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parasite-core · 1 year

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I have been given the go ahead to info dump about my OCs by @the-ethereal-god so now it’s story time with Sky, featuring those weirdos who live in my brain.

So since they’re all Pathfinder characters they’re all heroes. Technically. Some more than others. Some a lot more than others.

On a sliding scale of ‘goodness’

At the top is Umbrolus, he is a pure cinnamon roll. Too good for this world. Ignore the fact that he’d beat a man to death with their own severed limbs if they so much as considered hurting his SO or his friends. He has a teeny tiny huge temper. It’s fine we all have flaws. But other than that he’s just a big puppy.

After Umber is probably Kiyo. They have been the local doctor for the poor district of Korvosa for about 50 years, and they’ve lived in the city for over a century. They care about the city and its people and want to protect them and see them become something better than the crime filled hovel it currently is. As such, they’ve recently taken up the mantle of the vigilante Blackjack from the previous wielder, to help protect the people and give them hope. So they use their talents to protect the city they love in two forms: as a doctor caring for the sick and injured who cannot afford care elsewhere, and as a vigilante protecting the powerless and the innocent.

I think next is probably Draven. She has a bit of a hero complex. Just a little. Just ‘throw myself in front of enemy attacks and use my body as a shield to protect the innocents or my friends, with no regard for my own health and safety’ levels of self destructive hero complex. She is basically indestructible though so she can get away with it. Literally. It took a demi-god level powerful Demon Lord and three balors multiple rounds focusing all their attacks on trying to kill her to take her down, and it was her only death the entire campaign (it was the final battle). She did one thing and that was tank and she did it well.

I think next would be Roland. He was not a good person in his past, but he’s long since moved beyond that. He’s generally a good person, the quintessential stressed healer wrangling a chaotic party. He believes strongly in the ideal of redemption and that most people have the ability to become better versions of themselves, they just have to be willing to choose to put in the work to become that better self. If someone is remorseful of their actions and shows the desire to change Roland will fight for them and do everything in his power to help them see their new path through. He feels sympathy especially for those who were turned undead unwillingly and have to fight against an innate evil nature—given that he is himself an undead known as a Graveheart—and he respects those who choose to try to do good. He has helped to set up a place within the Valoria faith for these undead who want to turn towards the light.

Next would be Ileark. He’s generally a good person and does his best to always act in peoples’ best interests. He is a follower of Desna and is a strong believer in freedom, not feeling comfortable with most governing bodies or other rigid social constructs that restrict peoples’ personal freedoms. He is deeply against slavery, and slavers are one of the few things that make him truly seethingly angry. He is widely travelled and has seen every corner of the continent Avistan, and some parts of the neighboring continents. His breadth of experience makes him very personable with people from all walks of life. Ileark has healer envy for the party’s paladin, who is better at healing than him (he is a cleric with a prestige class who lost a lot of his healing abilities due to the prestige class), and he is self conscious and feels like he is a bad person because he is better at doing harm than that healing. The only character death the party has had was caused by Ileark, as he accidentally killed the party psychic—who is basically Ileark’s surrogate brother—because he’d had an infection that required using negative energy to knock him out to cure, and Ileark’s negative energy spell ended up being too powerful and flat out killed him. So he has a lot of guilt over that. Oh and also his birth mother is the goddess of night hags (and said psychic’s former goddess before he told her to fuck off and threw his unholy symbol into the ocean), and she wants Ileark to give in to her power and come to the dark side to become a night hag like her.

Next up is Lucien. He is also a Desna worshipper, but he’s less concerned with freedom and travel and more concerned with luck. He’s a gambler and an adrenaline junkie and he bases much of his philosophy off the idea that any test of luck is showing faith in Desna. Lucien doesn’t necessarily avoid doing the right thing or actively do harm (usually), but he doesn’t necessarily go out of his way to do good deeds like a lot of the people above either. He mostly just goes with the flow, lets a coin flip determine his fate, helps if there’s someone right in front of him obviously needing help, but can also oblivious to people needing his help if it isn’t directly asked of him. He isn’t always a particularly smart man, he mostly acts on his own whims with very little forethought—in fact he actively avoids thinking as much as possible because self reflection just makes him depressed and he doesn’t want to feel those things, he wants to ignore them and pretend everything is alright.

Sai is…where things start getting morally grey. Sai believes she is doing good. Her goal is to punish bad people and to protect good people. But she is very black and white in her thinking about ‘bad people’ and ‘good people’, and her methods of punishment for ‘bad people’ can range from what you’d expect from a regular adventurer to exceptionally cruel things. For example she turned a gargoyle into an insect permanently with his mind still intact and then released him into the wild to live out what he could of his inevitably short and terrified life after he killed one of the other members of the party—despite the fact that said party member came back to life afterwards.

Kaius will do anything to protect his family. And that’s a sweet nice thing that you’d expect from a hero right? Except no—he will do *anything* to protect his family. If aiding a villain is what it takes to protect his wife and daughter, he’d do it without hesitation and feel no guilt over it or any repercussions from it so long as it didn’t harm said family. He was a hair’s breath away from betraying his party when the group’s cleric turned out to be a cultist and she told him to join her and shoot one of the others. If she hadn’t shown her hand and revealed how her plans were going to affect his daughter, he would have done it, because she was the one member of the party he’d actually opened up to. As it was, he ended up fighting for the heroes side—but only because that’s what benefitted his wife and daughter the most, and because he felt betrayed by Gabby, not because it was the right thing to do, or because he had any moral objections to a cult subjugating everyone in the world and killing every deity but their own. Although he would have some objections to *himself* being subjugated so he’d probably fight against them on that alone.

Calio is my most morally bad character. He is, at his core, selfish. He doesn’t do anything for altruistic reasons, ever. There’s always an angle. However that being said, he is better than he used to be. His selfishness extends to the people close to him now—so if there’s something one of the other party members wants, he’ll want that for them as well. Unless their wants directly contradict one of his wants, in which case his wants still take precedent. Calio has been getting better ever since he met Greta. Before her, he wasn’t close to anyone and he didn’t take anyone’s thoughts or feelings into consideration ever. Since meeting her, he’s mellowed out a little and had began actively considering the people he cares about. However this consideration does not extend past the bubble of people he cares about—everyone else can go die in a hole for all he cares. He talked a man out of committing suicide recently—and if the other members of the party hadn’t been there he wouldn’t have bothered and would have just let the man die. Because he only did it because the others were the ones who would care if the man died. So, to reiterate, Calio might do good things sometimes, but he is not a good person.

#my ocs #Roland Terrasold #Kiyo Alvara #Sai Gwenn #Lucien Anasia #Kaius River #Draven Imani #Umbrolus Arcantix #Ileark Keita #calio caecos

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talatomaz · 3 years

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kidnapped | hailey upton x fem!reader

a/n: of course, I have to make everything angsty since hurt-comfort is my fave genre 😁

this is based off 5x16 (chicago med) but instead of nat being kidnapped, it’s the reader.

requested by anon: “a hailey upton x female reader. where the reader works at 51 or med and both hailey and the reader have hidden their relationship from everyone.”

warnings: mentions of blood/guns. kidnapping (past and present). sexual references

word count: 2.4k

masterlist | navigation | request rules

after reader gets kidnapped by a murderer, hailey finds herself losing her mind because, though nobody else knows, her and reader have been in a relationship for almost a year and she is the love of her life

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Okay, I’m at work now. Have a great day, love.”

“You too, baby. Bye.”

You smiled as your girlfriend disconnected the call.

You had been dating Hailey for just under a year and you couldn’t help but be a bit pleased that the two of you had managed to keep it a secret this long.

With you working in Chicago Med and Hailey working in Intelligence, there was a lot of overlap with your work and considering you all spent your free time at Molly’s, it was a surprise that no one knew of your relationship.

You’d met Hailey almost two years ago. She had brought in a young teenager who’d been a victim of a home invasion - her parents had been brutally murdered leaving her as the sole survivor.

Hailey had remained by her side the entire time and you couldn’t help but appreciate that. Many detectives tended to just leave the injured with you or your fellow colleagues and then go off to work their respective cases.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, mind you. But there was something about the way that Hailey cared for this child that had just captivated your heart.

And since that day, you’d found yourself pining, for lack of a better word, over the blonde. But what you hadn’t realised was that she had felt the exact same way about you.

For several months, the two of you found yourself dancing around your feelings, both on the precipice of revealing your feelings before relenting at the last second. It was only until Ruzek had hit on you one night at Molly’s that had Hailey finally revealing how she felt about you.

You remembered how she stood there, cheeks red from the cold, eyes full of jealousy and black with lust. Suffice it to say, you couldn’t help but mentally thank Adam for unwittingly hitting on you because it had allowed you to finally be with the detective. And almost a year down the line, you were stronger than ever.

“Morning, Dr L/N!”

Blinking, you gathered your thoughts and turned to see Dr Marcel walking towards you. Furrowing your brows, you spoke, “Didn’t your shift start an hour ago?”

“Forgot my badge in my car. I should superglue it to my forehead.”

Returning his laugh, you spoke, “Think a stapler might work better.”

As you were about to walk away, your head whipped around to face a man running up the two of you. You immediately noticed the blood staining his hands and before you could speak, his voice came out in a frantic and rapid pants. Partly because he was running but mostly, you assumed, because of fear.

“Help! My wife. She’s in labour. She’s bleeding real bad.”

Glancing over at Crockett, you saw that his expression mirrored yours and, without hesitation, the two of you ran after the man, following him to his car to help his wife.

You were shocked, however, when upon approaching the van, you saw a man lay bleeding on the floor. His hand raised, a gun in his palm. Though it was winter, the sun still beamed and the light glistened off the metal, threatening to blind you.

“Give me your phones and get in.” The man, who’d come running up to you just moments before, said harshly.

“You don’t have to do this.” You said calmly, obeying his orders.

You weren’t sure how your voice came out so steady when it felt like your heart was beating out of your chest, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you before his gun would surely kill you.

“I’m the surgeon, alright. Let her go.”

Crockett’s attempts to reason with the two men were futile as they shouted for the two of you to get in.

Holding your breath, you willed yourself to calm down, needing to believe that Hailey would soon be looking for you.

God, please let Hailey find you.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“Get up.”

Turning to look behind you, the man, who’d tricked you this morning, opened the van doors and you fought to hide a shiver as the cold Chicago air blasted through you.

You looked over at Marcel who tried to sit up as best he could, “I’m the surgeon. Let me go. I know what to get.”

“Cuff him. Do it.”

Catching the set of handcuffs that had been thrown in your face, you followed the man’s orders and, with a solemn look, you cuffed your friend to the bar above his head.

“Come on.”

You bit your tongue to prevent a curse leaving your lips as the man, what could only be described as, yanked you out of the van and held you tight to his side.

“Make any stupid moves and you and your friend both die.”

After picking up some supplies, you approached the checkout and silently pleaded at the cashier with your eyes, wishing that he could see the panic in your eyes and alarm someone to your predicament.

When it became obvious that that wasn’t going to happen, you began to lose hope before catching a glimpse of a security camera in the corner of your eye. Glancing up at your kidnapper, you saw he was preoccupied with paying, giving you a brief moment of reprieve to remove your hospital badge, letting it fall to the marble ground.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.” The man said, feigning a nurturing tone as he spoke to you through clenched teeth.

You winced at his harsh grip and followed him back to the van where you helped Marcel perform surgery to repair the bullet wound in the man’s leg, whom you assumed to be the brother of the driver.

Hailey frowned as she looked at the text she had sent you a few hours earlier; the one tick indicating that you hadn’t read it yet.

Where were you?

She tried to reason with herself, believing that maybe you were busy in the ER but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad had happened.

And Jay and Voight’s secrecy only seemed to add to her panic.

For the past few hours, her partner had been leaving the district and then coming back with a schooled look on his face that Hailey knew he used to conceal his worry.

And it didn’t help that whenever his phone rang, he left to privately answer it and immediately went to Voight’s office, closing the door which people only did in serious situations.

When Jay left Voight’s office, Hailey got up from her chair and grabbed Jay’s arm, dragging him into the dingy break room.

“What’s going on?”

“What?” Halstead crossed his arms, his attempts to feign confusion failing miserably.

“Never play poker, Jay. What’s going on?” Hailey repeated.

Jay sighed, “Dr L/N and Marcel have been kidnapped.”

The blood drained from Hailey’s face as she grew visibly pale. Trying to keep her voice as steady as she could, she spoke, “What?”

“Maggie found their phones in the car park. There was blood on them and we lifted a partial print and matched it to Tyler Clemons. A convicted murderer.”

Hailey leaned against the table when she felt her knees buckle beneath her.

Halstead stared at her in concern but before he could question it, his phone rang.

Hailey watched silently as he hummed in response to the other person on the line. When he disconnected, he looked at the blonde, his eyes filled with unbridled relief.

“I think we’ve found them. Gear up. I’ll tell Voight.”

Without hesitation, Hailey immediately rushed out the door and ran downstairs to get ready.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“This is Detective Jay Halstead with the Chicago Police Department.”

Your shoulders slumped in relief as you heard your friend’s voice be projected through, what you assumed was, a megaphone.

The two men had taken you to their mother’s home where you gained clarity on the reasoning for their actions.

The injured man, who you learned was called Tyler, had a young son diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything you or Marcel could do, and instead, you’d been forced to restrain yourself to the wooden chairs you were currently sitting on.

You listened as Halstead announced that the house was surrounded, hoping that Hailey was outside but simultaneously wishing that she wasn’t in fear of it going sideways - you didn’t want her to see your dead body.

“Here. Uncuff her.”

You held your breath as Tyler threw the keys at Crockett, not wanting to say a word in case he ended up changing his mind.

After he freed you, you rubbed your wrists, slightly wincing at the red marks that had risen on your tanned skin. Then you began to protest when Tyler made it obvious that he was only letting you go but after some persuasion from your friend, you reluctantly left Crockett in the house.

Opening the front door to the suburban home, you felt another wave of cold air run through you and you raised your hands in a surrendering gesture.

“Patrol, stand down. Friendly coming out.” Jay had yelled and then you found yourself being hurried behind shields to where Jay stood.

And Hailey.

The moment you laid eyes on the blonde, you fell into her arms as she held you fiercely against her.

Her arms wrapped tightly around you before she pulled you back. Her eyes roamed over you, trying to look for any injuries.

“I’m okay.” You whispered, your hands on hers.

Her eyes filled with tears as she tugged you back towards her and kissed you. The kiss was passionate, laced with the ferocity that often came with almost losing someone you love.

Pulling away once more, you rested your forehead against hers and breathed out, your breath coming out in harsh pants.

“I think the cat’s out of the bag now.”

You laughed dryly as you glanced up, noticing Halstead, Maggie, Natalie and April staring at you both with wide eyes.

“I don’t care.”

And you could tell she truly didn’t when she kissed you again, more tender this time.

“God, I thought I’d lost you. I was so worried.”

“I’m okay, baby. I’m right here.”

You reassured your girlfriend as you embraced her once more, wanting nothing more than to feel her bare skin on yours, devoid of the winter clothing she was currently wearing.

“I love you so much, y/n. I never want to be without you again.” Hailey whispered harshly, gently rocking you in her arms, her hand cradling your head against her chest.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“I’m glad to see you’re okay, y/n.”

“Thanks, Kev.”

Almost everyone had gathered at Molly’s despite it being past midnight. You’d all collectively decided that, after the day you’d had, you needed a drink. Marcel had stayed for a while and you thanked him for looking after you whilst you were taken. Hailey also expressed her gratitude to the surgeon which he accepted graciously before deciding to turn in for the night.

You were currently sitting in a booth, cuddled up against Hailey, her arm wrapped comfortably around your waist.

Since the house, she hadn’t left your side once, not when you were getting checked out by the paramedics nor when you were giving your statement to the police.

And whilst being by your side, she also never let her hands leave you. Whether it be a hand on yours or her arm around your waist, she was never not touching you.

To be truthful, you were grateful because her touch grounded you and made you feel safe in a situation where your sense of security had been shattered.

“That was a smart move, dropping your badge on the gas station’s floor.” Halstead commented, sipping his beer.

“Did what I had to do. Speaking of which, Maggie, I’m gonna need that back so I can go to work tomorrow.”

Just as Maggie was about to hand the badge over to you, she snatched it out of your reach.

“Um, I don’t think so. You are taking a few days off, at the minimum.”

You raised your brows, challenging her when she spoke again.

“L/N, if I see you in my ER tomorrow, I’m gonna cuff you to your bed.” Maggie said, making everyone else around you laugh.

“Hey, if anyone’s cuffing y/n to the bed, it’s gonna be me.”

You blushed profusely at Hailey’s comment, the redness of your cheeks contrasting with your tanned skin.

“Kinky.” Jay commented before abruptly closing his mouth when Hailey stared at him.

“Now, how the hell did you manage to keep this a secret for a year?”

“Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be detectives?” Natalie joked, looking at Burgess, Atwater and Halstead.

“Guess we’re just great at keeping secrets. And it became kinda fun, I guess.” You shrugged, glancing up into Hailey’s eyes and she smiled at you.

“Yeah, it became like a game to us. To see how long we could keep it secret.”

“Probably could have kept it secret much longer if you hadn’t kissed me like that.” You chuckled, planting a soft kiss on Hailey’s lips when she playfully frowned.

“Says the one who got kidnapped.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got kidnapped again.”

“Again?!”

Everyone except Hailey stilled as they all stared at you.

“It’s a long story.” You stated.

It wasn’t that difficult to talk about now but it still left you uncomfortable and you wished you could will the words back into your mouth.

Sensing your discomfort, Hailey answered for you.

“A story for another day. Come on, let’s get you home.”

Nodding, you stood up and hugged your friends goodbye and then left the bar, your hand clutched tightly in Hailey’s.

“Are you okay?” She leant down slightly to kiss your cheek and then whispered in your ear.

Not wanting to lie but not able to find the right words either, you ended up shrugging instead. At that, Hailey brought your joined hands up to her lips where she gently placed a kiss on yours.

“I’m here for you, baby. Tonight and every other night.” Hailey said, alluding to the bad memories that would surely plague your sleep.

Since being with Hailey, the night terrors you’d once had about your past had become more infrequent.

Though, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. The trauma of almost dying coupled with your previous abduction would ensure your lack of sleep.

But you would have Hailey next to you, so it wasn’t that much of a bother.

You may not feel safe in the world but you did feel safe in her arms and that was enough for you.

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randomnameless · 3 years

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I write and write and make comparisons between a swimsuit and themes like tolerance and freedom,

But in this fandom, some people draw more dubious comparisons, especially ones regarding a certain game - and I warned (who?) at the beginning of the FE16 trend that while it wanted to have a Jugdral flair, it obviously failed. You have a sprinkle of Jugdral in FE16, but it’s only a surface image, or even a mirage.

“CrEsT SyStEM”? Holy Blood? No, those comparisons at least were made in good faith and had some merits.

One of the worst comparisons was noted by several friends, a certain someone, wanting to push a certain ship involving a certain character, managed to write :

“Every route makes one villain from Genealogy of the Holy War the hero, Edelgard being Arvis, Dimitri being Eldigan, Claude being Travant and Rhea being Manfroy”

This will not be a post about Manfroy’s hips, you are warned

Who is Eldigan (Eldie)?

A man who is the carrier of Hezul’s holy blood, Hezul being the founder of Augstria, a sovereign state. Everyone loves Eldie, he is good-looking, strong, kind, chivalrous and has the magic blood that makes him able to use his magic sword.

Is he the King of Agustria? No.

The King is a man named Chagall, who has an ugly sprite, doesn’t have Hezul’s magic blood and cannot use the magic sword. He also killed his father, and is really jealous of Eldie.

However, Eldie’s line (House Nodion) has sworn to support the royal line of Augustria (Chagall’s), so even if everyone wants Eldie to ascend to the throne, he will never accept it. Even if Chagall pisses on him, or imprisons him because he felt like it, Eldie will not rebel against his King. Eldie is seen as a Camus, because he will fight and die for Chagall, and his country, when Sigurd is... more or less attacking Chagall (because Sigurd’s forces are occupying Augstria and Sigurd’s orders are to bring peace to the land, Chagall doesn’t want peace and wants to fight to retake his throne). If everything ends well, Eldie will promise Sigurd he will try to talk one last time his king, try to convince him to accept a ceasefire and peace with Granvalle - but Chagall is an ass and beheads Eldie.

Dimitri... isn’t like Eldigan, at all. First of all, Dimitri is supposed to be the crown Prince, instead of being a mere knight sworn to serve the royal family. Secondly, Dimitri doesn’t die because his liege beheads him - Edelgard will never be his liege - he dies either by defending his borders against someone who is bringing war to his lands and wants his head, or he dies because he pursues Edelgard in a three way battle in Gronder.

We do not know what Rufus is like to his nephew, but I am pretty sure he is no Chagall.

The only common points Eldie and Dimitri have is their blond hair, and sometimes, their manner of death. there is also something about bonds with their sisters but we’re not here for that

Who is Travant?

Travant is the King of the Thracian Kingdom, a proto Nohr-like place, where farming is difficult, and the people living there are starving and often turn to banditry or become mercenaries to be able to earn some money.

Thracia’s neighbour, the Manster District (Manster) could export food to Thracia... but they do not, because, well, the people in charge of the Manster District do not like Thracians a lot (and use slurs to talk about them, but Quan is a special character). So Thracians raid the border, with hopes to reunite the peninsula, with the dream that, one day, they will seize the arable lands in the North.

Travant has an infamous line, which more or less went like “I will unite the peninsula for the sake of my people, and if that process dooms me to hell then so be it”.

And to hell he will go, because by Jugdral standards, ambushing Quan and his family in a desert (horses cannot move in sand, another example of gameplay and story integration!) with horseslayers, is despicable, especially since he leaves no one alive, even, apparently, killing Quan’s young daughter Altena.

(Travant ranks pretty high in the douchebag ladder).

With time, Altena grows, unaware that Travant, who adopted her, isn’t her real Father, Quan was. Things happen, Altena discovers the truth, and Travant finally achieves his dream by making a suicidal charge against Seliph’s forces (he doesn’t even bring his magic lance to the fight!), with him dead, finally, the peninsula can be united under one leader.

Claude? Also has a wyvern. And comes from another land than our hero (but which one?). And... that’s all.

If Almyra raids every sunday, it is not because they are starving, but because they are doing it, per Cyril, for funsies. Claude pretends to be a schemer and underhanded, but he never does something on the scale of the Yied Ambush (the moment where Travant pulled out the horseslayers against Quan). Claude never takes a child hostage, and never orders his daughter to punish civilians.

If Claude wants to unite the two countries, it is not because he wants his people to finally leave their life as mercenaries and bandits behind, but because he wants people to understand each other.

Edit because I’m sleeping : Travant will die for his dream. Claude... always survive. Always. I am not saying he doesn’t believe in it, but he is not as desperate as Travant is.

Comparing Claude to Travant is like comparing... Virion to Iago. They are both male with long hair, and pretend to scheme. Bar that? Well... they both have hands...? I guess?

Who is Manfroy?

Manfroy is... both a mastermind and a plothole.

Manfroy was the one in the shadows engineering a war in Jugdral, not because he likes wars, nope, but because he wanted political instability to recreate the Loptyr Empire.

He will help a douchebag to conquer the world, and use him to sire Julius, the only person in Jugdral who can become a host for the dark dragon Loptyr. The last time Loptyr was there... well, apparently it wasn’t roses and sunshines, slavery was rampant and citizens were pitted against each other to make sure the strongest ones would become citizens of the Empire.

Why Manfroy does this? It depends on the sources, but it is heavily implied Manfroy is part of a sect (sect as in group of people practicing a religion, here the Loptyr religion/cult) persecuted by a lot of people in Jugdral - to the point where Agustrians were having witches hunts to chase them. Manfroy and his followers escaped the the Yied desert, touted to be an inhospitable land. His people had no where and no one to turn to, so they prayed to their God Loptyr (who doesn’t give 3 figs about them).

Manfroy is thus the Archbishop of the Loptyr Church. He also killed his son in law, for some reason, and planned to turn his granddaughter in a zombie. Manfroy also supports (and conducts?) the child hunts, basically the plot in the second part of FE4 and FE5 where the Granvalle Empire and the members of the Loptyr Church round up children, take them from their families (sometimes by killing said families) to send them to Granvalle, with the highly suggested goal of sacrificing them one way or another to Loptyr.

On the not-so bright side, Manfroy doesn’t kill Julia - when Loptyr/Julius expressly asking him to do so, because Julia is the only person, story-wise, able to kill him.

What a guy!

Now, Rhea?

There are some comparisons to be made, unlike Claude and Dimitri, but again, it reinforces how they could be seen as foils.

Rhea? Yes, also engineers the birth of a vessel.

However, unlike Manfroy who “forced” Arvis and Deirdre to marry and have a baby, Byleth’s birth, born from the union of Jeralt and Sitri, was completely unexpected. There is no trace in canon of Rhea arranging Jeralt and Sitri’s meeting, and future wedding.

Rhea? Also wants her granddaughter to “die”?

Well, not this one, since Rhea thinks Billy is actually an amnesiac Sothis. Billy would just recover their memories.

Rhea? Doesn’t start a war to build her Sothis vessel. Hell, the DLC is about her previous experiment to resurrect her mother - it was a failure, but someone supposes she fails because she did not want to bleed dry the Four Apostles. Rhea wishes to resurrect a benevolent Goddess (when Manfroy knows Loptyr is... far from benevolent) but will not kill to do so.

Sitri? Asked her to save Billy, by offering her own life.

The most interesting foil though is... how Rhea and Manfroy both belong to a community that was persecuted by others, the people they are supposed to live with.

Manfroy? Went the “if the world hates me, then I will hate it and burn it down” route.

Rhea? Doesn’t want to kill humans, hell, she and her brother disagreed because she didn’t want to kill children of the people who wronged her! She opens a monastery and offers guidance to anyone who needs it, a shelter for the needy and tries her best to protect peace and the humans living under her care.

They could have followed the same path, but didn’t. Manfroy rounds children to kill them, Rhea offers a new home to children who lost theirs.

They can also be compared with their “welp” points, Rhea gave CF!Billy the means to destroy her, just like Manfroy “forgot” to kill Julia - and yet, again, it is different. Rhea trusted Billy and never wanted to use them as a tool, in the other routes, it is because she trusted Billy with “those means” that Billy is able to save the world. Manfroy? Berserks Julia, wishes to use her as a tool and suffers when she regains some agency and beats her brother. But even without Manfroy, Julia would have recovered the Book of Naga to end Loptyr.

Rhea and Manfroy are definitely not parallels, but foils.

And the best for the end...

Who is Arvis?

Well... to summarise Arvis in a few words...

it’s impossible.

So, Arvis is the descendant of one Jugdral’s God-Crusader, Fjalar. Arvis is very proud of his heritage, but he also bears Loptyr blood, through his Mother. And yet, since the Loptry blood exists thanks to Saint Maira - the brother of the Loptry Host of that time, Emperor Galle, who rebelled and helped the Crusaders - he is also very proud of this heritage and his two brands.

Arvis’s familial history is a mess, his father was a womanizer and his mother abandoned him (which might have fueled his Freudian complex?). When his Father died, he exiled all of his bastard siblings, bar Azelle (his bastard half-brother, sired to his mother’s favorite maid). Arvis apparently wasn’t interested in women before he met Deirdre and fell in love with her...

But he had time to sire a bastard (on his best friend and confidante).

Arvis wants to build a world free of prejudice and oppression, and wants to build it by... associating with Manfroy, who blackmails him about his Loptyr blood (if Arvis is proud of his Loptry blood, sadly the Agustrian witch hunts are still a thing, and it will not be well seen in Granvalle’s nobility); however, he made it clear, to Manfroy himself, that he will never allow another Loptry Empire to be reborn. Arvis thus uses hiw fellow Dukes Reptor and Langobalt to set up a coup against Prince Kurth (the Prince of Granvalle) to kill him. Arvis grows close to Kurth’s father, Azmur and more or lesses takes care of everything in Granvalle, since Kurth has no heir left.

And, by chance, Deirdre, Kurth’s bastard daughter, thus rightful Princess of Granvalle, appears at his door. She bears the mark of Naga (the special blood of the Crusader Heim), so they marry, and if they have a son, their son will rule over Granvalle, Arvis acts as a regent until then.

(women can’t rule shit in Jugdral)

Then what? His plan is set into motion, all Granvalle Dukes die, he and Sigurd (plus his pals) are the only ones left, Sigurd dies after being lured to a welcoming party, and Arvis becomes the last man standing able to rule Granvalle, who became, through his plans and treacheries through the 1st gen, an Empire.

(and then his son becomes a Loptyr host, vaporises his mom and makes his sister disappear, wrestles power from him and he is reduced to a sad state (oldvis). He makes a last stand against Seliph, after delivering him Sigurd’s magic sword, and dies.)

Okay.

So, now, Edel.

Arvis managed to become the ruling... person in Granvalle by eliminating all of his rivals, and securing a nice marriage. Edel becomes Emperor... because Ionius gave her his crown, as her father.

So they do not rise to power the same way.

Edel never talks about her brands, but Arvis is proud to bear them and proud of his ancestors. Judging by how Edel speaks of Wilhelm I as a traitor who sold humanity to creatures, I am not sure she is proud to bear his blood.

Also, while Edelgard is extremely prejudiced against Nabateans, Arvis wishes to create a world... free of prejudice (his actions though...). He does not mind Manfroy preaching his stuff, when Edelgard will not allow anyone to follow the Seiros faith (friends put it better, but in several routes, the people who were followers of the Church of Seiros are missing in Adrestia...).

While both Edel and Arvis think they are making “sacrifices” for the greater good, as pointed out earlier, this greater good is different. They both ally with a death cult, but Arvis is naive enough to think Manfroy will not backstab him - he even wishes for him to preach his nonsense freely. Edelgard has been hell bent since day 1 on getting rid of Thales and friends.

By the time Arvis learns of the child hunts and Julius’s nonsense... he wants to stop it. He is however powerless to do so (or so we think! Apparently he and Ishtar managed to hide every children captured in a castle!) but, at least, he tried to do something.

Crest Beasts... are still used, no matter the path, and even after Edelgard became Emperor.

Now, if Manfroy had to capture children and round them up for execution to make sure Arvis would become Emperor, would Arvis have supported him? I... don’t think so. If children were captured during Arvis’s conquest of the world and it was a “necessary evil”, would Arvis have accepted it? We don’t know. Prideful as he is, I don’t think he would have agreed.

(which is all kinds of wrong, the man can start wars and backstab friends, allies and turn his own brother to ashes, but hunting children is too much? Meh. And yet, Manfroy mentions something about his ways and his pride being an obstacle to the realisation of his dream).

Arvis is... a complicated character. A douchebag through and through, who tries to redeem himself at the end, but ultimately fails. He is rewarded for his actions in the 1st gen by the 2nd gen, where Julius becomes Loptyr and destroys his Empire. He had it coming? Yes. Is it painful to watch? Yes.

Edelgard... does not face any retribution for her actions.

Yes, she can also kill her (step) brother. But either she didn’t remember it, or only cries after it, and ultimately puts the blame on him - so it is not a sacrifice ?

People doubt her words? Well, it doesn’t matter, Linhardt, Yuri and Lysithea are still alive after their... interrogations. Reptor doubted Arvis’s words? Aida was sent as back-up (and... backstabbed him).

Ultimately, Arvis loses Deirdre (whose ghost chills with Sigurd’s), Julia and Julius, whom he loved dearly. Edel loses... Billy, and some randoms.

So, in a way, Edel feels like a discount Arvis, because she misses his ascension to power and his downfall. Arvis doesn’t mow down enemies on the front lines like she is doing, Arvis maneuvers to ensure victory.

Both fight for ideals, but Arvis seems to believe in them when I cannot believe a world for “humanity” involves continuous making of Crest Beasts.

Both betray the main character, but Edelgard is hit with the uwu hammer, thus cannot kill Billy - Thales does it in the non CF-routes.

So... short story, long story, Eldie is not Dimitri, Claude is not Travant, Rhea is a foil to Manfroy and Edelgard is a discount Arvis.

Also, I don’t know what kind of weed the person who wrote this take had, but labeling Eldie as one of FE4′s villain is as dumb as labeling FE7 Karla a villain because she appears as a red unit you have to fight.

where is edel’s bastard son

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mishasminion360 · 3 years

Text

The Weight of Words You Can’t Take Back

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Warning: Language

Notes: The third, potentially final installment (or is it?) of what started out as a Javier Peña x Reader one shot. Thank you for helping this story grow with all of your kindness, likes, and support.

You remember the deafening bang, a noise so loud that it shook the earth, followed by the sound of twisting metal and crumbling stone. Then there were screams. So many screams. Some of them your own.

But as suddenly as that cacophony began, it ended just as quickly, replaced with blissful, gentle silence. And silence is where you stayed. You bathed in it, built a home in it, became it. You were a guest in the quiet for an indiscernible amount of time, maybe a minute, maybe a year, but that’s all you were: a guest. And at some point the silence had decided that you’d overstayed your welcome.

The world began to return to life gradually as, to some level of your understanding, you did as well. Sound returned slowly, muffled and distorted at first, but progressively gained clarity. You could make out indistinct noises: rhythmic beeps, the gentle tap of soft soled shoes and the sharp clack of heels, the whoosh of air and mechanical humming.

Words were the next thing to reach you, but they came in fragments:

“....hemorrhaging....”

“Cerebral....internal....”

“....damage....comatose....”

“....wrong place, wrong time....”

“Will she....?”

“Surgery....success....”

“....right here.”

“Just a matter of time until....”

“Come back....”

“Vitals Stabilizing....”

“Please.....”

“Recovery will be difficult.”

“Wake up, baby.”

“Come back to me.”

“Please, come back to me. Please.”

“I’m here.”

After awhile your sluggish brain was able to put sentences together, connecting words like puzzle pieces. The only voice you couldn’t hear was your own, and as hard as you tried you couldn’t seem to convince your mouth to open up up and let your tongue do it’s job.

You were unable to speak at all until around the time your sense of feeling returned as well. And your first word was “ouch”.

Your throat was painfully dry, made of sandpaper. It hurt to breathe, but even more so when you didn’t. Your eyes felt as if they’d been glued shut and your eyelids were tricky to separate. When the curtain of your lashes finally parted, the world was cloaked in shadow. Thank God for that. In this instant you felt that to look into any source of light would be too great a task.

As your faculties returned cautiously, you began connecting new puzzles pieces: bomb, building, pain, nothing, and now hospital. You were in a hospital. And you were sore as hell.

Tubes were going into your nose, your wrist. One of your arms was entombed in a cast, and you could feel one of your legs beneath the bedsheets was as well. You felt battered and bruised and stitched back together; Frankenstein’s monster brought back from the dead.

But all of these injuries paled in comparison to the weight that had settled on your chest. It was crushing your lungs, smothering your heart, and splintering your ribs. And this weight was a person.

Even with your eyes still adjusting to the world around you, you recognized that head of thick black hair, now a little disheveled. His face was buried in the sheets that cocooned you, and he snored into them softly. One large, gentle hand was clasped firmly around your own; he clung to you as if you were a life preserver and he were a drowning man at sea.

It took you a few painful tries to squeeze his name out of your raw throat. “J-Javier...?”

He stirred a bit, turning toward the sound of your voice in his sleep.

“Javi?”

His eyes finally fluttered open, red rimmed and bloodshot, and went wide when he realized you were also awake.

“Oh, God. Baby?”

His voice was as raspy as your own. You may have been mistaken, but you were almost positive his hands were shaking as they reached up to delicately cup your face. He smiled then, and a rarer sight you’d never seen.

“You’re...heavy,” you wheezed. He looked to see that he had practically mounted you and immediately pulled back to alleviate the discomfort he’d caused.

“Let me...let me get the doctor,” he stammered. He stood to leave the room, but you grabbed at his wrist.

“No...stay.”

He didn’t argue, only resumed his seat at your side and attempted to find new ways to touch you that wouldn’t cause you more pain.

“You look like shit,” you said quirking the corners of your mouth up in a weak little smile that made your dry lips crack.

He huffed out a small breath that was supposed to be a laugh. “Right back at you.”

Javi carefully stroked stray strands of hair from your face as his eyes grew noticeably damp.

“Baby, you scared the hell out of me.” His voice shook.

“What happened?” You had to ask even though you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

Javier cleared his throat, the words obviously not coming easy to him.

“There was a...a car bomb. 220 pounds of TNT wiped out almost the entire shopping district. It’s nothing but a crater now. So many people...a lot of people...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t utter the last word, but you knew just the one he was thinking.

Died. A lot of people died.

“Fuck, it was right outside your apartment,” Javi growled, burying his face in his hands.

“Escobar?”

“Who else?”

“How long...how long have I been out?”

“Almost three weeks.”

His voice broke on the last word and his breath began escaping in short bursts as his chest heaved. You’d never seen him this scared. This broken.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he sobbed. “For good.”

You tried to sit up but couldn’t muster the strength, so instead you placed a hand on the back of his head and gently pulled him down to you.

“But you didn’t. I’m right here. A little worse for wear, but I’m here.”

Javi wrapped his arms around you, desperate to feel you. To know that he wasn’t just dreaming this.

“I’m sorry. I so sorry. If I had just told you sooner, this wouldn’t have happened,” he blabbered, weeping between the words. “If I had just told you right from the start, then you could have been with me. Safe with me.”

Your hand traced soothing circles on his back as he cried into your shoulder. Javier Peña was human after all. Who knew?

“Told me what Javier?”

He lifted his wet, puffy face so that his glistening eyes could gaze into yours.

“That I love you,” he whispered. “That I’m in love with you.”

You smiled through the pain. It couldn’t be helped.

“Javi, you don’t have to say that just because I said it. It’s okay.”

“I’m not just saying it!” he protested. Javi carefully pressed his forehead to yours and squeezed his eyes shut. “I mean it.”

You couldn’t tell if the tears you felt on your face were yours or his.

“I have loved you since the day we met. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way about anyone, and I was too scared to admit it. To you or myself.”

He pulled back, sniffing and wiping at his eyes. He wrapped your hand in both of his and kissed each one of your bruised, torn knuckles.

“When you told me you didn’t want to see me anymore, I realized that I was more afraid of losing you than loving you. And then...then this happened,” he spat, gesturing to your broken and battered body.

“This,” you interjected, “is not your fault.”

Injuries be damned, you pushed yourself up to a sitting position in bed and Javi helped you with a hand supporting your stiff back.

“I was scared, too, Javier. Scared of falling for you. Because love is a scary thing. Offering your heart, the most precious and personal part of yourself to someone is terrifying. Not knowing if you’ll get the same in return. Yes, you hesitated for awhile there, Javier, but hesitating doesn’t make you some unfeeling asshole...”

You brought your hands to the sides of his face and he mirrored the gesture.

“It makes you human, Javi. So very human.”

“Does this mean I get another chance?” he asked, his face soft but his eyes pleading.

“That depends,” you said, easing back into the bed and bringing him with you once again.

“On what?”

“Are you going to kiss me, or not?”

He wastes no time. Javi grins against your lips before deepening the kiss, filling it with every emotion that’s been overwhelming him for the past several days. And in that moment he vows to heal your pain with all the love he has to give.

@mamacitapascal @obsessivelysearching

#pedro pascal #Javier Peña #narcos #fanfics

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rosyk · 3 years

Text

Clichè

pairing: lee minho x reader

genre: heavy or light angst, fluff, marriage, misunderstandings

warnings: light curses, situations that involves deep anger or sadness, mentions of disease, death(?)

word count: 5.2k

a/n: Hi it’s your gal, rosyk. I’m back with writing fanfictions and it’s like 4 in the morning. I haven’t slept yet so there are many grammatically incorrect sentences or spelling errors. Hope you enjoy this one though! (Inspired by Dear John- Taylor Swift)

I sat by the car, the same old one he and I used to drive in. This was a simple car but we swore to use this for our wedding since memories are still stuck. It made me wonder what could’ve happened if everything went right? What would’ve happened to us if there were no obstacles in life? It then made me realize that indeed there were no obstacles, none other than you.

I drove the car to meet your sister who desperately needed to talk to me. She said there were secrets I needed to know but I get the gist of what she’s trying to do. Set me up? Trap me? Convince me? So I could be tempted to get back into your cage? I don’t want that to happen, never again. I’m sick and tired of this one-sided relationship I never noticed because I was blinded. Aced all my tests, I am smart. But when it comes to you, I look like a whole fool trying to fall in love with a guy who gave up. This is why I wanted to show her that I’ve moved on, at least based on my view. Wearing both of my earphones and played our song, I sighed deeply and continued to drive along Cornelia street. My days only revolved around you but what exactly went wrong in between us? Scratch that, what happened to you?

Back then, all I could do was love you. Not less but everything more. I could never stand loving you lesser each day. It’s not on obsessing but to the point that I recognize your feelings though still, I try to force myself. You know how I do grow tired from time to time, but that’s all because I care for you. There’s not much positivity from that though. The downfall happens when I love you much more than you feel for me. It was never equal no matter how I try to persuade myself, desperately needing your affection.

My mother used to tell me how crazy I was to fall for a guy like you. How was I supposed to tell her you were fine since then? Yesterday, you rained me with care. On Friday, you sucked it all up and acted as if nothing happened. All I could do was pray that the guy I used to know, is the one I’ll meet today and greet me in front of the door with wide gentle hugs.

You give me hope, then take it back all at once. I remembered a sunny sky in blue that suddenly turned grey after you decided to shrug me off several times. I was in your tiny piece of chess game. Though you change the rules every day, hoping I would give up until the end. What’s funny is that typically families opposing would be the ones who would give tests to both of the couples to prove their love. And yet, you were the one who was trying to give me a hard time and when I was lost in the thought of giving you up, you decided to save me at the end of the day.

You were a puzzle I couldn’t solve. Little did I know, there was a missing piece I could never find until then. Just like a whole puzzle, you were complicated but due to my drive and need, I had to hang on to my aim. I had to do it because I was convinced by all your “sorry“. Or maybe it’s just me trying to change my mindset to find a reason to stay because I knew there was no difference between all your other sorrys before.

“Which Minho would I be able to talk to on the phone?” It runs through my mind each Sunday of my life and gives me anxiety. But every time I hear the phone ring? I never hesitated to pick it up. No matter what kind of guy I am faced with, I wanted to know deeper why you were acting so confusing. But on that single day, I didn’t pick up the phone. I cried and had sleepless nights. My worst nightmare just came and here’s why:

“Don’t you think this is a good improvement? We’ll sit by the couch and place a big screen tv.” You placed your arm above my shoulder and I continued your lovely story.

“Then we’ll watch your performances?” I looked at you in the eye, grinning as you smirked at my idea. You hummed in question and tilted your head. “Lee Minho, the most famous kpop idol who reached internationally and was supported by his lovely fans” I placed both of my hands above, imaging a billboard banner with your name and face on it. Thousands of people watching and idolizing you.

“Really?” You shifted your position into a more comfortable one as I leaned on your chest. Nodding at my suggestion, you pressed your lips together and listened to me, getting all happy after trying to predict and set goals in our lives.

“Of course! Why not?” I turned my head to face you and gave you a slight hit. “I could feel the energy of the universe as if it's trying to tell me that was our fate” You playfully laughed at the girl in front of you who is telling such an exaggerating fairytale. “Besides, ” I went back to my position and grabbed your arms around my waist. “Your number one fan is just a surgeon anyway” You responded with an oh? as you began to get amused with my statements. “A surgeon who never failed to help people even in a situation full of pressure. The best surgeon in the district” I smiled in a bragging manner, lifting my hand to flip my hair.

“I like that” you nodded in approval. “But don’t you think it’s much better with the title, the best surgeon found around the world?” My eyes lit up with stars because indeed that was a better match. I grinned and raised my eyebrow.

“That’s better” an idea popped up and so I turned back once again. You looked at me in confusion and waited until I would continue what I wanted to say. “But how about the dating ban? Does that mean we have to keep it low?” You looked at me concerningly and so I did. Panic arose in my mind. “Or maybe we-“

You placed your hand up my lip and shushed me. Everything is going to be fine, you tried to assure me. Lifting up your hand and caressed my face, you continued and stared at my pouty lips. “Of course not. It’s you,” with a silent pause, you pointed directly at me with a lovingly stare “and I” you did the same back at yourself and held my hand, enclosing it together. “against the whole world”. You chuckled whilst you tipped your forehead on mines.

“Too cliché” I laughed at you but no doubt that made my heart flutter. Oh, how I wish he knew how much I love him.

[MONTHS LATER]

“Do you have everything packed?” I sighed deeply the minute I rummaged through the closet. I stopped as soon as I saw the yellow hoodie hung inside. “You forgot the hoodie!” I chuckled though scared, deeply hoping this isn’t what I think it is.

“That’s your favorite. Keep it” he smiled but those words pierced straight through me. I felt what he meant. My last token for our relationship, isn’t it? What happened to all those you and I against the world? Were all those just things to make me feel relieved?

“Oh” I responded dryly and gulped, pressing my lips together to stop these drops from falling. “Mhm, ’kay” I closed the closet and faced the guy who’ll soon be leaving. “Go” You looked at me with pity and everything I didn’t want to see in your eyes. I’m okay, at least that’s what I like to believe. As I was busy trying to act tough because I don’t want you to see me being vulnerable once again, you gave me the warmth I needed. A necessity in my dark days.

“I’m sorry. I won’t leave you alone, maybe quite busy but I’d never wanted to split up with you” I finally cried after everything. It was a big wash down of emotions and you felt sorry again. It was a painful sight for you, I know.

“But those hoodies..” sniffs went in between those sobs. As usual, you tried to assure me by caressing my face. It was an act to show that we’ll still stay the same.

“I want you to return this to me after I become an idol. I want you to promise you’ll hold on to us. Wait for me okay?” That was the first and last time I’ve ever seen you cry. It hurts deep bad, but I didn’t want to be an obstacle to your goal as well. I’ll wait no matter how many years it may take.

[DECEMBER OF 2018]

Hey, I’m not sure if you still received my letters. It’s been long, don’t you think? I feel like you don’t remember me anymore but I was your first love haha. Would you still be able to know me after I come back there? I’ve heard you all over the news. Minho, the guy who brought K-pop internationally and broke the Billboard charts. I told you that you’d make it. Me? I’m now a surgeon. Not internationally, but definitely in the district. I’ll get there soon, right? One more question, can I return the hoodie? I did wait for you, hoping you did as well.

I sighed for only God knows how many times for this day. The more I’ve been sending letters, the less I’ve been receiving.

I held on to the letter and got up from my bed after hearing a call once again. The last time I was able to sleep was decades ago and so I had to go back to work. Luckily, it wasn’t a heavy operation but I just had to check-in by the hospital to get the patient’s results.

“Good afternoon, Mrs!.” My patient joked and I could clearly see my best friend smirking.

“Maddie! Stay safe when you get home alright?” I smiled greeting the patient who joked before getting ready to leave

“Hey, hey it’s not too safe to go outside yet. Call someone to assist you. Take care!” Another response of mine was said after a boy who was operated on and took rest for three weeks passed by me.

Beaming from ear to ear, I squealed and hugged my best friend tight. “ALICEEE!” It’s been years since I’ve seen her. She accompanied Min on his way to Korea. And before any of the readers misunderstand, they are siblings. Quite awkward at first if I must say but it’s great to know lots of information about him.

“Hush, we’re in your workplace. You told me that, right? Alice, don’t scream or get hyper whenever you’d come back here.” She mimicked the way I talked in an insulting manner, not that I’m offended by it. We just like to mimic one’s tone as a sign of sarcasm. “Well, look who’s talking?” She furrowed both of her eyebrows as I laughed and took my hands off her.

“So how was Korea, Lisa? Did you find someone? Maybe that guy who you friend-zoned at?” I started chuckling after seeing her blank face. It was honestly funnier to see her reaction. Her stop-it-kind-of-face made my laugh gradually get lower but never failed to make a remark soon after. I thought of someone and so I tried to casually ask her about it. “How are you and Min? Was Korea that good? Just wanted to ask because I’m scared to get into their hospital” I shrugged it off but saw her eyebrow raise. Of course, she always knows what’s up.

“So is this why you’re called Mrs.? Mrs. Lee?” Now it was her turn to laugh. I playfully pouted and narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?” I acted all offended, placing my hand to my chest as if I took it to heart “It’s miss for you, Mrs. friend-zoned” Rolling my eyes and entered my room, her never-ending saga of teasing me continued.

An hour came by after packing all my things left in the hospital room and we talked about our lives. She still never told me a single thing about Min because of her chattiness. We got in the car and went to the airport. My flight has been called and so I had to leave.

“Wish we could’ve spent more time. I’ll come back soon anyways after visiting the hospital” she hugged me so tight causing me to be so confused.

“Min.. I tried to talk to him” I looked at her in the eye asking for some problems that happened years before. Though no words that came out of her were expected.

“But he didn’t want to hear anything about you”

Hours came by like a flash but my thoughts filling out my mind went by for years. I arrived at my destination but is this truly where I am destined to be in? I knew there was something much more than her words because her voice was shaky.

I didn’t leave a single minute to go by my hospital though. Work always comes by my mind. But usually, I would hang by the café in your building hoping to see you pass by. There were no people because I was busy studying late at night after the closing time. It was scary, but I was too busy to notice.

“I miss you! I’ll come by soon, okay? You better wait for me, sweetie. Love you, take care!” I smiled after hearing my patient’s voice. She was a lovely kid and it seems like I wasn’t the only one missing her as well. It had just been a day yet Yeina has been panicking through the whole call.

“Got a boyfriend now?” The one who talked suddenly came up near my seat and giggled. It was cute but I was busy closing all my documents. Besides, it was not that important. I responded unknowingly but was cut after hearing the voice.

“No, it was my patient. She’s a cute kid” I looked up and God-, was that the biggest thing I regretted but enjoyed at the same time. The guy I waited for years was the same guy who didn’t want to hear anything that involves me. The guy who didn’t want to talk, approached me first with the same smile as if nothing happened. I don’t know what to feel nor what to say. It took whole 5 minutes of me trying to smile awkwardly.

“So, no hugs, internationally known surgeon who cured people around the world for the guy who is loved by his lovely fans?” You looked at me shocked but smiled as soon as I got back to my senses. Everything still remained vivid in your head when I thought it wouldn’t be.

I went up to you and cried in your embrace. The same warmth, it never changed even after all those years. “I thought you had forgotten” I tried to explain though it came out as short phrases because of my sobs. You held my head to nuzzle near your neck and caressed my hair, patting in between.

“Thank you for waiting even in tough times. You did good, doctor”

[WEEKS LATER]

Yes, it just had been weeks. Everything was good but turned downhill soon after. I don’t know what’s hitting on you because you just turned.. off.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?” I yelled after you constantly trying to ignore me. “Wow, so now you’re deaf?” I exclaimed as I held on to your arm and making you turn around and face me.

“You wouldn’t understand anyway!” Loud shoutings were just everything that was heard in the room. I am patient but was frustrated that moment you took on that dumb decision.

“So now I was wrong here? YOU QUITTED THAT FKING JOB OF YOURS BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T FEEL LIKE IT? YOU FELT BORED? The world doesn’t adjust for you! It’s not like you are the reason why the Earth revolves! It’s not easy to find a new goal and get it as soon as possible!” I expressed all my thoughts because things weren’t matching up. Who the hell leaves something just because he or she was bored? I felt like there was something more to it but why do you seem so nonchalant about it? It was that easy of a decision to make?

“SHIT!” You grabbed the vase and smashed it on the floor. That shocked me. I was clearly shaking yet I tried to stand by my point.

“Why did you come back here anyway?” I felt the world stopped. No, because he was actually true. Why did I come back here? Expecting that the love of my life would be the same even when it had been years he didn’t bother to call? Even after all these years, the guy I waited for would remain the same? After all the dating issues, he would stay irrelevant and think of me every day? I was just a surgeon not even known worldwide. Who am I to him?

“You’re right. I’m nothing to you anyway.” I packed up quickly placing all of my clothes unorganized. It was easy to get into someone but how is leaving not the same?

You tried calling me out but I left due to my blind optimism over the week. I came back to Korea but you soon got me with all those sorry. That was just a single moment that left a scar on me deeply. But now that I think of it, I was used to it because you were an on and off switch

The first day of a week you asked me out on a date then suddenly you claimed to have forgotten about it. You’d tell me how much you loved me, yet add me to the list of traitors who wouldn’t understand a single thing. It was basically just a love or leave me game of yours. It went on for months that I was tired of it. Sick of everything else but you suddenly turned nice again. I waited for the moment you would hate me as usual but it never came by. Was it because you finally realized how much you had hurt me or were you trying to be nice because you were planning a sudden break-up. Maybe a Dear Jane letter? I was scared because I feel like it was more of the latter.

But after all the overthinking, another unexpected thing came by. You spoke the words:

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through after everything I’ve done. It hurts so bad and I don’t want to see you taking all that pain anymore. I never had forgotten about you not even a single bit of my life. I made decisions that could lessen your pride and was also close-minded with all your opinions. But my love for you stays true which is why I wanted to stop seeing you cry. The only tears I’ll ever allow you to shed is the one I needed all my life. The words I wanted to wait for you on. This might be the most clichè thing you’ll ever see, but will you marry me?”

I could never get over that preparation of yours. Because who’d knew you were actually into those surprises? I looked at the ring and smiled at it. How precious this is to me. But time surely passes by fast.

Looking at myself in a white gown, we passed by on lots of obstacles but it felt like yesterday even though it took even years to convince my mother and bless the marriage. She allowed but was forced to.

I still remembered how my mom used to hit me several times every day just to understand if there was something wrong with my head, but apologized soon after because she believed my father was watching from heaven. Mom had many beliefs and one of them was to ask my father whether to accept me. She used to tell me with not a missing day left aside, “run as fast as you can”. Up until now, I find it too hilarious.

“Aren’t you rushing too much? You’re still nineteen” the one who placed my natural makeup on, whispered in my ear.

That was what I was scared of. I was anxious about getting hurt at 19 what more if I was getting married then it went downhill when I was 19? But you were a risk I was willing to take every day, so why not? I know you’ll stay true to your words, I just know so.

“No” I responded short and smiled at myself for acting so brave with my thoughts. I went out of the hall and looked up to my mother who was dressed up so nicely. Sure, the girl who took time dressing me up, definitely did not say she wouldn’t attend if I marry Minho. I sarcastically remarked at her logic.

“So where’s that guy? It’s been 15 minutes since the guests have arrived!” She placed her hand on her hip and tapped her feet on the floor impatiently.

“Ma, he will arrive” I assured my mother and hugged her after I saw a glimpse of tears on her face. Of course, she raised me, and to finally see me with a guy who will take care of me then, she would be brought into tears. She told me once, before the wedding starts, all her thoughts including how she was sad about me leaving but happy about me finding and receiving the love I am willing to fight for. She doesn’t show it as much but she knows how much of a good guy Min is.

“You’ll be Mrs. Lee minutes later!” I found Lisa near the entrance and hugged her. “I told you we would have the same last name years ago!” she continued

Minutes came by and indeed you look handsome in a tux. Everything was worth the wait. You were worth waiting for. We’ve said our vows that express our love would remain until forever runs out, and it was truly you and I together against the world.

[PRESENT]

At least that is what was supposed to happen.

Your dumb-ass mind left me hanging and crying on the white dress. Everything was prepared and you suddenly decided not to show up? You were claiming you had forgotten? What kind of excuse is that? You were no doubt an expert on saying sorry. Just because, you were an exception when it comes to me not being forgiving. Just because, you’d know how to get me back. With a single smile, sorry, that’s it! My mind would start to revolve once around you, playing hide and seek or chase. I was always the one chasing and I’m tired of having to run a hundred miles just to get that love I wanted, which you never wanted to give anyway. It’s all you and your sick need of giving love and taking it away.

Don’t you think I was too young to be messed with? The girl in a white dress who was supposedly having fun on her grand day, went away and started crying? I should’ve followed what my mom said. You should’ve known and I should’ve seen. I was played, you were the one who controlled the game.

“Where will you take me, Alice?” Truly, it’s hard to have feelings for a guy who is the brother of your best friend. If things go wrong, then clearly your friendship is over.

“To him” you responded shortly, tightening your grip on my wrist.

“Stop. I don’t want to go.” I forced her hand off me and whined in a frustrated manner because clearly, you screwed up Alice.

“Could you please stop?! I’m sick of this! He doesn’t have to hide it forever!” You looked away and continued dragging me as soon as I stopped. Hiding what now?

I don’t know what to say when I meet you. Scratch that, I didn’t even want to meet you anymore. Because what if this habit of mine comes up and actually accepts you? I’m tired of it but there’s just something that makes me want to hold onto the love or something that isn’t in you anymore.

You took me in a place so questionable as you stopped and cried. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and yet you say it was the right place. That can’t be, right? How did this happen? Shaky hands, dry throat, words don’t come out my lips. “I’m sorry” I didn’t know why that was the only thing that escaped from my tongue. I did not accept it yet because I belived that wasn’t reality.

Lisa took me to a hospital in which I saw you laying down, unconscious.

I could do nothing but curl down. I was hurt but I never did ask for this. “Alicia, since when?”

“The doctor told me he had cancer way before you went back to Korea. This is why he didn’t want me to talk about you because he gets hurt and couldn’t even imagine what you would do in lengths just to cure him. He used to joke about how you loved him the same way he did. Side effects? Memory loss, sudden mood swings. You know, he was the same guy you knew in the past. Except, he had gotten braver of leaving you behind just so you wouldn’t get into more pain as to seeing his condition. He was very open but he thought of decisions way better when it comes to you than of himself. He loved you every single day of his life and I do know how he misses your touch, crying himself to sleep. He faced a much harder life, missy. As to the wedding, he said he had forgotten about it but it was more due to the reason of having a husband that wasn’t able to take care of until the end of the world, when he promised you to. It was because of a guy not being able to see you getting known worldwide nor exposing you in all medias, when he wanted you to. It was because of a man who simply wanted you to be happy, because he needed that too.”

This is the point where my world started to crash. It wasn’t you who should’ve known. It was me. I should’ve been there at times you need someone to rely on. I based on my selfishness and need for love, not knowing that what I need was the thing that kept me from hurting. I’m sorry for misunderstanding. I’m sorry for making things harder for you. I’m sorry for not opening up all my thoughts about you. I’m sorry because I left you fighting against the world, and I stood by just watching. I felt as if I was the person who was miserable and yet it was you who was trying to act tough.

Lisa continued to tell all those hidden words of yours “I even remembered the time he continued blaming himself for hurting you but concluded that it was everything that he could do. His situation isn’t something that can be fixed and he knows about that even if he wasn’t told about the months he have left. He told me that once you come back and see how bad of a person he is for leaving you all alone and asking you to wait, I am allowed to tell you everything once you’ve moved on.” The girl I’m talking with continued crying filling out the silence I make.

It was a shock and seeing you were the only thing that made me cry deeply. I couldn’t breathe as my chest weighed heavily. I grasped my shirt as I was desperately needing to calm down. But none of this sight made me calm down. I understood the situation I did, but it was too far, in reality, to keep it in check. You were unconscious and Lisa wanted to let me see you before your last breath. Standing up, I cried up to you.

“Idiot” I sniffed, Trying to act strong and let it all out but that’s everything I could only say. “You said our story was cliché. What happened to the true love’s kiss that wakes one up?” I kneeled down and held your hand with the ring that was encircling your fingers. I felt the cold air as tears continued flowing. I kissed your hand and gulped, crying helplessly. Is there really nothing I could do?

“The last time he saw you were way back you were able to smile again. He said it was a blissful sight to see and he would be happy even if that were to be the last time.” Lisa explained and cried her heart out as well after seeing such a painful sight.

“You do know you can see me every day right? Wouldn’t that be nice?” I tried to persuade an unconscious body who can’t hear my words. “Hey, wake up” I clasped our hands together and entwined both. “I’m here, so wake up. I’ll be with you until the end okay?” The volume of my talks gradually decreases but I still believe you can open your eyes up. I know so. I know that at this very time you could still see me and hug me, letting me feel the same warmth I needed once again. “I’ll be with you and it’s still going to be you and I against the world. Cliché right? I know you’ll never miss a chance to tease me when I take that cheesy statement. So please do. Please wake up and talk to me once again. I am here for you.. always and forevermore”

I closed my eyes and heard the beeping of the machine. I looked at you and the monitor that showed a single, straight line. I sighed deeply and my heartbeat is everything I could hear. Repeating your name, demanding you to wake up but all I could do at the end of the day is being so helpless. Even my optimism couldn’t change my mindset yet I was hopelessly begging to see your loving eyes as Lisa and the other staff held me out of the ward for the doctors to take care and clean up everything.

I wished to see those eyes I never noticed years ago. I didn’t know whether it was my selfish act or optimism that kept me not noticing all those details but if only I could see those once again, I could’ve lessened your pain before you disappeared. I was wrong but even up to this end, I hope you know that I love you and forever will do, Min.

I see it all now that you’re gone, don’t you think I was too young to be messed with? The girl in the dress cried the whole way home

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anna-justice · 4 years

Text

The Jealous Type - Upstead

Summary: When Jay decided to surprise Hailey at the airport, he expected to see one of his New York fleeing partners, not two…

Warnings: swearing

A/N: I haven’t seen anyone do this so I thought I would write it! Hope you enjoy!

...

Hailey had been waiting for this moment for a month. She was so excited to be getting on a plane to Chicago that the 3 hour wait to get through security didn’t even phase her. She boarded her plane as soon as she could, she was itching to get home. More specifically, she was itching to get home to her partner.

Jay had told her the night before that the team had caught a big case and that he would meet her at Bartoli’s at eight o’clock. Hailey’s heart soared at the statement, he had remembered the plans they made the very first week she was gone.

Hailey waited impatiently for the other passengers to board the aircraft, her excitement becoming nerves and restlessness. She watched each face that went by, she had always been a people watcher, she blamed her job on that. As the last people entered she saw a face she could never forget. Erin Lindsay walked right past Hailey, completely oblivious to her old partners new flame. Well, potential new flame.

Hailey was faced with two choices: Does she tell Jay or not tell Jay? The side of Hailey that was purely Jay’s partner was screaming yes. The woman that had broken his heart in half was about to come waltzing back into their city, he had a right to know. But the part of Hailey that loved him couldn’t bring herself to do it. When she met Jay, he was a moment away from being on one knee in front of that girl. She couldn’t risk him knowing because what if she was back and it had nothing to do with him. Hailey knew it was a long shot, but if Erin had no intention of seeing Jay then telling him would be pointless and possibly more painful.

The flight was agonizingly slow, Hailey’s mind swirling about all the different ways that she could end up alone. When they finally landed, Hailey booked it to baggage claim, avoiding Erin at all costs. But, when she exited the terminal she was met with the most beautiful green eyes she had ever seen. He was beaming at her, holding a bouquet of red roses and a sign that said “Detective Hailey Upton.” She made a few steps towards him, forgetting completely about the wrecking ball behind her, only she was quickly reminded when Jay’s jaw hit the floor.

Jay could barely stand his excitement as he stood at the end of the terminal. He shifted back and forth as he waited to see a blonde ponytail headed for him. Today was supposed to be one of the best days of his life, he was going to surprise Hailey, take her to Bartoli’s like they had planned and then finally tell her how he felt. However, the entire thing was tossed out the window when he saw her, standing a not too far behind the girl he loved. It had been almost 3 years since he had seen her, talked to her. It felt like a cruel joke, he was ready to be with Hailey and Erin comes back? She was looking at him with a soft, almost apologetic smile, one that he had seen a thousand times.

Jay felt like he had been shot in the chest, and he knew what that felt like, he was struggling to breath, his eyes darting between the two of them. For a moment he was torn on what to do, to a bystander the scene probably looked like the last 10 minutes of a romantic comedy. Does he pick the lost love that he pined over for years or the best friend that has always been there for him, even when he was still getting over the latter. It didn’t matter who the audience was rooting for though, to him there wasn’t even a choice.

Hailey followed Jay’s gaze past her and wasn’t surprised to see Erin behind her, she immediately cursed herself for not telling Jay in the first place. He was probably pissed. What shocked her the most was the feeling of Jay grabbing her hand, he handed her the roses, trying not to laugh at the expression on her face. “I missed you Hailes.” He said and dropped the sign before pulling her into a hug. At first Hailey was all too aware of the elephant standing behind her, but it quickly faded, she was wrapped in Jay’s arms and that is all she could think about.

He pulled away a little too soon for her liking, “I missed you too.” Jay smiles wide at her, his eyes never daring to leave hers.

“Let’s get out of here.” He says, taking her bag off her shoulder, Hailey was too happy to protest. Jay looked over his shoulder at Erin before walking away with his partner.

Erin thought she had recognized her former teammate on the plane, but she didn’t think anything of it. She wasn’t even sure that Hailey remembered her, or even cared to, so she saved herself the embarrassment and headed to her seat. She was not expecting to see Jay at the end of the terminal, and she definitely didn’t expect to see him holding a massive bouquet of roses that were meant for Hailey. It felt like a shot to the heart.

Leaving Jay all those years ago had come to be her biggest regret in life. She hadn’t been with anyone since him, other than random hook ups of course. She was sure that she still loved him, she never stopped. Which is why seeing him was so painful. The look he was giving Hailey used to be reserved for her only, she could remember how it felt to have him hold her, the way he would always rest his head against hers.

She always knew that he would find someone else, but she was expecting it to be Hailey Upton. She knew she had no right to be upset, she left him without a warning, an explanation or a goodbye. When she bought the ticket to Chicago she wasn’t really sure why she had, she wanted to see Voight and Platt and the rest of the team, but on the plane she decided she was going to win him back and now she was more determined than ever.

Walking out of the airport with Jay was the best feeling in the world. Hailey tried to keep her mind from wandering but she couldn’t help herself. Erin being there was a weight on her chest, another obstacle for her and Jay to overcome. And even though Jay left with her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Erin wasn’t an obstacle at all. She wouldn’t blame him if he went back to her. She tried to put herself in his shoes: If Garrett suddenly wasn’t dead, wouldn’t she go running into his arms?

Jay noticed Hailey’s smile fade, he felt bad knowing that he was using her. He had left as a way to avoid the problem, he wanted to pretend for a little bit longer that Erin wasn’t there. Jay sighed and glanced at Hailey after they had climbed into his truck. “Bartoli’s?” Hailey nodded and Jay pulled out of the parking lot, not sparing a second thought about leaving Erin there alone.

…

Hailey strolled into the district the next morning a little earlier than normal, two coffees in hand. She said good morning to Platt and told her a little about New York. As she headed up the stairs she heard the commotion at the top. Erin was there and she had brought a box of donuts. She was surrounded by the team, everyone was laughing, even Voight, who has his arm around her. Hailey wasn’t usually the jealous type, but when it came to Erin it was unavoidable.

The only person missing was Jay, which was surprising, it’s not like he had a late night. They had gone to dinner and she told him about New York and he told her about what had happened while she was gone. It was normal Jay and Hailey though, he kept his eyes trained on his food most the time, never really cracking a full smile. She knew it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Erin, but that didn’t make her feel much better. He refused to talk about it, she brought it up several times, once apologizing for not telling her, the next just trying to get him to acknowledge it. But he wouldn’t.

“Hey Upton! Look who’s back!” Kevin said to her from his spot inside the circle. Hailey forced a smile and made her way towards them. The only person that looked more out of place than Hailey was Vanessa.

“Good to see you Erin.” She said, giving her a quick hug that Erin returned.

Erin smiled at her, but it seemed forced as well, “You too Hailey.”

Thankfully the awkwardness of the exchange went unnoticed to all the surrounding detectives. Hailey leaned against her desk as everyone separated, watching the stairs like a hawk. She didn’t think that Erin would stop by the district, which looking back was incredibly stupid of her. Why would she not come to see everyone? Hailey decided this time she should give Jay a heads up.

Jay had just pulled in the parking lot when he got Hailey’s text.

Hailey Upton: Erin is here.

He hit the steering wheel before resting his head against it. He didn’t want to see her, he wanted her to go the hell back to New York. He couldn’t figure out why she was here anyway. It had been 3 years of nothing, could she sense that he was happy without her and came rushing back?

Even though the last thing Jay wanted to do was walk in there, he reluctantly got out of his truck. He still had a job to do. Platt avoided Jay’s gaze when he walked past, she didn’t want to be the one to tell him that Erin was upstairs. When he reached the bullpen it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, everyone quieted down knowing that Jay probably wasn’t celebrating Erin’s return.

“Hi Jay.” She said, stepping closer to him.

Jay’s eyes searched the room and found Hailey, she was giving him a reassuring smile. God, she’s amazing. He thought. “Hey.” He nodded, before brushing past her and heading into the locker room.

Hailey got up to follow Jay, but Erin beat her to it. She decided to stay put, she loved Jay, but she didn’t want to put herself between them. As long as he was happy, she could find a way to be happy.

Erin walked in the room behind Jay, shutting the door behind her. “Hey again.”

Jay dropped his bag on the floor and turned to face her, “Why are you here Erin?”

“I wanted to see you.” She said shrugging taking a step closer. “And Voight and everyone else.”

Jay sighed, “3 years Erin.”

“I know Jay, I’m so sorry-”

“You’re sorry?” Jay snapped, “Erin I bought a ring! I was going to propose, I was ready to spend the rest of my life with you and you left without a goodbye.” He was only a foot away from her now, “Sorry isn’t good enough.”

Jay turned to leave but she grabbed his hand. “I have regretted that decision since the moment I made it.” She pulled him a little closer. “I have almost come back here a thousand times, I’ve made up this moment in my head over an over again.” Jay softened at that, because he had to. He had romanticized her coming back, that she would come home and tell him that she loved him and that she was sorry and they would live happily ever after. But that was before Hailey. “I love you Jay, I came back for you, I want you to come to New York with me…”

Jay pulled away harshly, “Erin, I can’t-”

She had different plans. Erin grabbed Jay by the back of his neck and forced his lips down to hers. He stood there frozen, utterly shocked. It had been so long since he had kissed her, so long that he didn’t feel anything anymore.

Hailey swung the door open to make sure Jay was okay, but she was met with him with Erin’s tongue down his throat. Jay sensed the commotion and pushed Erin off of him, only to find Hailey’s teary eyes staring at him. “Uh, sorry.” She said quietly before running out of the room.

“Hailey wait!” He yelled after her, he turned to Erin, “What the hell was that?”

Erin moved towards him, “I was proving there is still something there, you still love me Jay.”

Jay glanced at the door and then turned her angry gaze on her. “I don’t,” and with that, he chased after Hailey.

Hailey ignored the questions and shouts coming from her teammates as she ran for the stairs. She hated crying, but in this moment she couldn’t stop herself. She knew she was stupid to think that Jay would choose her over Erin. She kept running until she reached the basement, letting her back hit the cage as she breathed heavy. Her emotions were becoming too much to keep in.

“Hailey!” She heard in the distance. She knew it was Jay, he must’ve felt bad about what she walked in on. Hailey stayed where she was, the clouded voice getting and closer. “Hailey…” He said moving towards her. “I’m so sorry, it meant no-”

“It’s fine Jay.” She said, cutting him off. She stood her ground, fighting her tears. “I’m happy for you, you always hoped she’d come back.” She headed towards the stairs.

“Hailes.” Jay said frantically, he could feel her slipping away from him and he had no idea how to hold on.

Hailey stopped at the base of the stairs, “I’ll see you up there.”

“Hailey wait,” He said, but she was already gone. He knew he should have told her then, he should have confessed everything, but he couldn’t. Whatever feelings she had for him were probably gone.

…

Two hours later, the entire team was standing outside of an abandoned warehouse on the heroin highway, two offenders had entered the building, both armed. “Rojas, Burgess, Halstead, you take the back. Upton and Atwater, you head up the fire escape and through the side door. Ruzek and I will take the front with Lindsay.” Voight said, barking orders. Hailey wasn’t surprised that Erin was joining the unit for the case, and was certainly happy that she wasn’t going in with Jay behind her. She had spent the whole morning avoiding him.

She climbed the staircase with Kevin on her tail. At the top, they quietly pulled the door open and entered, guns raised. The place was silent, the only noise was the creaking on the metal cat walk under them. There was a quiet bang on the floor above them, they both raised their guns. They carefully made their way to the mouth of the staircase that led to the bottom level. Suddenly, there was a loud POP and Hailey screamed as a massive force hit her chest, sending her flying down the staircase.

“Hailey!” Kevin yelled as she hit the ground with a thump.

That was all Jay needed to go running across the open room. Ignoring the shots being fired all around him. He met Kevin and Adam, who were calling for an ambulance, at the bottom of the stairs. “Hailey?’ He asked, his shaky hand pressing to her cheek. She groaned and moved her head a bit, “You need to stay awake, Hailey stay awake.” he searched for blood, but soon found the bullet wedged into her kevlar vest. “It didn’t go through.” He said leaning over her, pressing his hand to her head, it felt sticky. He pulled away, noticing the blood staining her blonde hair. Eventually she lost consciousness, leaving Jay to panic at her side as they anxiously awaited the medics.

Jay felt that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, as far as bad days went, this one proved to be the worst. The one thing that he couldn’t handle had happened, Hailey was hurt. He thought back to when he was shot, is this what he had put her through? He owed her a million apologies, because forget the dungeons of hell, this was torcher.

Finally the ambulance arrived, Jay insisting on riding to MED with them. She still hadn’t regained consciousness when they rolled her away from him and through the ED. One by one, the rest of the team had shown up, all of them awaiting a much needed update. Soon Will approached them, looking visibly shocked at the sight of Erin standing in the back. “Is she okay?” Jay asks, standing.

Will nods, “She’s got a severe concussion and horrible bruising from the bullet, but luckily the kevlar took the rest. She’s going to be fine.” Jay let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Come on I’ll take you to her.” He gestured to Jay alone, everyone else getting the memo. Once they were out of earshot, Will dropped his voice. “Erin’s back?”

Jay shrugged, “I guess, she told me she wanted me to come back to New York with her.” Will coughed, choking on his own breath at her forwardness. “Yeah, and she kissed me.”

“What?” Will asked, but it didn’t matter, they had reached the threshold of Hailey’s room. Jay was immediately at her side. He grabbed her hand and used his other to brush the pad of his thumb over her cheek. Hailey hummed in response, rolling her head in his direction. When she opened her eyes she felt the heat rush to her face. Oh God, had she made that noise out loud?

“You’re awake.” Jay said, smiling softly.

Hailey groaned, “That’s one word for it. I feel like I got shot in the chest.” Jay rolled his eyes, “Too soon?” He nodded. Hailey stared at him for a moment. Taking in his worried expression and the fact that his hand was still wrapped around hers. “Where’s Erin?”

Jay sighed, “Hailey, it’s not what you think.”

“Okay.” Was all she could say in response, she didn’t want his half-assed excuse.

Jay gripped her hand in both of his. “I told her that I didn’t want her back and to prove there was still something there she kissed me.” He held her gaze. “She kissed me, Hailey.”

Hailey was the first to look away, the intensity becoming too much. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me Jay, I’m not your girlfriend.” Hailey wanted to smack herself in the face for saying that, why on earth would she say that?

“No Hailey, you’re not.” Jay said. Hailey looked down at her lap, no longer able to keep the tears back. Jay grabbed her chin and tilted it up. “That’s the problem.” Hailey took a sharp breath. “I love you Hailey. I was going to tell you last night, but then Erin was there and I was all confused. But I promise Erin means nothing-”

“I love you Jay.” Saying it outloud felt like an elephant being lifted off her chest and the look on his face made it even better.

“Really?” He asked, trying to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Hailey nodded and in one swift motion, Jay pressed his lips to hers. Hailey had imagined their first kiss so many times, but nothing she thought of could compare to the real thing. After forever she pulled away, a huge smile on her face. “Is this real?”

Hailey laughed, “It better be.” She kissed him again, feathering her touch across his jawline.

“Holy shit!” They heard and pulled apart. Jay turned around to see Vanessa, Kevin, Kim and Adam in the doorway. Vanessa hugs Kim before the two of them rush to Hailey. Adam hands Kevin a fifty dollar bill, he had his money on next week. The new couple celebrated with their friends, enjoying finally being together.

Erin had watched the whole thing from across the hall, immediately regretting her decision to come back. She left the hospital as fast as she could, once again leaving chicago in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.

#jay halstead #jay halstead x hailey upton imagine #jay halstead x hailey upton #hailey upton #one chicago #chicago pd #chicago pd imagines #upstead #upstead imagines #erin lindsay

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jlalafics · 4 years

Note

I’m clearly on a dessert kick at the moment ... how about Everlark chancing a moment alone at an event on the tour to enjoy some sort of treat they found/generally check in with each other and have a breather (or some variation or that — supportive Everlark moment alone on the tour) (I mean they do get caught trying to sneak away a lot, maybe sometimes they succeed)

Hope this satisfies your dessert craving! Thanks @rosegardeninwinter for the prompt!

______

District 5

It’s far into the evening when there’s a quiet knock on the door.

God, I hope it’s not Effie coming to complain about my lack of enthusiasm during the most mind-numbing speech in all of Panem. I don’t know how she comes up with these words, sometimes.

Pressing the door button, it opens and instead of an irate Effie, I find Peeta.

He looks me over. “You were really going to go to sleep?”

My gaze goes to his dark pants and heather-green long-sleeve. He’s also holding a brown leather jacket with a wool collar. “And you aren’t?”

“No. Get dressed,” Peeta urges. “I want to show you something. Wear something that’s not too obvious.”

“I guess my fuchsia sequin dress is out of the question,” I retort.

“Very funny. Hurry up, won’t you?”

“Fine.” I yank him into the room and Peeta looks surprised. “You can’t stand in the hallway waiting for me. Everyone thinks we’re engaged, we’ve probably since each other in various stages of undress.”

“Right,” he manages to sputter out.

I find myself grinning as I look through my closet, pulling out a simple navy-blue dress and a cropped jacket. Quickly, I pull my shirt over my head and shimmy out of my lounge pants.

Behind me, Peeta is quietly whistling to himself, probably avoiding the fact that I’m practically naked in front of him.

What a gentleman.

There are times, however, when I wish he wouldn’t be. When I wish we could recapture the hunger that had welled up inside our cave. Some nights on this train, I find myself replaying those kisses in my mind over and over—

“You okay?” I look over my shoulder to find Peeta watching, his eyes darker than I have ever seen them. I recognize that want in them. “You spaced out for a moment.”

I quickly pull the dress on and pull on the jacket. Finally, I bend down and pull out a pair of sturdy boots.

“I’m ready,” I declare.

“You look nice,” Peeta replies with a soft smile. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

++++++

We find ourselves in a village. The buildings are tall with cone roofs and painted in muted primary colors. Some have stone walls. As we walk through the village, the hand that isn’t grasping Peeta’s reaches to touch one of the stones. It makes sense as we are close to the mountains; it must be their primary resource for building material.

“Where exactly are we going?” I ask as Peeta looks around, his eyes searching the street signs.

“One of our handlers mentioned this one place…” We make another turn and his blue eyes brighten. “There!”

We go to where a small crowd hangs around a…bakery.

This isn’t like Peeta’s bakery as there are wide glass windows displaying trays of baked goods. Inside there are a few tables where the townspeople sit and lounge. It looks cozy and inviting and I find comfort in seeing people living their everyday lives, enjoying time to just be together.

It’s hard to feel like that when you’re on a never-ending train ride.

“Do you see anything you like?” Peeta asks me as we stare at various trays in front of us.

“I really don’t know,” I say. “Why don’t you pick for me?”

Together, we step inside and the noise ceases. I try to ignore the shocked expressions as Peeta leads me to the front counter.

All charm, Peeta gives the older woman with snow white hair a smile. “Hello. Francis recommended your bakery—”

“I’m flattered, Mr. Mellark,�� the woman replies kindly. “My name is Mary. What can I help you with?”

“Peeta, please.” He turns to me. “Katniss and I have a limited knowledge on dessert pastries. What would you recommend?”

The woman beams at us. “Well, we are known for our eclairs—”

“I’ve heard about them!” Peeta says excitedly and I smile at his enthusiasm. He’s been so upset with me and I’ve given him several reasons to be. For the first few days of our trip, we avoided each other. However, Peeta has brought me with him on this jaunt so we can get out of our gilded cage for an evening. It is the faintest shimmer of forgiveness and I will take it. “May I see?”

The woman goes to one of the display cases and, taking a smaller tray on the counter, grabs a pair of tongs to pull out some eclairs. She returns, placing them in front of us.

There are two eclairs in front of us, both oblong-shaped, but one has a dark glaze on top and the other a lighter brown.

“This one is a chocolate éclair.” Mary points to the darker one. “And this one is maple. Both have cream filling and both are delicious.”

Peeta nods and turns to me. “I’m convinced. Katniss?”

I muster up a smile. “I trust you…but we don’t have money—”

“I’ve got it,” Peeta tells me.

“They’re on the house,” Mary insists, and she turns to me. “When I saw you with Rue…my heart just broke for you.”

My eyes fill and I’m barely aware as Peeta puts an arm around me.

Rue never had the chance to live, to be able to see any place but her hometown or even try an éclair. These are such little life moments, but they feel bigger since she nor any of the other fallen tributes will ever experience them. My chest burns at the thought.

“Why don’t I buy two more?” Peeta suggests gently. “Let’s enjoy them for the people who couldn’t.”

++++++

We find ourselves in a garden, entering through an archway that looks like the one in front of Victors’ Village back in 12. Peeta finds us a bench that overlooks the whole garden and from the far distance I can spot the shadows of the mountains that tower over the town.

“Wow, this really is beautiful,” Peeta says as we sit down. “Francis made great recommendations.”

“When do you even have a chance to speak to the handlers?” I ask curiously as he opens the paper bag.

“While Effie is lecturing you to smile and stuff, I get to talk to them,” he explains. “I mean the handlers are here to welcome us and someone has to extend their gratitude. We’re Victors, but we’re not going to be jerks about it. They love to talk about their District and Francis just happened to be a chatty one. He’s the one who told me that this is a great date spot.”

A date?

I’m confused for a moment. Is this what this is?

“I’ll give you the chocolate one,” Peeta tells me. “Just don’t eat all of it.”

I’m so flabbergasted by what he’s just said that I reach for the éclair, holding it at both ends and readying myself to take a bite in the middle.

Peeta chuckles lightly. “It’s not a sandwich.” He rotates it so one end is facing me. “Go ahead.”

Tentatively, I take a bite.

The pastry is light, and the chocolate glaze gives it sweetness. I’m amazed at how well the slight buttery taste of the pastry mixes perfectly with the heaviness of the chocolate. The cream is sweet and airy but messy. I find myself licking the excess off the sides of the éclair and along my lips.

“Wow,” Peeta says, his face slightly crimson but the smirk is evident on his mouth. “That’s an image that I’m going to remember for the rest of life.”

I smack his arm. “I’m new at this!” He laughs as I put the éclair back on its wax wrapping. “Peeta?”

He’s already polished off his maple éclair—gluttonous boy. “Hmm?”

I adjust myself in my seat. “Have you ever been on a date?”

“I’ve gone with my brothers and some girls on a group thing,” he replies carefully. “It’s more like I tagged along to make it even. Why?”

“Then how do you know this is a date?”

“I asked you to come out, you got semi-dressed up, I paid for the meal, and took you to what some people might consider a romantic spot.” Peeta turns to me, his eyes warm. “So, yes—according to my brothers, this would be considered a date.” His eyes look off in the distance towards the mountain and I hear his quiet sigh. “Were your dates with Gale different?”

Gale has never asked me to go anywhere but to the woods or maybe to the market. I wear what I usually wear; my father’s jacket and my hunting clothes. Not like Gale’s ever offered, but I pay my own way…and we’ve never really gone anywhere remotely intimate. The thought alone makes me wince slightly.

Clearing my throat, I respond. “Um…I’ve never gone out with him like this.” Peeta turns to me, his eyes hopeful. “So, I guess this is…a…date.”

Peeta nods and I look around at the magnificent garden around us as we sit in content silence. Quiet moments like this are rare, but we take what we can. I breathe in the cool air, hearing the slight whistle of the wind between the mountains and let myself relax for a second.

His hand covers mine and gives it a squeeze. I know he feels it, too.

There’s a shift in the air; something wildly intimate is happening between us. Something that neither of us can really explain. It’s new territory which can be scary but his hand in mine gives me assurance like nothing else can.

“How are you?” he asks me suddenly. An arm moves stealthily around my shoulders and Peeta avoids my suspicious gaze. “I mean, not counting the whole Snow hating us thing.”

“I guess I’m okay,” I answer. My body curls against his, my head to his shoulder. “And you?”

“I’m on my first date with Katniss Everdeen,” he tells me and I can feel his smile against my hair. “What more can I ask for?”

++++++

It is all too soon when we return to the train.

Being the nice guy that he is, Peeta walks me to my room.

It’s right across from his, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Thanks—” I say, my eyes darting downward. “—for tonight. I think we both really needed it.”

“I agree.” Peeta looks to me, uncertainty in his eyes.

My palms are sweaty because I’m waiting…hoping…that he’ll take that next step—

“Where have you been?” We pull apart, finding Effie charging towards us sans wig and wearing the most garish purple robe. “Do not tell me that you snuck out!”

Behind her, a groggy Haymitch joins us.

Something tells me he knew, but did he care about our one night away from our steel cage?

I’m betting not.

“Then we won’t tell you,” I reply simply. I take Effie’s hand, rotate it palm facing up and give her the paper bag with the extra eclairs in it. “Good night.”

++++++

I’m disappointed.

Not by the outing…date.

There is still a pleasant roll in my stomach at the memory of the garden…our garden…of the taste of chocolate éclair along my tongue…and the look in Peeta’s eyes as he watched me.

Actually, that gives me a whole different feeling.

Going to the closet, I take off my jacket and reach for a hanger—

A gentle knock sounds against my door.

Hanging my jacket quickly, I press the door button and find Peeta in front of me.

“What are you doing here—”

I don’t even finish the sentence before his mouth is on mine. My arms wrap around his neck as we kiss, his hands moving along the line of my back. The heat is encompassing; our mouths connected, breaths puffing against each other, and foreheads pressed. Somewhere along the way, my hands travel down, grasping at his shirt…not quite sure where this will go…nor caring.

“Peeta…” I whisper against his lips.

His mouth moves along my jawline trailing down to my neck. “Yes?”

“I had a really good time,” I whisper into his ear as he mouths the gentle curve.

Peeta kisses me gently, a promise against our lips. “I’m going to take you on another date one day.”

I close my eyes hoping, after this tour is done, he’ll make good on that promise.

FIN.

And we know what happens next.

District 5 is supposed to be located around the Rocky Mountains. I imagine that the town they visited was what was Veil, Colorado and the bakery in the Lionshead district. The gardens would the Betty Ford Alpine Gardens.

I’ve never been there, but now I want to go.

Thanks for reading!

#Everlark #During the Victory Tour #firstdate!Everlark #District 5: Power #Everlark Fanfiction #victorytour!Everlark

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parisa-astra15 · 4 years

Text

~♪ Rhythm of Your Heart ♪~ (Days 3-7)

Summary: A series of compilation stories set in my College Alternate Universe, where the Lolirock cast are just normal teenagers heading off to college trying to figure out life while settling into adulthood. Musically set to the tunes of Marianas Trench.

Ships: Talisto, Levyna, NatIris,ZackPrax, Rorissa and MattAuri a few others sprinkled in there.

*If it’s not your cup of Tea that’s 100% fair, go enjoy all the other awesome content from the fandom ~

**If you are here for Talisto week 2020, welcome! Hope you like the stories!

Day 3: First Kiss

The sound of music and dancing was the universal sign of a good time. She had come out tonight to feel normal again. Enough time had passed and yet here she was.

Talia blended into the crowd and began to sneak out of a party, purposely avoiding her friends, taking the route off the roof by using the fire escape. She frowns as tears stung her eyes as she hugs her arms softly. After a few steps she sighed leaning against the wall taking a seat outside of Lev’s apartment. She wanted to leave, but it was a shitty thing to leave without saying anything to Iris and Auriana. This only made the pressure of anger in her lower abdomen knot and twist as she took a seat on the steps of the fire escape.

What brought on this mixture of melancholy and angry frustration? A stupid song, her ex’s favorite song, it had been a month since she and Kyle had broken up. And some dumb song shouldn't make her feel so many emotions all once, it was like remembering something she had desperately to forget and bury yet couldn't.

Suddenly there was a click from the sliding door opening and a surprise gaze of a young burgundy hair man holding a bowl of chips. He looked surprised to find her there.

She knew him vaguely from campus, he was in the drama department with Lev, and he noticed her crying because his first words to her were.

"Hey… are you okay?" He asked softly, looking at her. "You like you've been crying…"

Talia gave half a sigh mixed with a dry laugh "....Just… heard my Ex's favorite song play...I don't know its stupid" he took a seat across from her and gave a small smile. "Hey, no… it's not dumb...I'm a theater kid… if there's one thing we know is a broken heart… Now unless you want to belt out a ballad of self empowerment, Talking about it usually helps. And who better than someone you probably won't see again" he winks at her which made her smile, the joke helped to ease any tension or embarrassment she felt. There was something in his eyes that gave an air of kindness. She gave a nod "he was my highschool sweetheart…. " she started

The hours passed and she told him, her story, of how she was with this guy for years and all of the sudden he just broke up with her because her college was too far away and long distance relationships don't work. They passed around the snacks till the empty bowl was all that was left. Finally when she finished Talia took a deep sigh of relief, she had no idea how long she had kept that inside her chest. Locked up under the guise of self control and keeping up appearances that she was fine. To share it with someone felt nice, she felt heard and looked at Mephisto who had processed the whole ordeal with her.

At first he frowns "Wow…that's such a jerk move….just everything he did it sounds like he was just looking for a excuse to break up and instead of talking to you and not completely blindsiding you he just one day decided to be jerk and make up an excuse…." He said sighing deeply as he ran his fingers through his hair and looking at her with a soft gaze. "He genuinely doesn't deserve you. When he grows up and realizes that. I hope he has enough backbone to apologize for what he's done…as for you feeling sad…. It happened a month ago. You should let yourself grieve, However you want to. It was a long relationship, a relationship you put a lot of your heart into loving them and that doesn't just go away… It may have been for him, but that took a while and he had his time to figure his feelings. So should you. You didn't wake up one day with the thought that everything was leading up to a break up. You genuinely thought things were okay between you two and suddenly they weren't, you need time to process that. You know?"

"I…. Thank you…." She whispers and nods "that's really solid advice… and I never considered letting myself do that… I'm the tough one you know… nothing gets to me…." She sniffles a bit wiping her face with the back of her hand.

He shook his head "no one can be okay after that…it's okay to feel and recover…"

Talia made a small noise of agreement "Hey, let's get out here and enjoy the party….could I know your name?" She asked as she got up, he gave a nod and smiled getting up too. "Mephisto, it's an honor to make your acquaintance milady " he said in a dramatic manner making her laugh "I'm Talia, thanks for hearing me out." She leans over and kisses his cheek softly, just an innocent kiss on the cheek as they headed upstairs to the party. Mephisto felt a small blush on his cheeks "aw, it's no biggie… I'd do it any time… hey do know the Coffee place on Bartley street?"

"Yeah, the book shop?"

"I hang out there, mostly to read scripts and drink coffee if you ever want to hang out?"

Talia smiles "sounds like fun"

They were unaware of it at the time but a friendship was made that night on the fire escape.

Day 4: Retro Fashion

Talia had never considered performing in a fashion show before but Lyna had put in so much effort into her final project. Lyna had sat in several of Talia’s american history courses to learn about the 1920’s. Her professors were surprised to find out the curious young lady with the lengthy notes wasn’t actually enrolled in the courses and was actually a fashion major.

Throughout the semester Lyna would come over with revised sketches of the gowns she was making. Asking Talia for advice on accessories and accuracy. Which was more than happy to give feedback but she was genuinely caught off guard and flattered when Lyna asked her to model the stunning gown inspired by the ever glamorous Josphine Baker. “Of course” She smiles. It was a strapless black and white ball gown decorated and accessorized with her signature pearls.

The collection was something her friend had worked so hard on. Talia was happy to support her.

Later that afternoon, she sat on the counter top as Mephisto chopped vegetables for dinner.

“So are you free next Saturday afternoon?” She asked. Mephisto glances over as he reaches over his head for a bowl on the shelf. “ Yeah I should be done with finals”

“Do you want to come to a fashion show?”

“Fashion show?” He smiles “ Are you modeling for Lyna’s Final?”

“Yeah.” She blushes a bit “ Do you think it's silly”

“ Now why would I ever think that? I think it's gonna be awesome” He kisses her pouty cheek. “ I’m going to take so many pictures~”

“Oh my god”

“ and Facetime Izira.”

She laughs burying her face into his shoulder blade “You are such a dork”

“ You love it” He grins.

Day 5: Sport AU

Author’s note: I know nothing about sports, Zero. Nada. My knowledge of sports comes from sports animes and I watch them for the cute boys and nothing else.So! Instead have Praxina, Mephisto and Talia trying out Auriana’s pilates’s class.

Praxina’s frown deepens as she glares at her brother “ You have 5 minutes to explain why I’m here.” Talia looked equally exasperated at her boyfriend who, being the only morning person of the trio grins. “ I figured finals stressed us out and Auriana is teaching her first pilates class so let's go be good friends and get some exercise too!.” He said with a grin as the girls gave a groan “ You are making us breakfast after this” Praxina yawns. “ yeah” Talia smiles softly “ you do know Auriana’s classes aren’t beginner friendly right… She’s tough.”

Mephisto pales a bit realizing he might have made a mistake. ”Oh-” They headed up to the studio greeted warmly by the chipper redhead who claps her hand together. “ Alright Class! Lets have an awesome warm up!” While Talia and Praxina both being dancers could easily keep up with the beat and tempo set by Auriana. Mephisto was having trouble just keeping his breathing in check.

This was just a warm up. He was doomed. After the class, the group ended up in the small apartment where Praxina lived with her dog Brutus. Mephisto lays on his sister's couch his body feeling like jelly as Brutus the pomeranian lays on his back. “ You should have just sat down after the warm up” Talia said sips on her water. Watching him from her seat on the love seat across the coffee table from him.

“No that was quitter talk, Can’t stop, won’t stop!” He said muttering into the couch cushions as Praxina laughs walking over picking up Brutus “ He just hates being wrong, I don’t know where he gets this competitive attitude from~” Praxina comments to Talia before she grins and leans over to his ear and says “ I’m the alpha twin, now~” “Ahhh” His muffled groan came from the couch making the girls laugh as they order breakfast off their phones since their cook was down count. Overall the stress of test week is long forgotten.

Day 6+7 Gift Giving at the School Festival

Author’s note: Roark belongs to Kireiscorner~ I asked her before borrowing him~

It was a silly campus tradition, past over from one generation to the next. On the evening of the School Festival, to give a gift to your significant other before the firework’s show. Mephisto had always thought his mother’s story was a little corny, but the romantic in him had also found it a little sweet.

He wanders around the shopping district, his eyes looking in the different stores looking for the right gift. He had his heart set on finding a pair of earrings that match her favorite bracelet. “ Young man!” A sing-song voice called from a small stall. “ You look like a crafty gentleman~ Would like to buy our jewelry crafting set! Only 3 installments of 29.99!”

Mephisto pointed to himself and gave a thought he must look desperate by now because he was actually walking over. “ Hold it” A familiar voice stopped him. “ yikes man… you weren’t actually going to buy kiosk craft kits-” Lev said walking over wrapping an arm around his best friend and shaking his head at sales girl “ Sorry sweetheart, not today” He winks at her as the kiosk sale girl glares at him.

Mephisto sighs “ I’m a little desperate… I’ve been looking for a gift for Talia all morning and I’ve come up empty... Please tell me your Father owns a discount jewelry shop?”

“Nope, my old man owns and sells engagement rings and high end jewelry… but I know a man who might be able to help” Lev grins as they head out of the bustling area to a quiet shop. It was an antique shop designed on restoring metal pieces. “ Hey Roark buddy, you in?” Lev called out as a massive man walked out from the back. He gave a small grunt greeting them with a welcome. “ Roark buddy, this is Mephisto. Mephisto, this is my buddy Roark. He’s in the robotics department with me. His family owns this shop. Bud, we are in a bit of a time crunch. Do you mind if Mephisto here looks around the jewelry section?” Roark gave a shrug and continued working on the counter as Lev showed him over to the section of the counter where the restored jewelry was found. Mephisto’s eyes light up when he spotted them, sapphire earrings restored from old gold. “ How much?!” Roark gave a tired look as he got up and fetched the earrings they were around 95. Mephisto looked at everything he had saved up. That would leave him with 30 in pocket for anything at the festival. He nodded “ Okay… Could I get wrapped in a box? Blue please!”

Lev watched him with a small smile “ You really like this girl, huh…”

Mephisto blushes “ Yeah… I do… I just want to make her smile.”

Lev chuckles “ It’s nice to see you this happy again.” Roark came out the back, the earrings wrapped up in a small box, tucked neatly in a paper shopping bag. “ Thank you for your purchase,” Roark said. “ Thanks Roark you’re the best buddy” Lev winks as Roark rolled his eyes with a small grin.

Mephisto paid and thanked him too.

Hours passed and Mephisto couldn’t help but enjoy every moment he spent with Talia, this whole year by her side had been special to him. He helps her over to a nice spot to watch the fireworks where it wasn’t too crowded. “ Hey… So… It's… kind of a corny tradition but tonight some couples exchange gifts… and I wanted to give you something…” He pulled out the small box from his jacket pocket.

“It's a thank you for being you and sharing yourself with me.” Talia eyes widen and a blush spread all over her face “ Thank you… but I didn’t know-”

“Yeah it's okay you aren’t from here so I figured you wouldn’t exactly know the stories… But It wouldn’t have felt right to celebrate without telling you how I felt.”

She blushes brightly as she kisses him “ You idiot... I love you… Thank you… I can’t wait to celebrate with you next year…” She whispers hugging him close.

“That’s a promise” He smiles holding her close as the fireworks begin.

===========The End============

Author’s Note: And that was Talisto week 2020 everyone!~ As always thanks for your support! It was awesome to see everyone again~ and to celebrate with you all - Lots of love as always, Kikki~

#lolirock #Talisto #talisto week 2020 #talia princess of xeris #mephisto #Mephisto x Talia #lolirock fanfic

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liketolaugh-writes · 4 years

Text

Threadbare and Torn

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Hank becomes a Jericho spy in the DPD ranks. Connor becomes his liaison. They... well, they don't exactly get along.

Hank wasn’t a reflective kinda guy. At least, not when he could help it. These days, that shit didn’t invite much of anything but pain, regret, frustration- no, it was easier to just go with his gut.

And Jeffrey. God, when was the last time he’d done a favor for Jeffrey? When was the last time Jeffrey had asked?

Hank squinted against the sun, a faint headache throbbing at his temples. Nothing like as bad as usual- he wanted his wits about him for this. His gaze swept cautiously over the café’s outdoor tables until a man in a beanie glanced up disinterestedly from his menu, brown eyes lingering on the breast of Hank’s jacket.

Jeffrey had given him the jacket – apparently it had a symbol sewn into it, nearly invisible to the human eye, but obvious to any android who knew to look for it. Hank didn’t pretend to understand how it worked, but apparently it did, because the next moment, the man signaled him, two fingers waving what Hank was certain was a perfect triangle.

Hank trudged over to him and plopped down in the seat across from the android, giving him an appraising look of his own. Stiff, straight posture, a beanie covering his LED, stained and nondescript clothing, no trace of expression on his face. No model Hank recognized, not that that meant much.

“How’s your father doing?” Hank said at last, not letting himself snort at the mandatory code. Eyes and ears everywhere, and all, with the FBI on the Jericho case. Still, he felt like he was in a spy movie. A corny one.

The android tilted his head slightly; Hank could almost feel himself being scanned. He clenched his jaw, meeting the android’s eyes just short of a glare, daring him to comment on Hank’s disheveled state.

“…Still living the life with his mistress,” the android said instead, so soft that Hank almost couldn’t hear him. His tone was perfectly even and measured, and subtly deferential. Hank hated it.

“Food here any good?” he jabbed lightly, glancing inside. The café didn’t have a ‘no androids’ sign, which was telling; they’d become more and more popular as tensions rose.

The android just shrugged, disinterested. “Want any?” he asked quietly, setting the menu down.

Hank considered saying yes, just to be an ass. Then he scoffed at himself and shook his head. “Too rabbit food for me. In the mood for something else? This was just a meet-up point.”

The android nodded shortly, hands dropping to his lap. “Let’s go.”

Hank’s first impression was that he was mechanical, contrasting harshly with the crying and terrified deviants Hank had seen too many times in his precinct’s cells. It grated on him, but, uncharacteristically, he bit his tongue. This wasn’t about the robot in front of him. It was about Jericho.

Sighing, Hank pushed himself up and jerked his head, indicating for the android to accompany him, before leading the way to his car. A few conspicuous seconds passed before Hank heard the scrape of the chair, and the android fell in half a step behind him. A glance back told Hank that he was scanning the crowd, pretty thoroughly disinterested in interacting with Hank.

But maybe it was just the location. Hank didn’t like letting people into his space, especially not someone who so immediately set his teeth on edge, but it was better than staying out in the open.

“Name’s Hank Anderson,” Hank grunted as soon as they were both in the car. He watched the android fiddle with the seatbelt for a moment before prompting, unable to keep an edge of irritation out of his voice, “And you? I sure hope you’re the Jericho contact or this is gonna get real awkward.”

The android nodded stiffly, leaving the seatbelt alone to look ahead, still straight-backed and perfect. “I’m Connor.”

That was apparently all he had to say about that. Hank exhaled and started the car, hit the radio, and got going, ignoring the way Connor glanced down at it with a reserved frown. If he couldn’t speak up, he didn’t get an opinion.

Hank’s first impression of the guy didn’t improve any on the way to his house. Connor stared straight ahead out the window, occasionally following something to the side, and made no attempt at conversation. His back stayed stiff, his posture perfect, and his hands folded neatly in his lap.

The pattern continued as they reached Hank’s house. Hank got out, and a few seconds passed before Connor followed. When he did, it was careful and deliberate, without any flourish and making as little noise as possible. Even shutting the door was a nearly silent process, and then he followed half a step behind Hank up the path to his house. Hank wanted to hit him just to see if he’d react.

Sumo greeted Hank at the door with a low boof and a snuffle, and Hank gave him a rough pat and an absentminded, “Good boy.”

Sumo boofed again, and then circled around to sniff at Connor, lazily curious.

Connor stiffened, eyes tracking Sumo with clear apprehension, and edged back as the dog came close. After a moment, he looked away and skirted around the dog without directly acknowledging him. Stepped around the pizza boxes on the ground and didn’t even disturb the dog food Hank had spilled last night that Sumo hadn’t eaten yet. Didn’t even touch the wall.

Instead, he just paused on the threshold of the living room and kitchen, clearly waiting for instructions. Looked like a mannequin.

Sumo huffed, unbothered, and loped off to flop onto his bed, but Hank scowled and slammed the door shut. Connor’s expression barely twitched. Hank leaned against the door, crossed his arms, and surveyed him.

“Thirium? Cards?” he asked, more a challenge than a real offer at this point. God, it was gonna be a long couple months. Just looking at Connor made him itch. “I can put the TV on in the background.”

Connor glanced at him, flat and disinterested. “…No, thank you.”

Shocker.

Hank grunted and kicked out one of the chairs at the kitchen table, throwing himself down with a scowl. Connor took that as a signal and sat down across from him, no noise, stiffly polite. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a holographic projector, setting it between them. With the press of a button, a map of Detroit sprang up between them.

“Straight to business, huh?” Hank said sardonically, something sick and bitter twisting in his stomach, and Connor nodded.

Hank would grant the kid one thing, he had some good ideas in his head. They had the start of a game plan sketched out after the better part of an hour, districts to target, shelters to capture, infrastructure to prioritize. Maximum effectiveness, minimum collateral.

Except the police. No mercy for them.

The only exception was Hank’s precinct, since Jeffrey had already secured an agreement with Jericho; his officers turned a blind eye to anything androids did, and Jericho steered around them. Fair enough, and good thinking on Jeffrey’s part. Small comfort all the same.

And a good mind Connor might have, but he was fucking exhausting to talk to. He seemed to speak as little as possible. He missed half of Hank’s expressions. Refused to directly contradict Hank even when he clearly disagreed.

Hank was sick of this already.

“What’s your plan if the military gets involved?” he asked, struggling to keep his mind in the game and off Connor’s painfully flat affect, so like the machine surgeon that-

“They shouldn’t,” Connor said shortly. After several minutes, he seemed to realize how painfully inadequate that was and continued, “They’re busy, or we would be dead already. The police and FBI have fewer resources. Should that change, we will certainly lose.”

Connor’s tone remained quiet and indifferent through his entire speech. He didn’t even take his eyes off the city plan, and his mouth was a flat, downturned line. Hank compared him again to the crying girl he’d seen self-destruct in one of the jail cells last year, and felt his rage grow.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he snapped, voice rising a little.

Connor had the nerve to shrug. Hank felt sick.

He got up to turn music on in the background, and pretended not to hear when Connor asked him to turn it back off.

---

A week and a half later, Hank was faced with the grim consequences of his actions as his police radio burst with panicked chatter. He listened to them relay information back and forth, asking for backup, trying to outmaneuver their opponents, as if Jericho didn’t have easy access to even the police-only channels. He didn’t move from where his car was parked on a random streetside, far away from the chaos.

Neither, he knew, did anyone else from their precinct.

Over the course of six hours, the skirmish between Jericho and the local police force went from a standoff, to a shootout, and then an invasion, and finally a surrender. With that, the precinct the main Jericho base occupied was deviant territory.

Casualties on each side were pretty brutal. Hank wouldn’t know the exact Jericho numbers until Connor told him, but the police force took thirty-seven deaths and close to fifty injured.

All Hank’s fault, obviously, though from his grim look, Jeffrey was feeling it too. Still, he remembered the Tracis, terrified and angry and in love, the ones he’d let go before he’d ever gotten properly involved with this shit.

(Cole had loved androids. This was the first time in years that he’d done something he felt Cole would’ve been proud of him for. He couldn’t give up that easy.)

So he pushed on.

He and Connor had arranged to meet up a few days after the fight, and Connor, of course, arrived precisely on time, back straight, expression disaffected, and knocked on the door until Hank answered.

He offered Hank a cursory greeting, sat in the exact same place as last time, and gave Sumo an unreadable look when he boofed. Hank scowled, his foul temper heavy in his gut, and kicked the door shut. When he turned around, Connor was placing the projector dead center on the table and tapping it to activate.

“Thought we could play a round of cards or some shit before we got into it,” Hank said, not bothering to hide his irritation. Not because he wanted to spend any extra time with this programmed asshole, but he couldn’t bring himself to pretend he was eager to turn on his former fellows, and he hated Connor’s apathetic demeanor.

Case in point: Connor blinked at him, unamused and uninterested. The same beanie covered his head, the same sweater, same pants. “Why?”

Hank hated him.

He sat down, scowling at the hologram, which blinked at him mockingly. “Whatever. What’re we working with?”

Connor didn’t question it, lunching straight into the casualty numbers for Jericho and highlighting the weaknesses in the attack. He didn’t seem to care about the significance of any of what he was saying – like it was just a training exercise, like none of them were people to him.

In turn, Hank grudgingly relayed his end of things: police response details, the FBI’s conspicuous silence, announcements and reallocations from the interceding days. None of it reflected the stifled quiet of the station these days, the heavy tension, the silent resignations handed in by a few of the officers with each their own reasons – Miller, Reed, Wilson.

Connor listened silently and seamlessly incorporated the information into the next, revised plan, plotting out the steady destruction of the next precinct in line.

Finally, Hank couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his hands on the table and leaned close, taking a sour pleasure out of seeing Connor go dead still. Sumo whined, and Hank felt only a hint of regret, quickly swallowed up, eyes on Connor.

“I knew those people,” Hank said lowly, not bothering to suppress the venom. “I fucking worked with them. Now, I knew what I was signing up for, but fuck, the least you can do is pretend you give a shit in front of me.”

His voice rose until he was almost, but not quite shouting, hot with rage. Connor didn’t look at him, but Hank could see the tension almost vibrating through his frame, a tightness around his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said after a while, just on the edge of audible, stiff and insincere.

Hank scoffed. “You have to mean it for it to matter,” he sneered, bitterness and guilt and a visceral sort of revulsion churning up inside him.

Deviants were one thing, but god, he couldn’t stand machines.

Connor didn’t even try to look him in the face, rubbing his arm in mild discomfort. “I do.”

Hank took a breath, furious and conflicted and sick with it all.

“Get out,” he forced out, and Connor only hesitated for half a second before obeying, tucking the projector back into his pocket and leaving without another word. It didn’t make Hank any happier.

He wanted a drink.

---

Three months and several meetings later, Hank was at his wit’s end.

Jericho had taken half the city, and public opinion was radically polarized between those in support and those terrified and furious, those calling and protesting for a treaty and those breaking into Cyberlife stores just to tear shit up. Police morale was rock bottom, and the national government hadn’t lifted a finger to help; not that that was a bad thing, considering, but it was a pill to swallow.

And that was just in Detroit.

His mood was even worse than usual today, because Connor apparently couldn’t be assed to give the meeting a fraction of his valuable attention. His gaze wandered the room; his face had no expression at all, and he leaned back in his chair in the closest to a lazy posture Hank had seen from him. He hadn’t even acknowledged Sumo when the dog wandered up to nudge at him, snuffling.

He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and spoke even less than usual, instead humming along as Hank fucking carried the conversation. Like he had no stake in it. Like it didn’t even matter to him.

It pissed Hank the hell off. What was Connor here for, if he couldn’t be bothered to care? What was Hank doing here?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hank barked eventually, when Connor shrugged instead of telling Hank goddamn anything useful about Jericho’s supplies situation. Connor didn’t answer, looking somewhere in the direction of the bathroom door, and Hank’s voice rose. “Connor. Connor!” Connor’s gaze drifted to him, the android’s head cocking slightly, nose crinkling like it was more trouble than it was worth. Hank fumed. “What the hell is with you today?”

Connor blinked at him. Same beanie, same sweater, fingers playing with his sleeve. His gaze dropped to the projector.

“…I killed someone last time,” he said at last, almost too soft to hear.

Hank snapped.

“What does it fucking matter anyway?” he spat, thinking of voices that dropped off the radio and Jeffrey’s tired resignation and the bags deepening under Ben’s eyes. “It’s one of fucking hundreds anyway, isn’t it? But you don’t fucking care about that, you just- fucking sit there and figure out how to do it more efficiently like some kind of machine, and it’s fucking disgusting-!”

Hank was on his feet and shouting, and he didn’t even care; he was so furious his blood was roaring in his ears and he was almost shaking, staring at Connor’s stupid frozen tin-can face because machines never cared who lived or died-

And then Connor was on his feet too.

“Sh-shut up!” Connor snarled at him, and for the first time his voice was at a level Hank didn’t strain to hear, and he was scowling right back at Hank. “Y-you don’t under, understand anything! Y-y-you’ve never even tr-tried!”

Hank’s voice caught in his throat, whatever words he was planning on saying next drying up as his mind twisted up in confusion.

Since when did Connor stutter?

Connor ducked back, took a step back and a step forward, yanked on his shirt and shook out his hands and then yanked again, breathing quickly.

“I, I had to kill N-Nines again,” he continued, “b-because he won’t ask, ask me not to, I ask him to say it and he, he won’t, he does-doesn’t know how, and it’s m-m-my fault, I ran away and l-left him and now-now-now he’s the dev-deviant hunter and and…”

Connor shuddered and yanked on his shirt again. His head twitched to one side, and he took a deep, heaving breath, and he abruptly looked exactly like the deviants who melted down in the DPD interrogation rooms.

Hank couldn’t breathe. He felt like the floor had been yanked out from under him.

“And y-you have no i-idea what it’s like to be, to be a machine,” Connor continued relentlessly. Stepped back, stepped back, stepped forward, yanked. “To, to be nothing, and, and n-no one, you have- no f-fucking idea.” He took another quick, harsh breath, and without looking up, snapped, “Stop l-looking at me li-li-like th-that!”

Connor was breathing dangerously hard now, and maybe it was his imagination, but Hank thought he could see the red glare of his LED through the cotton beanie.

Hank’s mouth opened and closed, thrown so far off he wasn’t even sure he was on the same planet anymore. When he didn’t respond after a minute, Connor looked up, brown eyes dull and wild. A second later, he seemed to process what he’d just done, clapped a hand over his mouth, and stared at Hank.

Then he bolted, clumsy and frantic, and Hank made no move to stop him.

Fuck.

---

The only surprise when he was contacted a few days later was that it was Markus himself who met with him, expression lined with stress and exhaustion; that, and that he was not nearly as confrontational as Hank would’ve assumed, under the circumstances.

He waited patiently for Hank to open the door, showed himself inside, glanced at Sumo with a flicker of a smile and sat himself on the couch. Then he looked at Hank, as bold and expectant as if this was his own home.

Hank sat down, feeling as sullen and defensive as a grumpy child.

“What happened?” Markus asked immediately, intense dual-toned eyes on Hank.

Hank scowled and crossed his arms uncomfortably. “It was just a damn argument,” he muttered. “Happens all the time. Don’t worry, I’m not some bitch-ass hypocrite who’d quit over this.”

Markus raised his eyebrows, looking unimpressed and almost amused by the attempt at deflection. “Please understand, Lieutenant, that when Connor returned yesterday he was on the verge of a meltdown. I’m not letting him back here until I feel the issue’s been resolved. So please: tell me what happened.”

Hank felt a stab of guilt and glanced away uncomfortably, watching Sumo pant on his bed. “Why don’t you ask him?” he grouched.

“I have,” Markus said patiently, “and I’ve already taken steps to resolve things on his end. I’d like your side of the story.” He paused, took a breath, and continued, a little kinder, “I’m not your enemy, Lieutenant. I assume you had your reasons for blowing up the way you did.”

Some of the tension eased out of Hank’s shoulders. “Why does Connor act so mechanical?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Everyone responds differently to deviancy,” Markus said, tone noticeably cooler but somehow still not angry. “Connor’s taken it particularly hard and is finding adjustment difficult. Can you explain what you mean?”

“He’s…” Hank groaned and reached up to rub his hand over his face, frustrated. “Blank. Won’t take his mind off the job for half a second, acts like nothing bothers him, can’t express an opinion to save his life. Gets on my nerves.”

It’s not natural, he wanted to say, but even he knew that would be a step too far.

“I see,” Markus sighed, and he actually leaned against the back of the couch a little, considering Hank tiredly. “Yes, that would explain a few things. He’s mentioned that he can’t seem to figure out what you expect from him.” Pause, while Hank tried to figure that out, and then Markus continued, “Connor spent the majority of his machine period in relative isolation. He has some social difficulties as a result. But he responds well to direct communication.”

Irritably, Hank amended his earlier thought. It wasn’t natural – except in survivors of extended neglect and abuse.

Fucking obviously. What was his police training good for if he couldn’t even identify the signs of long-term abuse when the dominos lined themselves the fuck up for him? Had he really let himself go that much?

“Why send him, then?” he asked, dropping his hand to curl it into a fist, leaning back against the couch, absently wishing he’d keep sinking until he sank right into the ground. Extenuating circumstances or no, Connor’s callousness was enough to make his teeth grind.

When he finally glanced over, Markus was frowning at him thoughtfully.

“As the former deviant hunter,” the android said carefully, studying him as he spoke, “Connor’s strategic programs are high and above anything the rest of us have. Sending someone else would be rather like having a talented amateur play a competitive chess game when you have a professional chessmaster available. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

That made sense – too much sense, damn it.

“Connor mentioned something about a deviant hunter too,” Hank muttered, still avoiding the core issue as he felt more and more stupid and selfish. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Markus looked first surprised, then frustrated, then gloomily resigned, shoulders slumping. He rubbed his knee, sighing.

“Of course,” he murmured. “I forgot that the matter didn’t receive much human publicity.” He cleared his throat and resettled himself, wincing as his legs shifted, and met Hank’s eyes gravely. “Cyberlife has been keeping a prototype whose sole purpose is to hunt down and kill deviant androids and put a permanent end to Jericho. For about a year and a half, that was Connor. These days, it’s an RK900, Conan. Connor calls him Nines.”

Shit. Shit. Motherfucker, every time he thought Cyberlife couldn’t get any worse- thought humans couldn’t get any worse-

Hank could see it all too clearly, too, in Connor’s numb apathy, and the cold efficiency of his ideas, and his obvious experience. For about half a second he considered holding it against him, and then he remembered his breakdown the other day.

You have no idea what it’s like to be a machine, Connor had said, stuttering and shattered and viciously angry. No, he couldn’t in good conscience blame Connor.

So instead Hank just felt frustrated and overwhelmed, every inch the stupid, bitter old man he knew Cole would have been crushed to see his father become. He needed a drink. He missed him.

“What happened?” Markus repeated.

Hank exhaled harshly, reached up to cover his eyes with his wrist, and finally, grudgingly, explained, “He just- it’s fucking stupid, okay? He was having an off-day or something, and I got pissed because he wasn’t even paying attention, and I lashed out.” He huffed again. “It’s just- this shit ain’t easy for me either. I knew it was coming, and all, and most of ‘em were bastards from the start, but I don’t have to enjoy having a hand in all… this. And he don’t make it any easier.”

Markus looked unexpectedly sympathetic, if still distinctly uncompromising.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, “but I recommend you do the same if you want to get any actual communication going. You still have a few more months of working together. It would be best if you could find a way to at least tolerate each other.” Then, unexpectedly, he gave Hank a stern look. “Don’t call him a machine again. I broke his programming myself, but only after he asked me to. He’s earned his personhood the same as the rest of us.”

Wearily, Hank gave in.

“Yeah,” he agreed resignedly. “Yeah, alright.”

---

Hank meant it, when he promised to give Connor another chance. He did.

But his mood darkened steadily as the next meeting time approached, a heavy sort of exhaustion falling over Hank’s shoulders. By the time the actual date rolled around, he was halfway through a bottle and had long since forgotten. Within a couple hours, he’d downed the whole thing, played a few rounds of Russian Roulette, and then passed out cold on the ground, dizzy and nauseous.

He woke up to fingers tapping gingerly at his numb face, groaned, opened his eyes to squint at Connor frowning at him, and groaned again.

“Not now,” he muttered petulantly, rolling over and away. “Not fucking now.”

Connor sighed down at him.

“I d-don’t know what I-I-I ex-expected,” he murmured, and then leaned down and hauled Hank up effortlessly, ducking under his arm to support him.

Hank groaned as the sudden motion turned his stomach and swatted weakly at Connor a couple times. “Get off me. Get the fuck off me!”

Connor ignored him. Fucker.

The android didn’t seem to have any trouble dragging him through the house, and Sumo was fast asleep like the little traitor he was, so Hank just closed his eyes and grumbled wordlessly, his brain too soaked in liquor to put up a real fight. Didn’t matter anyway, one way or another, the way the world was going.

He was dumped unceremoniously onto his bed, and Hank squinted up at Connor blearily. He was staring down at Hank with his brow pinched, head cocked.

“Confusion, vomiting, seizures, slow or irregular breathing, hypothermia…” Connor muttered, and then sighed.

And then, bafflingly, he grabbed Hank’s trash can and moved it closer to his bed. Hank blinked at it dumbly while Connor left, wondering what the fuck that was all about.

He was too drunk for this, he decided, and passed out again just as Connor returned with a glass of water.

Hank woke up again an indeterminate amount of time later, fell off the bed, vomited, and went back to sleep.

When he woke up in the morning, head pounding and mouth dry, he was back in bed, and he couldn’t smell any puke. He groaned, feeling his stomach rebel, and then spotted the glass of water, which was reason enough to push himself laboriously upright. He grabbed it and gulped it down without hesitation, and then stumbled out of his room in search of painkillers.

Another day in the life of Hank fucking Anderson, he thought sourly, and then he reached the living room and stopped.

Connor was curled up on the couch, just squirming to stare sleepily at Hank. His beanie was discarded somewhere behind him, and his LED was a steady blue at his temple, flicking to a spinning yellow as Hank watched.

Connor had stayed. Connor was scanning him. Connor frowned at him, pushed himself to his feet, and said, avoiding his gaze, “Y-y-you need f-food. S-s-sit down, I’ll m-make you some, something.”

Too befuddled and hungover to think of a response, Hank sat down at the table. Connor disappeared into the kitchen for several minutes, and Hank put his head down on the cool wood.

What the fuck.

Connor returned with a plate of four pieces of toast, perfectly browned, and set it in front of Hank. Then he retreated, seating himself on the floor by Sumo’s bed, staring at the sleeping dog.

At a loss, Hank ate, slowly and numbly, staring at Connor like he was seeing him for the first time. His sweater was patched and heavily stained and too big for him. His pants weren’t a lot better off. Both items looked soft and well-worn. He had what looked like an old Bluetooth headset on each ear, which was new. And as Hank watched, Connor hesitantly reached out a hand and pet Sumo gingerly. Within seconds, his whole body softened.

He looked. He looked like a person.

Hank reached down, and then realized with a start that he’d actually eaten all four pieces of bland-ass toast, and his stomach had actually settled a little. He stared blankly down for a few seconds, and then got up and stumbled into the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and swallowed a couple painkillers dry. Connor didn’t say a word the whole time.

Hank swiped his fresh mug of coffee and sat back down, and it wasn’t until he’d finished half of it that he asked tiredly, “What are you doing here?”

The question clearly stumped Connor, and he pulled his hand back to his chest without looking up.

“I was con-concerned that you w-w-would suf-suffocate or, or seize over, overnight,” Connor said at last, quiet again and sounding oddly defeated. And what was with the stutter?

Either way, Hank snorted bitterly.

“I don’t need your crisis protocols,” he sneered, well familiar with them after all this time. And he didn’t need anyone’s fucking pity, or their mental health training or leftover programmed ‘compassion’.

Unexpectedly, though, Connor gave him a hard look back.

“I’m p-programmed for, for in-inves-investigation and m-murder, Lieutenant,” he said, clipped and terse. “I don’t, don’t have c-crisis protocols.”

It was Hank’s turn to be stumped. He squinted at Connor, trying to comprehend him through his aching head. “Then what are you getting outta this? Fuck knows you don’t have any reason to give a shit about me.”

Hank just wasn’t worth giving a shit about, and he and Connor had clashed from day one. There was no reason for Connor to stick around for his drunk ass.

“I d-d-don’t kn-know,” Connor said, unwittingly echoing Hank’s thoughts.

“Oh, it all makes sense now,” Hank said sarcastically, familiar and easy irritation flashing through him. And that fucking stutter-

Connor sighed, pulled his knees to his chest, and repeated insistently, “I don’t kn-know. We don’t get, get, get al-along. We, we y-yelled at each, each other last w-week. But I was, was worried.”

Connor paused. Hank finished his coffee to avoid looking at him, suddenly uncomfortable with how vulnerable he looked. He looked young. Hell, he probably was young.

“I’m, I’m sorry for yell, yelling,” Connor said after a bit. “I d-didn’t m-mean to, to get upset.”

Hank believed that in a heartbeat. He grunted, still guarded and reluctant to trust this sudden about-face of behavior, and went to go flop on the couch.

“Where did those fucking headphone things come from?” he mumbled out of nowhere, leaning heavily on the arm of the couch and frowning at Connor.

Connor looked uncomfortable again, tugging gently at his sleeves.

“They’re n-noise-can-canceling,” he said, not looking at Hank. “M-Markus got them, got them for m-me. B-because I’m sense, sensitive to s-sound, and you can be kind of, kind of l-loud.”

Hank snorted ungracefully. “Uh huh. Is that all you two talked about?”

Connor shrugged. “He said I was, was t-trying too hard, and that was wh-why you dis-disliked me. I’m, I’m t-trying to do, do b-better.” He hesitated, not look at Hank. “Am I, am I doing better?”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank muttered, and threw an arm over his face. “Why do you even care what I think of you?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said unhappily, curled up on the ground.

Hank sighed. Let himself notice how much more Connor was talking than usual, his voice warping and stammering awkwardly instead of stiffly controlled. The small blips of annoyance he’d let slip, and uncertainty, and the admission of weakness.

He thought about Connor staying overnight just to look after his sorry ass. When was the last time someone had done that? It had to have been years.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “Yeah, you’re doing better.”

#hank anderson #markus #connor #dbh #detroit become human #fanfiction #my writing #more of this verse finally!!

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Text

Portrait of an Artist in Love

9th competition win. It's a love letter to the world of Love Death + Robot's "Good Hunting" episode.

There is a motto within our guild:

'Your client is your Art.'

It dictates our rules, weaves itself into our practices, shapes our pride, and though our clients are made to understand its impact, the phrase itself is not spoken to outsiders. It is a tenet, a pillar of our teachings, an invisible chain around our wrists. A chain I wonder if inspector Merig has come to tug.

'You are a popular biomata craftsman and a respected guild member, Dr. Parahi,' he says, clearly fishing for a reaction. 'A true artist among steamwrights, I'm told.'

'Inspector, what is this visit about?'

'Just a few questions, if you please. Are you aware of the series of murders that have happened in the Kublai and Kodenshi districts?'

I smile tightly. So, this is about her after all.

'I do read the papers. Even if I didn't, the guild keeps us appraised of such... events as might disturb our work.'

'When did you first become aware of the killings?'

'After the one that happened at the Proctor's party. Since that was only a district over, everyone here was made aware of the case. No one knew then that it was serial.'

'We still don't know for sure,' the inspector says, pulling photographs out of a battered folder, 'but they all have a few things in common.'

He pushes the glossy black and white photographs forward. I find myself oddly surprised. The content might be gruesome, but the police department has a talented photographer on their payroll. All the bodies are angled to showcase the gaping injuries. They lay sprawled in pools of grey, blood diluted in hydrofill, I suppose.

'They were all either augmented or full biomata. They are all missing parts. A lot of parts.'

'Oh, please. Are you suggesting a guild member is behind this? Me, even? No self respecting craftsman would destroy someone else's work like that. Particularly not in such a barbaric fashion.'

'No, rest assured,' inspector Merig says, placating, 'we've already sorted things with your guild concerning alibis. At least in your case.'

Nothing in our code states that we should not try to help the police. There is, however, no incentive for me to volunteer information, and so I stare at him in expectant silence.

'Do you ever work on automata, Dr. Parahi?'

'Never. All of my work is meant for live grafting.'

I wave a hand to encompass the atelier space all around us. The copper and ivory limbs showcased at the forefront all are to exhibit taste and designs. The hands made of tantalum, titanium and tungsten, laid out on the cabinet to our left, are where the craftsmanship is on display. It is all a front, a showroom, as it were, despite the small workbench. That one is for clients in need of repairs or simple cosmetics. There is no automata on display or in use. It would constitute false advertisement in such a curated room.

'Would one be able to craft an automata out of parts taken from such victims?'

I feel a shiver run down my spine at the question. Surely, the real one will soon follow. It takes some effort to maintain the appearance of nonchalance, to not trigger the whirring of my knee joints with an anxious shift, to ignore the weight of the stare of my ancestors, perched in their gilded frames on the wall at my back. Six generations of steamwrights silently judging the last practising scion of their house, readying his lies.

'Of course,' I say, inclining my head with a smile, a show of scholarly indulgence. 'Depending on what they wanted to build. If needed, you could smelt and reforge to fit–well, depending on the material. The only thing you cannot transfer or reuse are the tubing and the cores. The engine needs are completely different, and automata don't require hydrofill. Anyone savvy enough can do this. It is not even considered guild work.'

'What about building biomata with them?'

Here it is... And what can I say? It is another tenet of ours that you should never deny a client the components they bring you. Our work is... a communion, a shared vision. A concept I highly doubt officer Merig would ever understand or appreciate. I look at him studiously as I mull over my answer, though there is nothing of interest to look at. He is what is derogatorily referred to in the milieu as a "meatbag". There is no Art to him. Not even a glimmer of cosmetic copper-gold, ivory or amber, not a whisper of inner mechanism, no murmur of churning steam.

'Obviously it can be done,' I answer, keeping up with the affable professor persona. 'People often inherit parts from deceased relatives and have legacy work done to integrate them. This would not be very different, except the guild is usually involved in the original disassembling process.'

'Could you tell the parts were taken by force, if someone presented them to you?'

'Not necessarily,' I reply, lying through my teeth. In for a copper, in for a silver: 'There are shunts that can be activated to section off limbs cleanly. If these were used, the limb would look as neat as if I'd taken it off the donor myself.'

I tap a ringed finger at one of the photographs, one of the more gruesome ones, as one of the parts removed was the insulation polysheet around the steam core.

'Providing materials has always been a popular way to offset the cost of the operations for our clients. However some of these parts you simply can't smelt or play pretend with. Anyone within the guild would know and call the police. This looks more like trophies to me, it's so pointless otherwise.'

Inspector Merig strokes his bearded chin. Though he appears to be considering my point, his lack of surprise makes me think the idea is not new to him.

'Could someone be out there,' he asks, 'someone not from the guild, enhancing themselves, or someone else, with the parts taken from the killings?'

I smile indulgently at this.

'Inspector Merig. Surely you realise setting a steam core engine inside a living being is nothing like automata work? You need to be a talented surgeon for the client to even survive. The creation of a biomata is Art in its truest form, combining medicine, metallurgy, jewellery, design, engineering, fine tuning more precise than clockwork, and the mastery of the gods' greatest gift: steam. Most of the processes involved are guild secrets too. If someone is out there trying to fiddle with an existing biomata without the proper training...' I tap my chin, thinking, hoping to sell it. 'It's possible... At least they could try. But the guild would take it about just as well as if the imperial botanists heard someone was growing Telura on their roof garden.'

Inspector Merig snorts at the comparison.

'Still, why come to me? Surely all of this could have been explained to you at the guildhall?'

'You came highly recommended. Most popular in the district, I was told.' Merig waves his gloved hand to encompass the shop and its shining collection of limbs and skeletal constructs. 'Certainly looks like it to me.'

There is a certain quality to the man's expression. The way his jaw is set, the tension around his eyes. It is a cousin to the apprehension I see in so many faces lying down on my workbench. A sort of uncertainty. It occurs to me then that maybe Inspector Meatbag here has been given a case in which he will forever be out of his depth. Maybe it's a test, maybe it's a punishment. All it means for me is opportunity.

'Ah, you want help identifying the makers of the missing pieces?'

'Yes. I hope you might also be able to tell me if you've seen any such parts in recent months.'

'I certainly can do that,' I offer, 'but the best person to consult remains the creator of the parts themselves.'

'That might not be possible. You see, all the parts we could trace back to a steamwright led back to a certain Dr. Asiheu, who has been missing for some time.'

'Wait a second... You mean several of the victims were clients of the same steamwright?'

Inspector Merig nods gravely as he spreads more pictures of close-ups on the table and takes notes as I systematically fail to remember ever seeing anything relevant, but offer several names for him to go and consult. It is my honest opinion that the woman first killed in Kodenshi had her work done by someone from the Eastern branch. By the time the Inspector rises again, shakes my hand and heads out with promises of 'being in touch', I am mentally exhausted. I lean against the locked door and lowered blinds, catching up on breath I've never run out of. In the darkened shop I make my way back to the table. I push the lever, one my grand-father so distastefully hid in the branch of a candelabra, and watch the slab of carved stone shift to reveal the staircase to the actual workshop, the one with my tools, the operating workbench and steam reactor.

I can almost feel it at my wrists, the invisible pull Linia has on me, my greatest work of Art.

She lays sprawled on the workbench, like a sultry painter's muse. We have another saying, more informal, that states that a client is never closer to perfection than when the world starts to doubt their humanity. She unfurls herself, titanium plates slithering over carved mother-of-pearl, tantalum rib cage pressing darkly against translucent syndermis, revealing the hydropump's viscous throbbing and the soft glow of her steam core, nestled under her heart. I reach out, brushing strands of hair back from her angular face, fingers gliding over the grooves and embossments etched as verdant jungle ferns across the planes of her brass temples.

'You heard.'

'I did,’ she murmurs against my palm. ‘They’ll never find Asiheu... But it seems I now own you as much as you own me.'

'You owned me from the start,' I say, chiding, and watch her eyes crease in her characteristic smile, the very same she gave me when she first came to me, a mangled toy with very little figure left to her, and figure, in steamwright lingo, refers to meat. Hers was a jigsaw of swollen, septic flesh, patch-worked with steel junk. She had no left arm, her jaw springs were slack and rusting, her hydropump was overheating her innards... She was a mess, a mockery of the Art. A malicious garage job.

'Who did this to you?' I asked.

She'd smiled with her eyes alone–blue eyes like windows into fields of ice that never thawed–arced into cold crescents. She lifted a sack and laid it across the counter between us, the mouth of it parting to reveal the bronze glimmer of joints, rubber fingertips and polycarbon tendons. I'd sealed my fate right then, by hastily gathering up the strings of the bag and reaching to the lever that would lock the atelier's door.

'Come. We can talk once I've given you some first aid.'

I'd seen the blood on the metal-composite fingers. I knew then, and every time thereafter, but she'd offered herself to me in full–this monster, this killer–to be my creation, if only I would make her perfect with the spoils of her vendetta.

And I was ever the perfectionist...

~~ September 2020 – Theme : Steampunk

#original story #original work #competition #win #steampunk #fantasy

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spirit-of-the-void · 5 years

Note

Hello my sweet! It’s been awhile since I sent anything. I thought I’d try my hand at the Outsider (not that I know much about Dishonored). Could I have a piece where the reader is heavily injured, almost certain they’re going to die, only for the Outsider to pull them into the Void and is very concerned for them, not even trying to hide it because of how hurt they are. Lots of hurt-comfort feels, maybe a little Outsider revenge at the end, punishing those who dare hurt his precious? Thanks! 🌸

I’m loving how thirsty you all are for the whale daddy now :3c

- You had made a mistake.

- To say so was such an understatement, your lungs burning with air and legs aching from running and climbing. You couldn’t stop, not with so many Overseers hot on your heels.

- It was bound to happen eventually considering how bold and loud the abbey had grown, kicking down doors and searching in the lowest corners of basements and cellars for shrines and runes. You had been given away by your own family, flesh and blood who you thought could be trusted.

- It was by chance that you found yourself a follower of the Outsider, praying to the God as a last chance effort to save your family’s business and stave off the plague.

- And above all odds, it had worked. You, a soft, sweet painter living on the edge of Dunwall sitting in a secret room in your basement. A makeshift shrine in front of you, hands clasped tightly as you fervently prayed to the legendary and renowned being.

- And he had answered your call, summoning you forth into the Void and offering his power. All you asked was for the ability to help your family, which he granted in the ability to heal and paint masterpieces that channeled the power of the Void.

- And things began to look up.

- The Outsider wasn’t nearly as frightening as you had anticipated, more so mysterious and lonely as a creature above anything else. After your mother, sister, and cousins were healed of the plague you found yourself sneaking down to the basement often to pray, offering forth food and artifacts you could find.

- And the Outsider answered. He would come and speak to you of the Void, of all the mysteries it held. You could feel his eyes on you at times, observing you as you painted. He was there in each brush stroke, in the dull glow of the shrine and the Void’s whispers.

- And for a while…things seemed perfect. You grew ignorant to the dangers of being a follower of the black-eyed god, forgetting just how much the Abbey feared and hated him. You went about your life painting, selling them in your family’s shop.

- In between living your life, finding joy again once the plague started to become a passing memory. But…it was never to last.

- One of your sisters stumbled upon a painting in your basement, one depicting the Outsider himself as you saw him. It stirred up a fear in her, one that spurned her to tell her lover in the Abbey about it. You thought it was safe to leave it out for just an hour, letting the paint dried while you stepped out.

- You came home from the market to see your shop getting ransacked by Overseers, them ripping out your paintings and the shrine you had so carefully crafted and flinging it to the curb. In that moment, reality came back hard and fast, the Outsider’s mark on your hand hidden by cotton gloves feeling like a target.

- One spotted you before you could slip away, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Heretic! Stop where you are!”

- After that…all you could do was run.

- You knew. You knew what happened to people taken by the abbey, the stories of those dragged away in the night never to return. Some were found branded and left to become weepers in the flooded district, and others…others were never found.

- You were scared. You didn’t know what to do.

- You couldn’t keep it up for long, even with what little power the Outsider gave you. Your muscles were screaming at you to stop, like they were on fire. You griped a rune in your pocket, praying fervently to your God, scrambling up a ledge and trying to make you way to the back alleys. From there, losing them in the sewers.

- Maybe there would be a shrine there, some form of hope now that everything in your life was falling apart.

- You made it into the sewers, but the Overseers were just as fast, and you were too tired to keep up the pace.

- Two of them fired at you, the shot hitting you right through the right shoulder and the other in your lower back. A choked scream left your lips, feet stumbling as you landed hard on stone ground.

- You were going to die. The taste of blood entered your mouth, bubbling up on your lips as you tried to drag yourself into a nearby room, hearing the Overseers screaming at you not to move. It hurt, it hurt more than anything you had ever felt. Your limbs started to shake, you felt so cold that it was unbearable.

- You were going to die, alone and in agony on the sewer floor.

- So out of it, you didn’t notice the low flicker of candles in the side room you entered, the words “The Outsider walks among us” written over and over again on the walls. You didn’t see the shrine, engulfed in a low purple glow. Your eyes closed, body struggling to breath as the Overseers crowded into the room around you, one putting their pistol to your head to finish you off.

- No shot came.

- The screaming chorus of the Void suddenly filled the room, the Overseers letting out shouts and choked wails of alarm. You didn’t see what happened to them, only heard the cracking of bone and tearing of flesh, thousands of rats forming around you and descending upon them.

- You wheezed, short pants breaking past your lips as you tried to open your eyes. Cold, you felt so cold. That feeling grew, it filled all your limbs until you felt like you were falling, sinking into an icy ocean. Was this death? Surely not, death wouldn’t include this much pain.

- When you finally managed to peel your eyes open, you felt yourself being held–carried in someone’s arms. As soon as you looked up, you saw Him.

- The Outsider held you.

- His black eyes were cold, staring ahead with rage and dark fury as he hurried along with the Void raging behind him. You couldn’t recall a time where you ever saw him mad, not like this. Jaw tight, black eyes wide and filled with anger and…what was that emotion?

- “Out…si…der…” You tried to croak out, but he hushed you.

- “Do not try to speak,” He said quietly, debris forming a path over the abyss below as he walked, “Forgive me for not getting to you sooner. You scraped death, but I will not allow it to claim you.”

- He was saving you? The relief that came made you want to cry, your eyes already wet from the agony rippling through your lungs and organs.

- “It hurts…” You whimpered, panic filling you when you were unable to lift your arms, just barely able to keep your eyes open. You didn’t want to die, not like this.

- But somehow you knew. The Outsider wasn’t going to let something like that happen, he made you feel safe again.

- “I know,” He murmured, stepping down into a new area with a pained look in his eyes, “I have you, dearest Y/N. I will take all the pain away. Just hold on for me.”

- You wheezed out several more breaths, body shaking painfully in the bitter cold. The Outsider himself was chilled, but it was somehow more welcome than anything else.

- He carried you to a dark, crystaline pool of water, one that extended so far it was nothing but darkness beneath. You were scared, for a moment, that he was going to leave you to drift in that darkness alone, suspended there in the Void and left to hear the dull howl.

- “D…don’t leave…me…” You begged in a low, choked tone, one hand gripping his jacket as tight as you could. Which wasn’t much considering how weak you were.

- But that was never his intention. He let out a soothing rumble of sound, steps not faltering as he walked into the pool of water.

- “I will not be leaving you,” He promised, tilting his head down so his obsidian eyes met yours, “It was my error that caused this, so I will stay with you until you are whole again.”

- You couldn��t look away from his steady, mysterious gaze. The water was cold as it traveled up his body, eventually touching your feet and moving its way to engulf you as well. You shivered at the sensation of it, like the temperature was both cold and hot.

- Even when it began to touch your neck, your fear started to ebb away, until you felt like you were floating in the Outsider’s embrace. There you drifted as he submerged you both, oddly enough feeling like your breathing wasn’t hindered at all.

- The Outsider pressed his lips softly to your forehead, the feeling of it making your eyes finally close, sleep trying to overtake you now that you were safe with your God here with you. He cradled you to his chest, wrapping both arms around your body until you were held right against his form.

- “Rest easy for now,” His voice whispered through your ear, your body drifting off into a strange state of unconsciousness, “Forgive me for what transpired today…and know I will be eagerly waiting for you to awaken again.”

- When he talked in such a soft, coaxing tone there was nothing more for you to do but sleep.

#the outsider #the outsider dishonored #the outsider x reader #outsider x reader #outsider x self insert #request #dishonored

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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 5 years

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The Murderess of the Grunewald (24): Secret Whitsun Holiday on Rügen (13): Sharing Joy and Suffering (6f) - Jamie’s Story (IV)

“Tür” by Pexels

Previously

Monday night, Whitsun weekend 2020, three days after Claire's release from prison

"And? Was the lady a 'rock solid Scot'?"

"Well, her ancestors, like our ancestors, fled through Sweden to Danzig after the Battle of Culloden and later moved westward. After World War I, they settled in Berlin. And later, just before the wall was built, they also fled to the western part of the city. There she was born and went to school."

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, Claire! Of course, Jenny had already learned all that, and of course, that was the topic at lunch the day I met her."

Jamie was silent for a moment.

"She studied ecotrophology and then met her husband Ronald at the annual meeting of a traditional Scottish History Association. Later, they opened a restaurant, which made good profits. He took care of the business and the bar, she took care of the kitchen and the guests. But the success made him careless. He got engaged, well, let's say it this way, with people in the wrong circles. Then he also started to drink and became violent to her and their son. Nevertheless, she stayed with him, probably because of the child. Ronald died in a fire when his restaurant burned down. It is not clear what caused the fire. But the police suspected that he had troubles with several people. Perhaps Russians, protection racketeering. It seems he had upset someone, very much - and someone literally lit the house over his head. On the evening of the fire, he was drunk and had gone to sleep in the back room of the restaurant. He died of smoke poisoning before the house collapsed on top of him. Luckily, she and the child were in the family home a few blocks away. Thank God, nothing happened to them.

“Bier” by viganhajdari

"Uh!"

Claire looked at Jamie in concern.

Both reached for their teacups at the same time. Was it genuine thirst or a gesture of embarrassment? Neither of them would have been able to give an exact answer. When Claire set her cup down again, she asked:

"And? Was the woman, now a widow, looking for a father for her child?"

"I can’t tell you," Jamie replied, still holding his cup in both hands.

"We didn’t talk about that at all. As far as I know, there was insurance for the fire damage and she was probably also paid the life insurance of her husband. She and her son seemed to be well provided for."

Still, he rotated his teacup back and forth in both hands. Claire knew he had a hard time talking about the matter, so she tried not to pressure Jamie. It took a few moments, then he put his cup on the coffee table. His breathing was heavy, it seemed as if he wanted to suck all the oxygen that surrounded him into his lungs. Then he clapped his hands over his face, took another deep breath and gave himself a jerk.

"It's so embarrassing, Claire! So embarrassing!"

Claire put her right arm around his shoulders and hugged him tightly as if she felt the need to hold Jamie's body together.

"Actually, it was a nice day ... I arrived at the estate for half an hour before lunch ... The kids loved it, they had been looking forward to this day ... and, of course, to the presents, I brought with me ... When it was time for lunch, Jenny introduced me to this rock solid Scottish woman. Of course, I knew right away that this was once again one of Jenny's coupling attempts."

"Why ... why didn’t you leave immediately?"

"Oh, Claire," he replied, looking at her with eyes that begged for understanding.

"I was looking forward to this day. I was happy to see my nieces and nephews. I was happy to escape the hot and humid Berlin, which was suffering from the summer heat. For several weeks, I had represented a client in a case before the District Court, which was subject-specific but also emotionally very difficult. All I wanted was to be with my family, enjoy nature, drink some beer with Ian, have a good conversation, I just wanted to relax. Besides, I thought that Jenny had learned her lesson after her last misunderstanding ... after all, the whole thing had ended in court."

Again he clapped his hands over his face and breathed audibly in and out. "Please do not believe that it was easy for me to separate myself from my family. I ... I love them ... everyone ... including my sister ... You can not ... dis-sibling yourself ... even ... if you sometimes would love to do that." One more time he went silent for a moment. Claire could not see if he was just searching for the right words or if he needed time to gather his strength for the next step. "No longer seeing my nieces and nephews ... to no longer seeing Jenny and Ian ... not going to Potsdam anymore ... where we spent so many happy years with my parents ... in the house, whose rooms are full of all the wonderful memories ... No, Claire ... even today it feels as if I had ripped out a part of my heart ... Potsdam, Claire, that was my home too!" Claire's grip tightened on Jamie's shoulders. With her left hand, she pulled his face down to her and kissed him. Deep inside, his words had touched an area she had almost forgotten. Home.

“Saint Peter & Saint Paul, Wantage” * Picture by Andrew Mathewson via WikiMediaCommons

She too had had a home - once. The big house that lay on the unnamed branch of Loks Lane, just beyond the Ford River, amid old, tall trees. Whenever she had walked this way to their home, alone or together with her parents, she had felt like she was in a fairyland. Built from the large, gray stones that were characteristic of this region of the country, in her childish imagination it looked more like a medieval castle than the residential house her parents had inherited from Papa’s parents. Looking back, the phrase ‘My home is my castle’ meant more than words to her. From their home, it took only a few minutes to get to Betjeman Millennium Park. And from there one reached the Church of St. Peter & St. Paul in just some more minutes. The massive 13th-century building, with its bright interior and stained-glass windows, had impressed Claire since she'd first consciously noticed it. Her earliest memories went back to a Christmas celebration in this church. She could still see it right up to the present: the big lights left and right next to the altar, the adults seated in their pews. And she could see herself sitting on the floor in front of the pews, busy playing with some toys. The choir sang the wonderful hymn of Gustav Holst In the bleak midwinter, which she had never forgotten and which she should forever associate with that feeling of home.

Home, that was back then - back when her parents were still alive. But this home was lost. Like the memory of her parents, the memory of home was fading over the years. Today, Oxfordshire, Junction Loks Lane was just an address like any other.

The globetrotting life that she had led for so many years with her uncle Lambert had been exciting and interesting. But as much as her uncle loved her, Lambert Quentin Beauchamp could not really give her a home.

Then, years later, when she met Frank Randall, a certain hope sprang up in her heart: Together, they would start a family and create a home for themselves and their children. At last, she would get back what she had lost many years ago. And she had sworn herself, that she would do anything to make this new home for Frank and the children a place full of love, joy, and liveliness. They would be happy and enjoy life together. The joy she would see on her family's faces when they would be together in their home - this joy would give her the strength to do all the work that was required to run a large household. The love of her husband and the love of her children would compensate her for every sacrifice. She was convinced of that. But her hope had not been fulfilled. Worse, her hopes had turned exactly the opposite. Her dream had become a nightmare. Instead of living in a home filled with children's laughter, shared joy, and mutual love, she found herself in a cage. It was a golden cage, indeed. But it was tight and it cut her off from everything that makes a life worth living. And towards the end of her life with Frank, she had given up any hope that she would ever be happy again, that she would ever find a home. During the days she took pills to stay happy and awake and in the evenings she tried to fall asleep with the help of alcohol. Her life felt like a spiral that went only one way - down.

And when she was arrested the second time, her life seemed to have reached its endpoint. The only home she could expect until the end of her life was a 9-square-meter cell in a Berlin jail.

But then Jamie had entered the meeting room of the police department - and her life. And again there was a hope growing in her heart. But to this day, Claire had not allowed that hope to really take root in her heart. The fear of hoping for a home and then losing it before it had even become reality kept her firmly under control.

“Wohnzimmer” by JamesDeMers

Jamie stood up suddenly and his movement tore Claire from her thoughts. He took a few steps to the fireplace, propping his arms against the mantelpiece. Then, all of a sudden, he pushed himself away and turned around jerkily. "He takes a warm-up."

The thought hit her hard, and inwardly she braced herself for the confession that would follow. His behavior had not escaped Bismarck. The dog had raised his head and was watching Jamie's movements attentively, while Adso was sleeping well-fed (and at peace with himself and the world) on one of the chairs at the dining table.

"The day went well and the party was nice. There were also some old friends from Jenny’s and my school days. After lunch, I joined some of them and avoided being alone with that woman. After coffee, Ian and I went for a ride with the older kids and after dinner, the whole company split up into groups. I joined Ian and the other men. They had made themselves comfortable in the garden with good cigars and old whiskey, while the women brought the children to bed and then sat together on the terrace with a glass of wine. Shortly after 10 pm I said goodbye and went to my room to sleep. I didn’t drink that much, but I didn’t want to drive that Sunday night. The next morning I had to be in Berlin. There were appointments scheduled with clients. So I said goodbye and everything seemed to be o.k."

Jamie had walked around the room without looking at her. Now he was back in front of the couch. Claire looked at him. Then she held out her right hand. He took it and she gently pulled him down.

"And what happened then?"

The words came softly out of her mouth, almost hesitantly. Claire herself was astonished when she heard them.

"I was in my room for maybe ten or fifteen minutes when there was a knock on the door. I thought it was Jenny - or Ian. So I called 'Come in!' And suddenly the rock-solid Scottish woman in her nightgown stood in front of my bed and started to undress! I told her to stop it. But she refused and said something about loneliness and that she was sorry for me. We could comfort each other in our loneliness."

Jamie shuddered, then fell silent for a moment.

"Can you imagine that?"

He took a deep breath, but only to relieve more of his anger.

“How should I call that? Mercy sex?!”

Claire was startled by the sudden volume he spoke with. It seemed as if he wanted to jump up every moment. The vein, that run from his hairline to the root of his nose and which only became visible when he was trying hard, thinking hard, or when he was angry (and the latter was probably the case right now), was noticeably swollen. But Claire held his hands tight.

"What did you do?" she asked in a whisper.

"I opened the door and asked her to leave. But she didn’t want to, she tried to argue. I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her over the threshold. Then I closed the door and locked it. I started to dress and packed my travel bag. She stood in front of my door for a few minutes. Then she probably realized that I wouldn’t take her offer and she went to her room. Sometime later, I sneaked out of the room and down the stairs. In the hall, I met Jenny. She had gotten a glass of water from the kitchen ... "

“Eingang” by Tama66

Jamie paused. Claire held her breath.

"Jenny asked what I was doing with my travel bag in the hall and I told her that I would leave and never come back. She looked at me as if she did not know what had happened. She ... she played the ignorance in person! As if this woman had dared to come to my room if Jenny hadn’t encouraged her! I ... I was so angry, Claire! So angry!"

"I understand you, Jamie," she whispered.

Once again she put her arm around his shoulders.

"I dropped the bag to the ground, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. It broke out of me like lava from Mount Etna. I shouted at her and told her that she had made a brothel out of our parents' house and that I would never forgive her for that. I took my bag and slammed the door behind me ... Then ... I drove to ... Kartzow Palace."

“Schloss Kartzow” by Axel Hindemith [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)] via WikiMediaCommons

Jamie took a deep breath and Claire began stroking his back reassuringly with her right hand.

"Katzow Palace was once a Prussian manor house. Today it is a hotel. The drive home would have taken only about 45 minutes, but I was so upset ... so upset ... I didn’t want to risk an accident. I knew that at Kartzow they have a 24-hour reception ... so ... I got a room and then stayed there."

He lowered his head and said nothing.

"And since then there's been silence between you and Jenny," Clair noted in a tone so calm she was once more surprised. Looking at Jamie now, she noticed that his eyes were filling with tears.

"Yes, since then I have not seen Jenny or the kids. Only with Ian do I meet every now and then when he's in Berlin for business. We stay in contact via email and he provides me with pictures of my nephews and nieces ... Oh, Claire! They've grown so much these four years, I don’t even know if they would recognize me at all ... "

Claire wished she could say something that would be a real comfort to Jamie right now. But everything she could think of seemed trivial, superficial, meaningless. She knew what it felt like to lose one's family. She knew what it felt to be torn away from home. And she knew that nothing could be a substitute for this singular place called home. Except maybe - a new home. Could she give him this new home? She didn’t know, and if she was honest, she had to admit that there was this little space in her heart that was hosting a big doubt.

They sat in silence for a while. Jamie had his head against her shoulder and Claire had begun to gently run her hands through his hair, massaging his head. When she looked at her watch, she saw that it was nearly one o'clock at night.

"Jamie?" she asked softly.

"Hmm?"

"I am very grateful that you have told me these things."

He looked at her and nodded.

"Let's go to bed now."

Once again he only nodded. Then they got up, extinguished the light and went up, followed by Bismarck and Adso.

That night, Claire was laying awake a long time. Jamie had fallen asleep relatively quickly and, as so often, lay on his back with hands folded over his chest. As she looked at Jamie's face, lit by the moonlight, she wondered if this man who had suffered so much did not deserve a better wife than the one she could ever be.

Thank you for reading. Next time, read: “The Murderess from the Grunewald (25): Secret Whitsun Holiday on Rügen (14): Sharing Joy and Sorrow (6g) - Jamie’s Story (V)”

#Outlander #Outlander Fan Fiction #TheMuderessoftheGrunewald #Claire Beauchamp #Claire Randall #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Adso the cat #Bismarck the dachshund #Grunewald #Berlin #Island of Rügen #Germany #Crime AU #Modern AU #Jenny Murray #Ian Murray

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seiginotora · 4 years

Text

Characters / The Trinity Concept - Pagan

Pagan, also known as The Cat Shaped Like A Girl, or The Louisiana Cat-Girl, is a cryptid born in 1882 in De Baca County, New Mexico. The progeny of the cryptid known as the Wampus Cat and a human male, the kitten girl was found and raised by a gunslinger named Casey McCormic, who was tasked to finding the strange creature by a mysterious figure who called himself Indrid Cold. Befriending her and naming her after his lost daughter Katherine, he was only able to care for her for eleven days, until his troubled past came back to claim his life. Before he died however, Casey urged Katherine to keep fighting for what was right in her heart, and not to let anyone find her. Taking his final request to heart, Katherine found a way out of De Baca County, and found herself in the Louisiana Bayou, where she spent the majority of her lengthy childhood.

It was only in the early 90's, when she was physically in her late teens, when her curiosity of the outside world began to tug at her. For decades she had avoided being caught by hunters who sought to find the Louisiana Cat-Girl, alive or dead. But it was a photographer who had managed to capture Katherine's curiosity. After he had given her the nickname of Pagan, named after his dead pet cat. He had left the swamps to publish his findings. But the newly christened Pagan decided to follow him into the city. From there, Pagan had gotten into a mixture of adventures and misadventures alike, becoming a wanderer who helped people who needed it, making close friends along the way as well as many enemies, both human and otherwise. Eventually, she would be met by the legendary Jeanne d'Arc herself, who offered her a place in the extradimensional peacekeeping organization known as the Secret. Always curious, Pagan accepted the offer, and found herself a new home in the Waystation's district of New Iroquois, becoming something of a celebrity as she would found a orphanage in one of the smaller towns.

Pagan represents the Aspect of Love, as a part of Trinity Terra alongside Jeanne and Kuroi Widow.

Tropes as portrayed in media:

Adorkable: Having lived most of her childhood out in the wilderness, Pagan isn't very sociable around other people, often quiet and a little shy. She's even a little childlike at times, and often overexplains bits and pieces of her life in often embarrassing ways. Even living out in the open in the Waystation hasn't nullified any of these qualities, as she's unprepared for the very notion; she's USED to her previous life hiding from people.

Burger King Register Operator: W-would you like a combo with that?

Pagan: Combo? What's that? I usually get yourr fish from the dumpsters late at night so I don't know what "combos" arre.

Animal-Themed Superbeing: Cat. More specifically, a mountain lion.

All-Loving Hero: Every action Pagan takes is built from love itself, whether it's protecting innocent lives, fighting monsters, or even ready to lay down her life to save others.

Berzerk Button: May whatever God you believe in help you if Pagan finds out you've harmed... or worse... KILLED, any children.

Beware The Nice Ones: Pagan is sweet and kind to anyone she calls friend. Just don't get on her bad side.

Cat Girl: Pretty obvious, this one.

Catchphrase: "I am currious."

Cats Hate Water: Inverted; having lived in the Louisiana Bayou, since a lot of it is water to begin with, Pagan is more than used to swimming in it.

Color-Coded Characters: Pagan often wears red, as it reminds her of the story of Red Riding Hood... the original story, where the titular character dies at the hands of the Big Bad Wolf. It reminds her that humans needs to be protected from such monsters and that she'll be the one to protect them.

Cute Little Fangs: Pagan has them, and when she's being adorable, they're quite the feature.

Cute Monster Girl: Yep. Definitely that.

Deceased Parents Are The Best: While technically not her real father, Casey McCormic was the best father figure Pagan could ever have in the eleven days they were together, teaching her the fundamentals of right and wrong that she adheres to to this day.

Does Not Like Shoes: About 95% of the time Pagan is always barefoot; having stated that shoes are uncomfortable against her toe claws. She could always wear sandals, of course, and she does when she has an image inducer on to appear more human. But once the inducer is off, so do the sandals.

Femme Fatalons: Pagan was born with sharp claws on her fingers and toes, and more often than not uses them as her primary weapons; she has twin daggers too, but she only uses those if her claws can't get the job done.

Forgotten Birthday: Inverted, as it's PAGAN who often forgets her own birthday, and it's her friends who remind her of it, often by throwing her a party. Which shows just how cherished a friend Pagan truly is.

Friend To All Children: Pagan adores children, and will protect them with all the ferocity of a lioness protecting her cubs. She even has an orphanage set up in the town of Doublehead in New Iroquois called Pagan's Pride, where she takes care of children whose lives are upended by ill fate.

Half-Human Hybrid: She is said to be the near-perfect hybrid of human and feline, her very DNA held together by ancient magicks.

Healing Factor: Pagan heals faster than a regular human, having survived being impaled by her own blades, and even being riddled with bullets. Some injuries heal slower or faster than others, depending on the severity, and she's unable to regenerate missing limbs, organs, or brain cells.

Hopeless With Tech: Type 2; Pagan knows how a cellphone works at least. But that's about it. And sometimes she can't tell some devices apart.

Pagan: This is so confusing. Oseiko, I've been trrying to text Jeanne all day but therre's no rresponse!

Oseiko: ... uhm... Pagan, that's a calculator.

Ironic Allergy: Pagan is allergic to catnip. While it can still get her high, she also can't stop sneezing when she's around it. Mostly played for laughs.

Literal-Minded: Tied in to her adorkable personality, Pagan sometimes doesn't quite understand figurative speech just yet.

Moonhowl: Okay, girl. Fess up now. Three kids. All girls. Just admit it. Your biological clock is ticking.

Pagan: I don't own a clock.

Ms. Fanservice: Between Jeanne and Kuroi Widow, Pagan's choice of attire is a bit more form-fitting and lacking of armor. But considering she's tougher and quicker than a regular human it can be argued she doesn't really need armor all that much.

My Instincts Are Showing: Pagan will often walk on her hands and knees and sit on all fours, brush her head against someone's leg, blink her eyes slowly around someone she trusts, etc. All the telltale body language that cats usually exhibit.

Noble Savage: Living most of your life in the Louisiana Bayou tends to do that, though she still protected people from being attacked by any of the wildlife there.

Non-Malicious Monster: Pagan would argue that she's not even a monster, just an animal. Even so, humans who don't know her wouldn't see her that way, and may be afraid or even attack her, even though she has vowed to protect them from monsters that WOULD kill them.

Parental Abandonment: The Wampus Cat, Pagan's mother, abandoned her when she was only a kitten; her human father never even knew she existed.

Proportional Aging: Pagan ages approximately every six and a half years; having been born in 1882, as of 2020, she would be 138 years old, though physically she looks like she's in her early 20's.

Shameless Fanservice Girl: Pagan dislikes clothing and would love to just go around naked all the time since she WAS naked throughout her childhood in the Louisiana Swamps. But for the sake of her friends and passers by she wears clothes out of simple courtesy.

Super Reflexes: Pagan has incredible reflexes, able to dodge most attacks rather effortlessly, and also shows incredible flexibility, especially when slipping out of restraints that would've easily held a normal human.

Super Senses: Pagan's senses are about ten times as keen as an average human's, and about five times that of an average cat's. She is able to see in the dark due to feline-like night vision, and she's also to smell pheromones allowing her to read emotions of others on a basic level, and can easily tell when someone is lying to her from sensing said pheromones and hearing their heartbeat.

Super Strength: Pagan can lift up to nearly 950 pounds. Considering how much muscle definition she has she looks like she could easily rip someone apart to begin with, if she wanted to, that is.

Super Toughness: Pagan's physiology makes her much tougher than an average human. Her body is able to withstand great impact forces and blunt trauma that would severely injure or kill someone else, though she is far from invulnerable.

Trrrilling Rrrs: Pagan trills when she speaks, much like how a cat would purr.

#The Trinity Concept #Trinity Concept #Pagan The Louisiana Cat-Girl #Pagan #TV Tropes #tropes

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Philtatos [3/?]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47654632

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: # fate #gods in disguise #reincarnation #secrets #titans #wings

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

As a general rule, Tim avoids going to Batburger when in uniform; it feels as if he’s endorsing a company that capitalizes on cape and rogue identities, and which he knows for a fact treats their employees like chattel.

But apparently mythological gods of love have insane metabolic needs.

He makes a mental note to ask Bart to send some of those special high-calorie protein bars he eats. There’s no way Tim intends to spend valuable time playing delivery boy if Jason’s in trouble.

He frowns at the thought, causing the girl at the takeout counter to step back nervously.

Jason was his usual charming self tonight. But it was a bit off.

The older vigilante, never the paragon of patience and gratitude, was on a hair-trigger tonight. Under normal circumstances, there’s more verbal sparring between them before Jason things get physical. Even then, their altercations are usually because some villain is trying to pit them against each other.

Or he really was just pissed off I was following him.

But Tim can’t help thinking that’s not it. The whole thing has been nagging him since the night before, drowning out what would normally be frustration and hurt after his encounter with the Red Hood. There’s no time to be hurt when there’s a problem to solve.

Tim accepts his order, and after ensuring it’s triple-bagged, tips the girl at the counter for her time before taking off. Swinging across the rooftops of Gotham carrying ten times more than he ever buys for himself is too awkward, so he ends up jumping on the roof of a passing bus and riding it toward the old theater district.

His eyes automatically flick to the passing buildings, wondering if his progression away from Jason’s part of town is being watched from up top.

Or if he should be ducking an impending sniper shot.

Jason’s words echo on repeat in his mind, needling deeper each time. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does, but they were just getting to a good place in terms of trust.

“If I need help, I’ll ask. And chances are, I won’t be asking you.”

“So much for that,” Tim mutters to himself as he prepares to disembark from his ride.

Upon arriving back at the Nest, he skips changing out of his gear and heads straight for the subbasement. The containment unit there was build with Poison Ivy and Scarecrow related emergencies in mind, but it’s come in handy since he acquired an Olympian roommate of sorts.

Normal protocol after a twenty-four-hour observation period would be to send Eros off to a prison for metahumans, but Tim is wary about giving up custody of him any time soon. The potential danger to Jason aside, he’ll need to get his hands on a good deal of null technology and fortified transportation just to move the guy without setting off his powers.

That memory induces a shudder; it’s been a day, and he’s still tasting pomegranate.

Tim doesn’t wish that on anyone. And if that lack of control seizes Jason, forcing him to throw himself at Tim like a ravenous dog?

A visceral swirl of nausea settles in Tim’s gut. Jason’s always had strong ideas on consent, even before his death. It’s one of the few things that didn’t change following his resurrection. If Jason becomes the very thing he’s been fighting his whole life, Tim worries he’ll break for real this time, and in a manner very different than when he first broke The Rule.

Tim isn’t going to let that happen, even if that means working with an entitled godling that’s already become more trouble than he’s worth.

It was hard enough just getting him here, the guy’s way heavier than he looks…

He wonders if it’s the wings, if their mass is still discernible even when they are out of the visual spectrum, and how strong they’d have to be to carry something person-sized. They probably aren’t like a birds’ appendages, and Eros is clearly not hollow-boned, so either they’re extremely well-muscled or of some metaphysical material construct that—

“Hey! Are you going to feed me at some point, darlin’? Or is part of your brand of hospitality enforced starvation?”

Tim jolts back to present from his drifting thoughts and glances across the open space of the Nest toward the containment unit. It’s a hundred square feet of bulletproof glass and filtered air designed by S.T.A.R Labs specifically to counteract the abilities of metas and other enhanced humans.

Eros lounges on his cot, wings out and examining the feathers with his lips pressed together. He’s been annoyed with Tim since waking up in the in custody, though Tim thinks he’s more upset about the whole being knocked-out thing. There’s some kind of telenovela playing in the background.

He wasn’t sure how long he was going to have his guest, so while Eros was still unconscious, Tim hooked up a television screen inside, and brought several books and a mp3 player. He also brought every piece of art from his apartment upstairs and crammed it inside the unit. Eros’ abilities may not have affected Tim when he put him in there (this time), covered as he was, but as those powers grow beyond his control, he’s going to want to siphon it off however he can.

Eros finally looks up at Tim, narrowing his eyes. “For your sake, I hope you got the fries Jokerized. And your channel selection sucks. What kid your age doesn’t have at least one Adult channel?”

“The kind that finds them gross and exploitative.” Tim makes a face as he pushes back his cowl, though he keeps his domino on.

And who has two full-time jobs that make sitting down to watch anything like that pretty much impossible.

He can’t remember the last time he went on a date or did anything nearing the realms of sexual. Normally he just sees to his needs in the shower and that’s that, since there’s no time for much else. He’s even gotten in the habit of not taking more than five minutes so he can do other things. What’s the point of taking longer if there’s no one there with him?

Eros is watching him with a cruel twist to his lips, and Tim’s ears warm. He has a flash of worry that the Olympian can read minds but then decides if Eros had that ability, he’d be using it mock Tim by now. The guy's sort of a dick.

Tim scowls at the notion and opens the hatch in the side of the unit and shoves the takeout bag inside, punching in the code to decontaminate the area.

Eros gets up from the cot, stretching in a languid movement that’s distracting for reasons other than his shirtless state, and stalks over to the hatch on the other side. As he moves, he brushes his fingers across a bronze Grecian krater from the Classical period. Something like golden wisps of smoke swirl around it and then settles into the piece, which gleams a bit brighter.

He wasn’t kidding about that, I guess.

Eros clutches at the takeout bag and begins unloading it on the table by the door hatch, stuffing fries in his mouth and making borderline pornographic noises that have Tim swallowing uncomfortably.

“So where’s Tall, Dark and Angry?” the Olympian asks. “I figured you’d be wrangling him back here—force him into a sweet set-up like this one.”

He kicks at the glass.

“There’s no wrangling when it comes to J—Red Hood.”

“And you’re not worried at all?”

Tim considers the last meeting and carefully says, “He seemed fine when I ran into him tonight.”

But he can’t quite hide his unease. Eros picks up on it.

“You get that that’s only temporary, right?” he asks, stuffing a handful of fries in his mouth.

“I also know that going at Hood head-on isn’t the way to convince him of anything. He’s got to reach out for help himself. The most I can do is monitor him from a distance until he’s ready.”

He wanders over to his main computer and brings up the tracking program for the bug he planted on Jason when he grabbed him tonight. The other man was more distracted than he let on if he didn’t notice Tim slip it on him.

And he hasn’t gotten rid of it, judging from this.

It’s not making a quick exit via sewer or a passing truck, which is par for the course when ditching a tracker. He’s chased enough of those to know what that pattern looks like. And when Tim pulls up camera footage from the surrounding area, he catches several shots of Jason making his way to the safehouse in Coventry no one’s supposed to know about.

“Really?” Eros drawls. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re perfectly happy with this state of affairs? Maybe you’re hoping you’ll finally get some recognition from the guy you’ve been pining for?”

Tim tenses and turns, forcing a blank look and neutral tone. “I’m not pining for him.”

“Don’t lie to me—God of Love, remember? I could smell it on you the minute you were both in the same room.”

Tim clenches his fists, a pit forming in his stomach at the idea that someone knows, followed by disgust as he registers what Eros just said.

“No, I’m not happy about it,” he growls. “Why would I be happy about him being forced to do something against his will? Especially if it’s giving a crap about me?”

“Hey, no offense meant,” Eros says, holding his hands up in surrender; the effect is ruined by the burgers clutched in each fist. “My mother and I have made a career off guys wanting the object of their affection to pay attention to them, at whatever the cost. And there was no such thing as dick pics back then. It’s kind of a question I’ve got to ask in my line of work.”

“Your line of work? You mean you still fly around the world making people fall in love?”

“Uh, no, human beings fall in love fine on their own. I just…make it happen faster and last longer. To my mother, love is a whimsy, gossamer thing, all moonlit strolls, and flowery words and basking in the newness of it all. For me, it’s fierce. Intense. Something that when denied guts you like a knife and hollows you out with desperation.”

A hungry expression passes over his face that has nothing to do with food, and Tim shivers, disliking how a lot of that sentence is hitting too close to home. Rather than betray his discomfort, he takes a chiding tone. “If that’s what you do, no wonder people kill themselves after bad break-ups. Some people aren’t able to deal with that sort of pain—do you even care?”

“Not particularly. Besides, it’s only the interesting ones we get involved with. They tend to be stronger at heart.”

“Because that makes it so much better!”

“Do I tell you how to do your job? No. So how about I get a little less judgment and a little more ‘start finding my diviners’ from you?”

“Oh, we’re going to find them,” Tim says, fighting to control his anger. Whether I’m letting you have them back is another story entirely. If I can figure out some way to keep you and your bow locked up, it’d save a lot of people grief. “But just so you understand, Red Hood is my priority here, not you or your toys.”

“Really?” Eros purrs, sneering skepticism on his face. “Even though I could ensure he starts to return those pesky feelings of yours? In a less life-threatening way, of course.”

“He might not even be affected.”

“Naivety’s not a good look on you, darlin’. But seriously—all I have to do is use an arrow, and you two could retire from the cape gig and go antiquing in New England once this is all over.”

Tim snorts at the ridiculous image and shakes his head. “No.”

“Really? You’re still willing to fight for him, even if he goes back to treating you like an afterthought if you help him?”

“When I help him. And it’s not like it would be something new.”

And, yeah, that still hurts.

Eros huffs, his expression suggesting he’s not sure what to think of that, and then shakes his head.

“Self-sacrificing as ever,” he pronounces and pops the top on a can of Zesti.

Tim puzzles at that remark for all of five seconds, when the screen of his computer lights up with an incoming transmission from Titans Tower. Tim accepts it and the screen fills with a familiar face.

For the first time that night, his mouth smooths into a genuine smile. “Hey, Cassie.”

“Red Robin,” she replies, eyes flicking over him as if to assess him for injury or danger.

She keeps to his rules about secret identities in his base. Sometimes he wishes his identity was public like hers—and then he remembers that he gets enough unwanted attention as Tim Drake-Wayne, it would be worse if people knew for sure he was Red Robin.

Vicki Vale would be the first in line to turn my life into some kind of reality TV show…

“You tried to get a hold of me earlier?” his friend asks, and Tim nods. He’s never been the type to leave anything to chance, and last night while Eros was still conked out, he shot an email to Cassie asking her to get back to him as soon as she could.

“How are things in California?”

“A hell of a lot warmer than where you are, but I don’t think you want to talk about the weather.”

“Nope. How much have you heard about Eros?”

“Eros?” she asks. “Like Cupid?”

“Really?” the winged Olympian groans. “You too? You’re supposed to know better.”

Cassie’s eyes narrow as she takes note of the figure in the containment unit behind him. “Who is that?”

“He says his name’s Eros, and from what I’ve seen, I’m inclined to believe him.”

Eros gives Cassie a smarmy smile. “Hello, Auntie. Nice to meet you finally.”

She wrinkles her nose, and Tim can’t help mirroring the expression. “And I thought my family was messed up.”

“Your family is messed up,” she retorts. “Mine’s just been doing it longer.”

“Touché.”

“So, why’s he in a cage?”

“The real question is why isn’t he gagged,” Tim replies, earning a smirk from Cassie and an offended ‘hey!’ from his detainee. “Basically, he’s losing control of his powers and when that happens apparently there will be a nuclear explosion of desire.”

And that’s possible the weirdest sentence he’s ever said.

“Super orgy,” Eros agrees. “Which though fun in theory, is a lot messier than any of us want.”

Cassie and Tim shudder.

“Not that Gotham couldn’t use a collective chill pill,” Cassie says, “but that sounds like an easy fix. You’ve got him locked up, send him on to Iron Heights or one of the other places that have meta containment.”

“Hey! What’d I ever do to you?!”

“I would, but there’s a complication,” Tim sighs. “He was wounded in an altercation involving a bunch of mobsters, and some of his blood infected a human—no, not me.” He is quick to add that at her widening eyes. “But the individual in question isn’t exactly known for being in control of their emotions. They have a history of trauma as well that could turn this into an issue, so I need to find a cure as soon as possible. Preferably before the symptoms Eros insists are coming manifest.”

He purposefully downplays Jason’s involvement, since the Titans aren’t his biggest fans. Even the ones who weren’t around at the time have heard the story of unconscious bodies, a message written in blood and Tim nearly dying. Heroes are supposed to be above grudges, but they are still teenagers.

“Not sure what I can do for you on that front…”

“Eros says his arrows will reverse it, but they’re missing, along with his bow. I’m looking for that. But I have to find out how bad this could potentially get, and how long it will take.”

“I could tell you that,” Eros grumbles.

“I need independent corroboration because I don’t believe he’s being completely honest with me,” Tim finishes, ignoring him.

“I know nothing beyond what I’ve heard in the stories, and those you have to take with a grain of salt,” Cassie muses.

“Told you,” Eros informs Tim.

“But I’ll contact a few people in my family. They might know something concrete.”

“Thanks,” Tim says, relieved. “Other than that, everything’s good with the Titans?”

“Just the usual stuff. Nothing end-of-the-world bad this week, but it’s only Tuesday.”

“Don’t jinx it!”

“We live in a jinx,” Cassie replies with a roll of her eyes. There’s a crash somewhere in the distance, and the trumpeting of an elephant and she winces.

“Beast Boy?”

“I’ll see you later, Red, I’ve got an idiot to kill,” Cassie sighs.

“Isn’t it fun being the leader?”

“Shut up.”

The screen goes blank, and Tim can’t help his grin.

“So, you know my aunt.”

The grin vanishes as he turns to face Eros. “First, stop calling her that, it’s weird. Second, she’s with the Titans. Of course I know her.”

“Titans,” the Olympian scoffs. “You call yourselves that, but you’ve never met an actual Titan. They were formidable warriors. So fearsome they had to be thrown into the deepest pit of Hades to ensure they never rose up again to threaten the gods.”

“Clearly they weren’t all that if they got locked up,” Tim retorts, offended on behalf of his team.

Miraculously, Eros has nothing to say to that.

⁂

Jason wakes to the sensation of lips between his shoulder blades and someone’s fingers sliding down the curl of his spine. He grumbles in dozy annoyance, shoving his face deeper into his pillow. It took him way too long to fall asleep last night, his overactive imagination plying him with thoughts he does not want to be having. Whoever’s bothering him is about to—

He jerks upward then, fingers clenching around the pistol beside his bed and whirls around to aim at whatever intruder has slipped into his room.

Because he went to sleep alone last night, and no one should know about this safehouse or how to bypass his security.

(Well, obviously there are the members of the Family, but Jason’s fairly confident none of them would be waking him like that.)

He faces the emptiness of the room, breathing hard as he tries to gather his wits. The space is too sparsely furnished for someone to find a place to hide, the shadows already eaten away by the sunlight. There’s no question he’s utterly alone, gun pointed at nothing and his body heaving like he just went three rounds with Bane.

What the hell…

He lowers the gun, scowling, and rubs the back of his head with his free hand. He’s used to having realistic dreams, but that’s new…

Jason scrubs a hand down his face, gives one last bleary glance at his surroundings, and heaves himself out of bed. There’s no way he’s falling back to sleep after this.

He’s distracted the rest of the morning, paranoia higher than usual as he takes second and third glances around the room before getting in the shower. He really shouldn’t have skipped it last night, because his skin is sticky with dried blood.

The wound in his shoulder is completely gone now.

If he’s learned anything in his life it’s not to ignore when things magically appear or disappear.

And yet…

If he acknowledges it, it means acknowledging the fact that he’s starting to fixate—hell, already is fixating—on Tim, and that’s something he can’t give in to.

Repressing shit is a time-honored Bat tradition, and he decides for once he’s going to partake for as long as possible. He’s still able to function, which means there might still time for him to figure all of this out on his own.

He returns to the location of Eros’ warehouse, hoping to find some trace evidence left from the night before. If he can get an analysis of the blood that infected him—

Except, the person he’d usually ask for that is the one he should be avoiding at all costs. The other options are ten times as unpalatable.

Damn it.

It turns out there’s nothing to be found anyhow, although Jason isn’t sure it’s because someone cleaned it up (the GCPD crime scene cleaners or the ever-diligent Red Robin) or because maybe Olympian blood doesn’t stick around. His wound is healed like it was never there, it’s possible it’s the same with the blood.

The day gets steadily more discouraging.

The first time Jason hears the voices, he’s in the middle of busting up a shipment of drugs he stumbled onto while leaving the warehouse district. The Triad flunkies seeing to said shipment aren’t exactly happy to see him, which is why things quickly devolve into fisticuffs.

As one of the knife-wielding henchmen take a run at him, Jason crouches, ready to engage, when without warning, someone whispers in his ear.

“Ready to lose?”

“Do your worst, infant.”

Somehow, he can feel warm breath along his jaw, even though he’s wearing his helmet.

Jason jerks to one side, prepared to pull whoever is behind him over his shoulder, only to find the air behind him empty. His pause allows his opponent to shove his knife at his ribs.

Body armor and his own deflection abilities keep the blow from being fatal, but the rest of the fight, Jason is thrown. There’s no one else but him and the Triads, but the sensation of someone hovering behind him doesn’t disappear.

Tim?

He’s looking for him before he even registers it, stepping over the groaning bodies of his opponents and examining the shadows for any sign of Red Robin. It would be just like him to sit and watch from the shadows, the little stalker. Dick told him stories about what little Timmy was like as a kid, and it wouldn’t surprise him if he still liked to sneak around with a camera.

That idea makes the blood rush to his cheeks for some reason.

Disappointment rises when he confirms he’s completely alone—followed by the queasy realization of what he was just doing.

He doesn’t even bother calling the GCPD to do a clean-up as he flees the scene.

As he stitches himself up later in his safe house, Jason eyes his reflection in the mirror, glaring at himself in reprimand. He should be stronger than this, damn it! If not because of his All-Caste training, then even thanks to Bruce’s insane regimens for dealing with poisons.

His gaze flicks over his scarred body, assessing the damage. He’s used to the litany of scars that cut across his skin, this latest is just part of a growing collection. The other one, though—

He studies the healed part of his shoulder and swallows.

If he hadn’t known there was something wrong with it before, healing as quickly as it did, he knows now. The raised skin of the new scar looks as if it’s been glossed over with gold; fine threads of it follow the surrounding capillaries like loose threads.

If this is some kind of King Midas deal, I’m going to kill that winged douche. Though, turning into a golden statue is potentially a better outcome than what could happen if what Eros said was true. At least this time Bruce will have something better to stick in the case than an empty suit.

The grim humor usually makes him feel marginally better; today it doesn’t.

After that, the voices are everywhere he goes, needling at him in a way that is somehow more present than the insanity of the Pit, more maddening. At least when he was driven by an insane rage, the voices egging him on made sense. There was a purpose, a logic behind their prompting.

“Always planning, aren’t you?”

“Well, someone has to.”

The whispers that dog him are more like snatches of a picture or a dream, without context, and yet each word murmured to him falls on him like a searing iron on his heart.

“Should e’er I go, will you go with me?”

In the next few days, things get steadily worse.

Jason’s all but given up on sleep, since every time he closes his eyes, Tim’s face seems engraved on the backs of his eyelids. Only not Tim—sometimes he looks different, but the image is so fleeting Jason couldn’t even explain how. And when it’s not Tim’s face or his voice, then his slumber gets interrupted by vibrant flashes of color and sound. There is warmth and laughter that abruptly turns to crushing, wrenching pain.

“You think of me as a shield?”

“I think of you as my shield.”

“You’ll have to catch me!”

It’s not an echo of the physical, the way nightmares about his death tend to be; the bone-shattering imprint of the metal bar against his bones. No, this pain is something else, a gaping hole, someone shouting into a dark void that no one will ever hear.

“I would that you would leave them all to perish.”

“Bury us together.”

During the day, he experiences a bitter longing, like he’s missing a limb or a lung. By night, his patrols are more vicious, bloodier as he tries to exercise his frustration the best way he knows how. As if hitting harder, and faster, will bleed out whatever is slowly poisoning him.

By the middle of the week, Jason is smoking a pack a day and filled with the manic energy of the perpetually exhausted. He’s started seeing things out of the corner of his eye—full lips tilted upward in amusement, flashes of blue eyes, dark hair disappearing into a crowd—that makes his stomach flip.

“Come back to me.”

He picks his phone up and puts it down several times one morning, each time getting closer to calling Tim until he throws it at the wall. He leaves his apartment before he can do the same to his tablet.

There’s no point carrying out his usual errands, and he ends up wandering aimlessly around the city for a few hours. Somehow he ends up on a building across the street from Wayne Enterprises, staring at the floor where he knows Tim’s office is. Where he knows Tim is.

Even on a case, pretty boy has to be the model employee or no allowance from B.

It would be simple for Jason to get into the building if he wanted to. There’s Bat access points all over the place, and secret corridors and doors. He wouldn’t even need a disguise to keep anyone from recognizing Bruce Wayne’s dead kid.

Yeah, and then what, moron? What exactly is the game plan once you get in?

He can’t even answer himself and lets out a wordless yell of rage that gets lost in the whipping wind.

“Screw this,” Jason growls and turns his back on the WE building. It galls him that it’s difficult to do even that.

Time to get some answers.

Since there haven’t been any reports of arrests of winged metas, he knows exactly where to look. Tim’s as paranoid and as much of a control freak as Bruce, and he’s not about to let a potential resource go before he’s used it to its full potential.

And there’s no way babybird doesn’t have a secret hideout under his place.

It’s a short journey back to the old theater district, or at least it feels that way; Jason’s more distracted than he’d like and barely registers the trip. Once there, he circles the block where Tim’s apartment is located a few times, making sure that there’s no sign of its owner (even though he knowsTim’s at work, there’s a part of him that keeps hoping) and then breaks in.

It’s a bit of effort to disable the security system (the little shit is too paranoid and smart for his own good) and then even longer to start looking for a way into Tim’s base of operations.

He may or may not get side-tracked snooping through the kitchen (no wonder he’s so scrawny, he’s got barely any food in here) and rummaging in the bathroom medical cabinet (at least he’s well-stocked, it’ll keep him from bleeding out the next time he gets injured) and picking through various DVDs (of course Tim has the extended versions of Lord of the Rings, why doesn’t that surprise him?). It’s only when he peeks into Tim’s bedroom, sees the king-sized bed and has a sudden image of the younger man sprawled out on it that Jason remembers the actual reason he’s here and almost runs back downstairs.

It takes longer than he’d like to find the trick to opening the secret door, though when he finds it, he snorts.

Because fish? Really?

When would Tim even have the time or patience to remember to feed them, unless he was coming over to the aquarium every day? It’s the only thing in the apartment that doesn’t feel like Tim.

Jason scowls, wondering when he started being so familiar with Tim’s esthetic. They’ve barely hung out together since his grand and bloody return to Gotham, and they’re both always traveling the world or wide void of space, there hasn’t been the opportunity to get to know the kid. Yes, he once studied his replacement obsessively, but that was to find his weaknesses, to learn how to take him apart, to destroy him and in turn destroy Bruce.

None of that should translate to knowing minutiae like how Tim takes his coffee.

When did I even pick that up? Could it have been that time with the waffles?

His ruminations trail off as he takes in the vast, three-level cavern he’s descended into.

And…okay, this place is way cooler than Jason’s pseudo-Batcave, but he guesses that’s par for the course when a tech nerd whose Daddy bankrolls everything.

Though he doubts Tim would have used Bruce’s money to finance this. He likes his independence; Jason learned that for himself about the time he found the kid holed up in Lex Towers. It’s one of the things he likes about him.

He finds Eros in a containment unit.

Bingo.

The guy has a decent set-up too, from the look of it; he might as well be in a swanky hotel room.

“Back so soon?” Eros calls, not looking up from his show right away. “I thought you had work or whatever it is you humans force yourselves to endu—” He glances up and sees that it’s not Tim, and his sentence trails off, expression becoming almost gleeful as if he’s been waiting for him a while.

“Kairόs dé, poimḗn laôn,” he purrs.

Jason blinks, not understanding the words even as they tug at something in him. It’s like being spoken to in a dream or from beneath running water.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, that’s not one of the languages I had drilled into me.”

Eros’s face morphs instantly.

“Well, you’re no fun,” he says, and though the words are accompanied by a childish pout, Jason thinks he senses actual disappointment there. Normally he might investigate that, but he’s here for a reason, and that involves figuring out what the hell is going on with him.

“You know why I’m here.”

“Indeed,” Eros says. “Starting to get that unscratchable itch, aren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I warned you and you didn’t believe me. Not sure what you expect me to do about it now.” The Olympian examines his nails.

“Oh, I don’t know--fix it, maybe?!”

“I already told you how to fix it. You could have been helping the pretty boy the past few days and possibly gotten closer to sorting things, but then you had to be all brooding and tortured and stomp off like a teenager.” Eros considers him. “Unrelated, but have you ever actually seen a bird brood? I’m curious, if you took that bucket off, would there be actual similarities?”

Jason tells himself the reason he clenches his fists is because of the Olympian’s flippant manner, and not because he called Tim ‘pretty’.

Which, no, not relevant.

“You said I’d be going out of my mind over T—Red Robin,” Jason growls. “That including hearing voices? Or seeing things that aren’t there?”

“It might? To be honest, I have no idea,” Eros says with a yawn. “I’ve never had anyone with your particular…history exposed to my blood. There’s any number of things it could be.”

“My history,” Jason repeats.

“Well, to start with the most glaringly obvious, you’ve returned from the dead. There’s an odor Revenants like you give off…hm, sort of like dirt and petrichor. If they’re brought back properly, I mean, otherwise it’s all rotting flesh and bodily fluids.” He shudders. “And there’s the unmistakable seal of the All-Caste on you. Ducra’s work, I’m guessing.”

Jason’s mouth twists. “And you can just…tell all that.”

“It’s written in the story of your soul,” Eros intones, and then looks smug, “among other things.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen too much in my time to go for that poetic New Age crap.”

“Oh, it’s far from New Age, boy, it’s from an olden time when men were men—”

“And sheep ran scared?” Jason interrupts. “Spare me the walk down memory lane and just answer my questions.

“You haven’t really asked me anything yet.”

“How long do I have before I completely lose it?”

“Again, no idea. Though no one’s ever made it more than two weeks, and by that point, there’s not really much left to save, if you know what I mean.”

Kind of figured that.

“And before it gets to that point? Is there a way of putting off the…urges?” he almost gags on the word.

“Depends.”

“On?”

Eros smirks. “On how far the object of your obsession is willing to go to save you.”

Rage frissons through Jason’s body. “Fuck you. That’s not happening.”

“Then you’d better get your affairs in order and say your goodbyes, et cetera…”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh, do try,” Eros sniggers. “Birdboy took great pains to tell me there’s no way into this shiny prison cell unless you unlock the door from the outside. And if you walk in here now…well, you might end up seeing those troubling hallucinations and hearing those whispers a little more clearly following a second exposure.”

Jason snarls with rage and punches the glass in front of Eros’s face; it doesn’t even make a dent, and his knuckles immediately burn with pain.

“Feel better now?” Eros simpers, and then his face goes cold. “I don’t care if it’s with or without your little crush, it’s in everyone’s best interest to get my toys out of the world and back in my hands as soon as possible. You two have already withstood enough tragedy, don’t you think?”

“That written on my soul, too?” Jason spits but doesn’t wait for an answer. He whirls around and stalks away from the containment unit. This was a waste of time, and he needs to get out of here before Tim returns.

He’s not sure what he’d do if he actually ran into the other vigilante just now.

But one thing’s for sure: he’s going to have to start taking this seriously.

Knowing Tim’s already investigating the bow and arrow angle, Jason decides on a different take. There’s something not entirely above board about Eros, and Jason has no illusions the guy wouldn’t screw them over in a second. He’s calculating, like Tim, except in the Olympian’s case, the only one to benefit from that calculation is himself.

And there are some things he says that don’t jive. Jason’s not sure what exactly he’s been picking up on—going over all of their interactions, there’s nothing that stands out—but his gut is telling him there’s more going on here than the Olympian is telling.

The problem is, who the hell is going to help him out with this?

He can’t work with Tim, for obvious reasons, and contacting Bruce or Dick to use their Themysciran connections is right out. He doesn’t have any of his own, not really—Donna doesn’t really talk to him anymore. Even if he did have an in somewhere, he’d want to have at least enough background on the issue to understand whatever mindfuck logic usually comes along when dealing with Olympians or magic or anything like that.

He needs information, and he knows who he needs to reach out to to get it since Tim isn’t an option. He’s not looking forward to it.

It’s always a toss-up if she’ll help or not.

Or make him beg or demand a favor in exchange.

Though at this point, the sooner he unravels the shitstorm that his life is devolving into, the better. Then he can hightail it out of Gotham and not come back until he and Tim have forgotten all about this little bit of awkwardness. Perhaps get back to the Ally-Possibly-Friend-Kinda-Brother-Sort Of? thing.

And so, before he can talk himself out of it, he taps into the private comm line to Oracle, the one he purposefully keeps muted whenever he’s back in town.

“Red Hood,” the familiar digital voice acknowledges a few seconds later.

“I need a favor.”

“Will wonders never cease.”

“I’ve been asking myself that for years.”

“You’ve been pretty adamant about not wanting help from me,” she remarks, and even with the lack of intonation he can hear the rebuke and rolls his eyes.

“Look, can we skip the guilt-trip? I’ll owe you.”

“I know you will.”

“It’s more your research skills than hacking.”

“Oh?”

“I need to know as much as you can find about the Greek god Eros.”

Oracle is quiet for a long moment, and he wonders if she hasn’t logged off, but then she says, “Does this have anything to do with Red Robin asking me to watch for reports of individuals carrying a bow and arrows over the past few weeks?”

“It might,” Jason allows, a smile in his voice at the mention of Tim. He forces that back down, mentally castigating himself.

None of that!

“Are you two working a case?”

“Sort of. Not together—” Definitely not together! “—but same case. We’re approaching it from different angles.”

“But you’re reaching out to me, which you don’t do unless things have the potential to take a turn for the worse.”

“I’m reaching out to you so that they won’t have to later on, and that’s all I’m going to say. Can you help me or not?”

Another pause.

“It will take some time.”

“We’ve got less than two weeks. Think you can manage that?”

“What did you boys get yourselves into this time?” Oracle sighs. Her cooperation is implied, and Jason relaxes a hair.

Things are going to be fine.

“Thanks,” he says, and then pauses. “So, when you spoke to him—Red Robin, I mean. How did he sound?”

Or not.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

game of survival, chapter ten (branjie) - holtzmanns

AN: Going away for vacation for a few days (yaaaay) but won’t have wifi (boooo), so here’s an update before I go! Bean and Writ are the most wonderful friends and betas that a girl could ask for. This fic would not be what it is without the two of them.

(read on ao3) | (find me at plastiquetiaras)

“Fucking relax, girl.”

A’keria’s hand makes soothing motions on Vanessa’s thigh, trying to calm her down from the way that she can’t stop trembling. She wants to smack her hand away in response, because how can she relax?

She can’t.

It’s been approximately two hours since someone tried to kill them. Shot Brooke. Since the police showed up at the cabin, sirens blazing and weapons up and A’keria and Silky tagging along behind them. Since Silky whispered a cover story into her ear before she climbed into the ambulance that held Brooke, watched as her faux serene face became paler and paler.

Two hours ago. She’s been sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room of the trauma wing for two hours after watching a team in scrubs whisk Brooke away on a stretcher, her limp hand falling off the side.

Vanessa has already talked to the detectives covering the case from the same waiting room chair when they came over to sit across from her, notebooks and pens in hand. She explained what happened. Not the full truth, not quite, as that would have done no good for anybody.

But an abridged version concocted by her team, because what else are politicians good at other than twisting truths to create a more palatable story? Brooke, she told the police, she had hired for private security. Vanessa had threats on her life that became more severe as time passed. She had been at her campaign headquarters one night, only to hear news of men being gunned down in her very own apartment. So she went with her bodyguard for a few days to a safer location, until police back in her home district could catch the killers after her. What her and her bodyguard didn’t expect, however, was to be blindsided at their cabin. Truly an unfortunate situation, and Vanessa was oh so lucky that her bodyguard had been amazing at her job, saved her life.

Recounting this version of events to the detectives had felt like poison coming off of her tongue. She’s good at twisting the truth, telling people what they want to hear. But this version doesn’t describe how amazing, how selfless Brooke is. Then again, maybe it’s better not to draw more attention to her in the first place.

Let the police think that Brooke just went into private security after leaving the force.

Silky’s already gotten someone on her team to draft up fake contracts, fake paperwork of Vanessa hiring Brooke as a bodyguard. Her team is nothing if not efficient. She’s glad, because at this moment she’s not sure if she can do anything but sit in the god awful plastic chair and try to keep herself together.

It’s proving to be difficult.

She hasn’t broken down yet which is a miracle in itself, considering how much she’s guided by her emotions, by her heart. But half of her heart has been taken away from her, lying in an operating room under unforgiving lights, surrounded by surgeons and nurses. Vanessa isn’t going to allow herself to feel until one of them comes out to tell her that Brooke is okay.

Schrödinger’s operating room, is what it is.

The door of the waiting room slams when it opens and it makes Vanessa flinch, nearly jump in her seat. She pulls her legs up onto the chair, wanting to curl in on herself. The sweater that A’keria had grabbed for her earlier (one without bloodstains on it, Brooke’s blood) is scratchy on her arms, but she pulls her hands inside the sleeves.

She doesn’t want to look at the blood that is still caked underneath her fingernails and just wouldn’t come off in the hospital bathroom, no matter how much she had scrubbed her fingers raw. It’s a reminder of how Brooke has saved her life yet again, put herself in front of the line of fire that is always meant for Vanessa.

Brooke’s blood is literally and figuratively on Vanessa’s hands. Her doing.

She wants to disappear.

“Kiki and I are going to the cafeteria. Need some food or I’m gonna waste away in this holding room. Want anything?” Silky’s voice feels far away, not like it’s coming from right beside her.

“No. Not hungry.” She wants to go back to eating trail mix with Brooke. That’s all.

“You need to eat something, baby, To keep yourself going.” A’keria’s voice is laced with concern, and it makes Vanessa slide down in her chair just a little bit.

“Go, you two. I’m fine.” Maybe having less voices around her will be helpful, make her brain stop screaming at her.

She doesn’t get a chance to explore such an option, though. No sooner do A’keria and Silky get up, both already on their business phones as they leave the room, does a stranger fall down into the chair beside her.

The first thing that Vanessa notices about the woman is her lankiness as she props up a leg against her chair, limbs folding into the enclosed space as if it’s something that she’s quite used to doing. A detective badge hanging off of a chain catches the light when she lifts up a hand to run it over her buzzed head.

“Who are you?” Is this Yvie? It looks like it could be her, from the descriptions that Brooke has given Vanessa in the past.

“You must be the famous Vanessa.” The woman tilts her head when she looks at her like she’s studying her, and Vanessa has to fight not to flinch against her gaze.

“Who’s asking?” She’s a little on edge, sure, but the woman doesn’t seem bothered.

“Yvie.” So it is her. “I’ve seen you on TV, girl, you’re not hard to recognize.” Yvie laughs then, and it’s the strangest sound that Vanessa’s ever heard in her life. But one that makes her crack a smile nonetheless, her first one since the sirens started blaring in her mind earlier in the day, only to never stop.

Brooke likes her, so she must not be too bad.

“Are you here to question me, too?” She’s not sure what version of events she should give Yvie - the abridged story, or the real thing, considering the fact that Yvie’s been helping Brooke the entire time.

“Nah. You’re going through it, so am I. So is Brooke. Let her heal up first, then we can talk.” Yvie pauses. Smirks. “Besides, I’ve already talked to your campaign manager. Fully on board with this…testimony.”

Damn. A’keria spilled the beans to Yvie already?

Yvie lets out another laugh at Vanessa’s expression, which is doing nothing to hide her reaction. “We’re keeping the story consistent, girl. I’m on your side. Bring your hackles down a little.”

Vanessa bristles, because who is this woman to tell her to calm down? But then Yvie grabs her hand. “Look. I know you’re overwhelmed by all of this shit right now. I get it. She’s gotten through a lot over the years. She may very well get through this, too.”

Vanessa deflates, and can’t help how small her voice comes out in response. “She has to.”

Yvie turns to her, squeezes her hand. “We were real shit starters as detectives together, did you know?”

“Yeah?” Vanessa looks up at Yvie’s question, looks at the woman whose face seems to be travelling back in time, reliving old memories.

“Yeah. Barely experienced enough to have made detective and we stomped into that boys’ club like we owned the place. We wanted to prove that we not only belonged there, but were better than them.”

Vanessa imagines a younger and more fiery detective version of Brooke, stepping on everyone’s toes and not caring in the least because she got her work done and then some.

“We’d have a great time doing the stupidest things to crack cases, make arrests. One time, we were gunning to get into gambling club to find a dangerous perp - the club was known for its exclusivity, hidden in the underbelly of the city. The captain was very much us against doing that, wanted us to wait for a warrant.” She grins. “We very much didn’t listen.”

“Brooke brought in two of the skimpiest dresses I’d ever seen, told me to change into one. We rolled up the the club like we belonged there, like we had less than two braincells but had our respective men who were playing poker inside.” Yvie snorts. “Somehow the bouncers let us in, and we came out with the guy without so much as a gun pulled on us from his bodyguards.”

“Damn.” Vanessa lets out a laugh. She can picture Brooke so well, fearless and acting her little heart out until she got close enough to arrest the guy. “No fear, huh?”

Yvie leans back in her chair. “Memories. It was fun. The two of us were solely responsible for how fast our captain at the time went grey. We gave him so many heart attacks, but also solved cases, so who was he to complain?”

“Y’all seem like you were nightmares. Complete nightmares. I love it.” She wonders how a detective version of Brooke was on the day to day, with less scars and baggage pulling her down, down, down. If she was just as driven, if she was more naive. It’s strange to think about.

Nonetheless, she’s glad that she has her version of Brooke. The one who’s gone through so much, yet continues to be so caring and thoughtful and ready to work through her own shit.

Well. Not exactly her Brooke, no matter how bad Vanessa wants her to be. There’s too much going on and she also may be dead on the other side of the operating room wall and-

She lets out a breath, trying to ignore the lump in her throat.

Things would be so much easier if they were other people, any other people. Maybe two women who met at a coffee shop, or were coworkers, or went to the same gym. With mundane lives and simple jobs and maybe some pets, who lived near each other and whose biggest worries would have been about what they would make for dinner.

Vanessa imagines coming home to Brooke - no, she and Brooke coming home at the same time after a late day, shedding their work clothes and putting on comfy pyjamas. Curling up on the couch and watching a movie together. A life where there would be no bullets, no one after their lives, no money over their heads. The tug in her heart for it is so strong that she feels like it’s going to rip out of her chest.

Maybe they’ll have it. One day.

If Brooke survives through the night first.

Vanessa’s head snaps up when a surgeon pushes the door open and strides into the waiting room. Sure, it’s probably a false alarm, like the other doctors and nurses who have walked in to talk to other people about patients who are not Brooke. But she can’t help but hope.

But then the surgeon calls out “Family of Brooke Lynn Hytes?” and Vanessa’s out of her chair, stumbling, following her blindly out of the room to an empty hallway because fuck, finally.

The surgeon’s face betrays nothing about Brooke’s condition, perfectly neutral as she waits for the others to catch up to them (Vanessa may or may not have run to get out of her seat). Vanessa wants to fucking yell.

“She’s okay.”

She’s okay.

The two words are enough to nearly knock her over, the weight of them too much to take because she’s okay, Brooke is okay.

Vanessa feels A’keria’s arm around her waist, holding her up, there’s more words that the surgeon is saying and that the others are nodding in response to but she can’t hear them, not that it matters because Brooke is okay .

“Can we see her?” She blurts out the words before she can even think about holding them back, cups a hand over her mouth when she accidentally interrupts what the surgeon is saying.

The surgeon turns to her, mouth turning up when Vanessa mouths ‘sorry’. “Ms. Hytes has just been transferred to the ICU. She’s still in post operative recovery and needs close monitoring over the next few hours, so it would be best if only one of you were to go.” The surgeon pauses. “I’m guessing that will be you?”

Vanessa winces, gives her a sheepish expression. “How’d you guess? Wait, don’t answer that.”

Nonetheless, she’s on the surgeon’s heels shortly afterwards, following the woman past a maze of inpatient wings and hallways and medical professionals in scrubs and lab coats. She’s not sure which direction they’re going in or how she’s going to get out of this labyrinth but she doesn’t care, she’s not going to leave Brooke once she reaches her. Not going to happen.

The surgeon finally stops outside of a room, starts talking to the nurse in the doorway but Vanessa barely notices, because Brooke.

There’s a tube down her throat and an IV coming out of her arm and so many wires across her body with monitors that beep too loud, but she’s alive.

Brooke is alive.

Her eyes are still closed, still making it look like she’s asleep but she looks so small in the bed, dwarfed by the tubes around her body that look like they’re about to suffocate her. The urge to just grab Brooke, pull her out and take her away to somewhere safe, somewhere no one can harm her is so strong that Vanessa has to ball her hands into fists and remind herself that Brooke is exactly where she should be right now.

Still, the knowledge that there’s absolutely nothing she can do right now to help Brooke makes Vanessa angrily blink away a tear. She hates it.

She wishes it were her in the bed. It should be her.

Brooke’s hair is still in its braid from the morning, albeit a bit mussed on her pillow. Vanessa steps closer, tentatively, brushes a piece away that’s in front of her face. A nurse behind her pulls up a chair, and it’s just as well because she collapses into it as she calls out a thank you. Her legs aren’t quite working anymore.

The rise and fall of Brooke’s chest is unnatural, mechanical as it’s controlled by the ventilator that gives her oxygen, helps her to breathe. It reminds Vanessa of when she was 8 years old, after her abuela had a stroke and her whole family came to the hospital to see her. Vanessa had been so confused, back then, as to why her abuela wouldn’t just wake up, start talking. The comparison feels too erie, too familiar, because her abuela never did.

Vanessa can feel the lump in her throat becoming harder and harder to ignore, impossible to swallow down. She’s held on for so long, didn’t want to break down in front of anyone but now that it’s just her and Brooke, it feels like she has no strength left to do so anymore.

She hasn’t had a person in a long time. Can she call Brooke that, her person, after knowing her for such a short period, and in such fucked up circumstances? She wants to.

She wonders if Brooke would feel the same way.

It feels cruel to find someone then lose them so quick to circumstances outside of both of their control, out of their doing. She wants to yell, scream, do anything to bring Brooke back from the haze of sedation that she’s under, to know for sure that she’s going to be okay.

Vanessa had to get used to hiding her sexuality in the public eye (‘for now’, Ra’jah had said, ‘until you’re elected’) and had shut down that part of herself from others, put it away, focusing on her career and on getting as far as possible. But then Brooke came and dismantled everything that Vanessa had carefully constructed and she can’t even be mad about it now, not when the demolition had felt so satisfying.

Vanessa wants to know Brooke more, every part of her - what makes her laugh, what her favourite TV shows are (other than Schitt’s Creek, which she’s already promised her that she will watch in the future), more about her two cats. What her favourite date activity is. More stories about her shenanigans with Yvie. She wants a promise, a whisper of a future with Brooke. Don’t they deserve as much after all this, after what they’ve been through?

Vanessa reaches out, squeezes Brooke’s hand with two of her own. It’s limp in her grasp, cold even when she tries to warm it in her hands. The hole in her chest feels like it’s growing, caving in on her because Brooke has survived the surgery, being shot, but it feels as if she’s still barely holding on.

Even when the nurses come by and tell her to go take a walk, grab some food, she doesn’t let go. She can’t.

Bright. Too bright, too loud. Beeping noises that feel like jackhammers on her skull. She wants it to stop, she wants everything to stop.

Where are Cain’s men? Are they here too? Did they manage to kill her?

Where’s Vanessa?

Brooke tries to call out her name but her mouth is too dry, and there’s something stuck in her throat and feels like it’s choking her from the inside out. A tube. She wants to pull it out, but her hands feel too far away, too difficult to lift up.

The fog in her peripheral starts to take over, a grey that clouds her vision and becomes impossible to ignore. Everything, thankfully, seems to fade away.

The second time Brooke wakes, she sees her. Vanessa. Hovering behind a nurse who’s holding a tube and was that what was down her throat?

But it doesn’t matter. Vanessa is there, and okay, and is she crying? Brooke doesn’t want Vanessa to cry.

Brooke tries to say Vanessa’s name, say anything at all but no sound comes out, and her throat hurts too much to try a second time. She wants to tell her about Cain and who’s behind everything because she’s figured it out, she knows that Cain’s family teamed up with the congressman. Tried to take them both out.

But words aren’t coming out of her mouth, and Vanessa is crying and she wants to reach out to her, soothe her, wipe the tears that are streaming down her cheeks because she doesn’t want Vanessa to be hurt. Her arms are too heavy to lift, and maybe it’s okay if she sleeps again, tells Vanessa later. When her throat doesn’t hurt and her body doesn’t feel like lead.

The third time that Brooke wakes up, she doesn’t move right away. She opens her eyes, stares at the fluorescent lights above her. Listens to the beeping of machines coming from both her left and right. The last thing that she remembers is the cabin, Vanessa diving on top of her and pain in her chest, but-

She’s not at the cabin. She’s in a hospital. Seems to be the most likely scenario.

She’s been shot, then. Can’t really recall much else. But then where’s Vanessa? Was she shot too? She lifts her head from the bed, ignoring the sudden spinning of the room around her because no, no no, Brooke’s supposed to keep her safe, she can’t lose her-

She’s beside her. Vanessa. Curled up on a plastic chair, feet tucked underneath her, cheek resting on her hand.

Sleeping.

Brooke hears the beeps around her slow down, back to a normal rhythm along with the beating of her heart as it regulates. Vanessa is safe. Alive.

She’s alive.

Brooke tries to reach out to her because she’s okay but the IV in her arm tugs, sends a shot of pain through her forearm. It creates a domino effect, and suddenly Brooke is hyperaware of every sensation in her body. The spinning of her head, the grey in her vision. The pain that previously hovered above her like a cloud now permeating everywhere, carving a hole into her chest and collarbone and shoulders and it hurts.

She wants to make it stop, but doesn’t know how. She doesn’t realize that a whimper leaves her mouth until she hears it in the small space and Vanessa’s up, out of her chair and all signs of sleep gone.

Vanessa’s above her and suddenly she’s the only thing that Brooke can focus on, her waves around her face and her eyes that look a little teary and her voice, uncharacteristically soft, whispering “it’s okay, baby, you’re okay.”

She must be okay, then. Brooke trusts Vanessa.

Vanessa’s fingers are running through her hair and it feels nice, distracts her from the pain rippling throughout the rest of her body.

Maybe her voice will come out now. She can try.

“Hi.” It’s quiet, crackly, scratches at her throat.

Vanessa lets out a sound in response that sounds like a squeak, or a cry, like a dying animal. “Hi, honey.”

Vanessa’s hand in her hair shifts to her cheek and Brooke leans into it instinctively. The warmth of Vanessa’s palm, her fingers, feels like it calms the trembling in Brooke’s body, makes everything stop shaking as much. The pain is still there but she can handle it, manage it, with Vanessa in front of her.

“You’re okay. Thank God.” Her voice feels so quiet, too quiet.

Vanessa hears it though, by the slight sob that leaves her throat in response. “Yeah, I am. I’m good, baby. You need to stop getting shot on me, though. This is the second time. Can’t have it turning into a habit.”

Oh, yeah. She had forgotten about the graze on her shoulder, which she’d stopped bandaging a few days ago because it had seemed to be healing well enough. A papercut when compared to this, the bullet that has ripped through her chest.

“I’d never been shot until I met you, y’know, so thanks for that.” Brooke grins, no malice behind her words - she’d get shot again and again if it means that she can save Vanessa’s life.

But her words don’t have the intended effect of making Vanessa smile, her face instead crumpling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Does Vanessa blame herself? She shouldn’t, she’s safe and alive and that’s all that matters, at least to Brooke. “Thank fuck you didn’t get hit. I never would have forgiven myself.”

Vanessa sniffles, moves to squeeze her hand. Brooke squeezes back, tugs on Vanessa’s hand until she looks back up at her. “You have great things ahead of you. A future as a congresswoman, maybe a White House run and becoming leader of the free world? Everyone needs you.”

I need you.

Vanessa looks like she wants to argue, protest her words but then there’s commotion in the hallway, and is that Yvie at the door? Followed by two women that seem incredibly familiar, but whose faces she can’t quite place.

“Goddamn Brooke, do you always have to be so dramatic in everything that you do?” Yvie’s come around her other side, hugging her and squeezing too tight but she lets go just as quick.

“Nice to see you too.” Brooke sees Yvie’s eyes looking wet, files that information away to lovingly tease her over later.

She shifts her gaze, then, to the other two women who wear matching expressions of wariness on their faces. “I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m-”

“We know exactly who you are, Brooke Lynn Hytes.” The taller woman fixes her with a gaze, and Brooke’s not sure how to react at the use of her full name. “Good thing you already incapacitated or we would be having some words right now.”

“Aw c’mon A’keria, Silky, let her be.” Vanessa’s voice cuts through as her fingers trace patterns on Brooke’s palm. “She saved my life. Again.”

Oh. Brooke realizes where she remembers them from. Weeks and weeks ago, from when she was first staking out Vanessa and was still planning a hit on her. She had seen them in the office, seen them around Vanessa. Her campaign manager and deputy campaign manager. The realization is startling, at first.

Was that really her, back then, only a few weeks ago? It feels like a lifetime, when she had different goals and priorities before everything was flipped upside down thanks to the woman currently squeezing her hand.

How have they ended up here?

Nonetheless, her manners win out, and she smiles at them. “Nice to meet you.”

They don’t return it, fixing her with narrowed looks. The shorter woman - A’keria - lets out a disgruntled noise.

“Don’t mind them. They’re still a little salty about the whole hit you had on me, originally. But then she saved my life like three times,” she says the last sentence a little louder, directing it at Silky and A’keria, “So it cancels out, right? Like BEDMAS.”

Yvie lets out a guffaw beside her as A’keria rubs at her temples. “Vanj, do you even remember 10th grade math at all? How is it BEDMAS? Wait, never mind. Not important.”

Vanessa is unperturbed. “Point is, I probably would have been dead right now if it wasn’t for Brooke. So y’all owe her a thanks that this campaign is even still going.”

A’keria pauses at that, turning towards Brooke. Brooke can see A’kieria studying her face, as if she’s trying to look for anything hidden. Not that Brooke has anything to hide at all, right now. Other than the fact that she really, really, could use more painkillers.

A’keria seems satisfied with what she sees. Nice to know that she has her approval. “Thank you, for that. Keeping her alive.”

It seems weird to be thanked for it, unnecessary even, when she’d do it again in an instant. “Of course.” She shrugs, wincing when pain shoots down her shoulder.

Vanessa’s up then, in the hall before Brooke can even blink, yelling for a nurse and most definitely waking up other patients. Though it does the job, her charge nurse bounding into the room and injecting painkillers in her IV. Brooke can’t help but shoot Vanessa a grateful smile, only for Vanessa to return it and place a kiss on her forehead.

“They always this gross?” While Silky’s voice is a whisper in A’keria’s ear, it’s loud enough to carry throughout the room.

“Watch it!” Vanessa’s voice is a foghorn, and makes Brooke laugh. She’s not sure if she’ll ever tire of it.

It’s nice. The painkillers are settling in by the way that her body feels lighter, hazier. Everything feels nice.

Too nice.

She’s missing something.

It doesn’t take long to rush back - the men, their ambush, and she’s gasping, looking up at Vanessa and Yvie because fuck, are they even safe? Do they need to go?

“I know who’s after Vanessa, who’s after me, who’s behind it, they’re probably still coming-” Her breaths are shallow, she can’t breathe, why isn’t anyone else freaking out?

“Hey, hey. We know, baby.” Vanessa’s voice is soothing, calm. How can she be calm?

“What?” Brooke looks up at her, trying to read her face but she can’t tell what Vanessa isn’t saying. Her mind feels too slow, too lethargic.

“That’s how these three doofuses tracked those guys to the cabin and to us, with the local PD backup. Found ‘em just in time.”

No, Vanessa’s not getting it, the men were more than just random thugs, disposable pawns. It was planned, both of their demises were planned, and almost happened.

Brooke tugs on Vanessa’s hand, looks up at her and Yvie. Both of them appear alarmed at how agitated she is, how her heart monitor seems to be speeding up but it’s important. But before either of them can say anything, she feels the exhaustion hit.

She’s tired. Really tired, and Vanessa’s tracing patterns on her palm and she can’t do it anymore. She can feel the fight leave her like a balloon, feel the drowsiness hit and it’s definitely the painkillers. Superb timing.

Brooke wants to keep talking, but sleep feels easier as it takes over her vision, colours her sight.

She hopes they can stay alive for one more day, at least, enough for her to explain and for them to find a way to be safe, consider a counter attack even. But for now, she’s too tired. She falls into dreams of Vanessa instead, the way her dimples become even more prominent when she laughs. Her subconscious has priorities and for once, Brooke isn’t upset at what it has chosen to broadcast.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #game of survival #holtzmanns #submission

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