait for her to wake up.” “I am awake.” You decide, eyes still open as you map a trail through the speckled design on the ceiling. The bright light is immediately pushed away by the face of your husband. He looks bad in a way you’ve never seen him. There are no whispers of sleep in the bruised bags under his eyes and there’s a telltale darkness to the unstyled, red roots of his hair, but he’s still smiling that enamoured smile reserved only for you as his eyes take in the sight of you finally awake. You’re sure you look just as worn down as he does after living off just an IV for who knows how long. He kisses you anyway, pouring all the heartache into one searching press of chapped lips that anchors both of you. Near your feet, Katsuou is trying his hardest to clamber over the bed rail. You sit up with less difficulty than expected and release it. He’s in your lap within seconds, burrowing his wet cheeks into your neck. The wailing wakes your oldest and he straightens up with a groan, blearily eyeing the room before his red gaze settles on you. The reaction is immediate. He’s out of the chair and climbing his Eijirou’s legs like a ladder to occupy the side Katsuou left open for him. There are no tears, Eiyuu isn’t one for waterworks, but his tight grip on your shirt is show enough that he missed you. Both boys are holding you like they think you’ll disappear and Eiji is looking at you like he’s not really seeing what’s before him. Your new hand, feeling more your own with every passing moment, reaches for him. His calloused fingers dance over the artificial skin, testing your joints and brushing his lips over each fingertip when he decides you can feel his fiddling. “What happened to you, baby?” Katsuou squeezes you tighter and you shake your head. Eiyuu’s dark hair tickles your chin as you shake your head. “Later. For now,” you hold out a beckoning hand, “Come lay with me.”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima imagine #kirishima #kirishima eijirou #mha kirishima #bnha kirishima #mha eijirou #bnha eijirou #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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thethrillof · 5 years ago

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start of a weird bug tank au hollow knight/undertale crossover thing b/c i am embracing self indulgence! fuck it!

warning for the hollow knight being an absolute wreck and death-related stuff

Do not think.

It fails. The situation is beyond anything it has encountered, has heard of, was warned of.

Do not speak.

It cannot. If it tried, it would choke on meticulous lifetime habit and Her infection. The last words it has heard, shaking its tiny body, meant nothing.

Do not feel.

It does. Terror. Confusion. Terror increasing, in that the confusion does not belong solely to it and that is horribly new.

Do not hope.

That is simple enough. It knows not what could be hoped for, here.

The Hollow Knight drips infection across the strange white cloth beneath it, legs curled stiffly to avoid pressing against the glass wall of its prison.

The holes eaten away in its chest, stomach, and arm are no longer agonizing. Another creature had taken care of that. Perhaps several. They had been moved between multiple hands. The details were lost in the haze of Her rage; all but the hands each being more than the length of its body. It had nearly fallen. It had tried to fall. Do not feel, do not feel, do not feel.

It is so tired.

She is not enraged. She is not screaming. She is waiting behind its eyes, panic stabbing through its body in a burning rhythm.

She directs its head without care. Face aimed to the side, it can see more than a white blur from above, a pink stripe along the floor outside. A creature, waiting across an abyss.

She unfurls its body. Her chanting direction of slaughter, unceasing for years, is now silent.

The distant creature lies still.

It recalls an impression of what must have been eyes, golden brown, staring into the clear cell intensely.

The creature is not watching now. Quiet. Sleeping.

Its body moves. It resists now that it has space to do so, leaving its single arm uselessly resting against the branch in the center of the cell.

…When had the other been lost?

Do not think. It gives Her purchase.

The stump that is left flares with a memory of its shape, and She grasps the branch, begins to drag its body upward. The Temple contained them both for too long. An echo of Her rage, newly building, blinds and deafens it back to submission. A chance for true freedom is here. She will succeed and it will break, again and again, as it has done before.

It is so tired.

It.

It wants.

It wants everything

stop.

Do not hope.

When it can see through its own eyes once more, the giant creature is within arm’s reach.

Frisk wakes up with a tiny white face right in front of theirs.

It’s just luck that they don’t slam their head into the wall when they fling it back, away from something way too close so suddenly.

They stare at each other across the length of their pillow, unmoving, as Frisk starts getting their bearings back. The stickbug, the one they got from the monsters on the side of one of the mountains. It got out. Somehow.

They ask how the heck it did that.

Which, of course, does nothing.

Carefully lifting their head and resting it on their hand, their eyes slide back to the jar on the windowsill. The napkin they’d secured with the rubber band had a hole ripped all the way through, as if their stickbug had jumped straight up and out. And maybe it did. It must’ve taken some pretty big jumps to get all the way from there to the desk to their bed, unless it climbed down and back up. A quick glance at the floor shows that Mom’s pie is there, though a bug-sized bite or several probably wouldn’t be something they can see.

The stickbug sways, twitches, pitches forward, so fast they barely notice. It’s tiny, so it doesn’t have far to fall, even if it did to the blanket, and it doesn’t. It rests face-first against the side of the pillow instead, almost like it’s still standing.

Do bugs breathe? They gotta, since Mom said not to close them in the jar. The stickbug is entirely still when they get in real close, holding their own breath to see if it’ll move. When it doesn’t, they gingerly nudge it into the palm of one hand, where it curls its one upper leg against itself. Arm, maybe. They don’t know too much bug stuff, except that bees don’t sting unless you’re mean first. And that it’s not actually a stickbug. Real ones actually look like sticks. This one looks like it’s made of black wires. Wirebug just sounds weird.

Toriel is the one who knows the bug stuff. They showed the stickbug off to her first, asked her to help it, ‘cause it was bleeding all over. They never actually asked what she thought it was. Didn’t have time.

She’s the one who got the jar and let them decorate it. And she’s the one who told them, very gently, that she didn’t think the stickbug would make it overnight. Her healing magic helped, but it’s not made for fixing bugs. “Bugs rarely live long lives, my child,” she said. “It will be pleased with whatever you give it.” They think she might’ve been lying, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter.

It looks like it started bleeding again after they fell asleep. The orangeness is dripping down its face, uncomfortably warm where it runs down the finger that its head’s propped to rest against. Mom healed that before, they’re almost absolutely sure.

They could put it back in the jar. Leave it. To maybe get better?

Or maybe not. Maybe leave it to die.

Alone.

Frisk’s fingers curl around the stickbug a little more. They’re still pretty sleepy. It’s nowhere near dawn, still sometime after Toriel went to bed. They shift and settle their back against the wall.

It’s just a bug, but it’s still alive now. Even if it won’t be for long. Even if it can’t see, or doesn’t know what’s happening. It might--after all, Muffet’s spiders were smarter than the ones that they’d met on the Surface before. Maybe they hadn’t been paying enough attention.

They sit up better, even though they’re sleepy, shifting their hands to let the stickbug stretch out over both their palms if it wants.

They’d never died alone, of course, but even the company of somebody (or somebodies) trying to kill them somehow seems like a less awful thought. That’s terrifying, though they can’t explain why, even to themselves. Any death sucks (though getting ate is probably the worst).

Mommy! Daddy!

No. They push those thoughts off. That wasn’t alone. He was, they weren’t, game over.

It was almost like dying alone, down in the Lab. Before they got to talk the the Amalgamates in the right way. It was just cold, dark, unsettling, voices dancing around their ears and coming from their own mouth, sometimes. It was terrible.

It was cold. The echoes of air and distant Amalgamates were awful, otherworldly music.

It was cold.

It’s cold.

It’s so cold--

Until it isn’t.

Sunlight scalds their face and circles wheel around their head and they press their hands over their eyes, snarling. Frisk was busy remembering!

Something is above them. It’d be blocking out the light if it had shadow but it is the light, so they get even angrier at it. Her. HER. HER, SHE, THE RADIANCE brands into their brain.

They snap at the Radiance to get away from them.

“Little creature,” she roars sings hums laughs. “Greater beasts have tried to order me away.”

The light ripples underwater. There’s no water. Her words pump toxin through their skin.

They move their head, cracking their eyes open. The world’s clouds and light and just a bit of stone under their back. They’re lying down. They shouldn’t be.

“Little creature. I wonder your purpose.” She does not. Certainty of a goddess that knows all, unshaken as earth scorched to nothing.

(The thought of a lie does not come to them. Fortunately, this doesn’t matter.)

Moving is painful. The sun beats down on them in waves, hot as fire, sharp as spears, and they have had enough of that.

They are not alone.

“Little creature.” She reminds them of meeting Papyrus, but that’s an insult to him. Overwhelming, alarming. Nothing to hide behind here. Undyne, bellows of justice, cutting through. Asgore, the whispers and rumors, the coffins, the warmth.

None of their sadness. None of the pain. Liar, liar, liar. They want their dagger.

“I am here. Listening. Speak. Stand. Allow me closer.” Burnt sugar sweet. A warm last breath. Love broken, love lost.

The heat presses down harder.

They remember climbing a mountain. They remember finding a home.

Hissing words that Toriel would ground them a month for, grasping without sight, knowing what they want is right there, right next to them on the stone. A head that’s not a head, a shell, a mask, a face, a little white face with orange eyes that they blindly claw at, spilling the nasty goop to leave the space behind. It’s not a little face, it’s a mask longer than either of their arms, and after they’re done it’s held defiantly against their chest.

She screeches.

They screech back.

“You reach for that empty thing!” Her words vibrate through their teeth. “That lie! That wyrm-born abomination! You know nothing! Not where it comes from, not the shattering of my light! You will release it. You, creature, fragile, pathetic, little CREATURE. Listen! LISTEN. Do not turn your back. Nothing again. LITTLE CREATURE. COME HERE. YOU WILL RELEASE ME. YOU WILL KILL IT. YOU WILL END WHAT REMAINS OF HIM.”

The mask they hold is so, so, so cold, it bites into their skin worse with the orange burning.

A child braces for pain.

A child grits teeth.

Fought a God made of every SOUL of every monster they ever met, built of l-o-v-e, full of LOVE, stars and colors screaming and whirling and ripping them to bits. They died and died and died and refused. Hopes and Dreams and Determination, all swirling and ripping gracelessly out of their chest.

They tell her: no!

They tell her: My name’s Frisk!

They tell her: I don’t care!

They tell her: This stickbug is MINE! They’re mine! Not yours!

They are a Fallen Child even if not The Fallen Child, and they lost their fear the first time they tripped into fire, were consumed and shattered by it, and they prove this by twisting, sliding, leaping off the stone to plummet into the dark under her horrible terrible beautiful screaming--

They land with a jolt in their bed, foggy gray light filtering in through the window.

Blinking afterimages of gold circles from their eyes, they adjust their neck and look at the stickbug still in their fingers. Their stickbug, they think with a shadow of anger that’s already fading with wakefulness.

Their stickbug sits up, staring at them with deep black eyes.

Frisk gives it a tired grin.

Look, they whisper. Survived the night after all.

#jules writes

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sciencenewsforstudents · 6 years ago

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People often use the terms taste and flavor interchangeably. Scientists do not. Flavor is a complicated mix of sensory data. Taste is just one of the senses that contributes to flavor.

Here’s how it works: As you chew, your food releases molecules that begin to dissolve in your saliva. While still in the mouth, these food molecules contact bumpy papillae (Puh-PIL-ay) on your tongue. These bumps are covered with taste buds. Openings in those taste buds, called pores, allow the tasty molecules to enter.

Once inside the taste pores, those chemicals make their way to specialized cells. These cells sense tastes. Taste cells have features on the outside known as receptors. Different chemicals fit into different receptors, almost like a key into a lock. The human tongue has 25 different types of receptors to identify various chemicals that are bitter. Just a single receptor type unlocks the sense of sweetness. But that sweet receptor “has many pockets, like one of those toys that has slots you can fit a square or triangular block into,” explains Danielle Reed. She’s a geneticist at the Monell Chemical Senses Center in Philadelphia, Pa. Each of those slots, she explains, responds to a different type of sweet molecule. For example, some respond to natural sugars. Others respond to artificial sweeteners.

Each of your five senses can send messages to the brain about what you’re eating or drinking. And in ways you may not realize, they all can contribute to the multi-media package we think of as “flavor.” CREDIT: Obaba/iStockphoto

But those tastes sensed by the tongue are only a part of what we experience as flavor.

Think about biting down on a just-picked peach. It feels soft and warm from the sun. As its juices flow, they release odor molecules that you smell. These odors mingle with the fruit’s taste and that soft, warm feel. Together, they give you the complex sense of a sweet peach — and let you tell the difference between it and a sweet blueberry. (Or between a bitter Brussels sprout and a bitter turnip.) Flavor, then, is that complex assessment of a food or beverage that develops when our brain melds together data from our different senses.

Taste and flavor together influence how people experience food. Why do we need both? “Taste is a nutrient detector and a toxin avoider” that we’re born with, explains Dana Small. She’s a clinical psychologist at Yale University in New Haven, Conn. Sweet or fatty foods are calorie rich. Those are welcoming tastes when someone is hungry. Bitter warns that some food may be poisonous. From birth, she explains, the body is wired to recognize such taste-based messages.

#science #scied #sciblr #taste #flavor #brain #chemistry #neurobiology #senses

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brax-was-here · 6 years ago

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Mini AU Scarlet Briar Story Info Dump Aug 2 + Chapter 3 sneak peak

A fellow Tumblr user asked me in game what do Ceara and Scarlet sound like when talking. What tones do they use? Well, when talking naturally, Ceara’s voice is very serious, much like we heard in LW1 when listening to her journals when she tells Mender Serimon that she doesn’t need his help. Though when she gets excited, her voice does go to a higher pitch. Scarlet, on the other hand, when talking naturally is more sultry and seductive, like her voice during the Marionette fight in LW1. But, as like Ceara, when excited, her voice also goes to a higher pitch.

Wait...a sneak peak at chapter 3? Why yes, here is a peak at the first part of Redemption of Ceara: Chapter 3 after the break. Please remember that this is a rough unedited version, so things may change.

Chapter 3: My Name Isn't Ceara

Scarlet appeared in the Dream, collapsing to the ground. "That was stupid of me. What was I thinking sending her to the Mists like that. I need her. In Tyria." She slowly got to her feet, steadying herself. "I haven't felt this weak since that day I was stabbed on the Breachmaker." She smiled, chuckling to herself. "Actually, that wasn't really me, right Ceara? That was you." She paused, thinking back to that moment she seperated herself from Ceara. When she manifested herself for the first time outside of Ceara's mind. She thought Ceara was as good as dead right there on the floor of the command center of the Breachmaker. "What an exciting time that was! Such a defining moment!" she thought as her thoughts drifted back to that fateful day...

The sun shone over Lion's Arch. The people of the city went about their daily lives, merchants peddling their wares, sailors loading and unloading supplies at the docks. A quiet serene day. The Captains Council had been warned ahead of time that Scarlet would attack the city, but they scoffed at the notion, claiming it was just another empty threat. How wrong they would be.

"Playtime's over. Commence the attack!" Scarlet commanded. Aetherblade airships appeared out of nowhere in the sky above the city. They wasted no time opening fire on the unsuspecting populance down below. They're first targets were the Asura gates. Destroying them made sure no reinforcements could make a quick entrance into the city. After that, they laid waste to the city center. Scarlet's ground troops invaded from every direction, even from underground. Her newly improved Watchknights spread poison gas, derived from the spores that she collected from the giant plant in Kessex Hills, throughout the city. The gas would kill anyone who breathed it in a matter of hours. Any survivors who were found were killed on sight. Standing on an observation deck at the edge of the Breachmaker, she laughed maniacally as she watched the mayhem unfold below.

"So the heroes thought they had found an anti-toxin to my spores? Tsk-tsk. My spies served me well in delivering their formula to me." She said to herself. "This new version is now far more resistant to any cure they can come up with." Once the troops had secured the city. they gave her the signal.

"It's go time." she said marching back to the command center. The Breachmaker, the greatest engineering feat she had ever constructed descended from the sky into Sanctum Harbor, its giant drill piercing the bedrock below at the exact point where the leyline probe had found the largest nexus in the network. At the control console, Scarlet raced through a sequence of shouting commands and operating various controls.

"Magnetic balancers activated. Gyros are active? What about the backup gyros? We don't want to be wobbling when we start up.

"Yes Madam! All gyros are online!"

"Check alignment on the bit. It didn't bend when we landed, did it?"

"Bit is reading perfectly straight!"

"Excellent. What are the aether readings around the bit? Are we reading anything from the leyline?

"Very little energy at current, Madam."

"Hmm, that'll change once we start drilling. All safety locks off? All hands clear? Well it doesn't matter anyway. If you get caught in the gears, serves you right." she said smiling.

"Everything is green, Madam!"

"Good!" Scarlet pulled a lever on the console. The sound of machinery activating filled the air. The drill slowly started spinning, boring into the earth below the harbor. She walked out to the ledge of the Breachmaker, looking over the ruined city. "This is the moment we've all been waiting for." she thought to herself, a sly smile spreading across her face. Scarlet knew she had to work quickly. She knew the Lionguard and its allies would waste no time launching a counterattack to try to take back the city.

"Activate defenses. We don't need any unwanted pests on board."

"Right away, Madam!"

Days went by as the Breachmaker slowly churned its way through the bedrock. Scarlet was getting restless. The wind had shifted and blown the toxic gas out to sea. She knew a counterattack was imminent.

"Keep all troops on alert." she commanded. "The Lionguard will be coming." She was correct. It wasn't long before the counterattack began. With keen focus and precision, the Lionguard and it's allies, lead by the dragon slayer, systematically retook the city. Scarlet knew that if they reached the Breachmaker, she would have to fight to the death to see her plan to completion. She had worked too hard to pull this all together and spent too much time to see it unravel now.

"Madam Scarlet! Intruders on the upper deck!" The heroes had arrived.

"No! Stop them at all costs!" She shouted. She knew she had no choice but to attack them directly. Armed with her latest tech and weapons, she met them outside the command center. She did all she could to stop them, conjuring holographic clones of herself to fight the group that stood before her and using every trick she had to hold them off until the Breachmaker hit its mark, but it wasn't enough. The heroes finally overwhelmed her and she had to retreat. Wounded, she managed to fight her way back into the command center, and sealed the door behind her.

"I've got to finish this...I've got to keep the drill going..." she said to herself as she staggered to the controls. She fell before she could make it. Crawling across the floor, she managed to drag herself into the entrance to the control area, hopefully to block any access to the drill controls. That's when the door busted open.

"Look at all you heroes. I guess now you'll shackle me in cuffs and haul me off to jail?" she spat. She knew she was done for, she just had to hold them off a little longer. Defiant to the end, she used the last of her arsenal to buy a few more minutes. The dragon slayer managed to shrug off her attacks and ran Scarlet through. She coughed up blood as she spat her last words at the heroes. Just then the Breachmaker hit the leyline and started shaking. The heroes quickly evacuated, leaving Scarlet behind. As she lay on the floor gasping for air, she smiled.

"We had a lot of fun together, Ceara, but it's now time for me to go. I'll miss you dearly, but my work is not done. The Dream awaits! Say hello to everyone in the Mists for me! Ta-ta!" Ceara felt the madness slip from her mind as the leyline energy exploded up through the center of the giant machine.

#Guild Wars 2 #GW2 #Scarlet Briar #gw2 fanfiction #sylvari #Lion's arch #Living World Season 1 #LW1

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batarella · 5 years ago

Text

The Commander - Part 9 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

I just want to thank you all for the kind comments and messages. I was afraid of disappointing you with the next chapters. So please let me know what you all think! It lets me know if I’m on the right track!

WORDS: 3272 WARNINGS: UHMMMM YOU FIGHT WITH JASON AND THEN THERE’S A WHOLE MIX OF ANGSTY FLUFF AND FLUFFY ANGST

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

“So what do they call you? Peashooter?”

This kid was a fucking menace. And the red and yellow on his suit just made him even more irritating to look at. The bullets just bounced off of him. Either that, or she’ll have to face her uncle for missing so many shots at once. She gripped onto the two pistols with her life.

Aim for the head.

She saw his cape rolling into a pile of boxes and fired.

“Silver Sniper! The Mini Gunner! Come on, I can think of loads of names right now!”

The boxes had become an exploded mess by then. Robin wasn’t there. She backed off, panting. Y/N had to get out of this. She focused on the sounds, or any movement from the ground’s vibrations, but there was nothing. Which meant-

“Fuck!” Robin jumped from the ledge above and tackled her to the ground. Y/N kneed his groin, then landed a punch on his face. She pushed him off of her and ducked just as he pounced for her head.

He blocked her kicks with his arms, then grabbed her right fist, then her left, just as she threw them, but she high kicked his hold and pushed him back. She kept throwing her punches, and he easily blocked them without blinking.

Y/N growled, but Robin just smirked at her. He threw a punch at her stomach, but didn’t see her foot aiming just at his chest.

He threw back, and it was enough time for her to pick up her pistols and aim at his head.

But just as she pulled the trigger, two batarangs landed right at the muzzels. The firearms exploded in her hands and her body was thrown to the floor. Robin laughed. “You were looking an awful lot like Lara Croft there, kid.”

“You think this is intimidating me, bird boy?”

“Without your precious guns, maybe it is.”

Xxxx

Jason ran right up to her, withstanding all the bullets she could fire with his armor thick enough to go against missiles, and pushed her to the ground, picking up her guns and throwing them over the roof. The Commander kicked him in the stomach and rolled off.

“No guns.”

His voice filter just sounded annoying at this point. Y/N picked herself up and ran to him, throwing a punch aiming for his neck. He saw her alternating strikes and dodged every one of them, blocking her knee with his own wrist. She landed a kick, but he grabbed her ankle and flung her off to the ledge, her back hitting the cement.

“Stop throwing me around, asshole!” she coughed.

This man was one she wanted dead at some point and was so tempted to help kill him, she was almost at the front gates of Arkham just to do so. At the last minute, she decided against it.

She might be a killer, but she was no monster.

Then she ended up sleeping with that same man, several times, even going so far as sharing a kiss at a time and place that a kiss meant the most.

And here he was again, Jason, finishing a war that started years ago.

Jason skidded to her front, his shoes making her lose balance. They rolled around the floor, with either on top and throwing their fists only to meet the ground. Y/N was first to roll off and regain her stance, but Jason managed to duck before she hit his head.

She had to tire him out. His hits were strong. Too strong in fact. More of those and his arms would eventually weaken. It was her turn to block his fists, her torso turning around while also keeping an eye on his lower body.

Her punches were swift, fast, and almost as light as air. They weren’t enough on their own, but if she gained her momentum it would be enough to throw her opponent off. She knew Jason had that in mind, especially since he was the exact opposite. He was slower, but each hit was strong enough to land her on the ground.

It had always been hard to best him. In fact, she never could say she’d beaten him in a fight. But this will be the first.

As a fight long awaited, it was too bad no one else saw them. They were dancing. A violent, bone-crushing dance.

And it was epic.

Her legs were flying in the air as Y/N twisted his arm and placed her whole weight right on his shoulder. She pulled at his wrist, gaining a cry from him.

“Get off me!”

“You asked for this, you son of a-“

And a massive blow of his strength pushed her off. She was panting, and she let her guard down for a split second and he had her against the wall, grabbing her by the collar.

“This making you hard, Knight?” she whispered.

Jason should’ve seen her knee between his legs. He let go of her, and she tackled him to the ground. She tried hitting his visor, but her already bruised fist gave out and Jason flipped them over.

He held her down with his muscled arm hard against her neck. Y/N struggled and she could only look up to his visor. The glass had broken and his grunts were no longer filtered. She could see his face, teeth gritting, and his eyes looking straight back at her. She used the last of her strength to push him off.

It had to be hours. The Commander was panting, and all her limbs felt like falling to the ground. “Stop!” Jason said, struggling to pull himself up the floor. He had to catch his breath as well, opening his visor to let the cold air in. She leaned her arm against the cement.

The sky had lightened. And the stars had disappeared. She was breathing so hard the air just seemed too thin. Jason laid flat on the ground, staring blankly above. Y/N pressed her back against the ledge and her body melted to the ground.

The worthiest opponent. And still, no one bested the other. She waited until the air wasn’t such a blur and the floor no longer spinning, and he on the ground. They sat there for as long as they’d fought until the sun had fully risen.

He hadn’t said a word, but she could see his chest rising and falling, eventually into a steadier pace. When she thought she could, she stood up, slowly walking up to Jason.

She caught his eye, and extended her hand. He looked at her up and down, but for once, he actually took it. She pulled him up.

“This conversation never happened.”

Jason pulled his hand away. “Just the conversation or everything that happened after it?”

“Need I remind you the militia leaves for Gotham in three days. This was stupid. We don’t have time for this.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

She brushed off her suit, lasting a glare at him before turning for the hatch on the floor. She pulled it open.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said.

She didn’t even look back at him. “Fuck off.”

Xxxxx

Her head was burning. She needed ice, right at the center of her cheek. She tried not to look at Jason or else she’d attack him from across the table again. He had a new visor on, as if he kept spare ones in his drawers. If she had broken bones somewhere they’ll have to be ignored.

“I told Stagg the Cloudburst arrives in Gotham today. He’s responsible for hiding it in his bunkers until I give the signal.”

Deathstroke filled in. “How do we filter out the effects from our men?”

“Their masks give them immunity,” said the Knight.

“And does everyone have this mask? I told you we had new recruits.”

“Everyone is accounted for,” Crane said. “Our men will be fine.”

“Have you even tested the toxin recently?”

Scarecrow stood from his chair. “The Cloudburst will do much more than just release the toxin. I’ve asked Stagg to amplify its poison gas into the density of rainclouds. The city will be a barren wasteland. And if the Dark Knight fails, all of Gotham will fall.”

Jason seemed satisfied. “I’ll make sure to alert our men before I release the toxin.”

“I thought the Commander drives the Cloudburst,” said Slade.

“If it has anything to do with facing Batman head on, I’ll do it. The Commander’s tasked mainly at HQ.”

“Actually,” Crane said. “Commander Y/N has the expertise to control the tank, don’t you Commander?”

The Commander sat back against the chair. “I do.”

“She’s the best man for the job, Knight.”

“I said, I’ll do it. We had a deal. I get to kill Batman!”

Scarecrow wasn’t bothered. “And is it with the Cloudburst that you end his life with? The Cloudburst isn’t used as our primary weapon, Knight. It is used for the toxin.”

“It’s the best weapon we’ve got.”

“Then perhaps that means our drones are far from enough.”

Slade stammered, “Those drones are mine and they work perfectly.”

“I don’t care if I have a knife or a tank,” Jason said. “He looks into my eyes while he dies.”

“Your delay in Gotham tells me your history with the Dark Knight will work to your disadvantage.”

Fuck.

“We had to hack into GCPD,” The Commander finally said. She’d join in on the argument, but her jaw hurt too much. Then she took out the hacking device from her jacket and slid it across the table to Slade.

“The Commander has her own work. I will not just sit in a chair and watch everything happen from a camera.”

“We all know you won’t be doing that, kid,” Deathstroke interrupted. “I say we send the Commander.”

“Her best position is to watch and control all comms and drones at HQ. She will lead the whole army. I gave her that job weeks ago, Wilson.”

“Enough,” the Commander said. “I’ll take the Cloudburst. The Knight can take a serpent drone and attack the Alpha Target once the tank destroys his car. He kills him right then.”

Slade slams his palms against the table. “How bout that?”

“A serpent drone?”

“I fire at his car, you make sure your visor filters out the gas and you take him out from above.”

Jason seemed skeptical, but Deathstroke had already stood up from his chair. “Have at it, Commander.”

Jason wasn’t having it. He went after Slade after he’d left the room. The commander winced at the pain in her lower body, struggling to even stand up. She started for the door, and Crane blocked her out.

“Commander,” he whispered. Y/N pretended not to look at him.

“What?”

“I know what went on with you and the Knight.”

The Commander kept looking at the ground. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I have eyes in Gotham. You cannot talk your way out of this.”

“Whatever it is you think, that isn’t the case. Nothing happened between us.”

Crane neared his face dangerously close to Y/N. And suddenly, she had a whiff of his toxin. It was in his breath. In a daze, she looked straight into his eyes and saw demons crawl out of them. Her breath was shortened and she stiffed.

“I don’t care about either of you,” he said. “But if this affects the deployment of my toxin in any way, I’ll make sure he suffers your own consequences.”

“Get out of my face, Crane.”

“I know your fear. I know everybody’s fear. The Knight is deadly, but the man’s as fragile as broken glass. And as stubborn as a mangy dog. You would know that.”

He was making her see it. And hear things she wasn’t supposed to hear. There were screams. Not hers, but of Jason’s. And she could see his face crying out in agony. But she couldn’t look away from the blackness that was Crane’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Yes, in fact, you do,” Crane breathed and backed away.

There were still remnants of the toxin when he headed out the door.

“You have two days, Commander. Make it count.”

Xxxx

It was death.

That was what stared at her in the face.

It wasn’t just Jason, or Crane. It was death.

It was cold, and the streets were barren and full of shit. They were far away from the city, but the countryside had a small town just a mile away. She didn’t have to take her bike. Y/N walked even when the sidewalks were small enough for her to be run over at just a slight turn of a wheel.

But she didn’t care, not even when she felt it rain so slightly, the droplets disappeared as it made contact with her clothes. Y/N pulled up her hood and continued down the road.

There weren’t much people, even at this hour. She wasn’t even afraid anyone would pull her to the alleys and leave her defenseless. Her focus was on the ground, moving downward until she met the curb.

The light glowed red, even with no cars passing by. She stood there, waiting. And in front of her was a small diner.

It was the classic retro feel. There was a jukebox at the corner, red seats backed up against the window while a waitress in blue took the orders of the two people inside. A mother and her son. He seemed happy with the single slice of pie on his plate.

She looked away before she’s thought about it even more.

But even then, it was too late. It hurt before it even dawned to her.

In another world, where she wasn’t taken in by her uncle, she’d have gone into a diner just like the one in front of her, ordered a burger and a chocolate milkshake knowing the rain would fall in and it would take her too long to get home for dinner. Then she’ll take a seat at the counter.

In that world, she’d have met a boy looking at her from a few seats away, smiling. And she’d smile back when her order appears and they realized they got the exact same mix of the smoothie they wanted. The boy would take the seat beside her, ask for her name. And he’d tell her his. That boy would have the brightest blue eyes and she could already tell he had the habit of scratching his nose.

And they’ll talk all night even after everyone else in the diner had left, when the cook had to drive them out. He would offer to take her home, and she’d decline at first, but eventually give in. She wanted to give in. And by the end of the day, he’d have her number and they’ll see each other that weekend again. In that same diner.

In that world, she wasn’t a world-renowned assassin, and Jason wasn’t a vigilante with a broken past.

But-

Fuck. She was so in love with him, it was terrifying.

But they had no business being kids, being cute, being so harmlessly in love and go on walks and even dates.

They had no business lying on the floor, eating burgers at three in the afternoon.

They had no business being so uncomplicated, when everything comes so easily and nothing would be at stake.

They had no business having a relationship. No matter how much she’d have wanted that. Not after their history. Not after what they’ve both been through. Not after what Floyd had raised her into and partially stripped her of anything normal.

Jason. Tortured. Being mauled on the floor while a madman beats him like a lifeless sack of hay.

Then someone stood beside her. She didn’t have to look at him.

“Stop following me.”

Jason didn’t answer. He looked on at the diner and he had the same look on his eyes as she had.

“You look at the diner, too.”

“Go. Away.”

He didn’t leave. Instead, they stood at the side of the street, not moving even when the light in front of them turned green.

She didn’t say anything more. Didn’t even look at him.

“I wish… I did something,” she swallowed. “I wish I wanted to save you.”

“Stop. I didn’t mean what I said. Forget about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I said stop.”

The woman in the diner held up a spoonful of pie and her son opened his mouth wide. It looked delicious even from the distance. The traffic light turned red and just one car drove off in front of them.

“Jason-“

“I saw the look on your face. Back at the cave. I knew you’d have figured everything out by then, about what happened to me at Arkham.”

She was stone cold and stiff.

“But none of that mattered. I didn’t care if you wanted me dead at one point. The whole day I was with you in Gotham, it was the first day I hadn’t thought about Joker… or Batman. Anything.

“I walked out of the cave hoping you wouldn’t run away after knowing who I was. So I kissed you. And you kissed me back. Then I let you hold me and I told you my name. Then… Jesus…”

Y/N still hadn’t turned away. She wasn’t crying. She couldn’t. It was the droplets from the rain that ran down her cheeks. Nothing else.

And by that time the traffic light had turned back to being green, the diner was dark and empty. She didn’t want to look to her side. Somehow, she knew Jason would just walk away, without so much as another word. He’d do something like that, and it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.

But he stayed.

For a long while, he did. So she asked, without much to expect.

“Can you walk me home?”

Just that. She could at least have that. Something so miniscule from the world she longed to be.

“Okay.”

He stayed right beside her. All the way back to the barracks. And the dark rain prevailed.

And it was the same when they reached the empty training grounds, deep into the back where the living quarters were. The walk to their rooms was silent, and their clothes drenched the floors all the way up to hers. Jason walked straight into his, without so much as another word.

She went into her room and locked the door, but her hand didn’t leave the doorknob. She stood there, silent and alone. Y/N never felt so lost.

But it had to have been long minutes, because she heard four knocks on her door before she’s even walked away. She opened it and Jason was standing there, his hair a wet mess, and he held up a coffee mug.

“Hot water,” he said. “Drink it before bed.”

Y/N didn’t have much energy left to decline. She took it from him. “Thank you.”

Jason stepped back, and she closed the door again.

Her whole body leaned against the hard wood of the door and she could feel a part of herself drip to the floor at each second she’d have to look into his hurt eyes. She’d fallen in so deep, and she hated herself for it.

She opened the door, determined to go after him.

But he was still there, at the door, just about to go into her room himself.

Y/N’s never felt so at the edge of breaking down when she met his eyes, panting. And with the pain, came the rush of cold air, the rush of cold relief. Jason went into her room, pushed her against the door to close it. He could feel her breath, wanting him.

He held the back of her drenched head and pulled her to his lips. She dug in to his hair, gripping it hard when his lips escaped hers and found their way back to her neck. Her other hand traveled down his clothed arms. She gasped, and Jason slowly guided them both to move to the bed. He’ll never pull away. Soon there were no more boundaries between them, no distance. They lasted all night, no longer with any trace of regret.

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THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

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SMUT FANS. YA’LL KNOW IT’S ABOUT TO GET DOWN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

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