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spenciegoob · 3 years

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Swing to the Stars

this fic swap is for @reidgraygubler ... I really hope you like it, shadow :)

A/N: AAAAH! this is my first fic swap and I’M SO EXCITED!!!!

Summary: Spencer meets someone in his little hiding spot, and desperately hopes to see them again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral!Reader

Category: fluff with a dash of angst

Content Warnings: mentions of Maeve & William Reid, talk of a case involving teens, mentions of bullying, mentions of guns and pepper spray (not used)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

___

The first time I climbed that treacherous hill, dirtying my converse for all to see what my night activities truly consisted of, I was alone. I enjoyed it like that, I came here by myself, and I intended to keep it that way. When I sat on the swing dangling by two dangerously flimsy ropes, I thought how ridiculously large the slap of wood used to make it was. My elbows were bent a little over a 90 degree angle just to reach both sides, but I never thought past it. I had other things on my mind that night.

I thought about my mom. I knew she would have loved a secluded, little space like this. She would’ve probably read to me here, using different voices that held deep emotion to convey each story with a precise amount of dedication and love. Each story to her was special, and I silently thank her every day for passing that trait down to me.

Unfortunately, if I thought about my mom, I thought about my dad. William was never a kind man, and I could pride myself on one thing; I would never be like him. He didn’t deserve to know a place like this. It was too serene, too beautiful to house a man so willing to abandon the two people who should’ve been the most important to him. I was glad he would never get the chance to sit on this swing.

I thought about my family. How Garcia would jump with excitement at the prospect of having a picnic overlooking the city, yet quiet and missing the sounds of cars zooming by or overlapping chatter. I thought about JJ, and how Henry would beg her to push him in the swing, because to a little kid, it was perfect. He didn’t look at the frayed rope and fear that it would snap. I hope he never starts to fear the world like that.

The second time I found myself back at the bottom of the hill, I made it halfway to the top before seeing a couple getting up from the swing they were sitting together on. I realized then why it was so comically large; it was meant for two people. Thankfully when I reached the top only half out of breath, the two were starting their descent to where I came from.

This time when I sat down, I thought about Maeve. I would’ve brought her here, shared the little secret corner of the world I built for myself. She would’ve loved something like this, and I know if life wasn’t so cruel, and I was given the chance to show her, we would’ve talked for hours. So that’s what I did that time; I talked to Maeve. To anyone else, I probably looked like a crazy person talking to himself, but much to my delight, not many people made the trip up the hill to find this place.

Now I go whenever I need a break from my mind, which unfortunately is more times than my schedule allows me to take that leisurely walk. I spend my nights sometimes after a particularly hard case there no matter the time, using the ropes that scratch my hands as my lifeline down to Earth. I watch the stars, screaming and cursing at the world in my head and waiting for the sky to respond. It never did, and the next case always came in the following morning.

This particular time that I found myself at the bottom of the grassy hill waiting to be climbed, the case I just returned from involved kids across the board. A teenage unsub was killing his fellow classmates that have wronged him. Unfortunately, the BAU had to witness his stressor recorded for the whole school to see. It involved vile insults being thrown at the young, defenseless boy only for the bullying to escalate to violence.

It was awful.

As I trudged up the hill with less excitement to look into the vast unknown than usual, I couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub. All he wanted in life was a friend, someone to talk to, laugh with, share memories together. No matter how wrong it was, I saw myself in him. Our souls held the same scars given to us by people who had no right to go digging for such a deep part of ourselves. If I didn’t make it, would I have turned out like him?

When I reached the top, completing my journey once again, I saw them. Sitting there, staring out into the sky, mimicking my thoughts to do the same on the jet ride home. I could only make out half their face lit up by the light casting down from the full moon, but I didn’t need to see more to know they were breathtaking.

I would have turned around to return home to nothing more than books reread thousands of times and stale coffee, but I already made the mistake of stepping on a rather large branch that broke in half. The crunch coming from their right immediately had them on edge, and reaching for their bag that I could only assume had some sort of weapon inside. I hope it was legal.

I felt terrible for breaking them from the trance they were in. They were deep in thought about something that was probably going to become a solution if I hadn't interrupted their musing.

“H-hi, I’m sorry to scare you. I didn’t expect anyone here this late. Not that you being here is a problem! I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I frantically shouted, although there was less distance between us than I originally thought, and probably seemed crazed by my volume level.

They just giggled at first, but upon seeing my distraught expression, their face turned more kind than humorous.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad I didn’t jump so fast to pepper spray you. That would definitely be the worst case scenario.” I let out a breath of relief for some reason. Here I was, in front of a total stranger thankful that their weapon of choice wasn’t a gun. I’ve been on the wrong end of too many during my years.

“Did you know Chemical Mace, more commonly known as pepper spray, was invented in the 1960s by a man named Alan Lee Litman and his wife Doris Litman at the time. Their reason was actually because one of Doris’s female coworkers was attacked and robbed, so they thought to create a nonlethal weapon with easy accessibility and use, considering not everyone is able to use a gun. It wasn’t until 1987 however that the Litman’s sold their creation to Smith and Wesson where it was mass produced and later sold to law enforcement.”

“Wow, I don’t think I did.” They laughed again, but something in my heart told me it wasn’t meant to come with malicious intent. “Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?” I asked, even though I had some inclination of what they were referencing.

“Spout random facts. I’m not complaining, that was very cool, but I am fully intrigued.” They smiled again at me fondly, the kind of smile that left me a little breathless, even more so than the 45 degree incline I had to climb to find myself in front of them. There was nothing to convince me they weren’t authentic in every word they stated.

“I do it quite often, yes. It gets annoying after a while though.” It was true, I was told on many occasions that my rambling got old very fast. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re close to me for too long. I tend to stop being the awe-striking genius, and become the nagging, walking encyclopedia.

“I don’t see how that could become annoying.” It sounded sad coming from them, like I had insulted their oddity. I would never, and I was really hoping to find out what it was.

I had nothing further to say that would express my shock, and slight fondness over their praise, wary of its honesty even if it did come from them. I hadn’t known them for more than 4 minutes and 36 seconds, but it was enough to figure out that they weren’t a liar. It wasn’t from profiling either.

“You know, there is room for two people here if you wanted to join me. I’m sure you didn’t climb that hill for nothing.” They continued for me. If they noticed my surprise, they said nothing about it.

Usually, I would be skeptical of being in a close proximity with a stranger, but as I approached them carefully, even if their hand was no longer reaching for mace, I felt the passing between our eyes. It was as if we had shared every part of ourselves with eye contact, and as crazy as it sounds, I felt the somber thoughts that lingered from their previous reflections.

So I sat down, grabbing onto only one of the scratchy ropes, and enjoying the way I could rest my elbow against my side now that I was using the swing to its fullest potential. I stopped caring about the probability of the ropes snapping under our combined body weight. The worst that could possibly happen was I bruised my tailbone a little bit, but I wouldn’t care past the initial embarrassment. At least I had someone to show that with.

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” They asked once I was settled on the wood slab as comfortably as I could muster. Being boney didn’t necessarily help. Before I could answer, they continued. “I can tell you’re a man of science, if the fact dump wasn’t any indicator, but I mean beyond the facts, and the known.”

“No, I don’t think about it.” It was a lie, I think about it every time I’m here, but I wanted nothing more in this moment than to know how they saw the stars.

“I do. Quite frequently, actually. I mean, I’ve read every book there ever was about the stars and space, but there is still no answer to my question.”

“What question?” I had to know.

“What’s exactly written in the stars,” they replied, using their hands to showcase the sky above us. I sat back and thought for a while. Like the books they’ve read, I too didn’t have the response to their question. God, how I wish I did.

I don’t know how long we sat there quietly. One of the perks of total darkness in the dead of night is that the moon couldn’t tell time the way the sun did. We got lost in the cosmos together, contemplating sharing our own troubled thoughts with each other. It would have felt right if we did, but alas, the ringing of my cell phone dropped a pin in our reflections.

“I- I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I rushed out before standing up and accepting the incoming call from Penelope. I knew it was a case before her bubbly voice rang through my celular. I allowed the disappointment to bleed through my tone when I told her I would be back at the BAU shortly, hoping that the small release of the emotion would be enough to ward it off in time to turn back around.

It didn’t.

They were already looking at me expectantly when I made my way back to the swing, bending down to retrieve my satchel I had abandoned on the ground. The amount of guilt on my face must have been enough to tell them I had to leave abruptly, despite the fact that the only thing I wanted to do was stay for even just a second.

“That’s okay,” they spoke softly, giving me a tight lipped smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but be skeptical. Life never did work out in my favor. They looked up at the sky once more before answering.

“Just a feeling.” I let a full grin break out at their response, the first one I’ve had when visiting this place. I turned around to start my journey back to the office where dark, and twisted things lurked behind manilla folders. Before starting my descent however, I spun around quickly, almost losing my footing and taking a tumble.

“Woah there tiger, don’t hurt yourself,” they giggled at me, one that I returned with my own breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know your name.” It baffled me a little bit that I hadn’t thought to ask before this, but they just gave me one last smile, tilting their head in faux contemplation.

“Ask me next time.” I will.

***

It’s been a year since I met them, and I haven’t seen them since. Not for a lack of trying however. After that case, I went there every night until a new one arose, this time taking me to Oregon. They hadn’t been back, and part of me wondered if it was because of me. Did I not try hard enough the first time? Should I have ignored my ringer until my phone had 5 missed calls from Penelope?

But then my eidetic memory swooped in to save me from going down that road, one of the only times it wasn’t the cause of my self destructive thoughts. Because while I replayed the conversation over in my head wondering where it went wrong, I remembered their eyes, and their smile.

I remembered what it felt like to sit with them, and thankfully that was enough to convince myself our meeting wasn’t in vain.

I never was the kind of man to believe in the universe. The whole notion that “everything happens for a reason,” felt like a lie created to somehow blame an external force on the chaos in one’s life. There were so many things in my life that had no reason for happening, and to blame that on anything or anyone but myself would be a cheap excuse of a way out.

But for some odd reason, the universe aside, I believed in them, and strangely enough, I don’t think they would have blamed me for the life I had to live. So, as I sit down tonight on this familiar piece of wood, I choose to stare at the stars instead of the ground, and believe that if I spoke aloud, maybe they would hear me.

And they did, because my efforts to sit on one side of the swing in case they returned to me were not in vain. I didn’t look over, I didn’t have to to know it was them. I had already relaxed once their presence was known in my peripherals.

“Y/N,” they spoke, causing me to change my view on the stars to their side profile. It wasn’t all that different than staring at the constellations spread around us. “My name’s Y/N.”

___

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

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Everyone who knew Billy Hargrove had thought that even though he had only been in town for a short time, he wouldn’t be leaving without making his mark on Hawkins High when he graduated. He was their new top dog, their poster boy in all things social, athletic, and academic, so it only made sense he’d choose to go out with a bang.

Graduation is held outside on the football field, a first for the school because the senior class of ‘85 is made of up of too many kids to hold it in the gym like usual, which would theoretically give him the perfect opportunity to screw around and ruin the formal ceremony.

What nobody had expected though, was for him to be sitting up straight and attentive at graduation, his hair pulled up in a bun under his cap and his earring left at home, wearing a pair of dress shoes he couldn’t afford, with all kinds of pins and cords and even a valedictorians medal adorning his robes.

And nobody expected him to wait at the head of the stage as his full name, William Reuben Hargrove, was called, walking across in perfect time and doing every polite handshake, smiling at the teachers and administrators and getting his photo with his diploma in hand and a respectable smile on his face.

Because he was one of four valedictorians above two salutatorians, he wasn’t given the opportunity to read his own speech, but rather was chosen to read the graduates address. His reputation preceded him, and it was clear from the tension sparking the air that everyone, including the parents, expected him to pull something when called to the stage and given the microphone.

But he didn’t, he stood proud and read it off loud and clear, or at least recited it from memory that way, Max had to read it to him for weeks in practice because he couldn’t power through and read it, the text small and too close on the page it all jumbled together, stepping down from the stage when he was done instead adding any words of his own,

It’s like a collective sigh is let out when he sits back down, Nancy taking her turn up on the stage to read the closing remarks and turn the tassels, and just like that the ceremony passes by without a hitch.

Because even though all knew who they thought Billy was, they didn’t know about the man he had to be in front of Neil Hargrove, watching from the bleachers.

Instead, what his peers had all wanted was for Billy to walk to his own tune, slouching in his seat and picking at his nails when he wasn’t supposed to be paying attention, fumbling the fancy walk and keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets as a big F-U to the school and all it stood for, and they definitely expected him to show up in a crumpled suit and scuffed old shoes, his hair a mess under the cap, looking like his true ragamuffin self.

Only, Steve Harrington was the one to do all that.

The rumor mill would have it that Stevie boy got wasted the night before graduation and was barely powering through it on a hangover. Truth would argue however, that he had woken up that morning alone, so depressed that no one, including himself, gave a damn about the accomplishment he had fought so very hard for, that he didn’t care about doing this stupid ceremony nobody would see anyways the right way, the Harrington way.

So he didn’t show up to senior assembly or to any of practices, he didn’t earn any scholarships or awards anyways, and he felt he hardly deserved the passing grades he was most likely given by sympathetic teachers who knew him all too well from retaking failed classes for years. He didn’t really feel like there was anything to commemorate, so he showed up, but only for the piece of paper, and maybe a little bit to prove his father who said he’d never be able to do it wrong.

After the ceremony was finished, they turned the field over to families to take pictures with their graduates, and graduates to take pictures with each other. Billy got a handful taken of him and his family by the school's photographer and Susan��s camera too, and a decent couple of Polaroids with the real friends he’d actually made, Tommy and Carol and Heather.

There were no pictures taken of Steve on his big day. He’d gone straight to the auditorium and gotten his diploma for the folder they handed him on stage, then drove himself home before anybody could stop him and ask for one.

~~~~~~~~~

It happens again in June when grad party season hits.

Among the most anticipated invites was the one to Billy Hargrove’s graduation party. Everyone was sure he’d have a big house party for the seniors, he always brought the life to the party like Hawkins had never seen it, it only made sense he’d have his own.

But again, his peers are mistaken, because nobody gets an invite other than that same handful of friends, and they all get theirs, along with a tiny print of Billy's unrecognizably serious senior photos, in the mail just like the rest of the Hargroves’ extended family.

Because his party is a family affair, an open house from eleven in the morning to four in the afternoon at an outdoor pavilion in the state park, where he’s supposed to dress nice and greet every member of the family with the same practiced smile, regardless of if he even knew who they were, or if they could tell the difference between him and his cousins.

None of it felt like real family to him though, when not even his mother could be bothered to come despite the effort he went through to get her an invite, and him and Max both playing the role of perfect children so well they almost forgot the other was there.

So him and his friends just sit at a table in the corner between making his appearances with great aunts who he didn’t even know, acting like ordinary kids under the watchful eye of Neil Hargrove until it’s over and they get to pack up the green and yellow decorations bought to be recycled for Max’s party again in four years and count all the money he’d gotten in cards, which he was supposed to be saving for college.

Steve again is the one to meet those expectations they held for Billy, the fallen keg king maybe not as undeserving of the title as they had thought.

As it turns out, his parents hadn’t been paying enough attention to realize it was time already to celebrate him, and it was far too late to send out invites if he wanted to have it before it was socially unacceptable but their standards at least, too much of his family living in Italy anyways, so he just had his own party.

The sort of party where kids came for the liquor, uncaring about the host of the state of their house after they're done getting their kicks, as long as they have something to do and a chemical codependency to form.

A couple of kids do actually bring him generic cards as congratulations, without money in them of course because they knew who he was and where he live, but not that his parents were planning on cutting him off as soon as they could, but most everyone else just came to get hammered, basically celebrating their own graduation with Steve’s money.

He’s miserable. He gets just as drunk as anyone else and passes out halfway through the party, waking up to a trashed house and a few stragglers on his lawn. Definitely not the type of celebration one has for their child they’re so proud of, or even actually gives two shits about.

~~~~~~~

Another expectation shattered, was the rivalry between Billy and Steve. They were supposed to be bitter enemies, the ex king shown up and beaten by the one who’d go on to steal his spotlight, but while they were different, from their personas and from each other botg, they were very much the same, and they recognized that in each other.

After they had thanksgiving break to let the tension between them cool off, things moved quickly from making friends at a house party neither of them wanted to be at to making out in the back seats of the Camaro.

By June they’ve been going steady for a couple of months already, but even though they’re officially at boyfriends status, Billy doesn’t go to Steve’s party. It was the night before his own and he’s pretty sure Neil would’ve killed him if he had stumbled home wasted just a couple of hours before he was supposed to look nice and represent the family well. Steve told him he didn’t expect him to come to something like that anyways, knew the party scene was for the side of Billy everybody but Steve liked to see, so he doesn’t go.

Steve does end up showing at Billy’s though, not able to stay long because Billy was sure Neil would see them for what they were, even if another of the assumptions about him was that he and Heather were dating. So he just drops by with a card and his well wishes, pretending he was only there as a courtesy, being members of the same sports teams and all.

He slips the card in the box and gives Billy and Tommy a little, too cool for this, definitely ditching as soon as he can, wave, and that’s the end of it.

But what nobody knows, or could presume about them, is that Billy came back to his house that night, and they had their own little celebration, for the both of them. No parents who couldn’t be bothered or who controlled every last minor detail, no people there in the name of just family or just to have a good time.

Just Billy and Steve, the real them that nobody knew like one another did.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#does this make sense?#probably not but I’ve been feeling things so take it anyways #unedited because if I read through this one more time I think I will perish

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detective-crescend · 3 years

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break up with your girlfriend (i’m bored)

There is a game that Klavier Gavin sometimes likes to play.

‘Likes’, however, may not be the appropriate term.

It isn’t a nice game, or one that makes him feel like a particularly good and decent person. And yet, when he wins—which he almost certainly does, on all but two notable occasions—the rush of chemicals that his victory incites within his clearly damaged mind will cover up all but the most persistent cries of outrage from what remains of his decaying moral compass.

It is a private challenge, it is a weakness he has long since conceded to… it is played like this:

There are plenty of people in the world who would love Klavier Gavin simply for what he represents. Conversely, there are people who will despise him for those very same reasons.

When the small voice in the back of his mind begins to speak too loudly—the one that sounds so very familiar, calm and leveled while it interrogates his every action—when he, in turn, begins to doubt himself, Klavier will search out the nearest member of the latter group. The more this individual seemingly dislikes him, the better the effect. And, having identified someone who must dislike Klavier more than he dislikes himself, he will do whatever is necessary to change that person’s opinion.

Sometimes it is as simple as attention and kindness, gifts and persistence; sometimes it is through a display of vulnerability or chagrin that is only somewhat manufactured for the moment. Though Klavier’s motivation for doing so is horrifically selfish, the goal is to be perfectly genuine in his search for their affection. It needs to be; only once his target has offered up their adoration can he tolerate himself once more. If it is a false version of Klavier that they are idolizing, it only strengthens the voice’s position inside his own mind.

The point of this game is emotional intimacy, not physical. Klavier has never been in the game of intentionally breaking hearts. One of the cardinal rules that he has set for himself, then, is that his appointed convert must be maintained as a friend, not a lover. In actuality, the majority of the rules pertain to limits and boundaries—monetary, time, distance, and attitude—or to create clear definitions of what constitutes a win or a loss of the game. It is important, Klavier feels, to keep things consistent among matches and, therefore, fair.

But, although Klavier has flourished in this diversion since his now distant childhood, he had also never encountered a contender quite like Apollo Justice before.

It wasn’t that Apollo was particularly difficult to read or to predict what it might take in order to shift his perception—on the contrary, Klavier had known exactly what needed to be done to achieve his goal almost immediately upon meeting the man. Whether or not Klavier is capable of it, however, is where the debate hinges.

There are rules that will need to be broken, for one thing, along with a set of small, concealed truths that must be unearthed—things that Klavier had long since been in the habit of burying below several layers of his own psyche. As of this moment, there are only two that Klavier has managed to excavate and examine with any sense of composure.

The first, that Apollo has beaten him so thoroughly in Klavier’s own game that their exchanges have ceased to be a game at all. Instead, they have taken on the frantic and impetuous nature of an entirely different emotion. Klavier’s desire to win Apollo’s affection had ceased to be a simple desire; it now felt like a need, pulsing bright and warm from somewhere so deeply within him that he had long since stopped believing it was possible to feel this way at all.

The second truth—both far more recently understood and infinitely more frightening—is that the aforementioned need may, in fact, be love.

It is not as pleasant an emotion as he had once anticipated, more like gnawing hunger that rumbled when Apollo was absent and roared with an open maw when he was nearby. It made Klavier indecisive and introspective in an entirely different way than the voice in his head, made him overthink every word he spoke and every thing he did when Apollo was nearby. It made him impulsive and greedy, wont to push his luck at every opportunity he could possibly take.

And, as luck would have it, this emotion was ruining any chance he could have with Apollo in the process.

“I am performing at a local studio tomorrow,” Klavier is attempting to begin one afternoon, in the immediate aftermath of a trial he has just lost. Though he’d meant the words to sound suave and unintentionally cool, the force of Apollo’s indifferent gaze strangles the words into an awkwardly insistent rush. “Would you like to come, as my guest? You may bring Fräulein Wright as well.”

Before him, Apollo’s dark eyes narrow, his hands still in the process of packing up the strewn remainder of his courtroom notes. “What kind of performance?”

“It is for a streaming service, ja?” Klavier replies, grinning through the nerve induced flips his stomach has been performing since the moment he opened his mouth. “They invite artists to come for an interview and to cover a song of the audience’s choice. There is usually free food and drinks.”

“So no Gavinner’s music?” Apollo looks skeptical.

“Nein, I promise.”

Another moment of cautious consideration is given before Apollo eventually, reluctantly, nods. “Trucy’ll kill me if she finds out I said no. Text me the address and time.”

Of course, it isn’t until hours after the requested message had been sent that Klavier thinks to check the status of the polls online that will decide the theme of his performance. One glance is all it takes to know that his invitation could be nothing but an absolutely terrible idea.

The damage, however, had been done.

As such, Klavier wakes the next morning with his emotions an odd amalgam of dread and anticipation that carries through the remainder of his day. By his arrival at the indicated studio—far earlier than the time he had provided to Apollo due to the ever-necessary addition of hair and makeup—Klavier is certain he has thought of nothing else the entire day other than Apollo’s arrival.

“Trucy couldn’t come,” Apollo says later, looking exceedingly uncomfortable in clothes other than his courtroom ensemble. It is the first time since the Guilty as Charged concert that Klavier has seen him in anything so casual; he had forgotten that, in the absence of hair gel and when wearing something that is not a shocking scarlet in hue, Apollo looks good. Good enough that Klavier is far from the only one casting surreptitious looks as they walk together from the lobby to the studio.

Those small glances are enough to send his imagination into a tailspin that, consequently, causes his response to be just moments too late to sound entirely casual. “But you still came.”

“I already said I would,” Apollo replies, ignoring the delay with a dismissive shrug. “It would’ve been rude to bail at the last second. Anyway, Trucy made me promise I’d record your song. When is it, by the way?”

“Twenty minutes—I won’t keep you for too long, ja?”

The problem is, during a performance, Klavier is practically incapable of any sort of critical thought at all. Years of practice have led to a near Pavlovian response to the appearance of a camera in his face; at just the glint of a lense reflection, any doubts or worries he had previously been wrestling with will be delicately tucked away to make room for the public persona Klavier presents to the world.

The same thing happens, here. Within moments of the interview starting, Klavier forgets about his apprehension in having Apollo present for this performance. By the time he eventually starts to sing, he’s forgotten about Apollo sitting just beyond the camera in a plastic folding chair all together.

The song picked for him to sing is almost certainly a joke, intentionally selected due to his recent and rather outspoken declaration of bisexuality. But Klavier has never been one to back down from a challenge or to let anyone know they’ve gotten under his skin. His take on Ariana Grande’s morally bankrupt classic is stripped down and irrevocably smoky, just the sound of Klavier’s voice and an electric guitar with absolutely zero changes to the lyrics, as was expected.

Klavier is not singing to Apollo, precisely—as far as he is aware, Apollo does not have a girlfriend from which to break up with—but a song will always sound better with some sort of emotion attached to it. Klavier has long been in the habit of searching any lyrics that are not his own for a handhold that he can grab on to relate to; here, the idea of wanting someone unavailable, no matter the cause, is an easy enough choice.

And things go seamlessly for the majority of the song. It isn't until nearly two minutes in, just as Klavier is finishing the bridge, that his gaze slips past the camera he has just recently glanced up into, and finds Apollo’s eyes wide and locked upon his. Perhaps it is not entirely professional, to maintain uninterrupted eye contact with the opposing counsel as the lyrics “you can hit it in the morning like it’s yours” are murmured seductively into the microphone bent towards one’s face. The suspicion is confirmed when, thirty seconds later, the song’s end is met by an uproar of applause from everyone except Apollo, who stands and leaves the room altogether.

“Stop messing with me,” Apollo shouts in the parking lot when Klavier has finally caught up with him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, I don’t know what sort of advantage you think you’re playing at, but stop.”

#day 2 of the ‘write everyday challenge’#idk who the dude singing this cover is but he’s got a nice voice #was going to try to finish this but we’re on day three now #so…. take it #idk where I was going with it anyway #sometimes i write things

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cami-chats · 3 years

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Controlled Explosions

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Warnings: Normal superhero shenanigans

Summary: Tony doesn't go out of his way to create explosions. He just happens to be in a lot of situations where things explode, and that's hardly his fault, is it, Steve?

Five times Tony is the cause of an explosion, and one time someone else tries to be. Written for MTH2020

Read below or on AO3

1. Define 'controlled explosion'

"You said it would be a controlled explosion," Steve said.

"Yeah," Tony said, confused, and still-- if he was being honest-- having a little trouble hearing. He'd been a bit closer to the bomb when it went off than he'd meant to be. "It was."

"That was not controlled!"

At some other time, it would be fascinating to see the differences between Steve in Captain America mode and when he wasn't. When he'd been in Cap-mode, talking to Tony about how setting off the explosion early might be a bad idea, he'd been very calm about it all. Now that he was just Tony's boyfriend, he was kind of freaking out.

Tony blinked at him in confusion. It had been controlled. "The previous location of the bomb would've brought the whole building down. I know you don't really understand chain reactions, but suffice it to say that we saved an entire city block by moving it."

"For fuck's sake, Tony! I told you to go ahead because you made me think it was going to be safe!"

"I never said it was safe. I said that it was safer than letting it go off where it had been placed, which was true."

"You said it would be a controlled explosion!"

"And it was. Maybe you should look up what an uncontrolled explosion looks like," Tony said, patting him on the arm then getting on his tiptoes for a quick kiss before leaving. He needed to take a shower and get some of this grime off. He heard Steve say something in response, but it was too low for him to really make out with his ears still ringing-- and not facing him, so he couldn't read his lips and try to piece it together. He imagined that it was something half-loving and half-derogatory, since that's what Steve usually did when Tony did something dangerous in the field. If it was really important, Steve would say it again.

2. Who knew that artifact would explode?

Despite what some people-- like Steve, Coulson, the rest of the Avengers really-- thought about Tony and his workshop, he did practice safe procedures. What they didn't seem to really understand was that there were situations where he could be safe and shit would still go wrong.

Like this. This was an alien artifact, and Thor was out of contact dealing with royal Asgard business-- presumably; it's not like he'd filled them in, just said that he had to go home and would be back as soon as he could-- so Tony was guessing. He had on thick gloves and goggles, and he wasn't even touching the glowing sphere directly, which was progress that he thought they should be appreciative of. He had tools. Not as easy to work with as his own fingers, but it was still good enough that he'd been able to pry away part of the outside protective, metal shell.

He gingerly placed the tongs on the inside and made to turn it so he could confirm that it was the same all around, but he didn't get the chance. An explosion rocked the workshop, leaving a crater where his table used to be and blowing him halfway across the room.

"Huh," Tony said, then started coughing. Bright side? He still had all his fingers. The tongs he'd been using were vaporized as best he could tell. In fact, everything metal within a foot of the sphere was now gone. Tony's gloves were untouched. He pulled one off and slid the goggles off his face so he could get a better look at them. The lenses were fine, as expected. Most of the components were plastic, but there were a couple places that had metal pins, just to help hold it together. The pins were gone. One firm tug, and the strap would disconnect from the lenses.

Half the team-- the half that had been in the Tower-- came running into the room. Tony gave a half-hearted wave, still coughing.

"What happened?" Natasha asked.

"Well, let's look on the bright side," Tony said roughly, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm still alive." If he'd been closer to it when it went off, it would've taken a chunk out of the arc reactor. Its range had been small enough that he was safe. It was obvious that things hadn't gone as wrong as they could have, so he didn't see why they were looking at him with that much concern. He coughed again. "Maybe I'll call the Fantastic Four to take this one over." He didn't want to, but he hadn't been having any luck with it before it took a bite out of his workshop. If nothing else, it wouldn't instantly kill any of them if they were standing too close. Besides, Reed was pretty good about passing information back to him. And if there was any superhero group he had to work with, he'd choose the Fantastic Four every time.

"Yeah, I don't think that really answered the question," Clint said. "You're lucky Cap's not here, or you'd find yourself wrapped in a blanket before you took another breath."

Tony flipped him off. He should probably go to medical. There hadn't been any smoke, but he was coughing like there had been. What a pain.

3. Oxygen works differently here

Other planets were weird. He could tell, just by breathing, that the air here wasn't what they were used to. The good news was that they were all still alive and were going to stay that way for a while. The Guardians-- short for Guardians of the Galaxy-- were explaining a few things to Steve. Apparently, the villain that had transported them here was one that had beef with the Guardians, and Steve wanted to be prepared in case it happened again.

Tony knew that he was going to have to wait until they were done with the official superhero talk before he had a chance to ask them about atmosphere, gravity, and what it was like to have more than one moon. He also had a few questions about the air, because this was definitely not the cocktail he was used to.

He was feeling... high, almost. It could be any number of things, but higher oxygen levels would be the answer easiest to solve on his own. If he lit a match and it burned bigger than usual, it was oxygen. If it was brighter, it was nitrogen. If it did both or a weird mixture of other stuff, he'd have no idea what it was without taking a sample of the air and analyzing it. Chemistry wasn't his strong point when it came to the sciences, but he knew the basics. Enough to make sense of breathable air, at the very least.

Nothing wrong with a little test. He had a laser in the armor, but that wasn't as predictable as regular fire even though it was easier for him to access. He had a lighter in one of the fingers of the armor, so he held his hand as far away from himself as he could for a better view, and activated it.

It went off like a fucking firework. Tony deactivated the lighter almost as soon as he'd started it, but the damage had been done. "Shit," he bit out, jerking his hand back, but he could tell that his hand had already been injured. The suit was protected from the outside, not the inside, and since it had been his lighter that had started it... yeah. That shit stung.

Even after turning off the lighter, the fire persisted. Tony cocked his head as the flames stayed where it had stared but lasted longer on its own than a fire could on Earth without something to hold onto. Despite knowing that nothing was helping it keep burning, Tony couldn't help but peer at it, trying to find a wick or gas line.

That was a bit more than he'd expected. It took a full eight seconds for the fire to burn itself out.

"Huh." Weird. He really should ask- that thought stopped cold when he turned and saw everyone staring at him.

"Dude," Sam said.

Steve's mouth was slightly ajar, like he wanted to ream into Tony for being stupid but didn't know where to start.

"In case anyone was wondering, this air isn't the same as what we have on Earth."

"Yeah, thanks Tony," Natasha said dryly.

"Always happy to help. Uh. Anyone got burn cream?"

"Is he like this all the time?" one of the Guardians-- a new one, Tony didn't remember their name-- asked.

"Yeah," Steve said.

4. Home-made, on a budget

"This has got to be one of the worst things we've done," Steve said under his breath.

"Is it?" Tony asked absently, looking at the chemical breakdown of the fertilizer. Hmph. Better for soil probably, but not really what he was looking for. He put it down and picked up the brand next to it. Ah, this was more like it. He set it down and squatted to get the big bag and add it to the cart.

"No weapons, no intel. Why aren't you freaking out?"

"No weapons is a very closed-minded view of the situation, babe."

"What, are you going to drown people in fertilizer?" Steve asked. He sounded genuinely confused, which was weird. Tony had thought everyone these days knew that fertilizer could be used in explosives.

"Just keep pushing the cart and leave this part to me," Tony said, because he figured that giving a quick chemistry lesson in the middle of the gardening section was a bad idea. See? He was getting better at this whole pretending-to-be-a-normal-person thing. No matter what Clint said.

"I'm not stupid," Steve said, and Tony was familiar enough with him to catch the irritation there.

"Never meant to imply you were, but I figured we should get in and out before we get caught." Ooo, Christmas lights. He didn't know what he would've done if they'd had to buy normal lightbulbs for this; it would've taken like five boxes instead of just the one, and they would've been less effective since they were for everyday use and used a completely different composition for the bulb covering. "Besides," Tony said, aiming a grin back at him, "you'll probably figure it out as we put these together."

"You're making stuff we can use," Steve stated, like he hadn't really known what they were doing here. Tony would like to pretend to be offended that Steve thought he'd be gift shopping at a time like this, but he'd done that during a crisis before. Then, "Are you sure it'll be powerful enough?"

"We're not blowing up a bunker. This'll be plenty. There's a lot more firepower in everyday household items than you'd think."

"Clearly," Steve muttered.

"Trust me, Cap, by the time we're back in the Tower, you'll know enough to be able to put together your own pipe bomb for the next time you get stranded like this."

"I'm hoping this is the only time."

"With our lives?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of odds are you being given on that? I don't think even a hundred to one would be worth it when you know you're going to lose. Or rather, I know you're going to lose, and since I have more experience, I feel like you should listen to me."

Steve rolled his eyes, but with more humor than before. Apparently, knowing that Tony had the situation in hand was enough to soothe all of his worries.

"Hey, you should be happy this place even has a hardware store. There's like, one gas station with a McDonald's attached, and then this store. I don't think I'd be able to do a lot of damage with whatever I could find in a McDonald's."

"I have faith in Iron Man's ability to save us," Steve said, and when Tony glanced at him, he was looking at him fondly and with a healthy dose of love thrown in for good measure. He'd gotten used to that expression on Steve's face in a hurry.

5. Bucky agreed with me

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Famous last words, Tony knew, but it really had. He'd tell Steve that he regretted it, if that's what he wanted to hear, but he held that it was a good idea. That it was bad for PR was hardly his fault, and frankly, he didn't understand why it would be bad for PR anyways. It was a Hydra base! They were Nazis, and everyone hated Nazis. If anything, him and Bucky should get a thank you card for performing a public service.

He got the distinct feeling that Steve wouldn't agree with that, though.

"What were you thinking?" Steve asked, looking a little frazzled around the edges. Given that he was having to deal with Tony and Bucky for this, that made sense. Normally it was one or the other. Now, he was outnumbered.

"It seemed like a good idea," Tony said, and Bucky nodded.

"A really good idea," Bucky added.

"You blew up a building!"

"There weren't any other buildings around it," Tony said.

"No civilian casualties," Bucky said.

"It's still personal property damage, and I thought we all agreed to try and cut down on that."

"Do we care about Hydra's personal property?" Tony asked, frowning. He'd been under the distinct impression that they didn't. For fuck's sake, it was Hydra they were talking about.

"Officially, the Hydra organization itself didn't own the building or the land," Steve said.

"How do you know that?" Bucky asked curiously, which was a good point. Since when did Steve pay attention to details like that? It wasn't exactly something he could know just from paying attention to the situation.

"Agent Coulson told me. As our handler, it's his job to know those details and share them with us as he sees fit."

"Damn, are you quoting the handbook now?" Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

"Besides, if Agent is our handler, then it's his job to take care of the buildings we blow up."

"Tony, stop missing the point on purpose."

"Who said I'm missing it on purpose? Maybe I'm missing it on accident, you don't know."

Steve gave him a flat look. "You can't go around blowing up buildings just because you feel like it." He looked at Bucky. "I get that you want to, and as your friend, I support you. As the team leader and another Avenger, I have to tell you to stop. We don't get to do whatever we want."

"Yeah yeah, there are rules, we all agreed to them, we'll be better next time, all that jazz," Tony said, throwing an arm around Steve's shoulders and getting up on his toes to give him a quick kiss.

Steve just sighed. "I love both of you, but seriously, what the hell?" He put his arm around Tony's waist since he didn't move to walk away. "We've been fine on this for a couple years. What made this different?"

Tony and Bucky shared a look. They hadn't agreed not to tell anyone, but there had been an unspoken understanding that the less people knew about it, the better off they'd all be. "It was a research lab," Bucky said, and he left it at that. They didn't need to elaborate what kind of research, because Steve knew that any research Hydra was doing was bad news. The only way they'd had of making sure that none of the research was recovered was by getting rid of the entire building. Whatever hadn't been destroyed in the initial blast was then rendered unrecoverable when the roof collapsed on top of it all.

Steve glanced between the two of them. He knew that basic research wouldn't have gotten this reaction, but Hydra didn't do 'basic' research; there wasn't any point in being an evil organization if you were going to be moral with your experiments. Tony could see it on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to ask what kind of research, but none of it made it out of his mouth. "Okay. You know the speech. Don't do it again, formal apology if Agent Coulson says it's required, all that crap."

"Done," Bucky said immediately, and Tony gave Steve another soft kiss in thanks. They both knew that Steve was on their side for stuff like this, but sometimes he wanted so badly to be a good Captain America that it muddied the waters.

+1. Half-heart, Half-bomb

"I guess that's one explosion you finally don't have to worry about," Tony joked with a tremulous smile.

Steve smiled back, just as weakly. They were both pretending. Tony wondered how long that would last before Steve couldn't take it anymore and worried over him in a more obvious manner. It would probably last all the way up until they were back home, with the doors shut and no outside eyes on them. Then he was going to worry like the world's biggest mother hen. For now though, Tony was grateful for him trying.

The whir of the quinjet was comforting to him now like it had never been before. Tony didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd been in dangerous situations a hundred times before, as Iron Man. Hell, he'd been in more dangerous situations than the one he'd just gotten rescued from.

The problem, he guessed, was that... well, this one hit closer to home. It was the arc reactor. It was a part of him. Having that be turned against him felt like a betrayal, somehow.

Since becoming Iron Man, he'd done his fair share of starting fires and creating explosions-- more than his fair share, if you asked Steve. With Obadiah, he'd used the first arc reactor that Howard had built as a bomb. A small one, considering the amount of firepower it had, but a bomb all the same. To see the same thing happen to his own had been nothing short of a nightmare. The kind of nightmare that woke you up in the middle of the night, shaking and clammy. He'd woken up from a drugged sleep and seen wires coming out of his chest. He hadn't been convinced that it wasn't a vivid hallucination, at first, but it hadn't stopped him from panicking.

They got to the Tower, headed inside, and went straight to their room. Well, officially it was Tony's room, but it was only a matter of time before Steve moved in.

"You want to talk about it?" Steve asked.

Tony rubbed over the arc reactor reflexively. He couldn't feel any sensation from it, but he could feel the heel of his palm on one side, and the tips of his fingers on the other. The fact that his palm wasn't skipping over emptiness did quite a bit to reassure him that he was fine. The problem, of course, was that he already knew he was fine. He was here, and he wasn't in pain. Steve was here, and they weren't in a battle. He knew that everything was fine.

Now if he could just stop freaking out about it.

"It wasn't even a good bomb," Tony said, the words slipping out of his mouth one after another. "Like, can you imagine making a bomb out of someone's pacemaker, so it would kill them, but you're not even going to get the destruction radius that you want? The arc reactor has so much energy that you could easily level a city block, but with the way they did it, it wouldn't have gone more than ten feet. It wouldn't have made it through a wall if I'd been standing right next to it. What kind of bullshit villain do you have to be to not know how to properly make a bomb? The only one it would've killed was- me, and- it's not like there aren't easier ways of- doing that. It's like-" He was having trouble breathing now. He was talking himself into a panic.

Steve wrapped him up in a hug, and Tony hid his face against Steve's neck. "They're stupid, you're not. We're gonna wake up tomorrow and get to do whatever the hell we want, and they won't be able to. It's gonna be okay. We all know you're better at this than anyone else, right?" he added on the end, smiling a little to try and raise Tony's spirits even though he couldn't see him; Tony always said that he loved Steve's smile.

"Yeah." He took a shaky breath in. It was weird; he felt like he was closer to falling apart now than he'd been while it was happening. Once he'd figured out that he wasn't trapped in the middle of a nightmare, he'd been able to deal with it. Grace under pressure or something, he guessed. It didn't make much sense to him for why he should be so calm then only to fall into pieces now. And he did. Fall into pieces, that is.

Steve just held him and said, "You're safe now. I've got you."

He didn't cry, not really. Mostly he stood there, shaking and clinging to Steve like a lifeline. He knew that he'd feel better by tomorrow, but for now, he let himself feel bad.

#stony #marvel #fanfic #steve rogers #tony stark #my writing

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harris-coopers · 4 years

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Honest Chemical Hearts Review (Spoilers!!)

Alright, I want to start off by saying, overall I really enjoyed watching the movie and it’s definitely one I’d want to watch again (and again and again). Also, I’ve read the book so spoilers for that. I also want to state this is my opinion and mine alone.

To start, I actually felt the start of the movie quite rushed. I sort of felt this way about the whole movie a little bit but Its not a huge deal. Movies take a long time and lots of money to make so I’m not going to be too picky about this. I also sort of felt that Grace was a much “prettier” version in the movie then what she’s described as in the book. In the book, she’s a grungy, doesn’t shower, just all around strange human being. It’s very heavily emphasised about her dirty unclean clothes and the fact that they don’t fit or are meant for her and the movie Grace is a much cleaner version of her, which I think could possibly be due to the audience its trying to attract. I also wish they’d emphasised Grace’s grief a little more. It’s a huge part of the book and when I was reading the movie, I was sort of a little confused. I didn’t really understand why Henry was searching her out.

Although I will say, I think Lili did an absolutely phenomenal job as Grace in the movie. She definitely embodied the character well and I truly couldn’t picture Grace as anyone else. Lili knocked it out of the park and I absolutely adored watching her prove once again her acting talents. I have nothing but *chefs kiss* for her in that role.

Austin - I feel like Austin filled the role of Henry well and played his part but I personally wasn’t completely in love with his portrayal. I don’t think he was bad (although I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying at times) I just wasn’t in blown away by his performance. Could someone else have filled the role better? Possibly but I did enjoy watching Austin as Henry and do think he did a good job despite not being my favourite. Also, Henry is a creep in the book, and he’s made out to be more of the boy next door type in the movie. I think that could have benefitted with a little more time spent on it.

I was slightly disappointed that the Carnival scene was left out of the movie. Truthfully reading the book, I was very excited to watch that play out on screen as it’s a particularly important part of the story in the book (imo). Plus I think Lili would have killed it and it would also have led the way for more backstory for Grace.

The car scenes at the beginning - They kind of feel like they go on and on and on in the book and its pretty obvious that somethings up with Grace’s home life and her when they start becoming really frequent. I sort of feel a lot of this was skipped over and might have added a bit to understanding why Henry’s so curious about her and also had the viewer intrigued about Grace as well.

Also Grace tries to commit suicide in the pool with the wedding dress scene in the book and that clearly doesn’t happen in the movie. It’s still an amazing scene and it’s powerful but that added element would’ve made it I think.

Like I said above, I really enjoyed the movie in general and I do think it’s a great film. I’m just a nut because I read the book and had preconceived notions I guess. And I wish they’d fleshed a few things out a bit more but it was still good.

#chemical hearts spoilers

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ladylynse · 4 years

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Part XI of The Trouble with Ghosts [FF | AO3]

Lancer hadn’t realized how closely young Mr. Fenton’s school troubles–and the secrets he surely wasn’t telling his parents–were tied to ghosts until after that encounter with Phantom.

<< < Part XI

-|-

Danny groaned when he heard the knock on the bedroom door. He’d put his barely-touched cup of hot chocolate beside Val’s on the bedside table—why had he ever thought he might drink them both?—before throwing the sheet over his head and snuggling into a nest of blankets. He just didn’t want to face anyone right now.

Lancer had been so confident that telling Valerie was the right thing to do, that it would go well, and it…hadn’t.

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he’d never noticed when she’d left the house, but at least Lancer had left him alone. He hadn’t wanted to face anyone. He still didn’t.

Maybe if he pretended to still be asleep, Lancer would go away.

Instead, he heard the door open. Right. He should’ve known that wouldn’t work. His groan had as good as acknowledged Lancer’s presence. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered, not caring that his words were muffled because he didn’t bother uncovering his head.

“Danny?”

The tentative voice belonged to Valerie, not Mr. Lancer.

Danny threw the covers off of his head and turned to look. Valerie was standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. He sat up. “Val? I, uh, I thought….”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and he pulled up his feet to sit cross-legged to give her more room. “I didn’t know, I swear. I would never have…. I should have let you talk. I should have listened to Phantom. I was…. I was angry. At everything. And I took it out on you and—”

“It’s okay,” Danny said, breaking in. It was suddenly hard to speak, the lump in his throat appearing this time for entirely different reasons. “I…I knew you didn’t know. And I should have told you earlier, I guess. I was just….” He trailed off and shrugged.

“I get it.” She blinked back tears of her own. “I’m not mad that you didn’t tell me. I’m mad at myself for not figuring it out. And I…. I hope you can forgive me for what I did. Yesterday and all the times before that.”

“You were only trying to protect your home. Nothing wrong with that.” He offered her a small smile. “I mean, when push came to shove, you worked with me. We can just call a permanent truce this time. We’ll just need to, um, figure out what you tell Vlad.”

Valerie’s mouth thinned. “You really think he knows about you?”

“I know he does. He knows everything. He….” Danny hesitated. He knew Valerie must’ve talked to Mr. Lancer, but how much had he told her? “It’s more messed up than you realize.”

“He knows you’re human and is still hunting you. You can’t get much more messed up than that.” She didn’t bother to hide the disgust in her voice. “Seriously. Even if he worked with your parents—” She broke off. “Wait. They don’t know either, do they?”

Great. Of course the conversation would go this way when he needed to tell her about Vlad. Because he really wanted to have the conversation about his parents now. “Um. Not yet. But about Vlad—”

“Danny, you need to tell them. What if they hit you with something like I did? You’re not in great shape now, and they might get you with something way worse.”

She’d definitely been talking to Lancer.

“I…. I could’ve killed you. And they might if you don’t tell them until it’s too late! You can’t…. You don’t seriously think they hate ghosts more than they love you, do you?”

She’d never had to sit through supper, listening to her dad talk about all the ways he was going to destroy ghosts, tearing them apart molecule by molecule.

She’d never had anyone she loved tell her in a cheerful voice that ghosts don’t feel pain, however many times it was pointed out that there was no proof of that and much more evidence to the contrary.

She’d never had it made painfully clear that her very existence was hated, never been told she was loved in one breath and cursed the next.

Valerie punched him in the arm. “Spoiler alert, since you’re too blind to see it: they don’t. They wouldn’t be going all around town looking for you if they did. They’d be, I dunno, planning to storm the Ghost Zone or something. Something more targeted at hurting ghosts than getting you back, even if they still say it’s about getting you back.”

“Thanks.” Her vote of confidence meant more than Lancer’s. She’d been in the same shoes as her parents, after all.

“And, um, if you want, I can be there when you tell them. If you really think you’ll need to do damage control. I don’t know what they think of the Red Huntress, but it might help them to know I’m on your side.”

Danny blinked. “You’d be okay with me telling them who you are?”

Valerie nodded. “I was thinking I’d tell them anyway. I don’t…. I don’t want to keep working for Vlad if you’re right. But I like what I do. I don’t want to give it up.”

“Your dad might be happy if you cut back a bit,” Danny pointed out. “We could work together or even take shifts when one of us really needs a break. Between your tracker and my ghost sense—”

“You have a ghost sense?”

“It’s just what I call it.” He really didn’t want to get into that now. Besides, if Valerie was going to defy Vlad’s wishes and not keep hunting Phantom, she’d be in way more danger if she didn’t know everything. “Honestly, my parents will be thrilled that you’re interested in hunting ghosts. But you should know Vlad—”

“Do they know he’s still doing paranormal research, too?”

Danny shook his head. “They don’t know anything. It’s not just that Vlad has ripped off a bunch of their designs and made a few of his own. It’s that…. Valerie, you’ll need to be really careful around him. Vlad’s just like me.”

She stared at him. “Like you?” The what’s that supposed to mean? was unspoken, but it was obvious that she hadn’t connected the dots.

Granted, Danny wasn’t sure Lancer completely understood, either.

Just because Vlad was part ghost, too, didn’t mean Lancer had realized which ghost. And Vlad would be very, very careful never to call Plasmius by his first name in Valerie’s hearing.

Danny saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see Lancer in the doorway. This time, he’d brought a small tray with fruit and cheese and crackers. “You might want to sit down, too,” Danny said before Lancer could ask if he could join them.

Lancer nodded, setting the tray down between Danny and Valerie. He cleared the books off the chair in the corner and pulled it up so he was sitting across from them. When he was settled, Danny looked between Lancer and Valerie and took a deep breath. “Vlad Masters is Vlad Plasmius.” He watched Lancer’s brow furrow and Val’s mouth open and close, and he pressed forward. “That’s why the Wisconsin Ghost moved to Amity Park. Because Vlad moved here. When he realized I was the same as him, he got it into his head that I should be his son.”

Valerie swallowed. “Like…figuratively, right? He thinks he should teach about, um, all of…that? Treat you like a son and whatever?” She waved a weak hand at him, presumably since he was still in ghost mode.

He could only wish it were that simple. “Unfortunately, no.” He didn’t want to give details. Luckily, they didn’t ask. Valerie probably didn’t want to know, judging by the look on her face, and Lancer’s frown might mean that he didn’t want to press the point right now. Danny had already told him enough that he could guess the rest, anyway. “Whatever he gave you to use against me is working. I can’t use my powers. I mean, I’m healing faster than a normal human, but not as fast as I should be, and I can’t do anything else.”

She pursed her lips. “He told me it should incapacitate you. He…. How can he be Plasmius? I mean, he invited the best ghost hunters in the country to come to town. And besides, they don’t even look alike. Not like you do.”

“One thing he doesn’t exaggerate is being good at manipulation,” Danny said flatly. “Whether it’s manipulating me or you or everyone else in Amity Park. And ghosts can change their appearance over time. I haven’t figured it out, but I’ve seen it happen.”

“What else were you told about the weapon’s effects?” Lancer asked. “If we could discern how it works—”

Danny was shaking his head even as Val said, “It’s a chemical. I just assumed it was an anti-ghost chemical. I didn’t ask questions.”

“Even if you had,” Danny added, “Vlad probably would’ve lied to you. Or left out something important. He wouldn’t tell you everything unless he knew you wouldn’t understand it. We’d have to break into his secret lab to get the formula. If we knew he was out of there—and that he didn’t leave a clone behind—then we could just activate the Maddie Program—”

“The what?”

The way Valerie said it, she didn’t want to know. Danny couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t meant to tell them this part. It had just slipped out. “The appropriate reaction is ‘ew’. Because, yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. Or at least, it looks like you think it does. Vlad built a hologram. He’s one seriously crazed-up fruitloop.”

Lancer sucked in a breath. “You have to tell your parents. That, ah, revelation of Mr. Masters aside, they would be the only ones who could hope to understand what has been done to you and effectively counter it. If we are successful in retrieving a formula, we would need to give it to them.”

“I’ll get it,” Valerie said. “You can file a restraining order or something, and I’ll break into Vlad’s lab.” She paused. “You’re sure it’s a secret lab? I’ve been in—”

“Have you seen his ghost portal?” When Valerie shook her head, Danny said, “Then he hasn’t shown you his most secret lab. I mean, I think they’re connected, backing onto each other, but he might have a wall between them and just phases back and forth. Or maybe it’s whatever door you think leads to the broom closet.” He told her how to find it and how to activate the Maddie Program—“Take Sam and Tucker with you. They know everything, you’ll need help, and Tucker can upload his Jack Program virus again.”—and told her to ask Jazz for any supplies she thought she might need going into this.

“A moment, Miss Gray,” Lancer said as Valerie got to her feet. “There may be a simpler solution to this. Do you have any further samples from your weapon?”

“I’ve got one shot left,” she said, “but I wouldn’t call it a simpler solution. I can’t reverse engineer this, and Danny definitely can’t help with that. He managed to make something explode in chem, and we were just doing titrations.”

“That was one time!”

“Regardless,” Lancer said with a pointed look that had Valerie slowly sinking onto the bed again, “your final shot, as it were, could be useful. If not in reverse engineering the formula, which as you say would be quite difficult indeed, then in giving Mr. and Mrs. Fenton an idea of what they are working with.”

“Or you could use it against Vlad,” Danny said. “I mean, I don’t know if it would work on him, but you could try. If you’re desperate. It’s the first thing you should shoot if you encounter Masters or Plasmius and can’t talk your way out of something.”

Lancer sighed. “In any event, you are hardly prepared to undertake such a venture at this precise moment. If Mr. Masters has provided you with all your weaponry, I do not think it would be prudent to trust it in a fight against him. More to the point, if you have worked with him and none of your equipment can detect that he is a ghost—”

“Have Tucker take a look at everything,” Danny advised. “He should be able to hack into it and reprogram it. Vlad probably made sure nothing recognizes his ecto-signature.”

Valerie frowned. “I think I would’ve noticed if my stuff didn’t pick up a ghost.”

“Right, because you fight Plasmius all the time.”

She opened her mouth to protest and then slowly closed it. “Oh.”

“Technus is on his payroll, too, so a quick diagnostic on your suit wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Vlad might have a tracker on you, too, for all we know.” Danny was actually pretty sure Vlad would have planted a tracker somewhere—probably more than one place, actually, on any of the multiple weapons he’d given to Valerie, assuming it wasn’t built straight into the suit Technus had made—but he didn’t want to tell Val that right now. She was taking all this very well, but that might be a bit much.

Besides, thinking about the likelihood of Vlad tracking her just made it more likely that he’d find Danny at his current hiding spot. Sure, Vlad wouldn’t have reason to look at it right now—he’d assume Valerie was in school, where she was supposed to be—but the idea of Vlad looking at that data later and figuring out where she’d been all this time…. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find out that this was Lancer’s place. Or to send ghosts to attack it.

Of course, if Valerie was still here when it happened, her tracker should pick up any ghosts he didn’t, but that was assuming Vlad wasn’t able to disable anything remotely. And Vlad might suspect that Valerie had found out Danny’s secret if he started to wonder why she’d stuck around for so long, which would make him more likely to act—despite this being Lancer’s place. He’d hedge his bets—it was Vlad, after all; he wouldn’t just waltz in and do something to confirm that he’s Plasmius—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take any risks.

Just because he might not have ghosts launch an all-out attack until he knew for certain that Danny had spilled both of their secrets, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t send ghosts here to eavesdrop once he looked into Valerie’s whereabouts.

And it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to stage something and make it look like a random ghost had come to kidnap Fenton or Phantom, especially if he didn’t know the others had learned Danny’s secret.

And if he’d sent a few ghosts to watch Sam and Tucker and Jazz to try to find out Danny’s location from them—

“Mr. Foley and Miss Manson may cut class, but I’m afraid I have no power to excuse their absences as I have yours. They are still at school, and it would be more than a tad suspicious to have a second ghost-related emergency of which Mr. and Mrs. Fenton are unaware. Furthermore, even once you do meet up with them, Mr. Foley’s work will take time, and we don’t know what Mr. Masters is up to.”

“Council meeting tonight,” Valerie said immediately. “That’s why I’m out searching.”

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t leave behind a clone, ready to pretend he got out early in case you found me,” Danny pointed out. It was a relief to hear that Vlad really was busy—maybe they’d be lucky and he would be too distracted to look into this too much on his own, especially if he was so confident in his own invention and its effects—but Danny knew better than to assume it would buy him all the time he needed. “It doesn’t mean you’re the only one searching, either. He has a lot of ghosts working for him, and I’ve been in one spot since yesterday. I’m kinda surprised you’re the only one who’s found me.”

Valerie snorted. “I’m not. Surprised, I mean. You barely have an ecto-signature. My tracker kept dropping the marker completely. I thought it was broken. Even when I came here, I didn’t really expect to find you. I thought it might be some of those tiny blob ghosts.”

That was a relief, too. He didn’t know how many ghosts out there had some kind of ghost sense like he did, but those who relied on technology like Skulker and Technus would have as much trouble tracking him down as Valerie had. And if Vlad had just sent out the vultures again, well, they got distracted. Not as easily as someone like the Box Ghost, but still. It would slow down the search, especially if Vlad hadn’t had a starting point.

And even more so if he’d started with Danny’s usual haunts and was trying to work his way out from there.

Granted, if Valerie hadn’t come here solely because she’d found some reason to be suspicious of Lancer’s absence, then— “So your fundraising was legit?”

“Two birds with one stone,” Valerie said smoothly. “I figured I’d expand my area and hit up one neighbourhood at a time.”

“More to the point,” Lancer said, “I’m not comfortable with you taking all this risk, regardless of your activities in the past. Mr. Fenton, you must tell your parents, and it would be better if you did so before we began.”

Neither of them was willing to let him put that off for long, were they?

He could come up with dozens of excuses to tell them later, and they’d argue each one.

And with two of them, they were more likely to win.

Danny sighed, leaning back against the headboard and closing his eyes. “Fine,” he said, changing so he looked like plain ol’ Danny Fenton again. He’d rather start this explanation looking like himself rather than the ghost they hated. “Call them.”

XXXXXXXX

Valerie stayed with him while Lancer made the call—and a few more, including one to Jazz’s cell phone to warn her what was going on. She didn’t answer—she never picked up for numbers she didn’t recognize—but she did check her messages, and Danny had told Lancer exactly what to say. The break between classes was coming up, and she’d look at her phone then.

Assuming his parents hadn’t barged into the school to tell her the news that he’d been found first. They might not, if they thought she was better off distracting herself with schoolwork and that they could patch him up to look half-decent by the time she got home. Sometimes, they really did listen to everything Jazz said about causing their kids undue stress.

They just didn’t happen to remember to apply that when potential possession by a ghost was involved.

Valerie nibbled on a bit of cheese and popped another grape into her mouth. “How did you know?” she asked after the silence had stretched. “That you could, um, become Phantom?”

“That’s what I looked like when I woke up after the accident,” Danny said. “It freaked me out. Snow white hair and glowing green eyes? That’s not my reflection. Except it was. I panicked. Sam and Tucker were there, but they weren’t exactly calmer.” He hesitated. Sam had been calmer, but he knew what he remembered wasn’t entirely…. Desiree had interfered, and now everything was muddled when he thought back to that and everything that had happened. “I managed to change back. I thought that was the end of it, but….”

“It wasn’t.”

Danny smiled. “Yeah, not by a long shot. But I can control my powers now. It probably wasn’t any worse than you felt when Technus made your new suit and you realized that he’d basically melded ghost tech to your body.”

Valerie winced, the hand with her cheese-and-cracker combo dropping back to her lap. “Actually, I didn’t think about the consequences right away. Or nearly as soon as I should’ve. Mr. Masters looked it over when I asked and said it was fine. I didn’t let it bother me after that, but…. I don’t know if I can believe him anymore, and that’s scarier.”

“Technus might actually answer some of your questions if we can trade him some decent electronics for the info. We don’t have to tell him Tucker put a virus in there first that’ll activate if he tries to use it for global domination.”

Valerie smirked. “You really think he’d fall for that?”

“Definitely,” Danny said as Valerie ate her cracker. “He likes to talk, too, so that won’t be a problem, either.”

They lapsed back into silence, Valerie intermittently munching on the food Lancer had put out. Danny was glad someone was eating it. He knew he should, but his stomach was twisting itself into knots every time he thought about the upcoming conversation with his parents.

The whole point of coming to stay with Mr. Lancer had been to avoid this, and now Lancer was the reason it was happening.

He hadn’t counted on that.

He wasn’t convinced it hadn’t been a secret hope in Jazz’s plan, though. For all that she was willing to wait until he was ready to tell his parents, she kept bringing it up. Especially in subtle ways, like she thought he might not notice but might still take the hint.

“Hey, Val?”

“Mmm?”

“How do I tell them?”

She swallowed and shifted, pulling her legs up on the bed so that she was easily facing him. “You just need to tell them. It’s hard, but…. Danny, you scared me earlier. I didn’t want it to be true because I didn’t want everything it meant to be true. I didn’t want to know that I was the reason you’re hurt, that I’ve been hunting you down for so long, that I’ve been threatening you and then five minutes later running into you at school because we’re both late for class. And the stuff about Vlad…. They consider him a friend, right? So to know that he’s Plasmius, that he’s done all these awful things….” She shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t wanna believe it, you know? But then you showed me, and I couldn’t deny it, and it was just…overwhelming.”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, “that’s why I wasn’t sure how to tell them. I mean, I tried in the beginning, but they’d cut me off and start talking about their latest inventions, and I just…. It was easier not to say anything. That’s why I didn’t really try with you.”

“I don’t blame you.” She bit her lip. “But you know how big this is, right? Vlad’s not just the mayor. He’s a billionaire—”

“Only because he used his powers for his own gain.” Danny tilted his head as he looked at her. “And you know that’s exactly why you need to be careful, too, right? Because if you think I ruined your life, Vlad can do way worse. He won’t hesitate.”

“That’s not stopping Mr. Lancer.”

“I know.” Danny hesitated and then confessed, “I thought it would. I hoped it would. I don’t…. I don’t want to be responsible for something bad happening, and I feel like I would be. Because knowledge is dangerous.”

“Ignorance is dangerous, too.” Valerie picked at a loose thread on the bedspread. “The way I’ve been treating you is proof of that. And I guess…. I guess it means I need to keep my eyes open for stuff like that. Because not all ghosts are bad, so I shouldn’t hunt them blindly.”

“I’ve got some ghost files on my computer,” Danny said. “I can share them with you. You’ve probably figured out most of the stuff, but it might fill in a few blanks. Most of the ghosts you’ve been after are the ones you want to keep hunting, but they aren’t that bad compared to some of the other ones we’ve faced in the past.”

“Like Pariah Dark.”

“Yeah, like him.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“And I was afraid you’d get yourself killed. Exposing you to your dad was the only way I could think of to keep you safe. I’m sorry that I did it that way, not giving you a choice when it was your secret, but I don’t regret doing it.”

“He would’ve figured it out sooner rather than later anyway.”

“Was it bad when he found out?”

Valerie laughed. “He said I was grounded until I graduated, but he didn’t hold me to that. He worries about me. He’s my dad. He wasn’t impressed when he found out I started hunting again, either. I was grounded for a month then. He just…. He wants the best for me, you know?”

“And he doesn’t want to think about you getting hurt.”

“Exactly. I mean, he is trying to find a balance between letting me do my own thing, making mistakes and learning, and being worried about me, his only child, his baby, going out into the world and not needing him.” She was smirking now. “He knows I’m growing up. And he’s even admitted to me that I’m good at ghost hunting. So it’s hard for him to let me do this, but he understands why I’m still doing it. Why I don’t want to give it up.” She paused. “You’re right, though. He’d be a lot happier knowing there was someone out there with me to watch my back.”

“Does he, um, know about your new suit?”

“Not exactly. He just knows it’s new. I thought the whole truth would freak him out.”

“So you might tell him about it after we try talking to Technus?”

She shrugged. “I guess it’s like you with your folks. You don’t want them to panic more than they already are. Or will be, I guess.” She picked the stem off another grape and popped it into her mouth. “You’re still their son, Danny. Being Phantom doesn’t change that.”

“You don’t think it’ll change that for them?”

She snorted. “I’ve met your parents. It might make a difference for some people, but not them.”

“Even when they find out about Vlad?”

“Why does that matter?”

Danny picked up a cracker and a piece of cheese, more for something to nibble on and avoid talking than because he was remotely hungry. It was gone all too quickly, but he wasn’t sure he could stomach another one. “He was their best friend in college. And Plasmius…. What if they think he’s just that way because of his ghost half? What if they think being Phantom changes what makes me me? What if they think I’m going to become like him unless they can change me, or rip Phantom out of me, or something like that? I can’t…. What if they think they need to fix me?”

Valerie raised an eyebrow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing to fix.”

“But what if they don’t see it that way?”

“Then you show them. Prove that you’re still you.”

“How? They can just turn around and tell me that ghosts try to trick you, that they’re master manipulators, maybe even that I’m just playing at being me to try to trick them, and I…. I can’t do it, Val. If they don’t accept me, I don’t think I’ll be able to change their minds.”

He hadn’t meant to break down in front of her. He hadn’t meant to cry. But his throat had closed up, and tears had pricked at his eyes and then overflowed, and now he wasn’t sure he could stop.

Lancer was so sure that this would go well. When he talked about it, Danny wanted to believe it. It was easy to believe it.

But knowing that Lancer had phoned, that his parents were coming to retrieve Danny Fenton, somehow still terrified him. Because however much of the truth Lancer had told them—that he was injured in a ghost fight, that he was recovering—it wouldn’t have explained enough of anything. They would have asked questions, and Danny didn’t know if Lancer had managed to dodge them. How had he disappeared from the hospital? Why hadn’t he called them? Which ghost had done this?

If they decided Phantom was the problem, if they didn’t accept that Phantom wasn’t some separate entity and was in a fact a part of him, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to go home until Jazz convinced them to change their minds. And he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to trust them even if they did.

Everything could fall apart, and his life as he knew it would be over.

“Don’t be stupid. You know they love you. They’re not going to just see you as some ghost. I didn’t.”

He sniffed. “You’ve worked with Phantom before.”

“And your parents never have?”

Well, his dad had, once. But only once, and there had been many opportunities beyond that. “It’s not the same.”

“Between me and them finding out? Or them finding out about you and my dad finding out about me? Because, sure. It’s not the same. Your parents will be too busy being thrilled that you’re a ghost hunter and that you’re genuinely interested in the family business to worry about the danger you’re in doing it.”

Danny just looked at her. Val hopped up from the bed, grabbed a box of tissues from its perch on the edge of one of the bookshelves, and threw it at him. “Whatever happens,” she said, her voice softening as she sat back down and he blew his nose, “I’ll be here for you. So will Jazz, and Sam and Tucker, and even Mr. Lancer. You’re not alone in this, Danny, even if it feels like it.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, wiping at his nose again. He knew he shouldn’t worry too much before it happened, shouldn’t fear they’d assume the worst—but how could he stop, when he knew how easily they could explain away the truth if they tried?

If they decided they’d rather have a son who was dead and gone than one who was partly the monster they hated?

“You’re overthinking it,” Valerie said. “They’re not…. They’re not just going to abandon you because of who you are. Some people might, because some people aren’t even willing to learn to accept something, especially when it’s something they were wrong about, but your folks are decent. They’re going to accept you, whatever you look like and whoever you are.”

“I just….” He wished he had more time. He wished he didn’t have to do this when Jazz wasn’t around. When Sam and Tucker weren’t around. When it wasn’t because he was forced into it, by circumstance and not-so-subtle pressuring.

“It’ll be fine,” Valerie assured him.

He’d called things fine when they weren’t too many times to believe that, though.

“I’ll stay right here if you want me to. You know that. And like I said, you can distract them with my secret if you think it’ll help. I’m fine with you telling them instead of me if you need to.”

They would accept him. Probably. They had before, in different circumstances. He knew that. But he couldn’t quiet the little voice that shrilled in panic in the back of his mind, wondering what he’d do when they didn’t.

“I’ll get you some water.” Valerie picked up the food tray and balanced it on one arm, no doubt thinking they weren’t going to finish it anyway. “Try to breathe and get some rest before they come, okay? I can leave you alone or stay, whatever you like.”

“You can stay,” he whispered. It was nice to have a mediating voice. Being alone with his thoughts right now….

She smiled. “I’ll be back with your water.”

Danny closed his eyes and tried to rest, like she’d said. When she came back, he heard her set it on the table beside him. He murmured a thank you and heard her settle on the floor beside him. The occasional rasp of paper against cloth told him she’d found a book. She was letting him decide if he wanted to talk. It was nice, at least being able to control that much.

The crash outside that splintered the silence had him jerking upright, and he didn’t need to hear the doorbell a moment later to know what had happened.

He saw Valerie looking up at him, and he swallowed. “They’re here.”

-|-

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asherranceoftheheart · 4 years

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Icarus Falls - Ch. I - What A Wonderful World!

Story Summary: “You'll never leave me alone right?" "You think I'd actually let you go?"

A story about the slow descent and corruption of a lonely man, a demon who learns that bonds go both ways, brothers who deeply regrets their words spoken out of anger, and a conflicted man watching them all fall down from the distance. Here's a Puppet!Chase AU that was written with extreme self-indulgence so beware and read the tags before entering.

Chapter Summary: It’s Sad Chase Hours, my friends! (:( Pairing/s: None, Platonic Character/s: Jack McLoughlin, Chase Brody, Antisepticeye, Mentions of Other Septic Egos Genre: Angst Chapter Warning/s: Creepy!Anti, Self-Deprecating Thoughts (Thoughts like I’m not as good as the others, etc.), Sadness (Archive Of Our Own Edition) Note/s: If you wanna get tagged in this fic just tell me lmao. Also I’d advise the people who has an AO3 account to follow and subscribe to this fic there cause it’ll be easier to get notifications that I’ve updated the story. Oh and Jack McLoughlin is basically NOT Sean. He’s based on him but his motivations, personality, and etc. are different. So I guess please consider him as like another Septic Ego?

Nearly an entire year has passed ever since his best friend had been rushed into this hospital and was declared to be under a comatose state without showing any sign that he was going to be waking up soon. The chemically clean smell of the hospital that originally made him sick now barely affected him. Don’t get him wrong, he still hated the smell but when you’re here every three days it stops affecting you and is basically just a part of the background like the constant beeping of the heart monitor that originally drove him rather mad.

He held Jack’s thin hand, pressing the cold palm against his cheek and closed his blurring eyes.

“I miss you so much…” Chase choked on the heavy, bitter tar of sadness clinging to the inside of his throat and the wire of thorns made out of his guilt constricting suffocatingly around his bleeding heart. “I should be the one in your place, not you… I’m the weakest, most useless one among all of us. It shouldn’t have been you.”

The stinging burn of his tears welled up in his closed eyes and he furiously blinked them away even as his body heaved with dry sobs.

Pathetic…

While all the others are out there trying to find the cure to help Jack wake up from his coma, he was stuck here moping around, constantly crying like a little crybaby…

Powerless, useless, waste of space Chase…

He snapped out of his self-deprecating thoughts when he felt something squeeze his hand lightly. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was just imagining the action out of desperation. He looked at Jack’s sleeping face and humorlessly smiled. Somehow, even when the man was in the depths of his coma, Jack always knew whenever he wasn’t being kind to himself. When he was awake, he’d just painlessly whap him on his back or shoulders before pulling him into a tight hug to murmur against his hair that he’s going to be okay and that whatever mean thing he was telling himself wasn’t true.

“Hey! Don’t think of yourself that way, Chaser. If it weren’t for you nobody’d be dragging Henrik off to sleep or to eat something for the entire day and would’ve just kept on working regardless of how much he was already suffering. Jackie wouldn’t have anyone to chill and relax with when he’s trying to take a break from his superhero job to remind him that he’s human and he needs to rest too. Nobody would be dragging Marvin, screaming and spitting like a cat, out of his stuffy bedroom to enjoy the day outside and to be nicer to others rather than continuing his foot in mouth syndrome. You’re important to us Chasey so please, please never think of yourself that way.”

He could still hear Jack’s voice pleading with him while he used those silvery blue eyes to melt most of his self-doubt and self-hatred away… At least for the time being.

Chase laid his cheek on his crossed arms on top of the bed and he held Jack’s hand tightly as if he was afraid that the comatose man would disappear if he wasn’t watching over him carefully. The effects of sleepless nights, repeating extremely vivid nightmares, and the constant emotional and mental torment from Him finally took its toll on the weary man. A wave of exhaustion poured over his entire body and he could feel his eyelids being weighed down by fatigue.

He drifted off to sleep in mere seconds.

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

A hand was squeezing his cheeks and pulling them apart. Chase grumbled and attempted to turn over to the other side to escape the menace who was snickering at his futile attempts.

“Good morning Chasey Wasey,” he heard Jack coo at him mockingly in a tone used to humor babies. He hissed angrily when he felt a hand ruffling his bed hair furiously making it even worse than usual. “Time to wakey and facey the day, sunshine!”

“Fuck off, Jack,” Chase grunted as he pulled up the blankets to cover his face and swatted the hand that tried to squeeze his cheeks again.

His only warning was a sigh before someone was suddenly jumping on him and laying their entire body weight on the previously sleepy man. His eyes snapped open just as his blanket was forcefully pulled down and a pair of hands with wriggling fingers began to attack his ticklish sides. Chase began to squeal like a pig and squirmed like a worm trying to escape the smirking Jack’s trap while he howled with laughter.

“Jahahahahahack! Stahahahahahap!” Chase began to curse the snickering man who ruthlessly kept dancing and digging his fingers up and down the cursing-laughing man’s sensitive sides to hear him scream.

“Awwww, why should I? Look at you, you’re having so much fun right now!” Jack grinned down at the rapidly growing red face. “Coochie coochie coo!”

The older man only took mercy on Chase after his laughter had evolved into soundless screaming and he looked like he just stopped breathing with how hard he was laughing. Jack chuckled and rolled off the panting man’s body to flump over, spread-eagled to his other side. He draped an arm over Chase’s face and snickered when he shoved it away with an irritated grunt.

“You… are… a… motherfucker,” Chase huffed out every word with a hiss, righteous vengeance burning in those teary baby blue eyes that had Jack internally adding to his mental notes to watch out for the upcoming revenge from the other man. “I’m… going… to… fucking… kill you.”

He propped himself up on an arm and teasingly poked Chase’s soft, flushed cheek with a grin.

“Is that any way to talk to your father, young man?” Jack dropped his voice in a teasing mockery of a stern father’s loving but scolding voice.

Chase rolled his eyes and gave Jack a look that could wither up an entire tree in three seconds.

“I didn’t realize you signed up for my child support, Dad,” Chase narrowed his eyes dangerously and sassed him back with a sickly sweet smile and a voice dripping with poisoned honey. “I’m sure Marvin would be very interested to find out about this little fact.”

This time it was Jack’s turn to shudder and look at the younger man with a little bit of fear. They both knew that if Marvin ever heard of their little jokes, he was not going to leave Jack in peace. That magician was determined to have Jack take responsibility as their ‘parent’ despite the fact that trying to get that legally acknowledged is going to be a piece of hell to explain. Not that that matters to Marvin of course. The prideful man could out-stubborn even a rock.

Jack pouted and Chase’s smile widened. This was definitely a win for Chase.

He smacked his palm over the little bastard’s smug face and yelped and gave Chase a disgusted look when he felt him lick his palm. He snagged his own hand away and wiped the saliva off his shirt while Chase sat up trying to pat down his fluffed up hair that was flying all over the place.

“You literally don’t know where this hand has been, you little shit.” Jack told Chase who arched an eyebrow at him and looked him dead in the eyes, no sign of regret or remorse over his previous action.

“What? Are you one of those crusty dirty bastards who never washed their hands when they go to the bathroom? Are you a crusty, dirty old man, Jack?” Chase taunted his creator who snapped and pounced on him to lock his head under his arms while he noogied his creation. “I’m going to tell Henrik you’re one of those dirty bastards and then you’ll get five hours worth of lecture for your crusty ass!”

“No you fucking won’t or I’ll tell Henrik that you haven’t been eating anything else other than Mac and Cheese for dinner for the past week just because he said that it wasn’t healthy for you and you, the complete child you are, decided to spite him because you said quote that Henrik is not the boss of you end quote.” Jack growled back at the other man who was still trying to pull his head out of his armlock.

Jack smirked victoriously when Chase stopped squirming and looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

“... Truce?” Chase finally decided after a few minutes of their stubborn staring contest. He was pouting sulkily.

Jack snorted and gave Chase’s hair another ruffle before he finally let him go, “Truce. Anyway, get your ass up. We’re supposed to be meeting the others for lunch outside today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chase grumbled but the next words still came out as easily as breathing to him. “Love you, bro.”

The words albeit it had been grumbled out was still painfully sincere. It lit up Jack’s weary face with a fond smile. He pulled Chase into a big hug and buried his face into that fluffy brown hair.

“Yeah… Love you too, Chaser.”

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

“...dy? Mister Brody, visitation hours are done,” Chase slowly, reluctantly stirred from the peaceful dream that he tried with all his might to never wake from.

He didn’t want to wake back up into the cold reality where he had to face that he was all alone and carrying what felt like the entire world on his aching back. He wanted to stay in that memory where his family was by his side and his closest friend and brother would be there to shake him awake ready to greet him with a smile and a lively spark in his eyes. However, he knew that he couldn’t postpone reality any further and he also knew that Jack and the others wouldn’t want to lose him to the world of bittersweet memories. There was no need to add one more unimportant baggage with another comatose friend to the other’s stress.

Chase forced himself to open his eyes and his hand was still loosely being squeezed by Jack in his sleep. That was the only reaction they ever got from him. He hoped that the others at least read his messages reporting Jack’s ‘progress’ over the past months. It’d be nice to try and be optimistic in believing that this means that Jack was slowly regaining his strength again.

“Good evening, Mister Brody,” Chase sat up at the sound of the familiar voice. He rubbed the crud made from sleep from his eyes to blink up at one of the doctors that had been assigned to care for Jack.

The man had neatly cut auburn hair, freckles dusting his pretty face like a night sky full of stars, and a pair of kind grey eyes. Doctor Adam often allows him to stay a bit later than usual for visitation hours, probably out of pity especially whenever he sees his god awful face.

“Evening Doc,” Chase muttered with a rough voice and glanced at the clock. He let out a groan and rubbed a hand down his face when he saw that the clock’s hands were pointing at nine o’clock. “Thanks for giving me an additional hour, Doc.”

The man just patted his shoulder and gazed at his comatose patient’s blank face. If one didn’t know better, they would think that Jack was merely in a deep sleep.

“You slept the entire day away since you came in before lunch. Have you been getting any sleep on your own, Mister Brody?” The gentle inquiry made Chase wince as he thought about his sleep schedule or rather to be more accurate, the complete lack of it. “Please try to get some rest by yourself. Nobody would be happy if you were to follow after your brother’s footsteps into this hospital.”

Chase sighed and rubbed a thumb on the back of Jack’s hand. It’s not like he can tell the doctor that sleeping peacefully and living well is not an option in a household where you have to deal with a demon who follows your every step, save for when he comes to this hospital, to torment you and push you around. Thank fuck Marvin used a powerful warding spell on this place before he and Jamie vanished on a trip to find a spell that could wake Jack up. He did ask his older brother why he couldn’t use the same spell around the house but Marvin explained that the hospital is connected to a powerful leyline so the spell is automatically powered to be kept up without his influence. The house doesn’t have the same advantage.

He understood his brother’s explanation and dismissed his own suggestion. He didn’t want to take up too much of Marvin’s energy when he should be focusing it on more important things. Marvin gave him one of his rare hugs and thanked him for his understanding before he was off. Jamie followed after him but not before staying back a bit longer to talk to him.

“Are you truly sure that you will be alright by yourself?” Jameson furrowed his brows as he asked his older brother. Chase plastered on a convincing smile and gave the youngest ego a hug before letting him go.

“Take care of our stubborn big brother. He’s a bit prickly but since you both have the soul bond he’s more likely to listen to you and be nicer to you. Keep yourselves out of trouble, okay?” Chase stood up on his toes to kiss Jameson on his forehead before gently pushing him towards the direction Marvin left. “Go. Don’t worry your head about me. I’ll be fine. You guys would be going through more dangerous tasks than I do.”

Jameson looked like he wanted to say something before he must have thought it wasn’t worth the effort before he gave him one last squeeze and a kiss dropped down on the crown of Chase’s head before he ran off to follow their magician.

He hasn’t heard anything from them in months but Chase knew that they were fine. If Anti had captured them, he would’ve been gloating about their unfortunate fate day in and day out into Chase’s ears.

“I’ll try to take care of myself, Doc.” He returned his mind back to the present and gave the concerned doctor a small smile. “You’re right. Nobody would want me to follow Jack here.”

‘At least… not yet,’ Chase’s dull eyes dimmed further at the dark whisper of his mind.

He stretched his arms out and faked a big yawn to hide the dullness of his eyes that were only accented by the dark raccoon-like black bags circling them. Chase stood up, gently prying Jack’s hand from his own, and leaned over to brush his chapped lips against the cold skin of his forehead. Sometimes, his morbid thoughts would rear in and tell him that he was basically caring for Jack’s corpse at this point. He brushed away his brother’s growing bangs from his thin face.

“His hair’s getting pretty long,” Chase idly commented as he twirled a brown lock around his pinky finger. “We should trim it soon.”

“We should,” he heard Doctor Adam walk behind him and grab his shoulder with a firm squeeze. “You look exhausted, Chase. Are you sure you’ll be fine going home on your own?”

The fussing from the other man painfully reminded Chase of the times Henrik would nag him over his health. He’d often tell him to call him or one of the other guys to come pick him up if he was too tired from his shoots to drive home on his own.

Poor Henrik… Ever since That Day, he had gone missing, probably spirited away by the demon that was tormenting all of them. Jackie followed soon after telling them tersely that he’s not coming back until he finds the other half of his soul bond. He did tell them to call him or text him if they managed to find a solution to Jack’s coma or if they found Henrik but other than that he had been ghosting them (or well, Chase) since he left. Chase wondered if the second leader of the group managed to find any other clues about Henrik other than that time when He managed to take over Jack’s tumblr to post the taunting images of a vacation postcard that grew bloodier and glitchier with every post edit before it was erased from existence as if it had never been there in the first place. He sent Marvin and Jackie messages about what happened but he has no way of knowing if they saw it or even believed him.

“I’ll be fine. I took a cab coming here,” Chase shrugged off the warm hand from his shoulder and pushed past the unresisting taller man’s body, “It’s getting late. I won’t get you into more trouble for letting me stay past visiting hours again.”

“You look like you’re only getting your good night’s sleep here and it’s not like you’re disturbing our patient,” Adam scratched the back of his head and gazed at the tired slump of Chase’s shoulders. “Be careful on your way home and please get something to eat… You haven’t eaten anything the entire day.”

Chase wisefully didn’t say that he hasn’t been having that much of an appetite to eat anything for the past months. Everything just tasted like cardboard in his mouth and it was taking him more energy to get food down into his stomach than any other activity. He still forces himself to try and eat something three times a day despite his lack of appetite. After all, you can’t hide extreme weight loss in a recorded video easily unlike the makeup he would expertly use to hide the black bags around his eyes. He does have to care for his body or else the community would notice that something was wrong.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll eat something when I get home.” He waved off the doctor’s concerns and inclined his head towards Jack. “Bye Jackaboy… I’ll see you in three days.”

He looked back at the doctor who was now checking his patient’s numbers to see if there was anything they should be worried about or if there had been any positive change.

“Doc, please keep taking good care of my big brother.”

“Of course, you take care of yourself as well, Mister Brody.”

With one final glance at his brother’s face, he turned around and mustered up all the flimsy strength in his heart to prepare himself for the war that will greet him when he returned to that house.

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

Chase paid the cab driver his fare and gave him a nice tip for the smooth drive. Before he exited the cab, he bade the old man farewell and wished him a safe drive. He slid out of the car and closed the door behind him, watching the cab disappear off into the distance then told himself that he can’t keep putting the upcoming event off. He deeply breathed in, his lungs expanding with the chill of the evening breeze before letting it out slowly through his nose to calm his racing heart.

He looked up into the darkened windows of the house, the lack of light giving it a more ominous look even before he caught sight of a pair of green eyes watching him from the windows on the second floor. There was unrestrained delight in those eyes as they relished in the sight of his obvious fear and internal conflict that kept him from moving his frozen legs to enter the house.

“Stop being such a wuss, Chase,” he whispered to himself as he swallowed around the lump in his throat and forced his shaking legs to walk up to the front door.

He unlatched the collection of keys swaying from its place on his front belt loop and flipped through them before coming to a stop on the front door key. He fumbled with it, trying to stall for more time, and inserted the item into the keyhole. The man hesitated for a second, knowing just what awaited him behind that door before he gritted his teeth and forced himself to turn the key. The click of the lock opening sounded like the bell that would sound for one’s death. He pulled the key out and reached over to wrap his sweaty hand around the ice cold steel surface of the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.

The pitch darkness of the hallway made him feel small and helpless to whatever lurks within its shadows. He resisted the urge screaming at him to turn around and run back to the hospital with his tail tucked between his legs. He dug his nails in his palms, forming faint crescents, before he stepped inside the dark house and closed the door behind him. The hair behind his neck rose along with the goosebumps on his arms. Someone was watching him.

The feeling of being watched has grown worse now that he stood all alone in the dark. It was as if His eyes were everywhere, focusing their unblinking gaze upon his shaking form. He leaned back against the closed front door and fumbled blindly for the lock. He already has enough in his own plate dealing with the being lurking in this house that he doesn’t want to deal with impromptu home invasions. He switched the lock up.

“... I’m back,” he doesn’t know why he kept doing this even though he knew that only one person (and it was his most disliked and feared person at that) would be there to listen. His words carried through the still air of the house and Chase grimaced when he heard the previously subtle static grow louder as He approached.

He shook his head and gathered up the shattered pieces of his courage and journeyed on to the kitchen. While he doesn’t have the appetite, he could still make do with a sandwich or two for food. He’d flick on whatever light switch he’d encounter on his way to the kitchen and he began to lose some of the tension in his muscles as the dark house soon brightened up. Don’t get him wrong. He’d never fully turn off his guard while he’s outside of the hospital’s warded boundaries but light always had a way of easing some of his worries and burning away a little bit of that fear.

When he reached the kitchen, he headed straight for the cupboard to grab a box full of teabags to get a kettle started up. He used whatever flavor his hand could snag from the box first before putting the other teabags back in the cupboard. Then he walked over to the fridge and opened its door to look at his selection of food.

Normally, if this had been the past and he had the energy and enthusiasm, he would’ve been cooking homemade food because it was his favorite activity other than filming videos and trickshots, playing the piano, or doodling or sketching something that caught his interest. However, it’s been a while since he did any of those hobbies. He didn’t really have any room in his energy output to be able to invest some time in his own passions.

Most of what was inside the fridge delivered fast food and a rare takeout box. Occasionally he’d get the energy to eat outside since he was sick of the silence of the house but that happens probably twice or thrice a month.

He wasn’t in the mood for anything especially heavy so he chose the club sandwich that came with his ordered salad a week ago. He gave it a careful sniff and shrugged when it smelled pretty normal.

When he closed the fridge’s door, he didn’t react to His sudden appearance behind it.

“Hello, little Brody,” the demon purred, His creepy inhumane wide smile stretching out further until it looked like it was about to split His face apart when He saw his hand tightly gripping his sandwich. “Did you have fun visiting Jack today?”

Chase swallowed the biting words ‘Don’t say his name’ down his throat to let it sit heavily in his stomach. He found that the best way to cope with the demon’s presence was to ignore Him and give Him no attention until He grows bored of you for the rest of the day. It’s not a perfect tactic. Sometimes it angers Him and Chase is left with new bruises covering up the side of his back that makes it difficult to sit in a hard chair but he made do. He turned around without looking back at the smiling demon and returned to the whistling kettle. The strong fragrance of peppermint filled the room and its scent lessened some of Chase’s drowsiness. He turned off the heat and poured himself a cup of tea before going to the living room.

“Still ignoring me, Chaser?” The high pitched giggles grated on Chase’s nerves and ears but he determinedly pretended that nobody was shadowing his steps, blowing little puffs of cold air behind his neck. He gritted his teeth and stopped his twitching arm from spinning him around and striking Him on the face. That would just encourage Him to retaliate.

He hastened his brisk pace and placed the cup of scalding tea on the table before collapsing on the couch. He reached out to grab the remote control of the TV from the table before turning it on and navigated the screen to Netflix. He decided to continue watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and maybe even bring some cheer to himself. His dull blue eyes never wavered from the screen in spite of the intent, sneering gaze burning a hole through him coming from the side. He only leaned over to pick up the mug that was still smoking hot.

“Have you finally received any notice from the cowardly magician and fake hero that they’ve actually read your messages or are they still pretending that you have no important information to tell them?” The demon crooned, His poisonous words managing to directly hit all of the weak points of Chase’s insecurities.

His hand tightened around the mug's handle. He felt Him shuffle closer almost until their arms were touching together.

Ignore Him Chase. Ignore Him. He’s just taunting you. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you. You know His games. You’ve been playing it since December last year. He is lying to you. Do not believe His lies.

“Leaving you with no way of contacting them for emergencies, ignoring all of your calls and messages… One would think that you’re just an unimportant nuisance to them,” He giggled, He was so close now that Chase could feel the static that clung to His presence teasingly sparking up against the skin of his arms. “Such loyal and loving brothers you have there, Chaser.”

He suddenly grew hyper aware of the heaviness of his phone that had been stuck in his front pocket for the entire day. He didn’t power up the thing ever since he woke up this morning until he was sitting in the taxi cab on the way back. He texted Marvin and Jackie’s number to give them the weekly updates on Jack even if there hasn’t been any change at all. He began to type out that He has been haunting him and stared down at that part of the message with a blank gaze before he erased the parts mentioning how he was actually doing and just said that he’s been fine if not a bit tired.

Sometimes, when Chase was feeling a bit selfish, he wished that they would send him back something, even if it’s just the single letter K to tell him that they’ve been reading his messages. Originally, he told them about his daily nightmares about Him and how He was starting to show His presence around him but the lack of replies felt… cold and uncaring. It felt like he was annoying them about his complaints and should just suck it up. It wasn’t like He was kidnapping him or anything.

So he stopped. He only texted them now for reports on Jack’s state.

His head was beginning to hurt, more specifically the side of his head was beginning to hurt like a bitch. Ah. He was getting too emotional.

He bit down on his tongue, the pain snapped him out of the emotional downhill he was starting to fall into and to stop him from snapping at the demon and defend his brothers from the lies that He was spewing from His grinning mouth.

“Stubborn, so stubborn… You do know that everyone considers you as the weakest link of the group right?” Chase felt the shivers run up and down his spine when those ghostly fingers began to brush the top of his hair. “Poor useless, powerless little brother… You lost the only person who stood by your side while the others who swore to be your brothers abandoned you, left you to face the monster all on your own.”

Chase abruptly stood up, the mug that was filled with tea that had gone cold fell over to the floor as his loosened grip let go of it, the sound of his racing heartbeat roaring in his ears while he tried to ignore the demented cackling coming from his tormentor. His words kept bouncing around his head and in a futile attempt to forget it, he held up the ruined sandwich that he had unknowingly crushed in his hand and tore into it.

“You can’t run away from the truth, Chaser.” He crooned right next to his ears, His dark presence loomed over his shaking body. “I truly do wonder if the others would actually come to your rescue if you cried for their help?”

Chase looked down at the remaining pieces of the sandwich in his hand and at the feel of cold tea on his feet.

His sandwich tasted like ash in his mouth.

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

Chase ran his fingers through his wet hair and walked out of the shower, wiping off his wet feet on the bathroom mat so that he won’t accidentally slip and crack his skull on the toilet. Knowing Him, He’d probably just laugh His ass off at his own stupidity and then the last thing that he would see would be that demon’s grinning face. That would be a shitty end to an already shitty life.

When he said that the hospital was the only safe place in the world against Him, he was sort of lying. For someone as creepy as He was, He still doesn’t invade the bathroom space especially when he’s taking a bath so that’s one place he can have some temporary peace whatsoever. It’s not that everything stops when he’s in there. Like…

Chase looked at the mirror and saw that he was crying tears of blood again. He reaches up, wiping the crimson liquid away from his cheeks, feeling the squish of the blood on his fingers, and spreads the mess all over his face. However, when he looked down he already knew what sight was waiting for him.

His fingers were clean.

When he looked back up into the mirror, there was not a shred of evidence that blood had been streaming down his cheeks a few seconds ago.

It was sickeningly funny in a fucked up way how such a thing that would’ve incited extreme panic attacks and mental breakdowns in the beginning barely fazed him anymore. He squeezed his dry fingers together and sighed. After all, there were worse things to panic about other than illusory tears of blood at this point in his life.

After their little one-sided conversation in the living room, Chase decided to take out his airpods and plug them up to his ears while he cleaned up the mess his tea made on the floor and finished up the remaining tea on the kettle and his smushed up sandwich. He could see Him snickering at his valiant attempts of ignoring Him at the corner of his eyes but Chase just averted his sight and began singing loudly to the lyrics of the songs screaming against his ears. Once he chugged down his tea, forced the tasteless sandwich down his throat, and cleaned up his mess, he dragged himself upstairs and decided to go for a hot shower before going to ‘sleep’.

The heat was both a comfort and a hit on the face about how this entire bullshit situation was the reality that he has to live with. A comatose best friend, a missing brother, a demon haunting nearly every second of his day poking at every raw wound of insecurity in his psyche, and a bunch of distant brothers who were too busy with their own respective tasks to listen to him… A tiny part of him wanted the ex-wife and children in his backstory to be real so that he could at least worry about something else other than the supernatural stuff but the bigger part of him wasn’t cruel enough to wish this messed up situation on anyone just because he wanted to feel a little less lonely.

He stepped out of his shower once his skin turned slightly red from the temperature of the water. No doubt he’s going to feel the rawness and sensitivity of his skin in the morning if he wasn’t feeling emptier than usual but for now, he just didn’t care. He changed into an oversized clean blue shirt and black shorts after he finished drying his hair with a towel and walked out into his bedroom.

The place was what you would frankly call a Mess. Dirty clothes formed into small mountains all around the corners of the room, a bunch of dirty mugs and plates sat on the table, his laptop in sleep mode settled on top of his unmade bed, and a trashcan full of empty packets of chips and snacks that he couldn’t be bothered to take out. Chase looked around his room and could just imagine Henrik or Jack’s fussing over him and the mess. They’d drag him out of his bed and help him clean out his room or get some sunshine.

God… He missed them so much…

He trudged over to his bed and replaced his laptop over to the floor. He slipped under the sheets and crossed his arms under his head while he stared up into the dark ceiling of his room. He could feel His gaze staring right at him, watching him do nothing if not for the sole purpose of reminding him that he’s not alone.

…

Would it be fucked up if he said that some part of him was glad that He was there? Save for the people in the hospital and his other absent brothers, everybody thought that he was Jack. He couldn’t let it be known that the man was in a comatose state as that would just bring more questions than reasonable answers that they could answer with. He has to pretend to be him in front of the public because nobody needs Chase but a lot of people need Jack.

The demon was the only one outside of the hospital to acknowledge that he was Chase and it’s so disgustingly, pathetically refreshing to him. He was the only one who ever calls him by his name now and it helps him remember that he wasn’t Jack, he could never be Jack.

Maybe after all this is over… If he’s still alive by then, he’ll dye his hair an outrageous color again so that nobody would ever make the mistake of calling him Jack.

“Oh Chaser~” He hates that the nickname that held such fond memories for him was now tainted by the eight months of hearing it being hissed out with mockery by the demon who couldn’t help but ruin everything that previously made him so happy. “Still giving me the cold shoulder while you’re about to sleep? How rude.”

Chase closed his eyes and turned over to lay on his stomach and bury his face into his pillows. He felt the side of the bed dip as He sat on it. Still, he feigned deafness to the sound of static popping and hissing in his ears while he tried to force himself to go to sleep. He felt his entire body tense when a painfully familiar hand started to play with his hair in the same way as Jack often did to him in the past.

“You’re lucky I’m in an indulging mood today, Chaser,” His voice dropped while His static grew louder. The hand that had been gently playing with his hair suddenly tugged on the strands while claws threateningly grazed his scalp. “On any normal day, I wouldn’t have stood for such disrespect.”

The healing bruises all over his body twinged at the same time while he listened to those words.

‘I know,’ Chase thought numbly. ‘I know that very well.’

The touch lightened once more now that He had delivered His message effectively. As those fingers glided down his hair to massage the weak spot behind his neck, he couldn’t resist melting against those hands. Unconsciously, he had moved his body closer to the gentle touches that his body has been craving for months. He wanted to laugh at the sad fact that the only physical contact he has felt over the past year came from the demon who also hurt him every single day. He heard Him chuckle as he chased His touch greedily.

“There, there, big brother’s here with you now,” Chase shuddered as He impeccably imitated Jack’s loving tone, tears springing up from behind his closed lids when he couldn’t stop the wounded whine that just escaped him. “Shh… You’re tired aren’t you, Chase? Go to sleep. I’ll keep you company for the night.”

He should be fighting this. He shouldn’t be taking any fake comfort from the demon… But he wasn’t strong enough like the others and he was so, so lonely... So they’ll forgive him if he gave in just a few times right?

“You think too much,” Chase sniffled at the perfect copy of the way Jack would express his fond exasperation while helping him go back to sleep after one of those terrible nightmares.

It hurts. It hurts that this feels like his big brother never left but he knew perfectly well that this was just another cruel game He was playing with him.

“Goodnight, Chaser,” He whispered into his ears while He continued to pet his head.

“Goodnight… Jack.”

#jacksepticeye #writersofjack #chase brody #antisepticeye #jack mcloughlin #Icarus Falls!AU #tw blood #tw hospital #tw coma #angst #hurt no comfort #creepy anti

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captaincoffeegirl515 · 4 years

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6 Underground Thoughts!

I'm literally gonna talk about pretty much the entire movie so lots and lots of spoilers under the read more.

If you've already seen the movie, I would love to talk and debate and scream excitedly about the movie with you!

P.S. This got way longer than I expected.

I gotta say I really enjoyed the movie. Of course, there's some problems and continuity errors, etc. but I'll get to them after.

First of all, I love all the interactions between them. Found-family trope is my jam.

One and Four

Four looks up to One and seems like he tries to impress him.

He also calls One a likeable asshole.

"See that? That's called skill." Show off.

One was the one Four called to for help even though they all knew his way of leaving you behind if you can't keep up. And he stepped up and saved Four! That whole scene was so good!

I will admit though that how they first met is messed up. One basically kidnapped him, tied him down, and made Four think he was gonna shoot and kill him. Seven got it down when he called them a "family more screwed up than mine"

Two and Three

Badass lady and himbo (does Three count as a himbo?). Enough said.

I love every interaction they had together. I enjoyed their bickering and how they showed how they cared in their own way.

Tiny touches! The part near the end when Three lightly touches Two’s arm and she takes her hand out of her pocket so they could hold hands?! Nice.

When Two said "I would love to meet your mother." awwww! The way Three just brightens up!

Four and Seven

OTP! I never expected to come out with one, but here we are.

Look, I just love the concept of the free-spirited parkour expert being with the disciplined military operator.

Seven just immediately seemed to take Four under his wing and genuinely care about his well-being.

The others also expressed how they didn't want to leave Four behind but only Seven fought for them to stop.

Saved Four's life not once, but twice! It was almost instinctual and he didn't hesitate to do it.

"You're calling me Mister Seven from now on" Seven's inner dom coming out lol.

The names scene! "I'm Blaine. I just saved your life. What's your name?" and instead of listening to One’s order, he answers.

"Yeah, you look like a Billy."

Seven and One

One always kept his distance from everyone, used numbers instead of names so he wouldn't get attached, and had that horrid "can't keep up, get left behind" rule. So glad that Seven pushed back, from making the shot to save Four from both drowning and from falling to his death, questioning his rules about leaving people behind, and getting them all (except One, sadly) to say their real names.

Seven brought out One's heart and finally made him start to actually care for his team aka family. Like I'm certain that if it wasn't for him, One would have definitely left Four to die in Hong Kong and on the boat during the coup.

"You've got a soul, man. You should let it out."

Movie highlights and thoughts:

I called it! Like based on the screen time and focus on them from the trailers, I already knew Six was the most likely one to die and Four would probably be injured at worst.

The fucking dialogue in the opening! I can't even. Like “I’m gonna put this inside you, really deep.” and "ahhh! She's squirting!"

"So many fucking Vias in Italy." I love how it's canon that Four isn't that good with maps and would definitely get lost in Italy. Actually he's bad with directions period. "Where are you?" "Here." "Specifics!" "Right here." Four pls

Three trying to learn the language of each new place they go to. The best!

Did I already say Two is badass? Because she is. She really is. And they're all right when they said she'd be the most likely to survive.

Four and Six worked so well together in the car chase scenes and Four looked so sad when he saw Six's body in that car. Honestly if Six hadn't died so early in the movie and they got more interactions together, him and Four probably would've been my OTP.

I did enjoy how One had like momentary vulnerability like when Six died or when Four told them to leave him followed by the gunshots, etc. Those little moments where you can see that he did have feelings before he shoves them deep down and focuses back on the mission.

Best outfit is Four in that big white sweater with the red stripes. He looked so good.

I found the scene where Four asks One if he was a pig then spits at him weirdly hilarious. The spitting just felt so random and came out of nowhere.

Four sleeping is! So! Cute! And when Three starts loudly complaining, he just slowly opens one eye like he's going "are you fucking kidding me right now?!"

Another funny scene was when Four easy runs across the top of the crane and then it pans to the guards chasing him and they have both arms and legs on the crane and just slowly inching their way across.

Guy jokes about Noor. "Noor is dead. Say he's dead." "No, he's dead. He died." "Wait no. Wrong guy. He's alive!" jfc that was funny!

The coup song is so fire! I love it! Nice choice, Four.

Four's scream when that guy broke his arm just kills me. I kinda wish One made that guy's death a bit more painful and drawn out but I get that they were under some serious time constraints.

Actually any part where Four gets hurt... noooo bb

Now that I think about it, the fact that they have comms throughout the mission, like they can hear everything the others say, they can hear each other when they're fighting, when they get hit, everything. They heard when Three got shot in the face and Seven panicked, thinking that he just killed him. They heard Four screaming in pain when his arm broke and they couldn't do anything since they weren't there.

Seriously though, Ben's acting is so good! He's easily the best part of the movie. And his eyes! So green and so expressive!

“Fuck you!” “Fuck you!” “No you, fuck you!” jfc One and Three are hilarious together.

It was such a great scene when One told them he wouldn't go after Rovach bc he's going to save Four. Just. My heart. And "You’re breaking your own rules. I thought you didn't have a family". And Five's soft smile.

Four and Five are rock climbing buddies! Both their smiles can outshine the sun. They're so cute! (even though in the close-ups you can tell the rock is very obviously fake)

Ben and Adria are both so hot my little bi heart is ready to burst!

Also, how is Micheal Bay saying this movie isn't political? They had the US gov’t staging coups in third world countries and putting dictators into power, Russia arming Rovach and his military, chemical warfare, Rovach's whole speech to his generals about hitting where he is weakest like hospitals and schools, the "our president doesn't know how to spell Turgistan" line, revolution, overthrowing dictators, throwing Rovach down to the people for them to deal their own brand of justice, etc. There were so many things that just screamed politics!

Issues:

Holy hell the kill count of this movie is just insane. It becomes over the top so fast. Same with all the gratuitous gore.

Shaky af camera work.

Literally every explosion looked like those sparky fireworks. What.

Lots of continuity errors. Six having a disappearing and reappearing hat throughout the chase scene. Basically any scene involving water. Like Four and Two get completely soaked at one point, but in the next scene, they're completely dry. Or the part where Four is hanging upside down on the net and big dude is trying to untangle him so he’d fall but when it cuts back to them when Seven makes the shot, it's back to the part where the guy was choking Four.

Did anyone else notice all the skid marks on the roads even though they haven't officially driven on it yet? Didn't have enough budget left to remove or edit out the marks from all the rehearsals they did?

And why is One hanging the eyeball right over the phone screen? That's not where the camera is dude!

Did Two and Three seriously have sex with all those dead people around?! Shouldn't they be running since they killed the 4 generals and guards would likely be on their way??

Also, Ben's stunt double was obvious in almost every parkour stunt. Wow.

Why no Five backstory! I wanna know how she ended up joining the team!

They did Five dirty! She barely has lines or scenes, they took out her backstory, and gave her little to no character growth.

I know they're hinting at Four and Five getting together, but I just don't see it. They have barely any romantic chemistry together. Eye contact and smiling is not chemistry. It just isn’t.

#6 underground #6 underground spoilers #ryan reynolds #melanie laurent #manuel garcia rulfo #ben hardy #adria arjona #dave franco #corey hawkins

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thedistantstorm · 4 years

Text

Project Compass 22

Read along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Ezra demands answers from Eli.

Next time: Maybe Thrawn was right.

The medbay was quiet when Ezra finally made his way in. There was a lingering fear of what he’d find, but he pushed it back. Nothing could have been worse than what he’d seen. Even aboard the bridge of the Chimaera, when the purgill’s tails held him in place, he’d never seemed truly helpless. And that, Ezra had decided, rivaled the Grysks he’d encountered in terms of terror. Beings like Thrawn just weren’t supposed to be like that.

Ezra quietly opened the door that separated the bay Thrawn had been assigned from the rest of the medical quarter. He wasn’t surprised to see Thrawn asleep, but he was surprised to see Un’hee. She moved fast.

The small Navigator had already pulled a chair up as close to the edge of the bed as she could so she could wrap her hands around the arm that was not being used to administer medications. She lifted her head when she heard him, her forehead bowed to touch the top of his hand.

“Hi,” He said softly to the girl.

“Hi,” She echoed back as Ezra inspected Thrawn. The slightest peek of bandages were visible, but they, like the sheets pulled over him, were a stark, unblemished white. “Did they tell you?”

“Yeah,” Ezra said in relief, grabbing a chair and moving it closer with an easy wave of his hand. He dropped into it on Thrawn’s other side. In Basic, he added, “Thank the Force.”

Un’hee dipped her head, almost seeming pensive, just for a moment. “Yeah,” She echoed. “I was really worried.”

Ezra didn’t reach out to touch Thrawn, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. They weren’t touchy people. He leaned back into the chair and crossed his arms, drawing the Force up and around them. Un’hee, he realized, felt weird. Electric. He’d never felt her like this before. Maybe it was a lingering panic? “Are you okay?” He asked her, tilting his head. “I know that was really scary,” He added.

She nodded slowly. “I am fine,” She said. “I was scared,” She admitted. “I still am. I don’t want anything like this to happen again. Not to anyone.”

“Me either,” Ezra agreed. “I’m going to keep an eye on him. This never should have happened,” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have turned my back on him. I never sensed his ill-intent toward Thrawn, not even at the end when he grabbed me.”

“Chiss are difficult to sense, even to each other,” Un’hee whispered warily. “I felt like something was wrong, but I didn’t know what it was until it happened.”

“You saved him, though,” Ezra said. “If you hadn’t known how serious it was - what it was,” He revised, “They never would have made an antidote in time.”

The Chiss girl frowned, looking into Thrawn’s sleeping face. Unlike Ezra, whose face went slack and serene when he was unconscious, Thrawn retained that same sternness, his lips held in a serious line despite the rest of his face being smooth and impassive. “I’m just glad they did,” She said softly, evenly. She pressed her forehead back against Thrawn’s arm where it lay above the thin white sheet and blanket and remained silent for a long, long time.

That was fine. Ezra used the time to immerse himself in much-needed meditation. The Chiss’s deep-sleeping breaths were a balm for his anxiety, and an anchor to prevent him from slipping down into the Force too deeply. He refused to let his guard down. If Ar’alani was concerned, this wasn’t a drill. Thrawn - hell, both of them were probably still in danger. Ivant might have thought that an attack would be directed at him, but Ezra couldn’t help but feel like an attack on Thrawn was more of a show of their displeasure at the Chiss bringing him back after things with the Empire went wrong.

He exhaled in frustration, all but hearing his master’s knowing hum. Right, Ezra thought. Get back on track. Give it to the Force. There’s nothing he could do about that now. He was here in this moment, and so was Thrawn. It was up to Ezra to make sure nobody got another opportunity to do something like this, antidote or not.

“You need to sleep,” Vah’nya instructed him after a lengthy silence. She tucked her legs beneath her as she sat, having just exchanged his most recent mug of caf for a cup of calming wintermint tea, “Or, you need to get over yourself and go sit with him.”

Commenting on something else entirely, he began, “Where’d you-”

“The Admiral gave me a few sachets,” She admitted, then pressed, “She’s not stupid, you know. For now, all we can do is wait for the remainder of the chemicals to run their course.”

“I know,” Eli looked up at the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Admiral said that, too. I just,” He sighed. “It’s easier said than done.”

The Senior Navigator exhaled slowly. “Do you wish to speak about it?”

“Not really,” Eli admitted.

Vah’nya hummed, rubbing at a scratch in the well-worn mugs she’d managed to get from the Admiral’s office. She didn’t look up at him right away when she spoke. “Your officers said you didn’t panic. That is a big feat,” She finished, gracing him with a smile. It was a bigger distraction than the more obvious topic, the actual big-ticket item: Un’hee and her newly manifested abilities.

He bit hard, and she saw through the mild irritation in his tone, “I couldn’t have panicked, Vah’nya. We’d have had bodies, plural, on our hands.”

She hummed. “Exactly. You are a good commander, Eli. Your actions-”

“A good commander would have seen what was going on before it happened,” The human spat. There was the temper. Vah’nya hid her smile with a pointed sip of tea. “Thrawn never would’ve let something like that happen to one of his officers.”

“Thrawn never would have known what that was,” Vah’nya reminded him. “Maybe he’d seen it in some report, but I doubt he would have known the amount that could kill someone instantly, like you and Un’hee did. It isn’t documented.” Her eyes were wide, their glow bright in the dim light of the empty ready room that would serve as his interim office. She leveled him with a serious gaze. “You didn’t hesitate.”

“No, but now I get the stigma of killing my second officer on the bridge of my own damn ship. As if being this,” He gestured to himself like he was some sort of freak, “Wasn’t enough.” Some of the more prejudiced Chiss definitely saw him that way, and he’d never quite gotten used to their open disdain.

“Well, if you were going to get heat for it,”Un’hee reminded him patiently, “Admiral Ar’alani would have already punished you herself. This is not your Empire. We are flawed, Eli, but I would hope we are better than the worst of what you’ve left behind.”

At that, the Captain leaned forward, finally picking up the mug of tea. “It is,” He began. “You are. I just-” He sighed again. “I don’t mean to be like this,” He said. “Not to you.”

“I know,” Vah’nya said. “Which is why you should go see him. You’ll never calm down until you do,” She reminded him kindly. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I saw him already, Vah’nya. I watched Un’hee work. I know he’ll be alright.”

“So?” She smiled again, both soft and understanding. “I know for a fact there is a difference between sitting with someone you care about with and without the Admiral watching. Not that I believe she would judge you, but, some things are private.”

Eli nodded, looking down into his cooling tea, as if the murky green-blue-brown color of it would hold some answers for him. If anyone understood that, it was Vah’nya. Vah’nya who had sat with him for so many of those long nights during his recovery, mindful of the boundaries between friendship enhanced by suffering and polite concern when others were watching. Theirs was a bond forged by mutual pain, by memories remembered if only to prevent the same fate from befalling someone else, and a determination to live when everything else had failed.

“Wanna go for a walk?” He asked her when she’d finished her tea. He was trying to be light about it, so she played along like a true friend.

She inclined her head. “Of course, Eli.” When he rose, she followed, stopping only to place her hands on his shoulders in a show of support. “You are not alone,” She reminded him.

Eli covered her hands with his. “I know,” He said, squeezing. “Thank you, Vah’nya.”

Jerked from meditation by the sound of approaching footsteps, Ezra found himself meeting the gaze of a hesitant looking Captain Ivant. He rose, stiffening to attention. On the other side of Thrawn’s bed, Un’hee was asleep, curled in her chair, still halfway attempting to hold the unconscious Chiss’s hand. Somehow, Ezra knew if Thrawn were awake, he’d very much dislike the clinginess of it, but would probably bear the discomfort for the girl’s sake.

“Any changes?” Ivant asked.

“No,” Ezra said, sitting back down but not quite relaxing. “Any questioning you’ll need to do about what happened will have to wait.”

Eli frowned. “I’m not here to question him,” He assured. “I was just worried.”

“You weren’t worried when it happened,” Ezra accused quietly. “Convenient.”

The older human’s eyebrows rose. “What? What do you mean I wasn’t worried. Of course I was. He’s a part of my crew. He’s my responsibility.”

“Yeah, he is,” The Jedi agreed, careful to keep his voice low enough to prevent him from waking Un’hee. He seemed to consider something for a minute before finally motioning to the door. “I need to talk to you. Outside.”

Vah'nya appeared behind Ivant, her head tilted in a wordless question. Ivant shook his head once, decidedly. “Okay,” He said. “Let’s step outside.” To Vah’nya, he added, “Stay in here until we come back, okay?”

She confirmed she would, and Ivant led Ezra out of the medbay and into the nearest vacant service corridor. When it was clear they were alone, Ivant turned back to him expectantly. “What is it?” He asked, concerned.

“I guess I should apologize now, since you’re my superior officer-”

“Just say what’s on your mind,” Ivant waved away the Jedi’s attempt at formality.

Ezra evaluated him for a few seconds. “Well, why were you coming to see him? You knew he wasn’t going to be awake, so why now?”

A hint of discomfort echoed through Ivant’s tone, disguised as formality. “Is it alright if I worry about my subordinate, Jedi Bridger?”

“Yeah,” He began, “I mean, yes, sir.” He shrugged, then commented mildly, “I guess it’s like this is just… routine to you. Like it’s nothing that Thrawn almost died.”

Eli’s frown deepened. “It’s definitely not nothing, Ezra,” He relented. “But the situation with Thrawn is complicated, and not really your - or anyone else’s business.”

“Right.” Ezra said. “Well, all I’m saying is that you don’t get to pick when it’s convenient to care about someone. You either do, or you don’t.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Ivant refuted, meeting the steely gaze of his lone human counterpart, assessing how he appeared to be feeling.

“Right,” The Jedi muttered again. “Sure.”

“You’re pissed at me,” He said. “I get it. This happened on my ship, on my bridge. It’s my responsibility.” He considered adding that he was furious at himself as well, but it wasn’t the time. This wasn’t about him.

Ezra put both hands on his hips. His captain was absolutely right. “Of course I’m pissed, and yeah, this is on you!” That wasn’t completely fair, but with a target to direct his anger, Ezra couldn’t help himself. “How did this get under your nose without you knowing about it? He was your second officer!”

Ivant agreed, that was a fact. “He was. Commander Wes’lash’andi was a smart officer, and he would have gone far if not for what he’d done.” The Captain said, focusing only on the facts. Ezra was compassionate and strong. And more than anything, he was well and truly loyal to Thrawn, his entry point into this end of the Galaxy. He cared about helping the Ascendancy, but Eli knew it was deeper than that. Thrawn had been willing to abandon his principles to try and salvage a downright evil situation, for sake of what he believed to be the greater good of the galaxy. He’d lost his way, that was never a question. Still, he wasn’t irredeemable. Ezra’s being here proved that.

“And he almost killed Thrawn.”

“I was there, Bridger,” He replied immediately, an edge to his tone. “As for your question of how this happened, what do you think?”

“Well we can’t ask Commander Slasha,” Ezra’s eyes flashed.

“No, we can’t.” Then, in Basic, a language hardly any of the crew could understand, much less speak, Ivant continued. “He had Grysk poison, Ezra. We found more in his bunk. Not enough to kill everyone on board, but certainly enough to take out another fifty members of our crew. Do you have any idea how that much of something gets aboard a ship like the Compass?” He paused after asking, brows steep, eyes cold.

“I-”

Vanto spoke over whatever half-cocked answer Ezra was trying to formulate. “The answer is not alone. It would have had to have come through another ship. Another crew. Someone brought it to him.”

“What about when we were docked?”

“Doubtful. Copero is a military shipyard. Their protocols are too strict.”

Ezra considered. “Then via shuttle? We would have seen a Grysk ship.”

“It wouldn’t be a Grysk ship,” Eli said, resisting the urge to shake the young man by the shoulders, roughly. “Think.”

It didn’t take the Jedi long to put it together. “They - their client species,” He said softly. “One of them?”

“Correct.” Ivant crossed his arms. “Which one?”

“I don’t… anyone could meet him in the hangar with a non-descript ship.”

“We have surveillance in the hangar. Not anyone.”

“Well, the Chiss don’t just work with anyone,” Ezra sassed back, then recoiled, remembering he was speaking to his superior officer.

Eli didn’t comment on the tone, instead asking, “You understand now, Bridger?”

“Why would someone do this to their own people?” Ezra looked confused. Conflicted. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“There’s never just one.” Eli leaned against the wall. “Emperor Palpatine is willing to work with the Grysks to get Thrawn back. Both sides think they can work over the other to come out ahead.”

“And… you’re saying that whoever in the Ascendancy who is willing to work with the Grysks is thinking the same thing?”

The boy was smarter than he acted sometimes, Eli would give him that. He wondered absently if this was a bit how Thrawn thought of him in their academy days, when Eli himself had to be led point by point to a conclusion. He’d like to think he was a little more analytical, but he highly doubted it.

“Yes.”

“Do you think they can?””

To that, Eli frowned, his expression shifting from wary to stormy and dark. “No,” He said. “I don’t think so.”

“But you did. You and Vah’nya came out ahead.”

Unfortunately, Ezra didn’t miss Eli’s shudder. “Our escape from the Grysks, our ability to kill them at all was a miracle. Our survival even more so. If the Grysks are working with a faction or family within the Ascendancy, they will believe they have control, that they’re capable of the deception.”

“But you did,” He argued.

Eli stopped him there. “I didn’t. I supplied the data to find Thrawn. I gave them the formulas, the tools. I never gave myself enough access to key data, never let myself memorize it. So even if they ripped my mind to shreds,” He paused, something haunted in his eyes making Ezra swallow hard, “They probably wouldn’t have been able to find the Chimaera before Ar’alani got to it. It was just an added bonus that the Grysks were arrogant enough to think I was a mere hireling for the first bit. They won’t make that kind of mistake with actual Chiss. And certainly not with Chiss of any significant power.”

The Jedi toed a scuff on the floor with his boot, obviously trying to process that information, likely to inform Thrawn as soon as the other man was awake. “Ar’alani - er, Admiral Ar’alani asked me to keep an eye on Thrawn.”

“Good,” Eli said. “I figured you would have.” He motioned to the exit to the service hallway. “Can we go back and check on the Commander now?”

“I suppose.”

The look Eli received before the Jedi turned away from him was full of suspicion and defensiveness. Ezra might trust his judgement when it came to the Ascendancy and their enemies, but he clearly didn’t trust Eli personally. Eli sighed silently, rubbing at his temples as he followed along behind Ezra. It didn’t look like he would be able to visit Thrawn peacefully after all.

#thranto #mitth'raw'nuruodo #ezra bridger #ar'alani #eli vanto #un'hee #eli vanto/thrawn #sw fanfiction #my writing

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miss-pearlescent · 5 years

Text

Smoke in Her Veins (M)

magic, mild fighting, mild angst, max fluffy smut (✧ᴗ✧✿)

I liked being the bait.

It was fun to play the dumb victim role and then turn around to bite the attacker in the neck. Nobody assumed that a woman wearing nothing but a tube top and slinky mini skirt would be dangerous.

But they didn’t know that I had magic on my side.

The man behind me, my target for the night, danced his hands down my waist as the music beat loudly through the club. The navy velvet of his shirt tickled my shoulders as he leaned in. “What’s your name, sweet thing?”

I turned to him, biting my lip in a tease. “No names tonight,” I said over the bass as I wound my arms around his neck. “Let’s just have a good time.”

His breath smelled like smoke and alcohol when he chuckled. Perfect. “Oh, baby girl, I know exactly where we can have a good time.” The man’s grey eyes swirled as he detangled my arms and pulled me through the crowd.

Adrenaline raced up my veins as I clutched the small necklace around my neck, my beacon of safety. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my partner in crime, the one I could count on if anything went awry.

He was the reason I was brave enough to do any of this.

And he was currently lounging on a chaise in the corner, two women draped over his lap.

I tamped down the flicker of jealousy and pulled my attention back to my target, the man who tugged at my wrist through a door and down a dark hallway.

I sure hoped Kai knew I was back here.

With a mental scoff, I focused on my mission. Of course he knew I was back here. Kai always had eyes everywhere. We had a plan set out and everything was falling into place.

Step one: seduce the smoke demon into a private space.

Two: provoke him into an attack.

Three: suck out all his smoke.

Four: celebrate the victory by going to McDonald’s and making Kai pay for my meal because it was my first solo mission.

I was pulled into a dark room and the door shut behind me a second before I was pushed back against it.

The man—or should I say demon—let out a smokey breath, nearly making me cough my lungs out. His mouth mashed into mine as he gripped my neck. Great, so he was into both chemical and physical asphyxiation.

I roamed my hands along his chest, carefully feeling for any weapons that he might have on his person. None.

Demons didn’t usually need human weapons, but you could never be too sure.

Then I brought my leg up to run along his hips, checking his pockets even as he stuck his whole hand under my top and palmed my breast.

I fought the urge to punch him.

Yeah, I needed to provoke this demon into a fight, but I wasn’t going to do it unless I was sure I had a chance of winning.

He tried to hike up my other leg but I pulled away. “How about you let me take the lead, big boy?” I trailed a finger down the front of his shirt, all the way to the fly of his tight pants where I could see a bulge trying to push free.

He grabbed my wrist and pushed it back against the wall. The grip he had on my neck tightened. “How about no?” he whispered, trailing a wet tongue along my jaw. “I want to have my fun with a human before I rip your limbs from your body.”

I paused. Wait a damn minute.

The next second, my necklace was ripped off me and crushed under his boot.

I tried not to flinch.

The demon smirked. “How are you going to call for help now, pretty human? Who is going to hear your screams as I break every bone in your body?”

I glared up at him, way too pissed off about my necklace than about my safety. It was a pretty gold necklace that Kai had given me when I first started training with him. He said it was a lifeline, that I could use it whenever I needed help. I remember being delighted that it went well with almost all of my outfits.

It was practical and fashionable.

“I’d like to see you try,” I bit back, hoping he would use his smoke breath so I could suck it out and drain him of all life.

That was my secret weapon.

But my knee was also another weapon.

I brought it up and shoved it up his nuts.

Kai pulled on his jacket and waited on a low rooftop beside the nightclub. It was a spot where he could see the small basement window of the room that the smoke demon had pulled Nara into.

The room was dark and the window was full of grime, but if any furniture went flying through the window, he’d know to step in.

He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed since he had seen the smoke demon leave the dance floor with Nara. Fifteen minute since he himself had left the nightclub and set up post on a rooftop.

He had promised her an hour before he would bust in and pull her out of there. She said she could handle a level five demon alone, but he still worried about her.

Nara had been training with him for six months and often outsmarted the demons as if she were playing a game. It helped her excel faster than anyone he’d ever seen, yet he was still worried.

He was still human and so was she.

Kai crouched down, preparing a small fireball in his palm, and checked his watch again. The red light indicating the help signal didn’t flash, so he guessed she was doing fine by herself.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something bad could happen. He had seen her expertly seduce the smoke demon to do her bidding, getting them a private room so she could lay out her attack. Kai had his senses honed to her every move, noticing the way she touched and spoke to the demon into submission.

Kai scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to shake the image of her grinding her ass against the demon. Nara was his mission partner, somebody he needed to keep out of his spank bank.

Only his subconscious knew how many mental images he really had of her.

And then all of a sudden she was in view, climbing out of the small window.

Topless.

Acting on pure instinct, Kai jumped down from the roof, stepping from balcony to balcony.

Nara stood there, arms crossed over her chest as she looked both ways down the street and then up at him. All her earlier confidence was gone. There was only uncertainty in her eyes.

And some sort of defiance.

He had a million questions when he reached her. “What did he do to you?” he threw out.

“Nothing,” she snapped back. He didn’t miss the little shiver even as she scowled and looked away. “I killed him. It’s done.”

Kai pressed his lips together as he pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He tucked it around her neck and was glad to see her visibly relax under it. “You sure he’s dead?”

She cast him a glare and he could see the grey swirling in her eyes. It was a tell-tale sign that she had absorbed the life of another being when her black eyes changed to the colour of her victims’. “I told you I killed him. Now can we leave?”

She didn’t look like she was in the mood to trek in her high heels and a jacket that swamped her from neck to knees. Kai sighed and picked her up.

“I can walk,” she said, but without much gusto. She even leaned her head against his shoulder.

The small but tender action made Kai stiffen. Shit. Something had definitely happened in there, and he wanted to know what.

But first he needed to cheer her up.

“McDonald’s?” he offered.

She shook her head.

He hopped onto the roof of a car and then onto a balcony so he could reach the rooftops where he could easily take her anywhere she wanted. “Your place?” he asked.

She shook her head again.

Kai began walking in the direction of his home. The last time he had brought her over was Valentine’s Day when they both joked about being miserably single and got drunk on chicken and beer.

Things got awkward when they had woken up the next day on his bed, half naked and tangled up in each other.

They hadn’t done anything, at least nothing he remembered, and they both agreed they were better off being just friends lest the missions get compromised.

They were paired together to slay demons, not make babies.

But fuck that.

Kai needed to take care of his partner or else they would never be able to run a mission ever again.

“My place?” he murmured.

He felt her nod as her eyelids fell.

I woke up with a raging headache and a hacking cough. I sat up, leaning over the edge of the bed to cough my guts out. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. Like my lungs were on fire.

The fire spread and my eyes began tearing up before I started to dry heave. A hand pulled my hair back from my face and I groaned at the knowledge that somebody was here to see me like this.

“Breathe,” a low whisper came at my ear.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a slow breath. Of course it had to be Kai who saw me like this. I remembered last night when I ceremoniously crawled out of a cobwebbed window and flashed my boobs to the world, waiting for my one-man pickup ride to show up.

And that was after I had almost died.

I doubled over and went into another coughing fit.

Maybe dying would’ve been better than this.

When I finally came up for air, a glass of water was put into my hands.

“Drink,” Kai commanded.

I shook my head. “It’s okay.” I took a few deep breaths. “I just...I just need to rest a little.”

Kai lifted the water to my lips and made me take a sip. I didn’t admit to him that it felt like heaven running down my burning throat. .”You’ve been resting for three straight days.”

I opened my eyes and blinked up at him, noticing that he looked more disheveled than I had ever seen him.

His hair stood up in funny angles and his white shirt was so wrinkled, it looked like he had took a tumble in it.

Or maybe just slept in it.

Anyway, he looked even hotter than usual. Unfair, considering how bad I probably looked hacking my lungs out.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to keep from coughing on his beautiful face. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Stay awake, Nara. You’ve been unconscious for three days.” He leaned against the headboard and pulled me against his chest. I almost laughed because how was I supposed to stay awake when he was making me more comfortable? “What happened after the smoke demon took you to the room?”

I buried my nose into his shirt and inhaled, enjoying the way his scent seemed to suppress the urge to cough. “I killed him.”

Kai shook me. “Nara,” he growled.

I pouted and looked up. “I made out with him and then I killed him. Better?”

He gave me a hard look. “What happened to your necklace?” His voice was gentle despite the frustration in his eyes.

I reached a hand up to my neck where it was empty. “The demon seemed to know who I was. He broke it.”

Kai let out a curse and I felt his grip tighten.

“It’s okay. You can grab me another one, right?” Another coughing fit ran through me and Kai held me up, rubbing my back until I finished.

“I wouldn’t have let you die,” he said as he pressed the glass of water into my hands again.

I took a deep gulp even as his words ran through my head.

I felt the knot build up in my throat because I couldn’t deny what had happened that night.

I enjoyed being the bait only because I knew I had Kai behind me, watching my back and ensuring my safety. There was a moment that night when I had been pinned down, my arms and legs twisted in a painful direction and I thought I was actually going to die.

My necklace had been sitting beside me on the ground, crushed into a million pieces. There had been no way to call for Kai’s help. I was alone.

I chugged the water even as I felt tears pricking my eyes.

It was only luck that the demon decided to use his smoke at that moment. I still had enough energy to suck his powers into me.

But it was the most difficult demon yet. He was strong, and draining him had drained me.

I handed the glass back to Kai and noticed the veins on my hands. They were black. “Has it really been three days?”

He nodded and watched me.

I was so tired.

And for once, so scared.

I thought I had been doing so well. I was more and more in control of my power. I thought I could take on this demon by myself.

But I also stared death in the face.

I closed my eyes but Kai shook me again.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

I winced as my lungs seemed to flare up again. “I just need a little nap.” A nap would numb me from this pain.

“Nara,” he said, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Open your eyes.”

I opened them and watched the black of my veins fade.

“The smoke from the demon is poisoning you.”

“My body will process it in time,” I argue back.

“It’s been three days and I have watched it spread.”

I knew he was right. Damn him for always being right.

But that was why I had chosen him as a training partner.

He pressed his lips to my wrist and the smoke in my veins seemed to clear just from the touch.

“No.” I knew what he was doing and tried to pull away. “You can’t take in the smoke or else you’ll get sick too.”

Kai held my wrist tightly, rubbing circles with his thumb along my palm. “You think I can’t handle this?”

His mouth grazed up my arm, tickling me.

I was wearing a baggy t-shirt of his, and he pushed the sleeve up as he kissed my shoulder. “You think a man who can control fire can’t handle a little smoke?”

I squirmed when he reached my neck, unsure if it was ticklish or turning me on.

I shouldn’t be turned on.

He was just trying to help me heal. That was all. Nothing special.

He sucked on a sensitive spot on my neck and I bit back a gasp. Pulling away, he murmured, “Sorry, there are pulse points where the smoke is more concentrated.”

“I-it’s okay,” I stammered.

“Give me your other arm.”

Kai wished he could do this all day as he massaged a spot under Nara’s arm and sucked on her delicate skin.

He could hear the little quiver in her voice. “You don’t need to be so thorough. It’s dirty there. I can still take a little bit of leftover smoke.”

“Mm.” Kai couldn’t help but linger there a bit longer, enjoying the way she squirmed, enjoying the musk of her scent. When he reached the sleeve, he pulled away and tugged at the hem of her shirt.

She was only wearing panties and he didn’t know how much she was willing to let him see.

Nara cleared her throat and he could see her expression straining as she still felt the pain in her lungs. Kai knew he still had a lot of work to do.

“May I?” he asked, giving her shirt another tug. He needed to get to where smoke gathered the most.

At her nod, he gently set her down so she was sitting comfortably against the headboard. He crawled in between her legs and folded the hem of the shirt up to the bottom of her breasts. Holding her hips, he leaned in and kissed her belly button, ignoring the image of her thin pink panties.

He had already seen it two nights ago when he had brought her home and changed her into comfortable clothing. But seeing her panties like this, with her legs spread open for him...

Kai stopped himself and concentrated on absorbing the poisonous smoke from her skin. He could feel it building up in him, but instead of making him feel sick, it seemed to stoke the fire in him.

But this was for her, not him. Nara needed to get better so they would fight demons again.

He felt her stomach flex on a quick breath as he pressed his lips to a spot on her rib.

That was it, there were no more black veins on her stomach. But he knew they had crept under the shirt.

Kai rubbed his fingers along her sides. “How are you feeling?” he asked, looking up.

He instantly regretted it because he lost all sense when he looked up. Nara’s face was flushed and her lips were plush and parted.

She was as turned on as he was.

He looked away to collect his thoughts, but then he noticed the small wet spot in the centre of her panties, and he swore he saw her pussy convulse.

“Nara,” his voice was guttural, almost unrecognizable.

She pushed his hands under her shirt, pressing them against her hard nipples. “I need more,” she panted.

That was all Kai needed before he shoved her shirt up and reveled in the look of her round breasts. They were perfect, except for the fact they were streaked with black poison.

It reminded him he still had a job to do.

He leaned in and suckled one pointed nipple into his mouth. He ignored Nara’s little yelp as he kept the suction going hard and steady.

The poison was more concentrated here than her neck or arms. He needed to have a firm hand.

He flicked her nipple back and forth with his tongue, pushing the smoke out and releasing it into his mouth where he could absorb it. He drank it all in, enjoying the way Nara’s fingers threaded through his hair as if she were commending him for doing a good job.

And he was going to make sure he did a good job.

Kai let go of the nipple with a pop, and he grinned at the fact that it was no long black, but a dusky rose, reddened by his lips.

He turned to the other breast, ready to repeat himself, but stopped.

There was barely anything there compared to the first breast.

Maybe it needed a bit of coaxing. He played with the nipple with his finger, squeezing and plucking until it puckered up.

Nara panted above him. “What’s happening?” she asked.

Kai shook his head as he gently squeezed the breast. “I don’t know. The black was here a minute ago, but now it’s gone. I don’t know where it went.”

“Maybe you got it all.”

Kai suspected otherwise. He put his mouth to her nipple and sucked on it softly. He could still taste the smoke and he knew it was still somewhere in her body.

He tongued the little point, hoping it would release something.

“Oh, Kai...” Nara’s fingers scratched against his back as she arched up against him.

“Almost done,” he muttered against her skin.

He needed to think, but it was hard when there was a beautiful woman writhing underneath him. The poison liked to travel to places where blood flow was strong, like her carotid pulse and lymph nodes. It liked to avoid him by hiding where he couldn’t get it, like at her breast underneath her shirt.

He looked down as Nara wrapped her legs around him.

The musky scent of her wetness was a distraction.

That was it.

Kai leaned in and pressed his mouth to the centre of her panties without thinking, to the spot where it was damp and her folds were outlined in the fabric.

The black poison seemed to jump out the hem of her panties and then go back to hiding.

Jackpot.

“K-Kai? Did you get it?” Nara asked, completely breathless.

His lips kicked up in a triumphant grin as he tugged at her panties. “Just a little more, Nara.”

She placed a hand on his and stopped him. “Then what?”

He stopped, blinking. Then what?

Her brows creased in frustration. “You’ve almost sucked me dry. I feel empty.” She pressed his hand down until his knuckle ran along the wetness of her crease.

Kai raised a brow and smirked. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

Her gaze flickered to the fly of his pants, where he knew he was hard as a rock.

He pulled at her panties, satisfied in how soaked it was. “You want me to fill you up, Nara?”

She nodded eagerly and he rewarded her by slipping a finger into her folds.

Her breath caught and she let out a long moan.

“I have a job to do first, Nara,” he teased as he stroked his finger in and out, watching the black smoke gather around the centre. “I need to get this poison out of you.”

He added a second finger and watched her eyes roll back behind her head. “Can I do that?” he whispered as he curled his fingers, pressing up against a sensitive spot inside her warm centre. “Can I do that before I fuck you?”

“Yes,” she panted as she raised her hips to his grip. “Please, Kai!”

He let out a satisfied chuckled before he set his lips to her straining clit, covering it and setting a soft, rhythmic suckle.

She bucked.

Kai gripped her hips so she wouldn’t fly off the bed. He felt her walls squeezing around his fingers and knew the poison was leaving her.

He flicked his tongue against the side of her sensitive little bud, loving the taste of her mingling with the smoke in the back of his throat. She writhed underneath him, her juices running down his hands and her soft thighs squeezing him in to take it all.

He peeked one eye open and saw that there was no longer any black running along her skin. He had absorbed all the energy and now he was revved up.

Kai reared back, pulling his fingers out of her weeping core.

Nara cried out at the loss.

He leaned over her, undoing his pants until his cock was finally free. It wept for her as she set a bold hand on it and ran it along her slit.

“Take me hard,” she begged. “I need you to fill me up.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He pushed his hips forward, pressing into the warmth of her. “Fuck,” he ground out. She was so tight.

He leaned on his elbow and reached a hand down to tease her clit.

“Good girl,” he said as he slid deeper. He kissed away the whimper on her lips as she wrapped her legs around his hips. “You’ve got me. I’m here.”

It didn’t matter if she had the necklace or not. He would always be there for her.

Kai felt her walls contracting around him as he hit the deep centre. He stopped to let her adjust, stroking her hair, kissing her breasts, playing with her clit.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she shook as an orgasm washed over her.

He chuckled. “That’s it,” he whispered, taking her nipple into his mouth like he did earlier. He pumped his hips, slowly gaining speed.

Nara gripped the bed sheets and rocked her hips to match him. “Faster,” she pleaded.

“If you say so,” he said playfully.

He had so much energy pent up, he needed release. Fast.

He sat up, holding Nara’s hips in the air so he could control the speed himself.

And then he fucked her the way he had imagined for so many nights.

Her cries filled the room.

Kai watched as Nara’s body arched up with every orgasm, felt her juices running down both their legs, and still did not let up. He plunged his hips with all his might and pulled her in with his arms, making sure she felt every thrust.

He was getting himself close too, but he needed something else. Something even more intimate than this crazed fucking.

He pitched forward, wrapping her legs back around him, and leaned in until their noses were almost touching.

“Look at me, Nara,” he snarled.

He felt like an animal as he rutted her. He couldn’t control himself.

She opened her eyes despite her nonstop orgasms. “Kai,” she said between gulps of air. “I’m going to come again. You’re going to make me—” She pulled him down and smothered her moan with his lips.

Her fingers clawed at him wildly, making him feel feral.

He pinned her down and pushed through her tightness, needing these last few thrusts to bring himself over the edge.

He pulled out the moment he spilled.

She squealed at the loss of him, grinding herself along his length to ride out both their orgasms.

Suddenly, his limbs felt like jello. Rolling to the side, he pulled Nara with him, unwilling to break the kiss.

She was still shaking as she adjusted herself on his chest.

They both caught their breaths, staring up at the ceiling. Kai found that his fingers wouldn’t stop running back and forth along her skin, loving the warm feel of it.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Nara spoke first. “I like this post-victory activity.”

He chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “Better than McDonald’s.”

---

Hello all :) I know it has been like 4-5 months since I’ve posted, but I’ve recently read many books in a row and was inspired once again! This oneshot, however, was triggered by a reread of a hentai manga from an author/artist that I really like LOOOOOL Specifically, chapter 6 of KOI+KAN by Kikurage :) Yes, I am here on Tumblr dot com giving hentai recommendations. Anyway, thank you for reading and please give it a like if you enjoyed it!

#kai #exo #jongin #fanfiction #kpop #kpop fanfiction #exo fanfiction #kai fanfiction #oneshot #smut

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technicolortheshow · 4 years

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BOHREN & DER CLUB OF GORE

My Bloody Quarantine part 1

The last six months have been pretty shit, hey? It looks like there is no future anymore... global warming, COVID-19, Australia on fire, wars... shall I go on?

ANYWAY, we are not here to talk about a stupid government led by a buffoon with a mop in his head (ops!) but to praise one of the bands who kept me company during this bloody quarantine of mine: BOHREN & DER CLUB OF GORE. This German act, in fact, hung out with me during the several nights of insomnia, which, trust me, were devastating, loooooong and cold. Cigarettes after cigarettes, wine after wine, I thoroughly enjoyed the discography of the quartet and I thought it was time to write something about them.

Because of the slow-moving and nocturnal nature of their music, a doom jazz plenty of end-of-the-world ballads, or, in their words "unholy ambient mixture of slow jazz ballads, Black Sabbath doom and down-tuned Autopsy sounds", I happily matched their records to these apocalyptic months. Just like a dark noir by Leo Malet, or a Terry Gilliam dystopian movie, Bohren & Der Club of Gore managed to convey, over the last 25 years, a deep sense of ethical abandonment and claustrophobic imprisonment. There is no future in the music of the German band, no escape from reality, which is doomed and looped into an endless limbo. A not long time ago - which now seems AGES ago, to be honest - I went to the White Cube for the latest Kiefer’s exhibition. I believe that the combination of BCG music and Kiefer’s artworks pretty well.

Over the last months, while listening to them, between a Medoc and a Nebbiolo, I was picturing the band in a smoky “bar at the end of the world”, channelling some kind of Tom Hillenbrant’s dystopian political setting or a Lynde Mallison’s grey cold painting. The best description, though, comes from the band website: “Dear friends of nighttime drives, remote bridges to nowhere and empty multi-storey car parks”. Club Silencio state of mind, indeed.

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The ensemble has constantly been releasing high-quality records since 1994, with the first doom jazz album called MOTEL GORE - albeit the first release was a 1992 cassette filled with post-hardcore noise published under the name of Langspielkassette. MOTEL GORE is, as someone brilliantly described it “audio pointillism”. I think this similitude is accurate: the band did draw tiny dots of obscure, eerie, music on canvases of sound. “Die Fulci Nummer” drives me mad, with its spectral adagio: it’s so good it would’ve been great in the Fulci’s masterpiece Non si Sevizia un Paperino. “Cairo Keller” is charming and evocative, reminding me of a possible soundtrack for Lovecraft The Nameless City. Extra points for the brilliant reference of the cover.

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in 1997 BCG published MIDNIGHT RADIO, two hours of lynchian-LA-night-driving-without-a-destination soundtrack. if it is true that its predecessor "Gore Motel" is more song-oriented, and therefore a lot easier to listen to - it’s evident that Midnight Radio is more rewarding in its own special way: it’s a journey in the darkest corner of your mind. Yes, because the journeys BCG offers are not only external but often internal. The band has developed over the years a therapeutic dialogue between the listeners and their consciousness. Jungian jazz music anyone? LET’S DEBATE!

By the way, while writing this article, I’ve realised how difficult is to talk about BCG music without quoting several cliches - everyone always ends up referring to the same stuff:” car parks”, “night drive”, “Lynch”. But I have to admit, in this case, it’s definitely true! Listening to BCG can really inspire these topics under our skins, as trivial as it sounds! The point is: they do it better than anyone else, they have been doing this forever and they represent the top in this particular sub-genre. With the results of a cinematographic component in their music that leads to these night drive scenarios, post-modern inner state of minds. Bravo!

Let’s go back to Midnight Radio, to BGC and their discography. It’s undeniable that their music fits perfectly in the set of the SLOW TV/MUSIC/YOUTUBE movement. From The Norway train to this 1986 Canadian TV show called “NIGHT WALK” (which, by the way, looks freaking awesome), from Andy Warhol’ “SLEEP” to Kiarostami or Tarkovsky cinema, the slow movement has left an imprint to contemporary culture. Arguably, BGC, with their long holistic records, is part of the movement. Calming the listeners and bringing them into a meditative state of mind, without being mindfulness - luckily. The point is: BCG makes you think about yourselves, finding out that you are someone you should be scared of! Know yourself, fear yourself!

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All that Jazz came in 2000 with the thrilling “SUNSET MISSION”, thanks to the help of saxophonist Christoph Clöser. In this record the band opened up the sound, literally letting some fresh air to enter their music, easing the claustrophobic moods of the previous albums. A hint of lounge-ness came in, due to the mellow, yet sophisticated, sax of Mr Clöser. It is still quintessential BCG, with the nihilism of the band raising up form the bass. Slow, reiterated bass lines are running through the record, giving to Sunset Mission a gloomy, hypnotic cadence. The liner notes include a quote from Matt Wagner's Grendel comic book, which reads: "Alone in the comforting darkness the creature waits. As confusion reigns on this hellish stage, the deafening grind of machinery, the odious clot of chemical waste. Still, the trail of his ultimate prey leads through this steely maze to these, the addled offspring of the modern world.

According to many people, 2002 ‘BLACK EARTH” is BCG masterpiece. I don’t know yet, as I REALLY like them all. What I can say is that Black Earth sounds a lot more accessible, with an even more developed sense of ‘lounge-ness’ which was not so evident in the previous records. Blach Earth is a good record. Perhaps the trick here is the balanced tempo of the saxophone. Perfectly played within the songs at the right time, Christoph Clöser’ sax conveys an open jazzy sound. One of my favourite directors ever is Jean-Pierre Melville, his movies are everything I like in term of style and plot. Noir a là Dashiell Hammett, but French and without hope - give me more of this, Hollywood, please! Enough of fucking Marvel heroes, give me noir hard-boiled movies!

Black Earth could have easily been the perfect great soundtrack for Mr Melville’s movies - especially, IHMO, Bob le flambeur. Think about it: a french man, with a cigarette in his mouth, gambling his life for a young woman, in a dirty Marseille, with the BCG slow tempo doomed jazz. yasss please, give me more. Or a glacial Alain Delon killing his lover for money.

Black Earth was followed up, in 2005, by “GEISTERFAUST”, which is considered a slower than ever version of the former album. In Ghost Fist (this is the translation) Bohren & Der Club of Gore has stripped down its sound to the bone, becoming more gentle and less aggressive without any compromise. 5 songs only, named after the 5 fingers of the hand, for an hour of dark jazz. Again, excellent quality.

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I have been buying BCG on CD, I think this music on vinyl does not sound perfect UNLESS you have an extremely high-quality sound system, Like some classical music issue, where you need to hear the pianissimo of the piano and single notes, BCG music deserves a very clean medium, I would say CD is the best.

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Jazz de nuit again on their seventh album “DOLORES” published in 2008. This record is pure Badalamenti, pure Lynch in the night. Within the ten songs of Dolores, the core idea of slow-music is even more highlighted, with no guitars at all on the whole album and a sedated keyboard-based mood. In 2009 the band released a 10 minute EP called “MITLEID LADY”. it is strange, because, albeit recorded just after Dolores, it sounds way more gloomy and somehow different. It is BCG but has another level of sophistication compared to the previous record. This step further in the direction of stylistic accuracy is confirmed two years after, in 2011, with another EP, this one named “BEILEID”. The cover of the record is a reference to the famous Edward Gorey, or at least I believe.

The record includes the cover of "Catch My Heart" by German heavy metal band Warlock, with vocals from Mike Patton. I believe this is the only song with a singer in the entire catalogue of the band. Beileid is a cinematic mood-changer composed of pained saxophone solos, and ghostly string sections, an album that will sweep your mind away into dreamland. A must-have IHMO.

In 2013 the ensemble released “PIANO NIGHTS” probably the warmest record of the band. The Piano obviously helps a lot in making the sound softer and brighter - candle lighted rigorously. A German Gothic feast, with a touch of Teutonic expressionism - who remembers the movie The Hands Of Orlac. BCG should definitely play the soundtracks of this movie. A twisted, dark, thriller with Gothic and expressionist elements. After many years, the band introduces the

Finally, in 2020, the band published “PATCHOULI BLUE”. A pristine, unique, summa of their work, which manages to sound similar to other releases of the band, yet unique, with something different, like a small accent. 50s noir glam, Badalamenti, German Gothic, Slow-Movement philosophy are all elements we can find in this record, but there is something else: a hint of electronic, which can possibly open new territories to the band. I am curious to see if they will become a techno ambient act in the like of Gas (joking).

Aristotle once said that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I guess this is the whole point in BCG’s music. The synergy the band has been consistently showing over the last 3 decades, and the constant refinement of their own skills.

VIVA BOHREN!

#bohren #bohren & der club of gore #gothic #german #noir #leomalet #melville #alain delone #jazz #ambient #doom jazz #angelo badalamenti #lynch #mulholland drive #gas #grendel #nightmoves #anselm kiefer #expressionism

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janeofcakes · 5 years

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FJW: Chapter 12

** I would’ve posted this days ago, but something was missing when I was editing and it took a while to carve out some time to add it. It’s also been a shit week, but getting this up has helped. It’s longer than they have been lately, so get ready to dig in. I hope you all enjoy. **

When John opens his eyes, he is lying on a soft bed. There are blankets pulled up to his chin and a chilled wet flannel rests over his forehead. He looks around the dimly lit room. It is rather large - two chests of drawers, a padded bench at the foot of the bed that is covered with wrinkled clothes in neat stacks, an antique wardrobe, a door ajar and one that is closed. He can see that the open one is an ensuite and gathers the other is a closet, possibly a walk-in. There is a third door on a sidewall that must lead to the rest of the flat, judging by its placement. Light from outside gleams under its bottom.

A long, tall table on the opposite wall covered with beakers, a microscope, lab equipment and chemicals tells him he is definitely in Sherlock’s room. A small refrigerator in the corner catches his eye and John chuckles to himself. Sherlock must have finally stopped storing body parts in the kitchen fridge. John grows quiet almost immediately. Why did he think that?

John worms his arms out from under the covers and takes the flannel from his head as he sits up. He surveys the room again - looking at paintings, photos and nick-nacks, wondering if any are his or if Sherlock removed everything that would remind him. Perhaps it was too painful to face them every day. His eyes fall on the clothes at the foot of the bed. Three distinct piles consisting of buttondown shirts, jeans and trousers, and jumpers. They must be his because John has never seen Sherlock wear jeans and certainly not a jumper. Sherlock must have taken them out of storage for John’s homecoming, but surely he had more clothing than these three small piles. Or maybe he didn’t. He always wore a doctor’s white lab coat at the surgery anyway. That much, he knew. Why is it still so damn easy to remember his studies and career, but nothing of the man he loves? And while he’s thinking about it, why won’t Sherlock kiss him?

Before he can dwell on that question, John’s gaze is drawn to the door on the sidewall when its knob turns and its catch released. It opens slowly and the man himself pops his head in, curls and all. When he sees John staring at him, he slips inside. He pads across the room in his bare feet and sits on the edge of the bed. His eyes take in every detail of John’s condition, demeanor, thoughts. He sees that John is troubled, but whatever it is takes second place to the issue at hand.

“How?” the word bursts from his flatmate’s lips as it all comes back to him. The mere sight of Sherlock and he can see it all over again and it kills him. He wants to close his eyes and never see it again, but it is still there in the darkness behind his eyelids. John speaks slowly and in a measured tone. “You...you killed yourself. You lied about being a fraud and you jumped. How are you here now? How did you…” John pauses and lets his eyes look around the room suspiciously. “Am I dead too? Is that what all this is?”

“No,” Sherlock’s lips curl ever so slightly and he shakes his head. “No, John, you aren’t dead. Neither of us is.”

“Then how?” John demands.

“You were not wrong before when you said it was fake,” Sherlock sighs. “Or that it was to…”

“To save us,” John interrupts. “Greg, Mrs. Hudson and I. He was going to kill us all if you didn’t.”

“Yes. Do you remember?” he asks hesitantly.

“Not everything. A man, he had gunmen. He was on the roof with you to make sure you did it,” the doctor pauses, studying the detective carefully. “He shot himself and you jumped.”

“It was the only way.”

“You made me watch!” John snaps and Sherlock finally sees the anger he has expected for so long. “You made me. Why? Why would you do that?”

If Sherlock had explained this before even once, doing it now would be annoying. Sherlock detests repeating himself, which Rosie quickly learned. But he has never explained it. John never asked. Not once. He yelled, cursed, shouted, but never once asked for an explanation. Sherlock, why? Why did he do it the way he did it? Why did he keep it a secret for two years? Why didn’t he give John some clue? John simply exploded, got married, and let it go. Sort of. Did he talk to Mary about it? Or Lestrade? Or swallow it up, hide it inside himself? Sherlock always wondered when it would resurface. Until then, there had been only veiled anger. John was so angry when Eurus shot him. Now Sherlock can finally try to explain.

“You had to see it, John,” he begins, watching his flatmate carefully. “You never would have believed if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes. Moriarty was relentless. If anyone he left behind thought you knew something, you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would all be dead, without question.”

“And that’s why you didn’t try to contact me or tell me you were okay.”

“Yes,” Sherlock states flatly and then rushes to explain away the hate that must be building in John again. “If he had threatened only you, I...I might have risked it. Only because I know you would’ve wanted me to. You would have accepted the risk. But I couldn’t put Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson in danger. I...I couldn’t. It was already my fault that they...”

He trails off without finishing. John looks angry. His features are hard, but his eyes are soft. Sherlock doesn’t know what to say. For once, he does not know what to make of John’s expression. There are so many questions running through the detective’s mind. So many things he wants to know and doesn’t have the nerve to ask. How much does John know? What does he remember? Does he know how long Sherlock was dead? Does John know what happened while he was away? Does he remember Mary or the wedding or...what does he remember and how can Sherlock even ask?

Sherlock pushes off the bed and falls to his knees, his forearms and elbows still on the bed. His hands clutching at the blankets close to John, but he doesn’t dare touch him. His face is full of desperation and his voice reflects it when he speaks. All of the thoughts and feelings rolling around in his mind are always hidden. Sherlock has always guarded himself carefully, but right now he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care! He has to explain everything he has kept inside for so long because it can’t happen again. John is so open to him now and he could not bear it if he closed off again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Sherlock says urgently, pleading. John looks startled, but Sherlock can’t stop, won’t stop. He cannot stop the flow of words from his mouth. “I didn’t know what else to do. I went through all the possibilities and you survived none of them and I couldn’t lose you. I can’t lose you, John! You are my life, my…”

Sherlock stops himself from saying love. He can’t confess that, not now. It’s too much. He is not sure he can ever reveal it, in spite of John’s unknowing confession at the hospital. Sherlock’s eyes are wide and scared, his fear growing. He clutches the blankets tightly, wishing he was holding John instead. Before he even realizes what he is doing, more words are bursting from his lips like water from a dam.

“I dismantled Moriarty’s network for you. All to save you. Two years, I worked. I was tortured and hunted, even as I hunted them, and I knew I couldn’t stop until they were all dead. There couldn’t be any danger. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t lose you. When I came back, you knew I’d changed, but you never asked what happened to me and I was afraid to tell you. Afraid you would leave and hate me for what I’d done. You were already so angry, so angry,” he stops to take a breath for the first time in what feels like hours. John is shocked. His deep blue eyes are wider than Sherlock has ever seen, his jaw has dropped, and still Sherlock continues. It’s far too much to tell John without negative effects, but Sherlock is barely aware of what he is saying anymore. Like a complete idiot, he babbles on and on. “And then Eurus shot you and it broke me. You died on the table and I...I... But they brought you back...back to me,” Sherlock swallows back tears. “Hoover. I owe her so much. And if it hadn’t been for Watson, I’d have lost my mind. I...I” love you so much.

Sherlock gasps and shuts his mouth. His head snaps up to look at John and he leaps to his feet. He had been so close to saying those last four words instead of thinking them and he will say them if he stays. He has to leave. He has to leave right now.

“Shit,” Sherlock closes his eyes. John looks very concerned when he opens them again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I have to go.”

“What? No.”

“I’ll take the sofa. I don’t sleep much anyway,” he spins on his heel to dart out of the room, but John lunges for him and clamps down on his wrist with a steely grip. Unprepared for the abrupt stop, Sherlock loses his balance and topples over backwards onto the bed, sprawled across John’s legs. Surprised, the detective gasps and looks at him.

“All right?” the doctor asks with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice. “You look a bit...startled.” Sherlock gapes. John seems to be joking. After everything that just spewed from Sherlock’s mouth, how could he possibly be joking? “Sherlock?”

No, no, no. If John asks him to stay he won’t be able to say no.

“No!” Sherlock sits bolt upright. “Yes.”

“Well, which is it?” John laughs outright this time, thoroughly amused to see his flatmate so out of sorts. Sherlock’s eyes shift back to John’s.

“I’m fine. I just...I can’t stay.”

“Sherlock.”

“I’ll keep you up all night,” Sherlock pauses. John isn’t smiling anymore. His fingers tighten around the detective’s wrist.

“I would rather stay awake all night with you.”

“John.”

“Sherlock…”

“Please don’t,” Sherlock shakes his head. His tone is just shy of pleading. “There’s still so much you don’t know.”

“Is there? You’ve just said a mouthful and it’s a lot to process, but I also know everything you’ve done for Rosie,” John tells him, cupping Sherlock’s cheek with his right hand. His left still holds firmly to the man’s wrist. “And I know you packed away all my things, if you think that will upset me. God, it must have been so hard for you.”

Sherlock pulls back a bit, freeing his cheek from John’s light touch, an uneasy look on his face. John fixes a deep blue gaze so full of sincerity on his flatmate, then glances toward the piles of clothing at the end of the bed. Sherlock’s gaze darts to follow and then focuses on John again. He swallows hard, fighting not to thrust his cheek back into John’s hand and lean into the touch.

“Those were your favorites,” he explains, grateful for the change of topic. “None of them will fit you. You’ve lost so much weight, but I thought you might want to see them or try them on anyway. I’ve already discarded the rest. I’m sorry.”

“Do you have any photos?”

“Of your old clothes?”

“No, you git,” John laughs, patting the hand he holds in his own. “Of me. What I used to look like.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. They’re all on my mobile.”

“Can I see them?”

“Um...I left it in the kitchen,” Sherlock bites his lip. He is wearing a dark blue dressing gown, his favorite, with pajamas beneath and detests the weight of his mobile in the pockets. “Sorry.”

“No worries. We can look at them tomorrow,” John says quietly. The corners of his mouth turn up and Sherlock nearly swears under his breath, knowing what’s coming. “Please stay.”

“John, I can’t.”

John is still gripping Sherlock’s hand and wrist with both of his own. He squeezes tightly and looks at Sherlock with an intense gaze.

“Sherlock, I know we haven’t slept in a bed together in over five years and it makes perfect sense for you to think I wouldn’t be comfortable doing it now,” he inches closer. “I know I don’t know everything about us, but I’ve spent the last two months learning who you are and I feel like I know you pretty well by now. Please stay with me.”

“Okay,” the word is out before Sherlock is conscious of the fact that he’s speaking. He nearly tries to take it back until he sees the brilliant smile that spreads across John’s face. He can’t help himself. He reaches for John and cups his warm cheek, his palm lightly touching the corner of John’s lips as he leans into the touch. Sherlock swallows hard. “I’ll just get ready. Do you need help changing?”

“I’m fine. You take the loo.”

Sherlock falls against the loo door as soon as he closes it. Heaving a breath, he runs his hands through his curls.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he steps forward to the sink and braces his hands on either side. He is breathing fast and beads of sweat are just beginning to spring from his forehead. The detective raises his eyes to look at his own reflection.

What the hell is he doing? Yes, he loves John. Yes, he would love nothing more than to spend the night with him, to comfort and hold him, kiss him. John knows him. Sherlock has no doubt of that. Despite John’s only knowing him for two months, they are very close. But there is so much John doesn’t know. All the dark things in their past. Eurus, Mary, Magnussen. He doesn’t even remember they worked cases together! Or Moriarty and the pool. Fuck, the pool. That was the night Sherlock knew for certain that he loved John. When he first saw him, he felt confused and then betrayed. The fleeting thought that John was somehow involved with Moriarty and had played Sherlock had torn through his chest. It ripped a painful scar right through the center of his heart, but it was nothing compared to the all-encompassing horror he felt when he saw the semtex strapped to John’s chest.

Ever since that day, Sherlock has known. And he has hidden it. From John. From the world. Damn it, how can he take advantage of John now?

Sherlock slams his hands on the sink, the force sending the hand soap dispenser and plastic cup to the floor. Sherlock stares at his own reflection, his intense grey eyes narrowed in anger. A soft knock at the door and John pushing it open as he says the detective’s name startles him. Sherlock spins to face the pajama-clad doctor standing in the doorway.

“John!” he gasps.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing around the floor for the fallen items. He looks back at Sherlock with concern in his eyes. “I heard a crash. Thought you might have fallen.”

“No,” Sherlock answers hastily. “No, I’m fine. I didn’t...I just...Did you walk here on your own?”

John straightens and blinks at him.

“I can walk on my own, you know. Just not long distances yet.”

“Right, right. So you don’t need any help.”

“No,” John laughs and asks in a playful tone. “Do you?”

Sherlock stares at him. What the hell was that? John Watson cannot be flirting with him. He stumbles forward foolishly.

“No,” he says quickly and then smiles in a feeble attempt to hide his discomfort. “I’m fine. I’m good. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” John smiles. “Holler if you need anything.”

Sherlock nods, a timid smile on his lips, and John pulls the door closed again. The detective falls quietly to his knees, his hands covering his mouth. After a moment, he rises and turns to the sink. Splashing cold water on his face, he tries to think before cleaning his teeth and toweling off. He looks in the mirror one last time, steeling himself. Into the breach.

He opens the door and steps out into the bedroom. John is sitting on one side of the bed, covers pulled up to his waist and a book in his lap. He smiles at Sherlock, who wonders at John’s ability to push aside everything that just happened and look completely at ease. If only it were that easy. Sherlock bites his lip and walks to the bed.

“Is this okay?”

Sherlock looks at him blankly.

“I don’t know what side you sleep on.”

“Oh. Oh, no, this is fine. I usually end up in the middle anyway.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The detective’s cheeks color. He takes off his dressing gown and climbs under the covers, careful to stay on his side. Resting one hand over the other on his chest, he stares up at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes, ready to settle into his mind palace and try to understand the man sitting next to him. They snap open again and dart to John when he feels a hand on his shoulder. The doctor is smiling down at him warmly.

“I’d like to read for a bit,” John’s brows raise. “Will that bother you?”

“Not at all,” Sherlock answers, angling his head for a better view of his flatmate. “I’m going to my mind palace. Someone could scream bloody murder next to me and I wouldn’t notice.”

“God, is that safe?” John’s expression changes to concern in a second.

“Perfectly. I will hear if you were to shout.”

“Just me?”

“Yes. And Watson, of course. You see. Perfectly safe.”

“If you say so,” John replies warily. “What do you do in there? Your mind palace?”

“Research mostly,” Sherlock shrugs. “I look back at everything I know and have seen. I just open a door and walk inside.”

“Oh,” John breathes. It sounds more like a gasp than a word. His face is somewhere between amazement and envy. “I wish it was that easy for me.”

“Have you tried?”

“Mine isn’t really a place I can enter. I can only look in and see the windows. Only a few are broken or cracked. The rest are still dark,” his eyes fall sadly to the book in his lap. Sherlock reaches out to place a warm hand on John’s leg. The doctor looks at him with soft eyes, so much like Rosie’s, but more experienced and knowledgeable. The eyes Sherlock remembers, the ones he has looked into so many times before. The detective’s lips quirk up. “You will remember, John. One day it will all be open to you again.”

“Yes, well, now that you bring it up,” John clears his throat and shifts nervously. Sherlock narrows his eyes. “I was thinking maybe you could help me with that. Tell me small things, nothing big, and see how it goes.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’ve already told you too much.”

“Come on, Sherlock. It’s been two months and I haven’t remembered a thing!”

“Yes, only two months, all of which were spent in hospital. You’ve only just returned home,” Sherlock clips the last word, hearing his own lie. 221B was his home once, but not for over two years at the time he was shot. Sherlock shakes it away and continues. “You need to give yourself some time now that you are in a familiar setting. You saw what happened earlier when you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were all together for the first time.”

John looks unconvinced, but just conflicted enough that Sherlock knows he will acquiesce without further argument. John sighs and leans back on his pillow again.

“Okay,” he sighs. He looks at Sherlock fondly and gestures to his book. “You’re sure it won’t bother you?”

“Positive.”

Sherlock settles himself again, hands resting together on his chest and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the bedroom is filled with light and his alarm clock is beeping. His long arm swings out as if by rote, his fingers silencing it adeptly. Sherlock rubs a hand over his face. He can’t even remember the last time he heard his alarm ring. He always wakes well before it. It is only there as an insurance policy, to make sure he is up in time to have breakfast with Rosie and get her to school. A back-up measure he has never needed to use. Before today.

The detective shakes his head and angles it to look at his chest, absently wondering why the bedclothes feel so heavy. He lets out a yelp of surprise when he finds the golden-grey hair of John’s head resting there. He gapes at the doctor, panic consuming his mind. Shit! Shit! Shit! John must have moved about in his sleep. Sherlock hadn’t even considered the possibility when they climbed into bed the night before. He assumed only he would move and took special pains to stay in the same place all night. He can’t do this! He can’t take advantage of the situation!

“Oh, hello.”

John’s sleepy voice brings all of Sherlock’s thoughts to a screeching halt and the vision that now greets him is nothing less than adorable. And amazing. John has lifted his head from Sherlock’s chest just enough to look up at him and smile. His eyes are still a bit hazy with sleep and his hair is mussed. The cheek that was resting on Sherlock’s chest is pink from the pressure, its skin bearing the imprint of a wrinkle from his pajamas. In short, John looks absolutely perfect and Sherlock sighs blissfully.

“Your alarm went off,” his gorgeous flatmate observes, his voice sounding less sleepy. Sherlock blinks and his mind resumes its normal processes.

“Yes. I must get Watson to school.”

“Ah, of course,” John slides off his chest and rolls onto his own back, looking at Sherlock all the while. “Need any help with breakfast?”

“No. Watson will assist me, but we would love to have you join us,” he replies, scolding himself silently for not keeping the hope from his tone.

“I’d love to,” John smiles just before a knock sounds on the bedroom door, startling them both.

“Papa?” comes Rosie’s uncertain voice. In all the years of her life, her father has never once been in his bedroom when she woke in the morning. “Papa, are you okay?”

“Yes, Watson,” Sherlock sits up quickly, feeling as though she caught them in the act. Stop it. Stop it! “I’m speaking with Daddy. I’ll be out in a minute. Why don’t you dress and brush your teeth?”

“Right,” she resolves, “I forgot to brush.”

They hear her little steps run down the hall. Sherlock turns his head to look at John and sees a quizzical expression.

“She cleans her teeth before she has breakfast?”

“Oh yes, John,” Sherlock’s tone is most serious, “she vomits if she tries it after.”

“Really?”

Sherlock nods and rises from the bed.

***

When John steps into the kitchen, Sherlock stands at the stove rapidly stirring the scrambled eggs in the skillet on the hob. Rosie sits at the table with butter and jam and a plate full of toast. Neither of them notice him at first.

“Papa?” Rosie stops with a jam-covered knife about to smear onto a piece of buttered toast.

“Hm?”

“Do you think Daddy likes jam?”

“Oh, trust me, Watson. Your daddy loves jam.”

“Daddy!” the girl springs off her chair and wraps her arms around John’s legs.

“Hello, my dear,” he bends down to hug her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes!” she giggles excitedly. “Did you?”

“Yes, I did. Much better than in hospital,” John answers. She grins in approval.

“Do you like jam on your toast?”

“I love jam on my toast.”

The grin broadens as she takes John’s hand in her smaller one and guides him to the table. Sliding a piece of toast buried under globs of jam across to the nearest chair, Rosie drops his hand and nods toward it.

“You can sit here.”

“Thank you,” John says as he sits. “You’re too kind.”

Rosie giggles loudly and sits next to him, taking another piece of jam toast from a plate and shoving it in her mouth. John cannot suppress a laugh. Rosie, jam all around her lips, joins him. Meanwhile, Sherlock finally turns from the stove, skillet full of scrambled eggs in hand.

“Eggs are ready. Watson!” Both Watsons stare at him with wide eyes and guilty looks. He struggles not to chuckle at their identical expressions and carries on scolding. “We do use plates and so does your father. That is why you put them on the table.”

“Sorry, Papa,” she answers somewhat timidly, pushing a plate at John. Sherlock dishes out the eggs, replaces the skillet on the stove, and sits. They all eat rather quickly, especially Rosie and Sherlock who have a time table to keep. John begins to contribute to the conversation less and look down at his plate a bit more as breakfast goes on. Sherlock quizzes Rosie as they eat, but their voices fade away as John becomes lost in his thoughts. He would love to help take Rosie to school, but he isn’t strong enough yet. He will be soon. He will see to that.

“Watson?” Sherlock cocks a brow. The little girl looks at the clock and jumps out of her seat. She skips to the sink and puts her dishes in it. Turning around and running to John, she hugs and kisses him.

“Goodbye, sweetie,” he kisses her cheek. “Have fun, yeah?”

“Okay! Ready, Papa?”

“Get your coat and things on. I’ll be right there.”

“Better hurry,” she calls, already running down the hall toward the door.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Sherlock tells John in a steady tone. “You’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine, Sherlock,” John assures him warmly. The detective nods as he rises and places his own dishes in the sink. He walks back to the table. John looks up at him in surprise when he rests a hand on John’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Hudson’s number is on your mobile if you need anything,” he tells him.” She is more than willing to help.”

“I know,” John says solemnly. “I’ll ring her if I need to, I promise.”

***

When Sherlock returns, the flat is quiet. He stands near the door, his eyes combing over everything he can see. He takes one step toward the sitting room, but turns to the kitchen instead, the scent of fresh cinnamon tea filling his nostrils. He strides into the room only to find it empty. The pot is on the hob and still warm, made no more than thirty minutes ago. Sherlock leans back where he stands for a better look into the sitting room.

“John?”

No answer. Perhaps he went down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. No, he could never navigate the stairs on his own and capable though she may be, Hudders could never help him all the way down. An uneasy feeling gathers and begins balling itself in Sherlock’s belly. John may have had a flashback to Afghanistan or Magnussen or Mary.

“John?” he calls a little louder.

“In here,” John’s voice sounds from the direction of the bedroom.

Sherlock straightens and walks down the hall, slowing his stride as he enters. He takes a few steps in and comes to a full stop, taken aback by the scene that greets him. Where he feared there would be panic or fear is just...John. John sitting cross-legged on Sherlock’s bed, their bed? Open photo albums are laid out on the soft, duvet all around John, displaying images of Rosie as an infant and six months, nine months and everything in between. She is a year old on other pages, two and three and four. The book in John’s lap is from this year. He gazes at the photographs of her first day of school. His eyes are misty and his left hand is splayed over his chest.

“It’s unbelievable,” he sighs and turns his eyes to Sherlock. “I just can’t believe it. She was so small and...and now she’s such a wonderful, outspoken girl. And you… It’s all down to you.”

John had been gesturing at the albums, but has grown still and his eyes are locked on Sherlock.

“I will never have the words to thank you.”

“It’s the way it was meant to be, John.”

“I’m sorry you had to do it alone.”

“John,” Sherlock strides swiftly to the bed and balances on the edge. John’s hands are fumbling to clear a wider space and Sherlock’s close around them, drawing them near ever so slightly. “I’m fine. I was always fine. It was no imposition. I would have had it no other way, given the circumstances. Every moment was, and still is, a joy,” he pauses to collect himself, and it appears as though John needs to do the same. Breath catching in both their throats, swallowing to rein in their emotions. “As I said, you were never far from us or from our minds. I know it doesn’t seem that way to you because you were unconscious, but it is. I made sure Rosie knew you, loved you. You are her father, John. You were there for her in every way you could be and she loves you.”

“I know,” John returns in a solemn voice, “and it’s thanks to you. Thank you, Sherlock. You have raised our daughter beautifully.”

Sherlock nearly corrects him, but bites his tongue. Now is not the time to tell him how Rosie really became his daughter, his daughter? His ward. No, his daughter. Rosie is Sherlock’s daughter. And John’s daughter. And John is his...friend? Flatmate? But for how long?

“Just look at her face. Look at how she looks at you,” John is saying, mooning over a photo of Rosie looking up at Sherlock as her tiny fingers touch his chin. She is four months old and nestled in his arms. John glances toward the detective and then fixes him with narrowed eyes. “Sherlock, are you all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine.”

John studies him carefully, knowingly. He lifts the album from his lap and places it on the bed to his left. He turns himself more toward Sherlock and smiles warmly.

“You said you have photos of me from before?”

“Yes. Yes!” Sherlock scrabbles at his trouser pocket for his mobile and begins searching through the photographs. He swipes about the albums at breakneck speed until he comes upon a photo of himself and John that pierces his heart hard and he just stares. Sherlock bites his lip and his brows furrowing as if in pain. His eyes shine and take on a certain wistful, but sorrowful quality.

“Sherlock?” John shifts closer. “Sherlock, what is it?”

“Ah, well,” he struggles for words, inhaling deeply and clearing his throat before he can carry on, “it’s us. The two of us. Just after a case.”

“Haha. What is that on your head?” John laughs when he sees the deerstalker, but falls silent upon seeing his own image. “God. My god, look at me. I’m...I look… I look healthy.”

“And happy,” Sherlock adds, turning his head to face John. He is very close now. Closer than Sherlock realized. He must have moved when the detective found the photo. If John were to face him, their lips would be mere inches apart.

“Yeah,” John breathes and turns his head.

Millimeters.

God, Sherlock wants to kiss him. His breath is hot on Sherlock’s lips and it is intoxicating. His eyes flutter when he blinks and his mouth goes dry. Gawwwd, how he wants to kiss him. Their eyes are locked, their breath mingles in the air between them, their cheeks tinted pink.

“Sherlock.”

It’s a passionate whisper, a veiled declaration of words unsaid.

“John.”

Sherlock’s lips are parted and his heart beats fast. He tilts his head and inches forward, stretching his neck to close the gap between them.

But he can’t.

He pulls his head back slowly and rolls it back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. When he lowers his eyes again John is farther away, having moved back to give Sherlock the space he so desperately needs. Sherlock shakes his head minutely, hoping John doesn’t see but knowing he does. He sees everything and yet, he knows nothing. Nothing. Their past is a mystery to him and dark, so dark. Just like the panes of glass in John’s mind. To kiss him now, to make his feelings known would be wrong and dishonest. John has no idea of the pain Sherlock has caused him.

“I saw the pot on the stove,” Sherlock says, shifting away from John and glancing at his empty mug on the side table. “Join me for tea?”

“Yeah,” John replies. Disappointed, but a small smile on his face in spite of himself. “I’d love to.”

@echosilverwolf @technicallywiseoncns @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow@philliphooper@whodwantmeasaflatmate@swissmissing@gloriascott93@kingdomofbrokenhearts@srebrnafh@thetranslucentwallaby@britishaccentfan@plasticstrawsmuggler@spazzz32@absentmindedsstuff@shuukichan @annecumberbatch @maeliandmyself

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #season 4 #S4 fix

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fordarkisthesuede · 5 years

Text

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 1

Thank you for all your kind words so far!!! （*’∀’人）♥ I'm slowly reading that nice pile of new TT works you all made! ♥♥♥

(And I’m sorry for the delay,

Important Spoiler Tags: more talk of dead bodies, blood mention, mental illness

{Prologue} {Next Chapter}

Read on AO3 or continue below:

[Chapter 1: A Different Ceiling]

John Doe stared wide-eyed up at the whitewashed ceiling, feeling his breath catch in his chest and release too fast. He could practically hear his heart thudding in his ears like the world’s worst wake-up call.

Where am I? He asked himself.

He turned his head as he tried to breathe slowly. Dull light streamed in through the thin chicken-wire over the window - a standard of mornings in Gotham. There was flat blue paint on the walls, a familiar photograph sitting on a nightstand, a clock (oh, it was 7:20, that was helpful) and a phone there that he wasn’t technically supposed to have.

He snatched the phone off the surface and swiped up, barely paying attention to the illuminated rollercoaster that was his lock-screen. A selfie of himself and Bruce Wayne greeted him, only partially obscured by a couple of icons. He’d taken the picture three days ago, during their last visit; he could see the phone’s little timestamp in the corner, underneath the clock. He took a deep breath and focused on Bruce’s face.

Bruce had worn that really good cologne that day. He could smell it lingering on his own shirt for hours afterward, bringing to mind memories of his short stay at Bruce’s house.

He felt his panic start ebbing away. He wasn’t in Arkham Asylum anymore. He wasn’t in the Old Five Points, either, or the abandoned Funhouse, or Ace Chemicals. He wasn’t dreaming or being delusional or…

John pinched himself and winced slightly at the sharp sting it made in his wrist. Nope, he wasn’t under any kind of drug-based hallucination, either. Just like the day before that, and the week before that, and the fortnight before that.

But his subconscious apparently hadn’t caught up with reality just yet. He kept dreaming of everything else. Everything that could have gone wrong, or everything that did go wrong, but amplified by twenty.

Things should be different now. They were different now. Bruce was fine. John was….well, here.

The halfway house he was in was one of the better ones in the city. It wasn’t the best, of course, considering John’s past...difficulties, but it was better than where he’d ended up last time. There weren’t any bars on his window, his room actually had some color in it that wasn’t just a stain, and the only rat he’d seen so far was outside of the building.

His thumb hovered over the messenger icon on the screen, and he looked at the little digital clock in the corner. Was it too early? Bruce had been on patrol, and he’d already bugged him after one nightmare.

But it was a different one. He’d only dived over the railing towards that bubbling vat of chemical waste before. He’d had that dream before, always feeling like he’d fallen onto his back on the mattress afterward; he was almost used to that one.

This time he’d been covered in blood. He could only see the Funhouse floor, the countless bodies there, forming a grotesque ring around him, staring at him with unblinking dull expressions...

John rubbed his forehead. He really didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted a distraction and comfort and Bruce’s soothing voice in his ear.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and the first line from Bruce’s text dropped down from the top of the screen.

John hit it like lightning and let his brain simulate Bruce’s voice.

I’m close by. Can I come see you before work?

Bruce was heaven-sent, surely. A gift from a god of some sort. An absolute treasure John didn’t deserve to even look at.

He hovered over the keyboard. Should he wait a minute? Should he just say yes with all the exclamation points he felt in his heart?

No, no - Bruce might want to see him to get comfort of his own. Which meant he needed to loosen up a little.

Ha ha, I knew you couldn’t resist me ;)

John waited a moment, his brain buzzing that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to joke with a man that might have stayed up all night again… Maybe he should amend it with a ‘j/k’?

What can I say, your raw animal magnetism has a tendency draws in bats.

John laughed to himself.

Ha ha ha! I bet I can amp up the magnetic power to get you here *faster*!

No need. I’ll be there in 5 mins.

…you’re that close already?

How’d you know I’d say yes?

I had a feeling you would.

Plus this is important.

Important. So, a nine-out-of-ten chance it was about Bruce’s stakeout last night. John pushed aside the budding worry that something had gone horribly wrong - Bruce was talking to him. If he wasn’t fine (or at least Bruce’s definition of it, which was ‘alive and secretly hurting somehow’), he wouldn’t be speaking to him.

Unless someone had found out about his secret identity, knocked him out (or worse), stole his phone, discovered where John was staying, and was coming to kill him and taunting him about it by masquerading as Bruce...

...but that was a preeetty low chance.

Ok. Drive carefully, there’s a bunch of lunatics out there.

And I would know! Ha ha ha!!

I’m always careful.

I’ll see you soon.

Ten minutes, five minutes - hell, John could be ready to see Bruce in one minute. He threw on the closest things from the drawer, smoothed his hair back, and paced over the tiles a little, darting his eyes out the window towards the mediocre parking lot. It was funny how different it looked compared to Arkham. He still sometimes felt like he’d wound up in a different wing of it rather than a whole new place...

He blinked, remembering that St. Dymphna New Life Home had a somewhat different set of rules and that he could leave his room. And unlike Arkham, he didn’t have to ask or do someone a favor or play innocent. (Most of the time, anyway…)

He was already out in the hall, feeling like he should rush even though he knew he didn’t have to, passing other rooms, other snoozing patrons, turning a corner, and smacking right into Mickey.

Mickey Williamson had a serious case of ‘resting bitch face’. Well, that coupled with paranoia and aggressive issues.

“You trying to start somethin’, clown?” Mickey grunted, staring down at John.

From anyone else, it would’ve been a threat, but John had helped Batman take down Bane; this guy was a limp noodle in comparison. Still, picking a fight - even a verbal one - wasn’t a good idea. Neither was shrugging it off. “Only part one of my plan to brighten your day,” he joked. “I know you don’t like loud noises. How else am I going to get your attention?”

Mickey gave a short hmph, clearly satisfied. “...what’s the plan?”

He definitely wouldn’t buy that it was a secret. “A joke! Why are lawyers buried ten feet underground?”

Mickey looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment. It was hard to tell if he was rolling his eyes or thinking about it. “Okay, why?”

“Because deep down, they’re not that bad!”

Mickey gave a short, boisterous laugh that was definitely genuine-sounding, despite the smile slipping off his face shortly after. “Okay, that was much better than the one about the rotisserie chicken you told Chuck yesterday.”

“Yeah, I guess when there’s more than one meat that cooks like that it kinda takes away the punch…”

He crossed his arms. “So what’s part two of ‘plan’ of yours?”

“What, and ruin the mild surprise? Mickey, how long have we known each other?”

“Four weeks.”

“Exactly! And have I ever done you wrong in all that time?”

His jaw shifted slightly. “That green sauce you told me to use the other day made everything too spicy.”

“Okay, honest mistake on my part, I didn’t think you’d use that much… But that aside?”

“...no,” he admitted with a slight shrug.

“Mm-hm! So trust me - it’ll put a smile on your face!” John emphasized with a click of his fingers towards his bulky neighbor and a grin of his own as he slunk away. “Probably,” he muttered to himself, completely unsure of what he would do next. Mickey might not have been as scary as Bane, but John was constantly trying to be on his best behavior, so getting on Mickey’s good side - along with everyone else’s - was for the best.

John glanced briefly the camera in the corner of the open stairwell, seeing it still pointed down the hall. He knew from the angle and shape of the lens that the corner of the stairs was a safe place to talk if Bruce didn’t want his lips recorded.

The thought made him giggle a little to himself. It took two flights of stairs to get down to the welcome area, where’d he’d no doubt have to wait as Bruce signed more pointless pieces of paper and -

And there he was. Bruce Wayne, standing there, signing away another visitor’s form and chatting up the easily-charmed nurse for the sake of his public image.

He was radiant, even under the fluorescent lights. A gorgeous demigod - no, a hero, a warrior of the highest class, out to mingle amongst the common criminals without his armor. John felt like the atmosphere had shifted and grown warm, and there was something about the way Bruce’s flirtatious smile wasn’t reaching his eyes that made John’s stomach feel all light.

The real smiles were all his. His, his, his.

He knew he had to wait until Bruce passed through the little security check, but for what felt like for the hundredth time he just wanted to walk over it and ignore everything that stood in the way of them. His fingers itched to touch Bruce, grab his hand, his wrist, anything, and he couldn’t. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, waiting, waiting, and smiling wider as Bruce caught his eye.

It didn’t matter how small the little smile back on Bruce’s face was, it was genuine. It made John chuckle: that silly girl at the front desk thought she had half a chance with Bruce? Ha!

John barely heard the guard talking about how they should go to the visiting room a-s-a-p. He knew the rules - visits were a maximum of sixty minutes, they had to be conducted in the visiting room unless a doctor signed off otherwise, and if a therapy session, work, or a meeting with the social worker was scheduled John would have to go to that no matter what.

Blah, blah, blah. There was no rule on how long they could take to walk to the visiting room. And John was willing to bend and break rules into tiny pieces for Bruce any day.

“Hey, John.”

“Hey, Bruce,” he echoed back in the same tone, grinning just a little wider. “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.”

“I drive fast,” Bruce shrugged with a small smirk. They left the guard to pretend he wasn’t listening or watching them leave in his peripheral vision. “You doing okay?”

“Is our new mayor crooked?”

“...possibly?” Bruce answered tentatively.

“Exactly!” John joked.

Bruce wasn’t keeping his eyes focused on the stairs. Cautious concern worked its way onto his face, which John felt simultaneously annoyed and relieved at it. It was amazing having him for support - every doctor he’d ever had stressed how important a good support system was - but sometimes it made John feel like he was being babied. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Take it any way you want! Doesn’t change the fact that I always feel better when you’re here.”

Bruce frowned slightly. “Is something wrong?”

John rolled his eyes. Bruce was toeing the line of babying. Why could he not take a good dark joke? “No, Bruce. I’m not being mistreated, I can take care of myself, and I’ve taken my meddies like a good boy.”

Bruce’s frown deepened, and he got that stern look that made John’s brain give a little burst of adrenaline. His more dominant side always made John want to challenge him...and swoon, usually at the same time. Bruce took hold of his arm, his grip firm but not entirely threatening, and pulled him discreetly underneath the camera so they wouldn’t be seen; both stood side-by-side with their backs against the wall, Bruce’s grip on his arm loosening. “You’ve texted me in the middle of the night several times this week. I know you’re not sleeping well.” His too-blue eyes searched him. “I won’t say anything if you’re not okay, John. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

John thought briefly about retorting with ‘you’, but that was so incredibly untrue that John couldn’t even try to lie with that sorry excuse. He couldn’t say he was ‘fine’, either, despite the habitual urge to. He wasn’t, Bruce knew it, and they did make that promise to be honest with each other...

“It’s just...you know, my brain, being...rude to me.” He knew that wasn’t a good enough explanation, but Bruce was giving his ‘I’m taking you seriously’ face. John always liked that expression. He didn’t see it enough on people. “I just keep having, you know,” John fumbled, rubbing the back of his neck to try and dispel some of the awkwardness, “bad dreams. I mean straight-up barbaric ones, Bruce,” he felt his lip curl in a sneer at himself, “My brain compacts all my garbage memories and twists it into something worse.”

Bruce took hold of John’s hand so smoothly it actually took him by surprise. John stared at him, wondering if he’d said something wrong. He should explain, shouldn’t he?

“I think… I’m still adjusting. Like, I know you’re here, and I’m here, but...it’s like my brain secretly doesn’t like the change and is punishing me for it,” John continued, giving a short, nervous giggle, “Which is ridiculous, because this is more than I could’ve hoped for in a lifetime!”

“Have you mentioned this to Dr. Song?”

“Umm…sort of?” John gestured with his free hand. “Sans graphic details, but, uh, yeah.”

“Is it why you’ve been texting me so late? You wake up from them?”

He didn’t quiiite want to put it like that. He didn’t want to keep thinking of those stupid dreams. “That, and I miss you,” John answered with a sly smile. Their fingers were entwined - he stroked the Bruce’s thumb with his own, feeling the old tiny scar there, slightly smoother than the rest of his warm hand.

The reaction was more of what he wanted to see right then - Bruce had that sweet longing look in his eye.

“I’m literally counting down the days, Bruce,” John purred, feeling much more confident as Bruce’s face flushed a delicate shade of pink. “I’d do anything just to kiss you right now.”

“We shouldn’t,” Bruce replied, looking like he was trying to talk himself out of doing just that.

“That’s not what you said last time,” John teased quietly with a grin, turning to lean his shoulder against the wall. The delicious aromas of expensive cologne and hair conditioner clung to Bruce’s collar, bringing to mind the more sordid details of that last visit. “In fact, I remember you pinning me to the wall and kissing me until you couldn’t breathe.” He’d give anything (any mild luxury, a whole week of visits, all the good night’s sleeps he had left) just have a room alone with him for a while. “I’ve had a hard time thinking about anything else since then.”

He could almost see the struggle between reason and desire in Bruce’s mind. He tried to hide his little shudder as John leaned in a little more; oh yes, John had him right where he wanted him. Bruce might as well have licked his lips.

“Or do you want me to do the pinning this time?”

John considered just pulling him forward and kissing him anyway, but that would ruin their little game. He liked seeing how far he could push Bruce. He watched Bruce’s baby-blues flicker slightly between John’s eyes.

The admonishment in his voice was gentle, like the squeeze he gave John's hand. “We really shouldn’t.”

“Alll-riiight,” John said with a playful pout, “If you say so, Bruce.” He pulled away and crossed his arms, wanting something else to do with his freshly-warmed hands. “You got spooked when that door opened last time, huh?”

“It’s more like ‘I don’t want people to think you got out because of my influence’,” he retorted quietly with a slight smile.

“Well, they’re not wrong, Bruce. I wouldn’t be in here without you,” John pointed out with a shrug in the general direction of their surroundings. “But I get it. So, if you’re not here for a good ol’ round of canoodling, it must be work-related, huh?”

He looked slightly embarrassed. “I actually just wanted to see you.”

John felt his heart skip that middle beat. “Oh! I mean, when you said ‘important’, I thought… Oh, geez,” he blustered, tapping his thighs with his fingers, “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He brought his hands together, looking up at Bruce with his best puppy-eyed expression. “But you’ll tell me how last night went anyway, right?”

Bruce had that cute little smile perking on the corner of his mouth. “Of course.” The smile slipped away just as soon as it appeared. “Not well. The shipment coming in was sabotaged before it came into port; I found all the crew dead.”

“Uugh,” John grunted, putting his hands in his pockets. “Did you at least get B.M.’s guys?”

“No. Their van combusted not long after I boarded the ship. G.C.P.D. found three dead, the last one’s presumed missing. We think it’s a rival gang - C.S.I. was still examining the wreckage when I left.”

“Sounds like a rough night.”

“It was. I barely got a power nap in before-”

“John?”

He glanced down the stairs, towards the voice - Devi, one of the few women staying there. She’d been there for three months already, coming out of her second stay at the county clinic.

“What’re you doin’? We got work in five minutes.”

“...we do?”

“Yeah, it’s Tuesday, man. You comin’ or what?”

He didn’t want to, but he should. “If I don’t make it down there, hijack the bus to wait for me,” he joked.

Her face lit up. “Hey, an upside: I can finally get one of Peralta’s Boston cremes in you.”

John grinned and gave a dramatic gasp. “Devi, you scoundrel, that’s dirty!”

“You’re the one makin’ it dirty, man!” Devi laughed, “I better see you down here in five, or I’m tellin’ the warden,” she teased as she turned the corner, her ponytail of tiny braids shifting as she walked.

Bruce had that calculating look. “I’m sorry, John, I didn’t know you had work today, either.”

“That’s okay, Bruce, I forgot entirely!”

Bruce looked far away, like he was thinking through something.

“Um, you okay?”

“...she didn’t question us standing here.” Bruce turned his gaze to him again. “Do you think she knows something?”

“Devi? Nahhh, she’s on the level.” Weeell… “Our level, I mean. Even if she ‘knows something’, she’s no rat.” Bruce still looked concerned, the big worry-wart. “Look, it’s fine - I’ll go get on the bus with the other crazies, go sit in a back-room sewing den where no one sees me for half the day, and text you if she tries to blackmail me so your other half can pay her a visit.”

Bruce’s little smile returned, making John want to just reach out and caress him like the treasure he was. “You don’t need an excuse to text me, John. You can do that whenever you want.” The sincerity made John’s stomach twist a little. “Just be careful. And have a good day at work.”

John wondered if everyone else in a relationship felt a little burst of joy at the simple well-wishing phrase. “Right back at ya, Brucie,” he said, nudging Bruce’s shoulder with his fist. He leaned in a little, lowering his voice just so Bruce could hear. “You know what I’ll do if anyone hurts you.”

Just as soon as Bruce got that complex look of desire-in-denial and mild alarm that John had wanted to see, John tossed him a wink and whirled around, leaving him to puzzle it out as he descended the stairs.

He grinned to himself, feeling much more relaxed and in-control than before. “Don’t stay too long, Bruce, or you’ll start thinking you live here!”

*~*~*~*~*

The Eastern harbor was one of the more seedy places in Gotham. Batman often fenced the place as part of his patrol, and John could name every mob that made a hit on the infamous 13th Street.

So naturally, it was one of the few sections of the city that would think of employing former Arkham inmates. It was a twenty-minute bus ride every morning to get to their respective jobs. Most of the residents in St. Dymphna were leased out to the laundromat or the incorrectly-named Lucky Hotel down the street. Occasionally one would go to the weird fish market to work in the back, gutting and descaling whatever was brought in. John was so far the only one to be placed in the Stitched Up Alterations joint next to the laundromat.

The bus was discreet, looking more like a white van with the city logo than a repurposed short school bus. It made John long for the flair of Lil’ Puddin’; it might have just been a stolen car he’d had repainted, but at least you knew who was coming.

He gave a little wave to Devi as he passed her heading towards the laundromat, leisurely making his way to the back alley around the place. He passed the always-smelly dumpster and the brick wall covered with graffiti - grinning slightly at the ‘fuck the agency’ tag someone had made with a decent imitation of his clown-smiley-face - and entered through the back door.

It was a small space, crowded with giant spools of various fabrics in all kinds of colors and patterns. There was a little group of headless dress forms in a few different sizes that he had recently cleaned the dust off of, one of which had what might be a burnt-orange off-shoulder dress pinned to it, likely for prom. Or was it homecoming? John never really knew which was which, but summer was only a couple of weeks away, which meant it was likely for whatever the last dance of the year was, and it was definitely new.

Though the color really wasn’t in season. It put him in mind of the fall, of the range of makeup he’d been eying in his few hours of freedom in Gotham half a year ago... He touched it, feeling the synthetic satin under his fingertips. It hadn’t been there yesterday, but it was real.

He passed the shelf of jars filled with colorful buttons, and the rolls upon rolls of fabric, taking a moment to run his hand over the beautiful purple broadcloth he’d half-hidden in a stack, and checked his lonely workstation. A pile of pieces to work on, all folded and tagged, sat at the table by the sewing machine.

He flicked through the pile. Boring, mildly interesting tack job, ooh nice pattern, boring, and

S.Townsend. Beautiful calligraphy, almost like it was from someone with years of practicing their signature. (John would know – he had roughly eight years of practice and he knew his wasn’t anywhere near that pretty.)

“Why does that name sound familiar…?”

A quick search turned up a few results, but nothing recent stood out… There were too many famous S.’s with Townend, apparently – a musician, some newscaster miles away, a convicted murderer ten years ago, some yacht owner…

“Ah-haaa.” One of Gotham’s one-percenters. Sonja Townsend, the chairwoman of Wayne Enterprises. “Why would a member of Bruce’s round-table go here?”

The ticket was recent, made yesterday at closing and wanted in half an hour. An easy enough job - just adding a ticket pocket to a very new purchase. The tag for the jacket was still attached to the sleeve - on sale for fifty bucks, marked down from two-hundred.

“A big-wig who doesn’t always buy big, huh?”

That was...definitely strange. Suspicious, even, considering Wayne Enterprise executives made so much it was a surprise they didn’t try to declare themselves kings.

He unbuttoned it and checked the lining - there was a ticket pocket already there. It was certainly a man’s jacket, just...very small. And they didn’t want it taken in or shrunk?

Hmm.

He took the seam-ripper and tore through the thin stitches holding the pocket closed, wondering if there was something inside.

Nothing.

“You’re being paranoid, John. Dr. Leland warned you about looking too far into things,” he muttered to himself, “Even if it isreally weird… There could be a decent explanation! But… Ugh, what would Bruce do?” his arms and staring at the annoying tag.

Bruce would question it, look at it from every angle… And research it.

John snapped a photo of the tag where The-Mysterious-Person-S had scribbled their signature and sent it to Bruce.

Hey buddy, does this handwriting look familiar?

I can’t check right now. In a meeting.

Fair enough. Looking at it from other angles it was.

John pat the sleeves, the collar, turned the inner-pocket inside out, thinking about the tiny packets of drugs he’d seen exchange hands at Arkham when he found something in the outside pocket.

An ordinary USA Express. No signature on the back, and the black stripe was very worn, but the card wouldn’t expire until next month; the unlucky name on the front was Michael Hodgson.

Huh. Well…no, it wasn’t finder’s-keepers, and John had already been told off for petty theft during his trial, but…it could be useful. Door locks could be picked with a card. As long as he didn’t buy anything with it, it was fine, right?

Right.

John stuck it in his back pocket.

Just as soon as he did, the door to the front opened, and John sat and moved the shirt like he was doing ordinary work as usual, pulling out the boring fabric that someone wanted to turn into a very boring pillow.

The manager came through, hauling a grocery bag of more fabric.

“Oh, John – can you…take a walk for a bit?” The smaller man asked, his mild Thai accent slightly more prevalent than normal. It only seemed to happen when he was nervous. “I have a special order I need to do back here. It will take up the bench.”

“Uh, sure, if you want. How long will you take?”

“A while. Just make sure you’re back in half an hour; the social worker’s dropping by then,” he said with a wave of his hand, moving in John’s way to force him back up.

Mr. Prinya definitely wasn’t supposed to tell him that. Those were meant to be surprise visits, to see how John was coping. “This isn’t some kind of test, is it?” John asked with a nervous little laugh, “Like you’re seeing if I’ll take the opportunity to skip out and report me?”

“You ask a lot for a man who wants this job.” Mr. Prinya put the bag by the stack of orders. “You leave, be back in thirty, both of us live to work another day.”

Ah. He was moving something. His accent came in a little thicker with the light threat, and his little show of bravado made John think it was probably against his will. Probably. But John knew the score – he had more than his share of experience keeping secrets in Arkham. And time away was beneficial for both of them.

“Hey, no worries,” John answered with his best understanding smile and a raise of his hands, “I get ya. I’ll just leave this one on the outgoing rack, ‘k?” He emphasized, picking up Townsend’s jacket.

Mr. Prinya gave a stiff nod, taking a seat in John’s chair and fiddling with his phone as John put the jacket on the wire hanger and threw it on the ‘outgoing’ rack by the door. He clearly didn’t want John to know what was in the bags. Probably for the best.

John left through the backdoor and stepped back into the alley.

He wasn’t far from the harbor. He could easily go have a look at the crime scene from last night by warehouse twenty-two… It was best not to get too close to it, though, so strolling by the actual docks wasn’t the best choice. He could go the roof of one of the buildings close to it instead. John had managed to get a close-zoom lens for his phone’s camera a little while back; it was a tiny thing attached to the back of his phone’s case, plugged into the audio jack for safe-keeping - all he had to do was clip it in place and he’d be able to have almost-binocular vision.

He took a quick look at the back of the laundromat. There was a camera by the door, but if he went juuust wide enough, he wouldn’t be seen by it’s all-seeing-eye.

The wire fence was a little difficult to climb in his shoes (he missed those ankle boots Bruce had bought him last year, the slight heel dug into crevices nicely) and he was never a fan of the feel of metal digging into his hands, but he managed to climb over the fence with a swing over the top and a hop to the ground without any injury.

John straightened his shirt, feeling a little accomplished, and set off for the sets of buildings closest to the docks, passing by graffiti in the twisting litter-coated alleyway - there was a poor imitation of the bat signal that someone had scribbled over and written ‘fuck batman’ next to, standard gang tags, non-standard gang tags, an anarchy symbol, a giant cartoonish bat chasing people…

Actually, that was one for the album! He had to stop and take a picture; one of the people looked like the Mayor. He didn’t even care it had a few of the tags in it - it was part of the charm, really.

He passed by one of the partially-repainted dumpsters, wrinkling his nose and walking faster when he smelled rotting fish parts, and spotted the ladder for the fire escape next to it dangling down partway into the alley. John was tall enough to tug at the ladder, but it wouldn’t budge.

The windows were mostly blacked out by something or other. If anyone lived there, he doubted they were home. It would be a damn good view, and close enough that the journey back wouldn’t make him late.

“Hm, to use the smelly abyss as leverage, or risk a minor injury?” He muttered aloud.

The dumpster was ancient and rusting. Not worth it.

John bent and jumped up, grabbing hold of the bars on the ladder and swinging his legs out to keep balanced as he climbed the first few bars. He checked the window by the landing and wiped his hands on his pants for good measure. The room there wasn’t as empty as he thought - the window had been darkened by thin film, like the kind they used for quick-fix window tinting, and the inside had some bare battered furniture. He could see a duffel bag half-hidden by a table leg.

Probably another runner. It was no use pondering about what they were running from. In Gotham, there were far too many choices.

The next two windows had curtains (or in one case, sheets that had been clumsily tacked on the panes that let John see someone watching bad on-demand porn) and the last one showed nothing but an empty room with an open doorway. “Man, how hard is it to get a little bit of human interaction around here?” He grumbled to himself. He’d at least like to see someone else properly for more than a minute. Or get an idea of them at least.

He looked out into the street below - three passers-by in matching grey-and-black hoodies, seeming to laugh it up as they passed. A street gang, maybe... They weren’t very observant, if they were; there was a perfectly good motorcycle just sitting at the end of the alleyway there. It couldn’t be too difficult to hot-wire. At least compared to a car.

There was one more ladder going to the rooftop - and upon poking his head over the top, John was unsure on how to feel.

Tiffany Fox stood near the edge of the roof, doing exactly what he was planning on doing - only she had a pair of real binoculars. And that tablet she used for her drones.

She looked different from the last time he saw her, too; she was dressed fairly professionally, making her look a little more mature despite the dark blue streaks littering the thick curls on the one side of her head.

He wished he had her number so he could just text her he was there. Sneaking up probably wasn’t the best thing to do, despite the little urge to spook her; she was being trained by Batman, after all.

Weird situations like this surely called for some playful banter. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” He asked with his best film-noir-detective voice.

It certainly got her attention. She whirled around looking like a frightened cat, reaching for her hip like there was something useful there. A taser, judging by the shape in the pocket. (John always wondered why women’s slacks had those terrible form-fitting pockets.)

The wary look on her face didn’t quite diminish when she noticed it was just him. Despite the better terms they ended on in the ambulance back in October, he didn’t completely blame her for distrusting him - they had matching scars, after all.

“John,” she said simply, “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Ha, now you’re sounding like Bats, at least!” He chuckled, moving towards her to close some of the gap. He knew better than to get too close, though. He’d be the same way, if things were reversed; you never really knew what someone had hidden on them. “I would’ve thought you’d have developed that sixth-sense of his by now, after all you’re training, Tiff’.” (He made sure to keep of the ‘y’ he wanted to add. He remembered she’d said not to call her that; ‘Tiffy’ was reserved for brain-talk only.)

Tiffany’s expression shifted. She wasn’t just wary anymore, she had that little frown on her face that meant he’d crossed some unseen line. It couldn’t have been her name - was her training not going as well as Bruce had said? Or was it just one of those secretly-sensitive subjects?

“So… What’cha doin’?” He asked casually, stopping at the edge several feet away from her to look down into the street. “People watching, or crime scene watching?”

“Crime scene watching. Aren’t you supposed to be in that halfway house?”

He couldn’t decide whether the tone was accusatory or curious. It kinda sounded like both… Well, best to be nice about it. She had Bruce’s number on speed-dial, after all. “I am; I’m technically on a break from the mandated work. What about you, Tiff’?”

She raised a brow, and her tone was instantly recognizable; the same rebellious sort that came when someone nosy asked Harley what she was doing. “What about me?”

John fiddled with his phone, clipping on the magnifier lens to cover the camera. “Are you skipping work entirely, or just going in late?”

“Late. I would never skip.”

Really? Never-ever? He doubted that. “Eight hours a day, five days a week - and that’s not even counting your night gig. Doesn’t it wear on you?”

Tiffany didn’t quite seem focused on that tablet screen. “Sometimes. But last time I took time off, Bruce scolded me.”

“Do you mean he actually got angry, or he was he just like ‘Don’t be irresponsible, Tiffany. Just because my double-life allows me to up and leave work for as long as I can’t walk doesn’t mean you can take a break,’” John said in his best imitation of Bruce’s smoother-but-stern voice.

Tiffany gave a noise that might have been covering a laugh. He could see the smile on the edge of her mouth. “That does kinda sound like him.” She made a swiping gesture on the screen and looked over at him. “But it was more like he’s worried I’ll get too into the night job and go work on stuff without him.”

That wasn’t quite right. Bruce cared about people - more than likely, he just didn’t want Tiffany to get hurt or be in danger when Bruce couldn’t be around. John had caught sight of Batman staying outside of Arkham some nights when Bruce hadn’t stopped by in a couple of days, as if he was just checking up on things.

That was the type of person Bruce was - clearly it extended further where Tiffany was concerned, and she was clearly tired of hitting that ceiling.

“So, like you’re doing now?” John grinned, focusing the camera on his phone to try and zoom in as far as he could on the remains of the van in the distance. They were just high up enough to see most of the scene.

Tiffany was finally smiling. It was small and smug, but it was a definite change from the last time he saw her. It reached her dark eyes, lighting them up like a little candle in the dark. “Yup.”

John squinted at the image of the wreckage on his screen. “Yeesh, that was some firework they planted. Looks like the whole thing went up in smoke.” He zoomed in as much as he could. “Wow, the back doors are either open or gone on that thing.” The strangeness of it seemed to click the second he said it. “Or the explosion came from the inside.”

“That’s what the C.S.I. think, too,” Tiffany answered. “The glass all shattered outward; I think someone planted it there. That, or the dumbasses left the keys in the van.”

John giggled at that. “Mobsters leaving their keys behind? In Gotham? No way.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the more lunkheaded ones was in charge of driving.”

“No, no, you want the people with quick reflexes to drive, not the muscle. It’s why I was the designated chauffeur for the Pact,” he said somewhat proudly, “That, and Harley liked being driven around. Said it made her feel all fancy.” He scowled to himself as he felt his gut twist at the old memory. “Though Dr. Leland thought that was just another example of her using me for her own gain...”

“You don’t still miss her, do you?” Tiffany asked, the accusatory tone lacing in between caution.

John thought. He kind of did. Not the same way he missed Bruce - not by a longshot - or the same way he missed Dr. Leland.

He shot a look at Tiffany. Were they at the point of bringing up ‘personal’ stuff yet? They’d worked together before, and they were on the same team now… He supposed that there wasn’t a better time to find out than now.

“It’s...more like I miss the fact that I could talk to her. Being in her company was easy, you know? That sort of ‘natural connection’ thing. In hindsight, there were some red flags about our whole relationship...but I can’t just pretend everything that happened between us just never happened.” He breathed out through his nostrils, already angry even though there wasn’t even a Harley there for him to be angry at. “Even if she did try to hurt Bruce.”

“And left you behind several times, tried to kill me alongside Bruce, and took advantage of you at every chance,” Tiffany said pointedly, a sardonic sort of smile perking up. “You shouldn’t just value Bruce’s life that much - you’ve got your own, you know.”

John snorted. She sounded a lot like Leland, in her own way; neither of them really quite got his relationship with Bruce. “Not much of one.” Though… “I guess it is getting a little better.”

She had that sort of pitying expression on her face. He wasn’t really a fan of those. Sympathy was fine, empathy was better - but pity? He didn’t need that. He really, really wanted to just change the subject rather than deal with any conversation pertaining to that.

“Speaking of lives, though - any idea what happened with the ship? I can still kinda see it in the harbor.”

“...how did you know about it?”

“How else? Bruce dropped by this morning.” He saw the mild bewilderment there, and decided he might as well drive the point home and make her jealous at the same time. “He always shares his case details with me. Among other things,” he added slyly. “But I had to go to work, so the conversation got cut before I could hear the juicy details. You were on patrol with him, right?”

“I wasn’t there in person,” Tiffany grumbled, going back to tapping her tablet. (What was she doing on it, anyway?) “I was using my drone from the cave, before some trigger-happy asshole took it out.”

John remembered her father had made those; no wonder she was upset. He should offer comfort. Better comfort that the last time they’d spoken about her father. He’d learned what to say since then. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he echoed with all the sincerity he could.

She looked more puzzled at that than anything, but she didn’t look more upset, so that was probably a good sign. “Uh, thanks… Anyway, Bruce saw everything - I only got the data feed from his drones.” She tapped something, and seemed to think. “You sure you wanna see this?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“They’re pretty bad.”

He didn’t care. It wasn’t the blood or wounds that got to his head the last time he’d seen carnage second-hand; it was the ferocity, the terror on the people’s faces, the familiarity of it all that brought back the memory of the manic episode that had spiralled him to his worst point, and it made him feel very...displaced. But it wasn’t video, and John’s curiosity and his drive to help Bruce overrode everything else.

He wanted to squeeze something. He settled for putting his hands in his pockets and feeling the back of his phone case. “I can handle it.”

Tiffany turned the screen towards him. “There were eight victims. Most of them were stabbed.”

There were two men sunken in plastic chairs in the ships kitchenette, each with one of their eyes gouged out.

It was the kind of thing to put a sharp thrill in his gut and made the neurons in his brain fire away; enough to make him smile. No weapons in the wounds, and from such fun angles! “You know, I’ve always wanted to see a knife-thrower in person. I wanna find out how they do that.”

When he looked back up, Tiffany’s nose was wrinkled in the kind of stern disgust that Bruce displayed at the sight of dead bodies - only she lacked the spark of intrigue he always had. (Guess she wasn’t as far along in the training as he thought…) “Knife-throwing, huh…”

“Yeah, with reeeally long blades - I mean, I think some butter knives are big enough to hit the brain, too, but they’re probably harder to aim just right.”

Her frown deepened. “I don’t want to know how you know that…”

“It’s kind of obvious,” he answered anyway, unsure of how else he would know, “I mean, look-” He spread his thumb and forefinger to measure and held it up against his head, “it’s at least three inches to the temporal lobe; butter knives aren’t that long! Unless it’s for the world’s largest stick of butter.”

He was clearly close… Just a scoach more, and she’d surely crack. Her frown turned upside down for a little bit, there. The wall was dropping, further and further - he had to time these things just right…

Tiffany swiped on the screen, her expression souring at the sight of whatever-it-was, and his tiny hope died like a butterfly caught in a snowstorm. That was too serious a look to run with.

So he dared to scoot a little closer and peer over her shoulder, catching sight of the overhead image of the ship’s storeroom.

Four unfortunate men were laying on their backs, positioned so their arms crossed their chests like they were newly-buried pharaohs. Their heads all touched, three nestled snug together at forty-five-degree angles while the last one touched them all in the middle; a three-to-one ratio.

John itched to just grab it out of her hands to have a better look. He clenched his hands once and released halfway, forcing the impulse to pass. He didn’t want to be rude, even if they weren’t on the best of terms; and she was clearly in a rebellious streak, so acting demanding was right out. “Can I see that?” He asked instead, as politely as possible.

“Please?” He continued, seeing the morbidly-curious look in her weirded out face, “Just to check something?”

She was more guarded than ever, looking straight at the tablet in her hands...

At her right hand, just briefly, thinking back to the knife he’d plunged into it that day months and months ago, debating on whether or not she could trust him with even holding one of her tools when he’d trusted her completely back at the skyrail station -

“Alright,” she said finally, holding it out to him and letting him take it without another word of protest. He could see the faded scar on her palm, not quite identical to his. Like fraternal twins. Just how deep does that parallel go, he thought. “What are you checking?”

“The shape,” he answered, pulling open the editing menu.

He started doodling over it, first in pink - red was too close to home, in this case. A large inverted triangle...

No…a trapezoid on top of a pole, perhaps?

He switched to neon yellow. A miniature upside-down triangle, with a point down. That looked better.

He switched to green, tracing a line over each body. A trident, maybe? Maybe.

It was… Something. He’d seen it before. Somewhere, sometime…

“Have you ever seen this before?” He asked, keeping the tablet flat in between them so they could both look.

“I dunno, gang symbols? There’s a lot of weird ones around,” Tiffany said. “I know someone in the Cauldron uses some weird triangle as their tag…” She looked at him, no more wariness or caution or anything negative in her expression. Just simple curiosity. “Does it look familiar?”

A phrase he’d heard a hundred times before. Always a no. Always followed with ‘are you sure’ and more no’s and follow-ups of ‘well what can you remember?’ in that same insulting tone that tried so hard to appear inquisitive...

John drummed his fingers against the tablet, feeling the material of the reinforced case under his short fingernails. He was talking to Tiffany Fox, on top of a roof, both of them taking time out from work to look into a crime scene.

He laughed at the ludicrousness of it - she could push him off the roof or tase him or escape with a grappling hook, and she was just here talking to him, like things were actually changing.

(They were, though. He could smell the smog and the harbor. It was real.)

John let the short laugh die out with a little cough as he saw the look at Tiffany’s face.

“Sorry,” he said, being used to apologizing for causing any level of ‘disturbed concern’, “But, no, it’s, uh, more like a nagging feeling.” She didn’t seem to understand that; her brow was raised, almost skeptical instead of curious, and still unsure of him as a whole. “Déjà vu with no direction.”

Tiffany actually looked like she was thinking about it, pulling apart the words in her head… “That’s...a different way of putting it. So, you might have seen it, but you don’t know where or when?”

He rolled his eyes slightly at her. He wasn’t going to dignify that was a proper response.

“I guess I’ll look into gang symbols,” Tiffany said, carefully taking the tablet back. “I’ll go back a few years, see if someone revived an old gang or something…”

“Or they could’ve just stolen the logo,” John pointed out.

“True.” She stared down at the tablet, concentration furrowing her brow. “You know, you might be right… It is kind of that nagging feeling.”

“Speaking of nagging, you haven’t found out anything new about those Black Mask guys, have you?”

“Only that one is still missing. There weren’t any tire tracks or bullets casings left behind, so whoever killed them made a clean getaway…” She cast a look over at the crime scene in the distance. “At least until I get the footage back from the broken drone. It might have picked up something.”

John hummed. A rival gang on the hunt - they would likely send whatever pieces were left to Black Mask. “Were they found the same way?”

“No. The members we found were all shot.”

Interesting! “Head or torso?”

“Does that really matter?”

“Depends on how sloppy our killer was!”

“...I don’t know how you’re so enthusiastic about this,” Tiffany grumbled, eyeing him scrupulously.

“Oh, come on, Tiff’, crime’s my specialty! We’re investigating a potential gang war, here - if it’s mostly headshots, it’s professional executions, which means a rival mafia sending a message; if it’s torsos it’s more likely to be newbies.” he thought for a moment. “Unless it’s the Corazón troupe, of course. But I’m pretty sure they’re all dead. Or really old.”

It was clear to see she hadn’t thought of that. “I’d say it looked like upper-body shots from the pictures I saw last night. I don’t have those handy, though. I’ll bring it up with Bruce.”

Hm. Hm, hm, hm. The van exploding, the crew ending up dead with only one missing as a hostage or informant - it sounded too much like a professional job. Someone planned it carefully. So why did one group get stabbed, and another shot? And why were the knife marks so precise when the shots were… Well, they could be precise. He’d have to see the pictures. Or at least hear of it.

“Speaking of him, I gotta go. I don’t want to be too late,” Tiffany said, tucking her tablet away.

“Ooh, before you do-” John quickly opened a new contact page and pushed the phone at her - “here, I don’t want to have to surprise you every time I see you.” There was the small chance she’d take it and throw it over the building, or slap it out of his hand, or just give him that weirded-out look she got sometimes or -

Tiffany defied the anxious conspiracies his brain was spinning; she took the phone and dutifully punched the number in, handing it back without any kind of strange look. “I better not find myself added to any weird listings,” she said jokingly, offering a small smile. A peace offering.

“Not even cute cat videos?” He teased, adding the fox and computer emoticons to the end of her name.

“I’ve already got a playlist on UBox for that,” Tiffany shrugged, heading back towards the fire escape. “’Bye, John.”

“’Bye, Tiff’,” he echoed, thinking for a second, “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

She blinked, turning for a moment, her hands already on the ladder railing. “You think you can find something from the inside of the halfway house?”

She was underestimating him. It was an advantage sometimes, but mostly it just annoyed him. He wasn’t anywhere close to Bruce – a man of the world in every sense – but he did have some physical power and brains and could put things together when they interested him enough. “You think that could stop me?” He answered, thinking back to every little secret he ever learned within the padded walls of his former home. “I’ve got my ways, Tiff’ – I have access to stuff you and Bruce could only dream about.”

He saw the wariness return on her face. She was unsure of what he knew and how he knew it, and just what he did to get people to talk, or what he did to take.

But like hell he’d tell her. She wouldn’t get it. Not now, at least. Maybe someday. “Be careful out there,” he added, letting the seriousness sink in before turning back into something more optimistic for both their sakes, “and have a good day at work!”

Tiffany left his view, and John cast one more look out at the crime scene in the distance.

At least he had some new things to think about at all hours of the day. Two groups of filthy criminals pitted against each other over their petty toys, unaware that Batman would be hell-bent on stopping it, using his loyal assistants who were waiting and watching from the shadows for help…

But the questions were what their precious toys were, and when and how Black Mask would get revenge – and figuring all that out would be easy once John could pinpoint who the rival group was.

How fun!

Notes: Yes, Bruce might be the main character, but relationships work both ways - John is his own person regardless of what their relationship is like, so we get to see his life, too! (Yes, that means even if he’s a villain - though he’d probably start at a hideout rather than the halfway house, considering TT wouldn’t be likely to let him have any kind of redemption arc. But we have nothing to hold us back anymore! No bars, no chains, no gods, no masters!!! So villain!John can have a redemption arc too if you want, probably starting back in season 3 and continuing on here, because he’s an ill man who needs a support system and you can make it however you want!! Fight me, TT!!!! Oh wait, you can’t! Ahahahahahahaha!!!!!!)

(You’ll still be missed by us all. Thanks for the fun and new beginnings, TellTale… I hope you know my teasing comes from [mostly] love.)

Anyway, I thought it would be fun to have some new mechanics, so “drawing” and “photography” are now things “the player” can do practically free-style! And of course a big new addition is also “character perspective swap”, to focus on John for some of the time so “the player” can experience different sides of this story. And of course John’s choices affect the story, too! And depending on what you do with him…wait, that’s spoiler territory…I can’t tell you yet... You’ll have to wait along with me. But I pinky-swear it’ll be worth it. (｡•̀ᴗ-)b✧

I try to provide updates on tumblr/my Ao3 profile but nothing is guaranteed, so subscribing/bookmarking would be ideal for you to keep current! I hope to see you April 17 for our next look into this case! (･ω´-ゞ)^☆

#ttoj #season 4 #bttts s4 #batman the telltale series #telltale batjokes #john doe #batjokes #blood tw #corpse tw #mental illness #today was stressful omfg #i feel bad that this is late #at least i managed to perfect it before i left work #reblogs are love #so are likes!!!#💜💜💜#the tolls of justice

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