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nxrthmizu · 3 years

Text

| silence in gotham | day 19

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@daminette-december2019-2020

prompt | anti-hero

pairing | Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

words | 1.4k

author’s note | Ahaha did I do an entire research on what anti-heroes are for this? yes

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Silence, in Gotham, was never a good thing.

For a city plagued with villains that popped out one after another like household pests, it was never quiet. There was always some sort of event going on, whether it be a gala or a warehouse bombing. Cackles of the villains in the distance were never an unfamiliar noise as they were always up to something, anything. Heck, if they were quiet for too long, it meant something bad was brewing, and everyone would be on their haunches, ready and aware for the inevitable attack.

Silence, in Gotham, was never a good thing.

Which was exactly why Robin was so on edge, eyes straining to catch every movement he could spot from his view down onto one of Gotham’s biggest streets from the top of a bank.

“You look like you’re waiting for something, bird boy.”

He spun around instantly, mentally berating himself for not having heard her when he got distracted in absorbing all of the street down below. His sword was unsheathed with a sharp shing!, shining under Gotham’s moon like Excalibur, freshly pulled from the stone.

Except he wasn’t Arthur.

And she certainly wasn’t Merlin.

“Or perhaps... Someone.” She mused with a sparkle in her eyes, watching the shift in his composure. His teeth were gritted, much like a cornered animal’s, with an instant fight or flight instinct burning in his eyes. A desire to wipe that cocky smirk off her lips alighted inside him as he held his sword steady, his eyes trained on the woman he labelled his sworn rival.

“Certainly wasn’t waiting for you.” He spat out, moving his feet. They were circling now, facing each other and dancing an intricate pre-battle ritual. Her bluebell eyes, encased behind her mask, were fixed on his, and his emerald ones never faltered.

The first one to look away would lose.

The Bat-symbol flashed into the sky in the distance, and out of habit, Robin glanced away, realising his mistake all too late.

She pranced on him, her own weapon- A baton similar to Grayson’s- Extending into her hands like it was made to be held in her palms. Metal clanged against metal in a detailed melody of a sound similar to a glockenspiels- But more powerful.

He should’ve never looked away.

Luck was on her side; It always seemed to be. They exchanged blow after blow, the bluebell-eyed woman getting in more hits than she normally would’ve.

“Distracted, pretty bird?” She smiled, clearly amused, blocking another one of his attacks casually. “You should know better than that.”

“Shut up.” He hissed in retaliation, swinging his sword forward with greater force.

No matter how skilled she was, he was the bigger man, and they both knew it. She had stealth and agility, he had strength and power. “Well played.” Replied the woman with a cat-like smile when she flipped over to avoid shouldering the brunt of his attack, landing on her feet just like all cats do. “Nice move, bird boy. You’re lucky I’m not looking for a fight tonight.”

If she had been looking to catch his curiosity, she succeeded. His ears perked up, his eyes watching her carefully, alike to a predator’s while it was hiding in the bush, tracking his prey’s movements.

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow tentatively but never unsheathed his sword. “Do elaborate.”

“I think we’ve been rivals for far too long.”

“I beg to differ, I can go on like this forever.”

“Aren’t you tired of playing cat and mouse?” She purred, ignoring his statement blatantly. “You’re a detective, aren’t you? Don’t you want to know why I’m doing this?”

He gave her the best bored expression he could afford. “Would you be disappointed if my answer was no?”

“A little.” She laughed softly, jumping onto the ledge of the building, an epitome of grace and beauty as she strutted the thin line between life and falling to her death. “But that doesn’t matter.”

“If you’re just going to tell me anyway, go ahead.”

For a moment he thought she was going to drop off the edge. But of course, luck was always on her side. The bluebell-eyed woman moved with the grace of a ballerina and the deftness of an assassin, and if she wasn’t his sworn rival, he’d find her movements enticing. She belonged on the centre-stage of a Paris Opera Ballet performance, the crowd’s eyes all pinpointed to her. She was an eye-catching diamond, attracting all attention to her and her sparkling glory.

“You see,” She smiled softly, the moonlight acting as a natural spotlight for the star of the show. “I’m looking for a partner.”

The night regained its’ silence as the world awaited Robin’s reaction. His emerald eyes never left her patient ones as he contemplated the best way to overcome his shock and give an appropriate answer.

“And of everyone you could’ve asked,” He begin, “You asked your sworn rival? I thought you were smarter than that.”

A scoff left her throat as she dropped her innocent, sweet facade. “Oh, please. You know as well as I do that if we worked together, we’d be unstoppable. Don’t you want a taste of what it’s like?”

“Are you only doing this because I know who you are?” There was a tint of mockery, quietly prodding at her in his voice. No, Robin certainly wasn’t afraid to resort to blackmail. “The darling of the fashion world, the designer behind Nette DC- An anti-hero by night.”

She let out a dry laugh, and Robin was instantly reminded of all the reasons why he should not have crossed the woman. “Please.” She replied simply. “This is a two-way sword. Wouldn’t it be an interesting headline?- The heir of Wayne Enterprises turns out to be a vigilante by night.” Her eyes darkened. “If you tighten the noose around my neck, you’re tightening the one around yours, too.”

“I know that.” He replied loosely. “Why do you think I haven’t exposed you yet?”

She hummed as a response. “Don’t you want to know what’s in it for you if you take the offer? You’re already a vigilante anyways. I’m nothing different.”

“I’m listening.”

“We both know how corrupted Gotham’s politics are.” She said, jumping straight into the point. Never one to tell stories in winding roads but instead highways that drove straight to the destination. “I’m sure you know firsthand how bad it is, exactly. I’ve been delving into exposing corrupt companies, and I could use your network for information.”

He crossed his arms, sheathing his sword when he noticed her lowered baton. “And what do I get from this?”

“You think I don’t know? You’re the only one left in the family still patrolling these streets.” She smiled, watching him flinch. “Nightwing left the business after his injury. Red Hood hasn’t been seen in years. Red Robin’s probably sticking to computer work. Batman’s completely out of the question, it’s only a matter of time before you take his title, yes?”

“... You’re offering to help.”

“I’m giving you my assistance.” She corrected. “Gotham’s my city now, too. I live here, and I’m not going to let it get overrun by villains just because a couple of vigilantes got too old to help uphold justice.”

He watched her carefully, looking for any traits of dishonesty. None. “In return for helping me regulate the streets, all you’re asking for is information?”

A smirk slipped on her lips. “And an inside man.” She shrugged. “You’re invited to just about every gala.”

“So are you.” He replied dryly. “What’s my use?”

“Men tend not to open up to women about topics that I needed information on.” She waved off. “I need someone like you, who can pry what I need. I know you have a way with words. So?”

Surely, he would benefit more? Robin ran through the consequences of his choice through his head. Gotham would be ridden of a few more corrupt politicians- No doubt new ones would come filing in as soon as the old were thrown out- But never mind that. In addition, he would get some help around the streets. Sounded like a worth deal to him.

“Deal.”

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taglist: @maskedpainter @animegirlweeb @starmist19 @myazael @stainedglassm @user00000003 @toughluna @nickristus-dreamer @missmadwoman

gen. daminette taglist. @maskedpainter @animegirlweeb @missmadwoman

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#damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng #damian wayne x marinette dupain-cheng #daminette #mlb x dc #mlbdc #daminette december 2020 #cady's daminette december 2020 #cady writesss «

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thesith · 4 years

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THE DEATH OF ME - DARTH VADER

Chapter 3:

Each mechanic was given three pairs of shoes.

Two for working, one for other purposes like after work when getting food to eat.

You only wore two of your three pairs. The third pair of books gave your feet blisters, which is why you opted for leaving your lightsaber in there.

Lord Vader wouldn’t look in there, right?

You’d previously hidden your lightsaber in a drawer, but there’s no point in that anymore. Who knew what inspections Darth Vader would hold.

You shoved your metal alloy and carbon hilt through the top of your shoe, hiding it by putting a pair of socks on top of it.

If Vader discovered you were a Jedi, you’d be a dead woman.

You barely slept through the night. You were worried Vader could sense your dreams.

Nightmares, more like.

A few times during the night you felt prodding around your head.

‘Damn,’ You thought, ‘Anakin’s a persistent one.’

Your mental shields never halted for a second.

‘Why?’ Ran through your head. For hours on end, you tried to compile a valid reason Anakin would’ve turned to the dark side. Was it stress? Was he sick of the war and was willing to do anything to end it? Or did somebody push him to the point where he was going to destroy himself and everything he loved?

You never met the man, but you’d seen holo-reports of what he’d done in the war for the Republic. He was the poster boy.

Now that you thought of it, maybe it had to do with the Chancellor who deemed himself Emperor. Anakin was seen with him quite a bit, wasn’t he?

Once your alarm went off, you stared at it. You were so caught in your thoughts that you didn’t realize it was already oh-four hundred hours. You slammed your hand on the button for the chimes to cease.

Now that you were moved into Vader’s block, you had your own refresher and didn’t need to trek to your female stormtrooper friends’ quarters to use theirs.

You grasped your new uniform which instead of being a navy-blue shade was black and red. Now you were going to stand out even more than usual. Lovely. You sat the uniform on your bed and walked to the refresher.

You stripped your nightclothes from your body and entered your personal refresher.

You bathed yourself, mind wandering to Jedi.

Obi-Wan.

Poor Obi-Wan. Your parents had told you many stories of their adventures with the young Padawan and his Master, Qui-Gon.

It was awful that he was killed by his own Padawan.

At least they were both at peace in the Force.

You then started thinking about the entire order. Could Anakin have been powerful enough to destroy Master Yoda?

In your youth you had the pleasure of meeting the Grand Master. He taught you quite a bit about the Force.

You wished the best for him. Though you’d only met him once, you could tell he was very passionate about teaching the youth.

Even now you still kept some of his advice in mind.

“Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.”

“How can you do something without trying?” Eight-year-old you asked. His words confused you.

He then proceeded to whack you with his gimer stick in the shin, knocking you off balance.

You laughed at the memory. At the time you thought it wasn’t funny, but now you thought that entire interaction was hilarious.

You raked your hands through your hair, washing out everything that could’ve possibly gotten in it yesterday.

You were one of the few people in the Empire that took showers that were as cold as ice. The stormtroopers were grateful for that, as they liked theirs steaming.

You continued your frigid shower until you were sure every single speck of dirt was off of you. You were always thorough.

You wrapped a towel around your torso and a smaller one around your hair.

You’d gotten out of bed three hours before you were required to attend your new job, which gave you extra time to yourself.

You sat on your bed and started using the Force to levitate random objects. You hadn’t used the Force to move things in so long, you started to wonder if you forgot how to.

You started with the brush sat on your dresser. You brought it to your hand and placed it on your bed. You unraveled the towel in your head and brought the brush up to your Y/H/C locks.

The brush struggled to go all the way through your hair, but with some vigorous strokes your hair complied, leaving your hair absent of any knots.

When you finished brushing every part of your hair twice, you stood and released the towel from your body. You slid on your underwear and trousers.

Luckily this uniform was much more comfortable than your last.

You put on your bra, then your white tank top that goes under your jacket.

There was a knock at your door.

“One second!” You threw on your black jacket with red stripes down the sides. The front of it has a red Empire logo.

“The Republic logo looked much better.” You muttered to yourself, walking to the door. You were met with the same hooded figure as last night.

Even though these were your quarters, you kneeled. It was only proper as he was your superior.

“Lord Vader.” Now that you knew his true identity, the words dripped like poison off your tongue.

“You may rise, Miss Y/L/N.” He used your last name. Surely he detected the distaste towards his name in your voice, yet he ignored it. “I wanted to confirm you were awake and ready.”

You rose from your knee and kept your eyes everywhere but him. He was a betrayer. You opted for not speaking. You thought anything that left your mouth would be disrespectful. You just nodded your head.

“It would be wise of you to use your words.” His voice was barely recognizable. It’s no wonder why people didn’t know he was Anakin Skywalker. From the reports he gave to the news after a battle or mission, this voice was almost completely different.

You cleared your throat. The prodding came towards your head again. He was trying it. Again.

You rolled your eyes. This time, you forcefully pushed him out.

“Yes, my Lord.” You sarcastically spoke those words. It was almost as if you were trying to get yourself killed.

“Tell me, Y/N, where did you learn such strong mental shields? Is there something you’re trying to hide from your superior?” He emphasized his title.

“We were taught in our training in case we were captured by Rebels for information, My Lord.” You slickly lied. You disguised the lie as the truth through the Force.

“Very well. I expect to see you in the hangar soon.” With that, he walked out of your room. He believed it.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. That was close.

You finished getting ready and pull your hair into a bun on the top of your head. You walk from your quarters to the private hangar next door. You enter the hangar to be met by Anakin.

“Miss Y/L/N, I would like some adjustments to be made to my fighter. I’d specifically like a new hyperdrive as well as adjustments to my navicomputer for a widened range. And also, a new targeting computer.”

A new hyperdrive? The one he has currently isn’t even a full rotation old!

“Yes, Lord Vader.” The name dripped like venom.

“Good. I will return to see your progress later.” He spoke before exiting.

You had no clue where to start.

The hyperdrive and targeting computer would need to come from an outside source, so you decided to start with adjusting the navicomputer.

You had to take the panel off of the technology inside of the fighter, so you climbed up and jumped into the TIE Advanced x1. You used your screwdriver to remove the outward panel from the top of the wires.

Some of the wires were on the verge of tearing, so you also needed to fix those too.

‘Wait... Jedi don’t need targeting computers. They- we use the Force.’ You thought. Maybe his usage of the Force sucked more than you thought.

Also, you thought Anakin was a good mechanic. Maybe better than yourself. So, why doesn’t he do this himself? Is it because he’s superior and doesn’t want to do his own handiwork?

So many thoughts ran through your head as you adjusted his navicomputer for a wider range. You rearranged the wires as well as added some new ones to account for the new space that was being added.

You also put new protectors atop the wires that were close to becoming exposed.

Before you knew it, Vader was back. You felt him through the Force.

You decided to ignore his presence. You continued rewiring and cutting unneeded wires.

You bent into a squat to adjust the remaining wires. You felt a jolt on the TIE. Soon, there was a sound of boots hitting the floor of the fighter.

Vader bent down to look at your work. “That wire’s wrong.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, it’s not. You see this?” You pointed to part of your work. “I added that for the extra range. This wire supports it for the screen, which I have yet to adjust.”

He was appalled by your disrespect, yet he respected how you didn’t fear him. It was a nice change.

“Miss Y/L/N, are you sure you didn’t cross any wires?” His low voice spoke, radiating through the TIE.

“Once I place the new screen on the panel, we’ll know for sure, but no, I did not. I’m positive.”

You moved from your position and placed your hands through the top hole on the roof of the tie. You couldn’t use your normal tactics, as they required calling upon the Force.

You used your upper body strength plus your quads to lift yourself out of the Tie and jumped down to the ground. You walked to the metal table that held the new screen.

Once you acquired the technology, you reclaimed your old position in the fighter. You placed the panel back where it belongs, used cutters to make a larger place for the screen, and shoved it into the panel.

You tried to remove old bolts from the panel but they wouldn’t budge. You kept pulling and tugging, but they were relentless. Eventually, one came out. You weren’t expecting the sudden change, so you stumbled.

Vader placed two hands atop your hips to keep you from hitting your head on something.

“Thank you.” You spoke once you were stabilized. He lifted his hands from your hips and turned on the navicomputer.

Luckily for you, the technology booted right up, showing an enhanced screen that was much larger than his last.

“I have to retrieve a new hyperdrive and targeting computer. May I leave the ship to get them?”

“What ship are you planning on taking, mechanic?” He emphasized your title. He thought just because you’re a mechanic means you can’t pilot as well.

“Lord Vader, I am an excellent pilot. I can take whatever ship’s available for use.” You told him.

“If you’re an excellent pilot, why are you a mechanic?” He questioned.

“I enjoy fixing things. I think it was a pastime I had when I was younger. I fixed droids, especially Artoo units.” You replied.

He looked taken aback at the mention of Artoos. “Very well. We may take a small shuttle. Where are we going?”

“We?”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N. We. Where are we going?”

“Um, I was planning on Naboo. Thats where the best vendors are located.” You said.

“All right. We leave tomorrow.” He spoke before he left to return to his personal quarters.

Maybe this would be okay. Maybe you’d finally be able to come to terms with the fact it was Anakin under that hood.

“Oh, Y/N?” He asked, turning back.

“Yes, Lord Vader?” You respectfully said.

“I will have someone bring a cloak to your quarters tonight. I would prefer us not to be recognized by locals and people of authority.”

That’s right. Senator Amidala was there. You’d recalled seeing photos of the two together.

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Anakin left the hangar. You were stood there staring at where he previously was.

You were going with Darth Vader to another planet where his former best friend resides.

~~~~~~~~~

TAGS: @rogerinasthong @liziihorta

#darth vader x reader #darth vader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars fic #star wars #galatic empire

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crazyfreckledginger · 5 years

Text

Batmom!Reader x Batboys - “I’m Still Your Mama”

When you go to the mansion one evening, you find no one there apart from a distressed Alfred and take it upon yourself to take a very important mission, getting your boys back from the maniacal clown when Bruce decides to go offline.

Requested on Wattpad: “If you’re still taking requests ((and are comfortable with the plot and want to write it, I won’t force you to)) here is a plot idea:, mom!reader is not in a relationship with Bruce anymore after deeming their relationship unhealthy but that didn’t mean that the reader didn’t stick around to help raise the boys. The reader is also a vigilante, during a patrol they all get captured and Batman is off world (as always and that angers the reader) then the reader has to step up and rescue their children, ((and maybe scold them and Bruce later))”

A/N: I hope you like it!

Warning: I think there is cursing?

A part of her was so excited to see her boys again, but another, slightly more intense part of her hoped she wouldn’t have to see Bruce. Things had become a little more awkward between the pair -- but the distance really did make going to the mansion a lot more tolerable.

“Boys, I’m home!” (Y/N) announced, locking the door behind her and making sure the gate closed after her car drove through it. Her toes peeled the heels of her shoes off of them respectively and wobbling to the kitchen island to place the bags of food on the counter.

Her fingertips massaged the sore skin of her hands from carrying the heavy plastic bags that were rubbing sorely into her.

Opening the fridge, she frowned once she saw that the few things she had bought a few days ago for them to nibble on were still intact, in the same place she left them.

“Dick?” she called out, knowing his room was the closest to the staircase.

No answer.

“Jason?” her feet took her up the stairs, not getting an answer from any of the names she called out, especially Tim, he can somehow hear her when fully absorbed in his computer screen and yelling back, unconscious of how loud he can be when he hasn’t readjusted to his actual surroundings.

Even Alfred didn’t answer her yelling, something was very wrong and she was getting increasingly anxious.

Without a second thought, however, she raced towards the living room, moving towards the tall clock and opening the batcave.

(Y/N) was so alarmed, she nearly slipped down the damp stairs.

“Miss, (Y/N), thank the heavens!” Alfred praised.

“Alfred, thank god, where is everyone?” she gave him a hug to reassure herself.

“They have been kidnapped -- but Master Bruce is not answering his calls, I couldn’t manage to get a hold of you either and I fear to lose the location of the other masters if I leave this room,” The butler sighed.

“How long have they been there?” the woman asked through gritted teeth, why was Bruce so… aggravating?

“A few hours after your last visit, Miss (Y/N),” he clarified.

“You have been down here for two days without food or water?” her eyes widened.

He nodded slowly but voiced, “my hunger didn’t grew stronger than my need to find the boys and trying to find Master Bruce,”

“Damn that man,” she muttered, scurrying back up the stairs.

“I’ll make you something to eat quickly then I’ll need you to guide me to their location,” The girl commanded.

“Thank you, but there is no need, Miss-”

“Please, I insist,”

The woman managed to fix him a simple but satisfying meal before slipping into her vigilante suit and already racing down the underground tunnel on her motorcycle.

“I sent the location directly to your vehicle, Miss (Y/N), your GPS should have calculated the route you will need,” The butler explained through the com.

“Copy, thank you Alfred,” she spoke, jaw clenched and revving her engine to make her drive even faster.

****

“Now that you all look weaker and more pathetic than usual, I can draw the Bat out by exposing you to the world,” The green-haired madman cackled.

Jason was sweating under his mask, feeling how dehydrated he was becoming and the constant use of his helmet was suffocating.

Dick’s stomach and leg was badly injured and was still bleeding out painfully slowly, it could have been another day or so before he couldn’t keep fighting it, especially since the stupid clown made sure he would keep bleeding out at a rationed rate. The Joker had the “bright” idea to put a medium sized bear trap on Dick’s ankle, which made open wound so much more prone to infections and slowed down the bleeding, it didn’t stop it though.

The two youngest were the healthier looking ones -- as far as that could go with a complete psychopath in proximity.

They felt helpless, they couldn’t think of a way to get everyone out, their intense hunger and thirst put them at a severe physical disadvantage, not to mention it made it incredibly difficult to think straight.

“I’m going to go get the camera, don’t move.. Oh wait,” The Joker laughed maniacally as he disappeared into the next room.

“Fuck, I hate this,” The Red Hood cursed, trying ti squirm but giving up because of how painful and exhausting it was.

Soon enough, the sound of breaking glass pierced through their eardrums as shards fell in front of the boys. A dark figure landed in front of them and they instantly recognised the outfit, despite how difficult it was for them to focus on anything.

“I’ll come back for you,” the woman promise before rushing after the Joker.

It felt like forever until (Y/N) finally returned and the sound of a roaring engine outside made them even more disorientated.

“Hang on,” the soothing voice reassured as she freed Red Robin and Robin, helping both of them into the Batmobile that Alfred was controlling from the Batcave.

“The police are nearby, Miss (Y/N, I would approximate less than 2 minutes before the area is too crowded for a proper exist,” Alfred informed.

“Understood,” she rushed back inside, helping Jason into the car.

“M-mom,” he whispered painfully.

“I’ll take care of you soon, I promise baby,” she squeezed his gloved hand before letting go and hurrying to her eldest boy.

After much difficulty, she managed to unlock the bear trap and carry most of Nightwing’s weight, dragging him in the back seat with the second youngest.

“Okay Alfred, you can drive back, I’m right behind you,” The woman pressed on her com and waited for Alfred’s confirmation before glancing to the car as it drove off and got on her motorcycle as the police sirens only grew louder and louder.

****

“How are they?” The girl came down with trays of food and water.

“They are all patched up, Dick is sleeping, the rest are in and out of consciousness,” Alfred clarified.

“Alright, thank you for everything, as always, I’ll go and feed them.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Y/N).” He smiled softly before taking his leave.

The woman peered into Jason’s room, seeing him stare at the ceiling.

“Hey, baby,” she had the softest of smiles, it made him forget the guilt he was feeling.

“Hey mom,” he tried sitting up.

“No, no,” she slowly pushed him back down, and digging a fork into the food for him.

****

A few days had passed and she was taking care of her boys as they sat on the couch, watching a movie with they newly changed bandages.

The door flew open and finally, Bruce appeared. The girl stood up from her seat and paced at him. Her boys turned around to watch the scene unfold eagerly.

“Where the HELL have you been huh?” She snapped, “our boys were injured, helpless and where were you?”

“I was on-”

“An important mission?” the woman scoffed, “So there are more important things than our own children?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

“And you, I didn’t scold you earlier but now that everyone is here, might as well do it now,” her fingertips pinched the bridge of her nose, turning to the boys she loved with all her heart.

“Why didn’t you warn anyone about the mission? One of you always, always send me a message to keep me informed in case anything goes haywires, you had me so worried, don’t be so reckless-”

“MooOOoOm” Dick whined like a three year old.

“I’m serious!!”

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spooder-moon · 6 years

Text

Becoming - Part Four Jason Todd x Bat!Reader

Summary: You had been best friends with Jason Todd for as long as you could remember, things changed when he became Robin for sure, but they changed even more when he became the Red Hood.

A/N: Hey Guys! Sorry to anyone whose been waiting for this part, I went overseas for a few weeks and didn't take my laptop with me so I wasn’t able to write anything! Also sorry that this chapter is so fkn long, I got carried away. Also first time writing smut so please give feedback. Enjoy!! xxx

Word Count: 4.5k (I'm sorry)

Warnings: SMUT!!!! (as promised)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five Part Six

*3 years later*

Gotham was a mess, when was it not. Crime bosses were thriving more than ever, the Black Mask in control of it all. And then there was this Red Hood guy who had decided to show up and take matters into his own hands.

Batman and Nightwing had just come back from a mission at the docks, you had been told to stay back at the batcave, Batman wanted to go solo on this one but needed you for intel. However, Dick had decided to come back to Gotham for a month, and he barely follows Bruce’s orders anymore, let alone yours.

“That Red Hood is a pain in my ass, literally. And seriously, what the fuck does one do with a weapon like that?” Dick said, announcing his arrival. He was talking about an Android that had the ability to absorb other heroes super powers, and it would have kicked his butt if batman hadn’t blown it’s head off.

“I mean, I’m guessing use it to try and take down Batman,” you replied, turning around in your chair to face him.

“Ok smart-ass, don’t get smug with me. I would’ve loved to see you try take it down.”

“Bet I could have done a better job than you.” You grinned, the playful banter between you two always lightening your mood.

Dick came up and gave you a big bear hug, “It’s good to see you Y/N.” You stood up to hug him back.

“Yeah yeah, you too.” You hadn’t seen him in about 3 months, you missed him you had to admit - but you’d never tell him that.

“Hey Alfred!” You heard Dick say to the man behind you as you pulled away from the hug.

“Good to see you Master Richard.”

“Great, now that everyone has said hello, Y/N tell me what you know about the Red Hood.” Bruce said gruffly.

Sitting back down in your seat you got up some footage of what had just happened at the docks.

“There’s no trace of him anywhere, every diagnostic I’ve run has come up blank. The interesting part though is that when he took out his men to stop them from talking he could have easily shot you both right there. Instead he let the android have it’s fun. He’s clearly skilled and well trained, those sniper shots were from about 3 blocks away, so it doesn’t make sense as to why he wouldn’t just kill you. Maybe he’s an old enemy from the past? Someone you put in Arkham that wants revenge? I’m not sure but he’s clearly playing a game here.” You told them everything you knew about him which, if you’re being honest, wasn’t much at all. “From what I can tell from his antics with Gotham’s underground, he’s wanting to take out the black mask. Honestly it’s hard to tell who’s side he’s on. He’s stopped drug trading for minors but takes 40% of all other proceeds.”

Bruce grunted, “If he kills he’s not on our side. We’re done for the night, tomorrow you can keep looking for clues as to who he is and what he wants.”

You nodded, shutting down the bat cave computer.

…

The next night you were listening for the bug that Bruce had planted in the Black Masks office.

“Batman, there’s a trade tonight that the black mask is operating. I don’t doubt that the Red Hood will be there to take it down. If you want to catch him this is your chance.” You said over the intercom that Bruce and Dick were on the other side of.

“We’re on our way now, I need you to come out and tale us from a distance in case we lose him. Make sure he doesn’t know you’re there until you can catch him.”

Following Bruce’s orders you quickly got into your costume, grabbing your throwing knives - which you preferred to batarangs - and any other weapons you think you’ll need. You say a quick goodbye to Alfred as he takes over your place at the computer, before hoping on your bike and speeding out of the cave.

You followed Batman and Nightwing from the ground as they chased the Red Hood over rooftops, all the while keeping your distance, sticking to alleyways and always being at least 3 moves behind. It wasn’t until you saw the train station explode that you jumped into action.

You heard Bruce cough through the intercom, “Redwing, we’ve lost him and Nightwing is injured. I need you to-“

“I’m already on it, he’s in my sights.” You interrupted Bruce as you started the chase. You knew better than to be obvious when trying to chase him. Contrary to Bruce’s tactics you preferred to be sneaky and catch when they least expected it.

Tracking his path you took the opposite one, as he turned down a thin alleyway you were there to cut him off before he could make it all the way through. Quickly, you threw a knife at his front tire, countering it and causing Red Hood to fly over the front of his bike with an “Oh shit” which you managed to catch.

Hoping off your own bike you were quick to knock him down with a hard hit to his chest before he could start running again. As he landed on his back winded you caught Batman’s attention through the intercom. “Batman, I’ve got hi- ah.”

Red Hood had kicked your legs out from underneath you and started to scale up the fire escapes on the side of the apartment building you were next too. “Nevermind,” you groaned to Bruce as you got up ready for a chase. Grabbing your grappling hook you followed him up the side of the building, arriving at the top at the same time he did. It surprised you when he didn’t run like you were expecting. Instead he stood facing you, his body ready to fight but not as tense as it had been while he had been fighting Batman and Nightwing earlier. You took the first swing, you knew hitting his helmet would probably hurt your hand more than it did his head so, you aimed at his side. You managed to hit him but he moved away before the force could do any damage. Red Hood continued to block all your attacks but seemed to never hit first. It confused you, frustrated you, made you more aggressive even. This wasn’t anything new, you often found that some crooks would go easier on you because you were a woman, thinking they didn’t need as much force to take you down. You made a point to always prove them wrong, you were just as dangerous as Nightwing, if not more when it came to your apparent anger issues. The men who went easy on you always lived to regret it.

“Redwing, what’s going on?” You heard Bruce through the intercom. “Kind of in the middle of something here Bats.” You grunted as you blocked a punch coming your way. Finally, you thought, he decided to play fair. Something about the way he fought was familiar to you, as if you’d seen him in action before. And it was clear that he had been trained by someone of immense skill.

You didn’t see the fist coming from your right until it was too late and it smacked your jaw. Ouch, he’s gonna regret that. Recovering quickly you jumped and landed a round-house kick on his chest, it was enough force for him to stumble closer to the wall behind him. Without even thinking you grabbed one of your knives and launched it at him. It lodged itself through his shoulder and into the wall behind him, pinning him to it.

You heard him grunt in pain. “Oh you play dirty, I bet old Bats doesn’t like that.” You could hear the smugness in his voice, you frowned as you walked closer to him.

“Game over Red Hood, how does jail sound to you? Cosy?” You were inches apart now, oh how badly you wanted you take off that helmet and see who was underneath. But you let your guard down, Red Hood ripped the blade our of his shoulder and pushed you against the wall instead, you stopped moving when you felt your own knife pressing into your neck. The Red Hood starting to say some snarky reply but paused when you turned to look at him properly.

“Y/N?” He questioned in disbelief. You’re heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t because he knew your name, although that was alarming, but no, it was the way he said it. That voice, it was so eerily familiar, it was a voice that you knew you had heard before, but this time it was deeper.

“How do you know my name?” You questioned in a whisper.

He ignored your question, “Seriously?! You’re working for the fucking Bat now? Of all the people, he recruited you?” He seemed shocked and angry through you weren’t sure at who.

You repeated your question, this time louder and harsher, “How do you know my name?”

He laughed, “Oh Y/N, I know more than just your name. I know you better than you know yourself, or at least, I used you.”

“WHO ARE YOU?” You were angry now, and curious. Who the fuck was this guy?

“Nuh-uh-uh, not yet. This is way too much fun.” The amusement in his voice was irritating. You struggled in his hold trying to get free but stopped when you felt the knife pressing harder into your skin. “I’m going to let you go now and then I’m going to disappear and you’re not going to follow me, OK?” You grunted in agreement.

“Great, before I go, I need you to do one last thing for me.”

The way he said that made you tense up, it was too familiar, you felt bile rising in your throat at the thought of what he was going to say next. You stared at him, eyes blazing and begging him not to do it.

“Kiss me.”

Jason.

…

You blacked out after that. You weren’t sure if he’d hit you on the head or if it was just from shock, but you woke up in your bed at the manor with Dick staring over you. Before you could finish sitting up you felt the bile rising at the back of your throat again and you sprinted to the bathroom. You felt Dick come in and hold your hair back and you started to cry thinking of tonights events. It couldn’t possibly be true, Jason is gone, dead is dead.

“Y/N, what happened out there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Him and Bruce had obviously heard it through the intercom and come to find you after you stopped responding.

“He knew my name Dick, how did he know my name?” You muttered out, cleaning yourself up at the sink. He said he used to know me, recognised me even with my mask on, and what he said to me. Only one person has ever said that to me, and that person is dead.” He knew you were talking about Jason, he could see it in your eyes. You got the same look every time you spoke about him, it was as if the life in you momentarily drained from your body, and suddenly you were back to that girl who almost killed herself 3 and a half years ago.

You shook the thought from your mind. “It’s not him, it can’t be him. Jason is gone, dead is dead.” You found yourself saying this over and over, as if trying to make yourself believe it was true.

“It wasn’t him Y/N, someone was just messing with you, it couldn’t have been him.” Dick spent the night reassuring you until you fell asleep from exhaustion.

…

The next night Dick went back to Blüdhaven to recover from his injuries. You had ventured down to the batcave just in time to catch Batman sneaking out. “Where are you going? Should I put my suit on?” You questioned Bruce, it wasn’t an unusual thing for him to leave on a mission without telling anyone, he still has ideals about working alone.

“Nowhere, no, just stay here.” His voice was stern.

You looked at the computer, seeing that whatever he had planned for tonight was still up there. He had received a calling from the Red Hood. “You’re going to see him? Why can’t I come?”

“I know what happened last night, and I have my suspicions too but you’re too close to this. You’re letting you’re feelings cloud you’re judgement.”

You looked at Bruce in disbelief, “I’m letting my feelings cloud my judgement?! You’re the one about to go help him fight off the Black Mask’s men!” You were outraged by how hypocritical he was being.

“This isn’t up for discussion, stay here or else.” With that he hopped into his Batmobile and sped off, leaving you in the dust. He should know that you weren’t going to listen to him, not when it came to this. With a huff you went to get changed into your costume, waiting 10 minutes before following him with the GPS tracker you had on him.

As you arrived at the scene of the fight Batman and Red Hood were already well engaged in battle. You watched from the rooftops as Batman jumped through a car thrown at him. Ok, that was pretty cool. You couldn’t help but admire the way Batman fought, you always had. But watching the Red Hood work was enchanting almost, he was fluid in his motions and not as aggressive as Batman, it almost calmed you in a sense.

You were distracted from your thoughts when the Red Hood blew up one guys head, you had to move out of the way as to not get sprayed with blood. You listened to them talk, how Batman tried to reason with the Red Hood but he wasn’t having any of it, instead launching a smoke bomb and disappearing into the night. You were quick to see where he went and even quicker to follow his movements. You almost didn’t see Batman pick up the blade that had sliced the Red Hood’s arm.

You followed Red Hood through the streets of Gotham, making sure to be quiet and kept unseen, from what you could tell he hadn’t noticed you following him yet. He parked his bike in an alleyway behind your old apartment building. What was he doing here? You thought as you observed from across the road. You lost him when he went inside the complex.

It was now or never, you were going to confront him. You took a chance by climbing up the fire escape to your old apartment. If he was who you thought he was, he’d be there. You were quiet to sneak through the window of your old living room, you froze as you saw him standing with his back to you at the other end of the room. You saw him lift his head up and his shoulders square, he knew you were there.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think.” The Red Hood said without turning around, his voice still muffled by the helmet he wore.

“Why let me follow you here then?” You asked quietly.

“You could say I’m particularly fond of my memories here, there’s a specific one that draws me here.” He was talking about your first kiss with Jason.

“Who are you?” You questioned.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he was right, you just didn’t want to admit it.

“Take off your helmet.” Your voice was firm, it wasn’t a request, it was a demand.

He chuckled but obliged your order. His hands rose to the back of his head as he released the mechanism keeping the helmet together. Taking off the helmet to reveal the jet black hair you knew all too well, he placed it on the kitchen bench in front of him.

“Turn around.”

He did, slowly. Even though he still wore a domino mask you recognised him instantly. He was just as beautiful as you had remembered him, only now more rugged, older, his jawline sharper, he was absolutely stunning.

“Your turn,” he gestured to your domino mask which you pulled off gently after a moment of hesitation. You heard his breath hitch, “You’re even more beautiful than I remember Y/N.”

You walked up to him slowly until you were chest to chest. Gently, you reached your hands up to take off his own mask which he let you. When you finally saw his whole face and saw his stunning blue eyes up close you couldn’t help the tear that fell down your cheek.

“Jason.” You breathed. “How is this even possible? How are you al-.”

You were cut off by his lips pressing harshly onto yours, you froze for a second, shocked by the abruptness of it, but the warmth that spread through you made you melt into him. As soon as he felt you kiss back Jason’s hands where clasped tightly onto your hips, drawing you closer every second. Your arms circled around his neck, one hand playing with the thick black locks you loved so much, and the other leaving light scratches on his upper back.

The kiss became harsh, desperate, the need you two had for each other so undeniably strong. Your head was fuzzy as millions of questions ran through it. Has he been alive all this time? If so, why has he only just surfaced? Your thoughts were interrupted when Jason drew your hips together, and lightly grinded against you, testing new waters. You gasped at the action and Jason took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours in a battle for dominance which he eventually won.

You both pulled away slowly, gasping for air and cheeks flushed in a warm glow. As you looked Jason in the eyes you saw a vulnerability you’d never seen before.

“Please, I need you. Let me have you.” His voice was just above a whisper. So many conflicting thoughts ran through your mind in that moment. You knew it was wrong, you didn’t even know if he was the same person, you didn’t know what he had done these past years. But you thought about all the pain it had caused you when he died and you realised you would do anything for just one night with him. You would deal with the consequences tomorrow.

Without saying anything in response you crashed your lips back to his, this time more feverish and needy than before. When he realised you were his for the taking Jason lifted your legs around his waist and backed you into a nearby wall, you crashed against it hard but you barely registered the pain - too focused on Jason. Your chests were flush against one another as your hips started to grind in sync. Jason let out a low groan which instantly shot right to your core. He pulled away from your lips and looked you in the eyes, asking one last time for permission. His eyes were clouded with lust and something else, you were sure yours looked the same when you nodded in consent. His lips dove to your jawline kissing and sucking harshly down your neck until your suit got in the way. Jasons hand snuck up to your neck line and gently began to pull down the zipper of your suit, until it stopped at your utility belt. With both hands he pushed the suit over your shoulders and down your arms leaving you in your bra with the bottom half of the suit still on. You were quick to respond by pushing his leather jacket off of his shoulders and letting it drop to the ground behind him. He began taking off his armoured top as you undid your utility belt and threw it across the room blindly. As his top came off the first thing you noticed was the scars that littered his torso, your eyes narrowed in on the fresh was you had given him just days prior. You leaned forward to kiss it gently, receiving a sharp intake of breath from him.

“Sorry about that,” and you were, although you couldn’t help the slight smirk that appeared when you thought about it.

He grunted, “You could have hit my heart you know.”

Your lips started trailing up his neck and his breathing became shallower. “I have great aim.”

You connected your lips again, you felt Jason move you away from the wall and start walking towards the bedroom. He gently placed you down on your old bed. Hovering over you he started to leave open mouth kisses down your body until he reached the end of your zipper, looking up at you he started to pull the rest of your costume from your body, with your help you were left in your bra and panties lying before him. Jason took a moment to admire your womanly body and how perfect you were to him. He lay between your legs as he began kissing up your thighs to where you needed him most. As he got closer, your breathing became more ragged with every kiss until a gentle kiss over your clothed core elicited a low moan from you. Without teasing any further Jason ripped the panties from your body and dove his tongue into your wet core, earning a loud gasp of pleasure in return. As Jason lapped at your folds you arched your back to rid yourself of your bra. One hand found itself locked in Jason’s hair, and the other massaging your breast and playing with your nipple. You couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped your lips when Jason suddenly slipped two fingers inside of you, pumping roughly and sucking on your clit. As you tugged his hair harshly he moaned, the vibrations adding to the tight coil quickly building in you.

“Fuck, Jay, I’m gonna-.” Just as you were about to hit your high Jason pulled away from you entirely. You looked up with hooded lids to see him hastily ridding himself of his pants and his boxers, his impressive length slapped against his stomach and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of him. Jason moved to hover over you and you felt him brush against you just slightly, making you sigh.

Jason smashed his lips back to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as you reached your arm down to grab his length, you pumped him a few times earning a loud groan from the back of his throat. Not being able to wait any longer you guided him to your entrance and he slowly pushed in, stretching you out as you winced slightly before sighing in pleasure. Jason moaned against you as he pushed all the way in before halting. He pulled away from your lips to look at you.

“Are you ok?” He mumbled, voice laced with ecstasy.

“I’m perfect,” you moaned out. That was all he needed to start moving.

As he slowly started to move in and out of you his head fell to the crook of your neck where his lips sucked at your skin. Your face contorted into one of pleasure, a light frown on your forehead and lips parted slightly, occasionally letting small whimpers and moans slip past them.

“Faster Jay, please, faster.” Your words came out breathless, you didn’t even know if he’d be able to hear them but when he started to pick up the pace you knew he had.

Your body started to rock back and forth, your hips moving to meet his in perfect sync. Everything felt perfect, like this is how it was meant to be, like you two were made for each other.

Without pulling away from each other you rolled until you were on top. Your hands planted firmly on his chest and his gripping your waist, guiding your hips up and down onto him. His head was thrown back in pleasure, his eyes were closed tight and lips were parted to allow to shallow irregular breathing. The sight of him below you was so breathtakingly sexy it almost had you reaching your high right there. You continued to pick up the pace, you both of you were quickly starting to become undone. Jason quickly rolled the two of you over again, taking control once more to start slamming into you. You felt the heat building in your abdomen, it was like nothing you had experienced before, never this intense.

Your walls started to clench around him and your nails left deep scratches in his shoulders, he let out a loud groan at the new feeling. “Jay I’m close. Fuck, don’t stop,” you managed to whimper out in your dazed state.

“Fuck Baby, I know, me too.” Hearing him call you baby sent you over the edge a few hard and long thrusts later, screaming his name you reached your high and your walls clenched tight around him. Jason came soon after, grunting your name and biting into your shoulder as he spilled inside of you.

He continued to thrust sloppily, bringing you both down from your highs. You winced slightly as he pulled out of your overly sensitive warmth before he collapsed on top of you, your bodies slick with sweat and smelling of sex. You ran your hands through his hair as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, lightly kissing and nipping at the skin there.

As you lay there in silence, chests heaving together the questions rushed back. Your mind was going crazy thinking about what had just happened but more importantly what would happen next. Would you wake up in the morning to find him gone, or would you leave first? Does this mean you two can finally be together after all these years? Was Jason even the same person? Did this actually mean anything? Would things change completely now or just stay the same?

As if sensing that your thoughts were racing Jason lifted his head to hover above yours. His eyes searched every detail of your face as if finally seeing you after all this time, and yours did the same. You moved your hands to cradle his face, your right thumb stroking his cheek. Jason closed his eyes at the soft caress before leaning down to connect his lips to yours once more. This kiss was so much different from the rest, it wasn’t rushed or desperate, it wasn’t filled with the need to be as physically close as possible. No. This kiss was soft and slow and filled with hope. A hope you needed so badly in that moment.

Tag list:

@allithewriter @batboys-and-other-messes @probsjosh @sleep-depiravation @yoursturelys

#red hood #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood imagine #Jason Todd #jason todd smut #jason todd imagines #jason todd x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagines #nightwing #nightwing x reader #the dark knight #batman #batman imagine #batboys #batboy imagines #arkham knight

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tagsecretsanta · 5 years

Text

From Marsmckie

To @tuupang

Secret Santa does not own this piece, full credit goes to the creator mentioned above!

It was a small family tradition- it became standard over the years that on a quiet night sometime in December the Tracy Family would all grab some old blankets and make their way down to the beach. This festive season was particularly quiet for them, giving the recent incarceration of their nemesis the Hood into GDF custody, and they indented to take full advantage of it.

Sadly, Grandma Tracy was away shopping with Lady Penelope, though this did mean the food was prepared instead by Virgil and Scott. Virgil provided the barbequed turkey and Scott brought the apple pie dessert. MAX rolled around on the sand handing out dishes while the family lounged out on blankets or camp chairs under the stars.

“John,” EOS whispered. The space monitor had constructed a portable device so that the AI was able to join them for what was her first Christmas. She had coordinated her LED lights so that they alternated flashing between festive green and red as she spoke. “I’m not sure I understand. Campfires and barbeques do not fit in with what my research suggests would be a typical seasonal celebration.”

“That’s because with someone somewhere around the world who always needs to be rescued around this time of year, the idea of us having a ‘normal’ Christmas Day is laughable,” John responded with a smile, pleased with his AI’s development to be comfortable asking questions.

“We take our holiday breaks as they come,” Alan explained. Having crammed down his large helpings of turkey, barbequed vegetables and pie he had moved on to toasting marshmallows over the campfire. As he moved his stick away from the flame, Gordon made a move as he snatched the marshmallow off the end of the stick and shoved it in his mouth. “Hey! Get your own!”

“You’re hogging the bag!” Gordon said through a mouth full of marshmallow.

“Everyone has their own different ways of celebrating Christmas,” Kayo said, continuing talking to EOS as Gordon and Alan squabbled.

“Y-yes!” Brains said. “For example, at m-my University we had a C-Christmas tradition for Secret Santa that whoever could make the b-best seasonal invention didn’t have to clean the lab for a whole month!”

“Is that where your snow machines originated?” Virgil asked. Brains nodded with a smile. “I’d say the year that Brains made it snow on the island will always have a special place in our hearts!”

“We did a Secret Santa at my school too!” Gordon said. “One year I bought Bethany in my year a chocolate snowman!”

“Didn’t you leave it near the radiator and it melted?” Scott grinned.

“Heh, yeah, it looked more like a chocolate thingy!” Alan laughed.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. She was so annoyed when she unwrapped it and I never fessed up,” Gordon grimaced.

“I don’t think we’ve had what you would call a traditional Christmas since we were young,” John said. “When we were still living at the Gran Roca Ranch with mom and dad...”

“Oh, right...” Alan mumbled. His memories from the ranch were few and far between.

“Mom was always the one to organise decorating. I remember her voice as she taught me how to play Christmas songs on the piano and she’d sing along...” Virgil said sadly.

“You and Gordon might be too young to remember,” Scott said to Alan. “But I remember the first Christmas after Mom passed away. Dad hadn’t done anything to prepare or celebrate at all, but then when we woke up on Christmas morning we all went down the stairs together and there were all these twinkling lights we could see under the door. We went in and the whole room had been decorated top to bottom, and Dad told us that Santa had been overnight...”

“And Dad scooped us up into his lap one at a time to give us the presents that Santa had left!” Virgil said excitedly.

“Of course it was Dad getting up early to decorate while we were still asleep,” John explained.

“Well, yeah, we know that now,” Virgil murmured, looking put down by the revelation.

“I do remember that!” Gordon gasped. “There were all these golden twinkling fairy lights; it was like magic!”

Scott sighed. “We were all so surprised. Dad was so determined to make it the best Christmas ever, and it was like we finally had him back after Mom died...”

A sad silence settled over the group as they all watched the crackling of the campfire.

“What about you, Kayo?” Alan asked, determined to fill the silence. “Did you have any family traditions?”

Kayo snorted. “Try anytime we had a family Christmas. By that I mean ~the whole family~”

It took a moment for the group to realise what she meant, before the revelation from earlier that year resurfaced in their minds.

“Oh my god, yeah!” Alan gasped.

“Wow, what would Christmas be like with the Hood as your uncle?” Virgil wondered.

“Please tell me he was one of those uncles who would get drunk and sing rude versions of Jingle Bells?” Gordon laughed.

“I’m pretty sure that was just Uncle Lee!” Scott grinned.

Kayo made a face halfway between a smirk and a grimace as she remembered the last time her uncle had last shown up at the family home at Christmas.

~~~

Tanusha punched her way across the living room floor, shadowboxing inexpertly as she was determined to show off her new Karate uniform (to go with her Christmas present of Karate lessons- something which she had been begging for weeks to get). Her father smiled fondly at his growing girl while her mother prepared a delicious Christmas dinner. They were late to eat together as her father had spent most of the day at work (Tanusha was always dying to know more about her father’s job as Mr Tracy’s security, but he kept annoyingly tight-lipped about it).

As her mother was about to plate the food, there was a knock at the front door. Her mother and father shared an anxious look before her father moved to open the door.

“Uncle Belah!” Tanusha cried, running around her father and into her uncle’s waiting arms.

“Tanusha!” Uncle Belah beaming, sweeping her into a big hug. “My, how you have grown!”

Tanusha had been besotted with her Uncle Belah for many years now- while her father had the strength to lift her over his head and throw her in the air, Uncle Belah would regale her with the most fascinating tales of daredevilry and espionage that kept her hooked all evening. She had relentlessly questioned her Uncle as to what his job was and he would spin many a tall tale as to what he had been up to between visits, but Tanusha -being his favourite niece after all- was quickly able to pull the truth from him-

Uncle Belah was a top secret spy in the Global Defence Force.

Tanusha had gone along with the story when she had been little, thinking it to be another one of his imaginary jobs (he had previously claimed to be a caterer and an airline pilot among other things), but every so often Uncle Belah would produce an item which would tie into his story- a computer tablet, some solar batteries, on one occasion even the metal wings that he had worn while jumping out of a skyscraper. At the appearance of each item Tanusha’s eyes would go wide with wonder.

Such items were for Tanusha’s eyes only, and they (along with the stories) were hers and her uncle’s little secret together from her father and mother.

Uncle Belah stood from hugging Tanusha and the atmosphere froze as he locked eyes with Tanusha’s father again.

“Gaat,” her father said coldly.

“Kyrano,” her Uncle greeted with a small grin.

“And what brings you here?”

“Christmas is a time to spend with family,” Uncle Belah said, spreading his arms wide. “Or am I not welcome here anymore?”

Her father pursed his lips and Tanusha looked up hesitantly. “Daddy?” she asked.

“So long as you bring no ill will against my family,” her father said quietly, stepping back from the door to allow their visitor to enter.

“Much obliged,” Uncle Belah hummed as he stepped inside and took off his wool coat, revealing a black tuxedo jacket, white shirt and black trousers beneath. “It is cold outside.”

“Uncle Belah!” Tanusha cried again, latching onto his hand and pulling him into the living room. “I got you a present!”

From under the tree, Tanusha extracted a small lone present and pressed it into his hands.

“That’s very thoughtful of you!” Uncle Belah gave a genuine smile as he accepted the present.

“I didn’t know if I would see you or not, as you’re always so busy with your job,” Tanusha said. Behind them in the kitchen, her mother and father conversed in hushed tones but her attention was solely for her favourite uncle. “I got it for you anyway, just in case we saw you.”

“May I open it now?” Uncle Belah asked, shaking the box in an attempt to discern the contents.

Tanusha giggled. “Of course!”

Uncle Belah carefully ripped open the red wrapping paper to reveal a black box containing a red tie covered with silver dots. He ran the tie through his fingers, feeling the silk material before tying it around his neck.

“Thank you Tanusha,” he said, smiling. “I shall wear it always to remind me of you.”

Tanusha beamed brightly and pulled her Uncle through to the dining room as her mother announced, “Dinner is ready!”

Tanusha made sure that Uncle Belah was sat next to her at the circular table and throughout dinner they shared secret mischievous looks as they ate. The looks her mother and father shared were filled with concern.

“Uncle Belah?” Tanusha asked loudly as her mother refilled the adult’s wine glasses again. “When are you going to marry?”

Uncle Belah nearly choked on his wine and Tanusha noticed a glint of amusement in her father’s eye at his brother being caught off guard by her question. “I’m not the type to marry, my dear. After all, I am fully committed to my job.”

The look on her father’s face soured again.

“Aww,” Tanusha murmured. “I wanted to have cousins.”

Uncle Belah laughed good-naturedly and the meal concluded with several rounds of Christmas pudding with custard. Tanusha wanted to stay up and talk for longer, but her parents made the decision that it was her bedtime. She sadly said her farewells to Uncle Belah, clinging to him and begging him to say she could stay up late, but he agreed saying the adults needed to talk.

Her mother chivvied her upstairs, but while she was distracted Tanusha slipped back down to listen to their conversation.

“Listen to me, Gaat.” Tanusha heard her father’s voice and paused on the stairs. “If the Hood continues to cause problems for Mr Tracy’s company then I shall be forced to take extreme measures.”

“I assume you have already alerted the GDF to my location?” Her father said nothing in response. “Then I shall be on my way. I will say farewell to Tanusha before I go.”

Tanusha’s heart leapt into her throat at the mention of her name, but her father cut in coldly, “That won’t be necessary.”

There was a pause in the conversation and Tanusha thought her uncle had left, until he said, “You are choosing the wrong side, Kyrano.”

As her Uncle closed the front door behind him, Tanusha rushed back up the stairs to her mother. That night, Tanusha quizzed her father about why her uncle had to leave so suddenly and he replied “Uncle Belah is in trouble with his work.” From this, Tanusha was able to discern that he was in trouble with the GDF and that somehow Mr Tracy’s company was involved. She guessed that she also would not be getting a Birthday present from him for a while.

That was the first time Kayo would hear of the Hood, though it would be several years before she learned who that was.

#thunderbirds are go #kayo kyrano #the hood #family christmas #back story #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds season 1 #thunderbirds season 2 #thunderbirds season 3 #marsmckie #fanfic #secret santa 2018 #tag team secret santa

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huphilpuffs · 6 years

Text

flares

chapter: 20/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3771 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: I apologize in advance for any a&e misinformation; I’ve only ever been to Canadian hospitals. a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Phil’s arm is wrapped around Dan’s waist when they step into A&E. His fingers drift over the fabric of Dan’s hoodie, and press a little too hard to his skin when Phil draws him towards the registration desk. Dan squeezes his eyes shut against fluorescent hospital light until pain spasms in his forehead.

A&E isn’t too busy right now, but Dan’s chest still goes tight when he thinks about sitting and waiting in uncomfortable plastic chairs.

“Do you wanna sit?”

Phil presses the words to the top of Dan’s head.

“No,” he responds.

Phil’s fingers drift along his side, curling at his hip to draw Dan towards the queue. There’s a man at the desk, hunched over so his elbows rest against the desk and his mouth is probably too close to the glass separating him from the nurse. The woman in front them has her hair thrown up messily as she bounces a screaming child on her hip.

Dan wishes he could reach up, pull his hood over his head and pretend he doesn’t look so ill.

The man finishes registering and steps away from the desk, one hand wrapped in blood stained napkins, and Dan presses his face to Phil’s shoulder to ignore the sight. To ignore the mulling of strangers around him, hushed voices and screaming children and the way it all makes Dan’s insides twist.

He’s been to A&E a lot. He’s been to A&E far sicker than this, curled in on himself and sobbing into his knees as his mum registered for him because his legs couldn’t hold him up long enough to stand in a queue.

But Dan’s an adult now and he steps up to the window with forced politeness and his flatmate pressed against his side.

“Can I get your name, sir?” asks the woman behind the window. She’s wearing purple scrubs and her smile looks as fake as Dan’s feels.

“Daniel Howell.”

Phil’s fingers trail along his side as Dan answers her questions. He tells the nurse their address because Dan’s chest aches from talking and the threads of memory in his mind feel tangled from talking and he almost blurts the street his parents’ house is on.

Dan’s legs feel weak under him by the time the nurse finishes inputting his information. Phil draws him in, hugs him closer, and though it puts more pressure against Dan’s aching ribs, he sighs his relief against the round of Phil’s shoulder.

“You’ll be called to triage shortly,” she tells them.

Dan presses his face back against Phil’s shoulder and lets Phil say: “Okay, thank you.”

---

Triage is an awkward series of questions in an uncomfortable chair.

There’s a clip on his finger and a thermometer in his ear and Phil standing behind him, gripping the back of Dan’s chair and tapping his toes. The nurse checks his vitals and then checks them again because his pulse is reading a little erratically and Dan telling her it always does that isn’t a good enough reason.

She wraps a cuff around his arm and presses his button and Dan bites his lip against the pain he knows will come.

It does, enough to bring tears to his eyes and make his hand go numb and to have Phil releasing the chair to rub at his shoulders instead.

The nurse doesn’t mention it as she inputs the numbers into her computer.

“You’re blood pressure’s a little low,” she says.

“I know,” Dan says, a whisper. “It always is.”

She stares at him for a moment, then blinks her gaze back to her computer screen.

“So, what brings you into A&E today?”

Dan lets his smile collapse into a frown, sneaking a glance at the screen displaying his vitals. His pulse jumps from 92 to 108, but the nurse isn’t watching to see it.

“Chest pain, mainly,” he says. “I’m also pretty lightheaded and shaky. My whole body feels weak.”

She nods, typing. “How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?”

Five years.

“The chest pain has been getting worse all week,” answers Dan. “The rest of it started today. It got really bad a few hours ago.”

She types more before turning to him with a smile. “Why didn’t you come in sooner?”

Dan forces himself not to wince. Phil’s hand drifts across his shoulder, fingers brushing along his collarbones and Dan wants to reach up and take his hand. He would, if a stranger wasn’t staring at him with a fake smile and the knowledge that Dan just told her Phil’s just his flatmate.

“I’ve had similar issues in the past,” he says, jaw tight. “They usually pass after a while without needing medical intervention.”

Phil squeezes his shoulder. Dan wonders if he knows how many times Dan’s answered these exact question.

“Okay,” says the nurse. She turns to type that, too. “Do you have any pre-existing health conditions?”

Dan’s eyes slip closed. A muscle in his chest spasms and he doesn’t bother to keep himself from reaching up, trying to smooth away the ache as the nurse watches. And doesn’t bother to keep himself from reaching up to take Phil’s hand in his, squeeze his fingers gently in a silent plea.

He forces his eyes back open, hoping the nurse doesn’t notice the sheen of tears blurring his vision.

“Depression.”

She just nods, and starts asking about medication and allergies.

By his shoulder, Phil squeezes his hand.

---

The nurse told them it wouldn’t be long.

Dan didn’t believe her. He’s been to A&E enough time with idiopathic pain and tears in his eyes and weak limbs only to sit in the waiting room so long the pain dulled and the doctor he eventually saw stared at him like he was just some kid wasting his time with a dumb prank.

But it doesn’t take long today.

He’s been sitting for maybe fifteen minutes, pressed up against Phil’s side so his spine doesn’t need to feel the press of hard plastic against his back.

They’re still holding hands and Phil’s fingers have threaded through his hair when a voice overhead calls Dan’s name.

The man with the bleeding hand glares. The woman, now trying to calm her crying child by rocking them back and forth, just stares as Phil helps Dan sit, then stand, then wraps his arm around Dan’s waist to lead him to the A&E door.

Dan doesn’t dare look at the people who have been waiting since before he showed up.

---

A nurse leads him to a bed framed by curtains, sheets a little crooked and head propped up. He lets Dan drag himself onto it, leaving the cubicle with a murmur that he’ll be right back. Phil lingers awkwardly at the foot of the bed, hands wedged into his pockets.

When the nurse returns, he’s pushing a clucky machine on wheels with too many wires tangled around it.

“Can you unzip your jumper?” he asks.

Dan does, hands shaking, staring at Phil. He watches Phil’s gaze drop along with his zipper, trace over where Dan’s collar bones jut out beneath his skin, at where his ribs grow visible with every inhale.

“I’m going to stick the electrodes to your chest now, okay?” says the nurse.

Dan nods. “Okay.”

Phil watches the nurse press each electrode to Dan’s chest, six white stickers dotting his ribcage. One on either side of his sternum and four more that seem to follow the arc of a bone, Dan knows, from every time he’s had this very test before. Phil’s gaze lingers, just for a moment, on each one.

His face has gone pale. He reaches out with one hand and grips the metal pole at the foot of the bed.

The nurse presses a wire to each electrode, the snap getting lost in the low mumble of A&E. Outside the room, two women are talking about lab results. There’s the clatter of wheels over tiles and ringing of a phone and someone talking about a patient in bed six and Dan swears he can hear the beat of his heart over all of it.

Phil finally looks up from Dan’s chest, catches his gaze with tears in his eyes. They gleam white in hospital light, and disappear when he reaches up to wipe them away.

“You look sick,” says Phil.

Dan doesn’t say I am sick.

The nurse presses a button. The machine prints a graph.

“It looks fine to me,” says the nurse, “but I’ll have the doctor look at it and send someone in to do some bloodwork.”

And then he leaves, tugging the machine out of the room with him.

---

The next nurse gets Phil a stool so he doesn’t need to stand at the foot of Dan’s bed anymore. She situates it by Dan’s head with a friendly smile, awkwardly stepping around the small space and the cart full of supplies she brought with her.

“I just need to draw some blood, okay?” she says.

Dan nods, staring up at ceiling as she reaches for his arm. The elastic tourniquet snaps against his skin, sending tingles down his arm until his fingertips go numb and tears well in the corner of his eyes. He tries to blink them away, but they just roll down the sides of his face until they land on the pale blue hospital sheets.

Phil reaches over, smears the track one tear left with the tip of his thumb.

“It’ll just be a moment,” says the nurse.

There’s the chill of an alcohol swab against his skin and the tiny prick of a needle. Dan doesn’t watch, though he can see it all play out behind closed eyes. He can still remember the first time this happened, thirteen years old and holding his mum’s hand, crying because his head hurt so bad and the lights were too bright.

Phil’s hand drifts along the side of his face, fingers catching in Dan’s matted hair.

“You okay?” he asks.

Something tugs at Dan’s arm. He can imagine the nurse pulling one vial away only to slot another one into place.

“Hurts,” he whispers.

Phil just hums and runs his fingers through Dan’s hair again.

It doesn’t take long before the nurse is tugging the elastic from around Dan’s arm and pressing stickers to the vials she collected. Dan forces his eyes open to see the smile she directs at Phil, then at him.

“A doctor should be in to see you shortly,” she says.

And then she leaves.

---

Phil reaches for his hand, the one that’s still half-numb from the tourniquet, as soon as they’re alone.

His thumb drifts across the bones of Dan’s hand, the bulge of a vein. Dan watches, the back and forth sweep of a gentle touch that makes his nerves protest, but the heavy weight of anxiety on his mind dissipate into something manageable, ignorable.

Thank you, he almost says, but it doesn’t quite feel like enough.

Phil’s other hand comes up to close around Dan’s elbow. His thumb presses against the cotton ball the nurse stuck to his skin, applies pressure as she instructed, as Dan can’t do himself.

“Does it hurt less now?” he asks.

Dan nods. His head sinks deeper into the pillow, and he brings his legs up because the press of the mattress against his legs makes his feet freeze. Phil smiles at him, the soft kind that’s unsure but caring and makes Dan wish everyone cared as much about doing the right thing as Phil does.

Pain burns in his chest. It takes Dan a moment to realize that, behind the hurt, lies something warm, something that would be happy if circumstances were different.

“Can you do me a favour?” he asks.

Phil nods.

“Tell me about yourself? Anything, I don’t care,” says Dan. “Just … distract me?”

“Okay,” says Phil.

He’s silent for a moment. His thumb has stilled against Dan’s hand. His breath seems to have stilled in his chest.

Outside the room, there’s still the constant whir of the hospital. For the first time since they got there, Dan spares a second to think about the person on the other side of the curtain by his bed, and if they’re sitting there alone. He wonders if the little kid who was screaming was sick, and if they’ve made it out of the waiting room yet.

“I’m not good at talking about myself,” says Phil, “but, uh, have I ever told you about the video game I made when I was fourteen?”

Dan wishes he could laugh without agony, but all he manages is half a smile. “No,” he says. “Tell me about it?”

“I made it on RPG Maker,” says Phil. When Dan turns to look at him, he’s smiling, too. “It was called The Mark of Oxin.”

“Wow, a good name.”

Phil chuckles. “I thought so,” he says. “I think I still have it somewhere, probably on an old computer at my parents’ house. I should check next time I’m there.”

“If you do, can I play it?”

Another laugh. Dan’s chest burns even more.

“Sure,” says Phil. “As long as you promise not to judge fourteen-year-old me for anything in that game.”

“I doubt there would be much to judge fourteen-year-old Phil for.”

“I don’t know. If I remember correctly I programmed a–”

Dan squeezes his hand, maybe a little too tight, and Phil goes silent, eyes going wide.

“Don’t spoil me,” says Dan. “If there’s a possibility of me playing this, I don’t want any spoilers.”

“Oh.” Phil laughs, but it sounds a little forced, a little worried. “Right, you hate spoilers.”

Dan nods. “No spoilers.”

They’re quiet for another moment. Phil lets go of Dan’s elbow and reaches up to rest a hand on his head, again. His thumbs is back to tracing patterns against the back of Dan’s hand.

“Did anyone play it?” asks Dan. “When you made it?”

Phil laughs, the distant, happy kind that makes Dan smile again. “Yeah,” he says. “I invited all my friends over at the end of the summer and made them play it.”

Dan’s eyes slip closed again, and he pictures it, the blue and green bedroom he saw with tiny Phil sitting at a computer. The boy with mousy brown hair and a few friends all huddled around him, watching them play the game he made with the kind of bubbling excitement Phil sometimes radiates.

He feels himself smile, and opens his eyes to find Phil staring at him.

“That’s so nerdy and adorable,” says Dan.

Phil’s cheeks go pink. “Uh, I guess?”

“It is.” Dan squeezes his hand, gentle this time. “Tell me more?”

And Phil does.

---

The doctor is a woman wearing blue scrubs and a scowl. She steps into the room and snags Dan’s chart from the foot of his bed, and stares for long, silent moments, at the sheets of paper there. Over the edge of the clipboard, Dan can see the spiky rise and fall of his ECG, looking perfectly normal.

It always looks perfectly normal.

Phil’s still holding his hand, chair pressed so close to the A&E bed that his knees press against the metal frame. If he leaned forward just a bit, they could share Dan’s pillow.

He doesn’t move away when the doctor looks up, and Dan spares only a second’s thought to wondering what they look like to someone who probably doesn’t care enough to question it.

“How’s your pain now?” asks the doctor.

Dan shrugs, feeling something tug between his ribs. “A six?”

She hums, and nods, and explains that she’s going to make sure the pain isn’t tender. Phil moves away when she reaches over and touch cold fingers to Dan’s chest. Her fingers press into the dips between his ribs, poking briefly at the spot beneath his sternum that takes his breath away.

It’s familiar, like he’s practiced laying still while a doctor judges his pain by the gasps he lets out and the winces that pass across his face.

It’s been so many years, he thinks, that maybe he has.

The doctor asks a few more questions. The usual “how would you describe your pain,” which Dan never knows how to answer, the “have you experienced any arm or jaw pain,” that he knows is meant to check for cardiac problems, and has him stumbling over his words.

Dan’s used to being asked how long he’s had this pain. And he’s used to the way a doctor’s certainty wavers when he explains it’s been years since there hasn’t been something uncomfortable in his chest.

“So this is a chronic problem?” she asks.

Phil’s hand drifts back onto the bed, fingers brushing over the back of Dan’s hand.

“Yeah,” says Dan. “But it’s been really bad this last week.”

She nods, like she cares.

“Well, for chronic problems you should see your general practitioner,” she says. “I think you’re dehydrated, as well, as we’ll give you some IV fluids and pain medication, okay?”

“Okay.”

The doctor leaves after informing him a nurse will be in shortly to administer the medication. The clipboard clinks as she sets it back in its spot at the foot of the bed. There’s no door to fall closed, but Dan could swear they’re both waiting for her to be far enough away before Phil’s hand finds his again.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Dan nods.

His body feels heavy now, weighed with disappointment so familiar it’s hardly worth wondering what could have gone differently. In a few minutes, a nurse will push a clattering cart into the room. She’ll wrap another tourniquet around his arm, shove a needle into a vein that bulges at the inside of his wrist, and leave like that will solve any of his problems.

“Hurts,” he says, and pretends he’s talking about the lingering ache where the doctor pressed too harshly against his skin.

---

“Pain meds are gonna make me loopy.”

The nurse has come and gone, and Phil’s now pressed so close to the bed he lets his temple rest against the edge of the mattress.

Phil laughs, the quiet, warm kind. “Your hand’s freezing.”

“It’s the IV,” says Dan.

He nods, head so close Dan can feel the brush of Phil’s fringe against his cheek.

“Does it hurt?” asks Phil.

Dan squeezes his hand. “No. ’M used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

Phil’s thumb drifts across the tape holding the IV against Dan’s wrist. He stares, like he’s never seen an IV before, and Dan wonders how often Phil’s been in hospitals, how much illness he’d seen before Dan showed up with every broken part of his body.

He almost asks, but then Phil’s reaches down, wraps his whole hand around Dan’s chilled fingers.

“So cold,” he says. “You’re whole arm is so cold.”

Dan chuckles. The pain meds must be starting to kick in, because his chest doesn’t hurt as much. “I know.”

“Do you want a blanket?” asks Phil.

He shakes his head, and Phil reaches up to close his other hand over Dan’s fingers, too, as though trying to warm him up.

It works.

---

It’s dark outside by the time they get home.

There’s an uncomfortable cotton ball stuck to Dan’s wrist where his IV was removed, and the doctor’s instructions to see his G.P. ringing in his mind, and Phil’s arm wrapped around his waist and holding him close. Pain meds still have his mind hazy, his body feeling distant.

“You should get some sleep,” says Phil.

They’re back in the apartment now, where a blanket still covers the windows and another is still draped over the back of the sofa. It’s not that late. On a normal day, Dan would usually stay awake for awhile longer, procrastinating dealing with his insomnia by staring at screens.

But he’s barely slept this week. At least not restfully, not with the pain. And he feels just seperated enough from his own body now to know that with a single dose of sleeping meds he’d easily fall into sleep that would actually do something.

“You should too,” he says.

Phil squeezes his waist and nods without a word. He leads Dan to his bedroom, still dark and empty in a way that makes it feel foreign to be back.

Hospitals have always made him feel that way, as though the rest of the world disappeared for a little while and being back in his space isn’t quite right. Like things should be more different than they actually are.

Dan draws his hands from his pockets, unwraps himself from the warm cocoon of hoodie and sweatpants he’s wrapped himself in. Phil tugs at the hood.

“You should take this off,” he says. “Don’t want it to hurt when you wake up.”

Dan nods, but it’s Phil that reaches around to undo the zipper. He’s careful as he wraps his hands around the fabric and draws it from over Dan’s shoulders, letting it fall to the ground without care.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks.

He should probably have something to drink, Dan thinks. Or maybe a quick bite to eat while the pain is dull enough that he could swallow without difficulty. But he reaches back to catch Phil’s hand instead.

“Stay with me?” he says, but it sounds needy, feels like he’s asking too much of a flatmate. “In case it gets bad again?”

“Oh,” says Phil. “Okay.”

He has to go get his pillow from his own bedroom because Dan only has one, but when he comes back he’s smiling. Dan takes his sleeping pill without a drink and crawls into bed first, curled up on his side. Phil slides in next to him.

They’ve cuddled on the sofa before, but it feels different when Phil reaches out and drapes his arm over Dan’s waist. There’s still a few inches of space between their bodies, but it’s so little Dan can feel the warmth of Phil’s breath against the back of his head, the tension in his frame that makes him wonder if this feels different to Phil, too.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” whispers Phil. “Even if it’s just for now.”

Dan smiles. “Thank you.”

They’re quiet for another moment before Phil leans forward, His arm goes tense where it rests against Dan’s side and his breath is still, until his lips are dusting a soft kiss to the back of Dan’s head.

“Goodnight,” says Phil.

Dan needs to swallow against the sudden pressure in his chest before he can respond: “Goodnight.”

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #callie writes words #flares #finally! an update!

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dramallamadingdang · 6 years

Text

A buncha replies about high-poly hair, fur-coated vacation locals, evil enablers, laziness, an old game being old, time management or the lack thereof, creepy pizza delivery dudes, terrain defaults that may or may not work, House Hunters and stupid Americans, nuzzling cats, cheap but AWESOME 80s knives, fermented milk and Canadian weirdness about it, forcing TV on people who don’t want it, annnnnnnd...Texas? Yep, Texas.

Quite a list, ain’t it? :) IOW, these go back a bit because I’m...me.

These are for @immerso-sims, @nekosayuri, @fuzzyspork, @kairisu, @alawren4ever, @ajaysims, @didilysims, @delicatesoul88, @dreadpirate, @treason-and-plot, @jellybeanery, @pensblr, @twofee, @hemfbg, and @penig. Because Texas. ;)

Also, peripherally, @twofingerswhiskey.

immerso-sims replied to your photo “So instead of filling up my queue OR firing up my rebooted Castaway...”

I am guilty of having quite a few high polycount hairs, but I don’t have much CC in general and my Macie seems to handle them well, even with an integrated video card, so all is well, but yeah, 30k is a liiiiiittle bit excessive.

I have a few really high-poly hairs (20+K), myself. My game/computer does seem to be able to handle them without a fuss. (I really don’t know WHY, since both the machine AND the video card are older models, but...Hey, I’m not gonna argue. :) ) Even so, the ones I have are special and unique and very fabulous in some way, and if I later find a similar just-as-nice but lower-poly style, I’ll ditch the high-poly one in a heartbeat.

Mostly, though, I stick to hairs that are ~10K polys or less. I’ll have as many of those as I want because I figure if my game can handle the 30K+ ones without issue, it can handle a bunch of 10Ks. I have fewer that are 10K-12K. 13K is generally (and arbitrarily) my hard limit unless the hair falls into the “unique and fabulous” category and, really, those are few and far between.

nekosayuri replied to your photo “So instead of filling up my queue OR firing up my rebooted Castaway...”

@digitalangels lowered the polycount on Aviary, I'm pretty sure

I wouldn’t be surprised if she has. But really? There are already plenty of quite similar hairs that look just as nice as that one and that have much lower polycounts. I’ll bet it’s one of those that has thousands of backfaces that don’t even show in the game. :\

fuzzyspork replied to your photo “Well. This isn’t something you see every day. :) (Guess I missed that...”

The static she will collect on the way down will make that coat look like a tribble.

Yeah, like a tribble...or like they slaughtered a thousand-and-one poofy Pomeranian dogs to make her coat. :)

kairisu replied to your photo “Well. This isn’t something you see every day. :) (Guess I missed that...”

she's sliding in style ��✨

Maybe. But she’s gonna make a mess of that fancy fur coat. :)

alawren4ever replied to your post “So now that the second Blind Date gift I was called upon to make is...”

Fun thing of course!

See? THAT’S JUST NOT HELPFUL! :D I enable myself to do the fun thing quite well, thank you. ;)

nekosayuri replied to your post “So now that the second Blind Date gift I was called upon to make is...”

Get a mouse recorder to do it for you XD

That’s tempting, but the majority of the time spent on the “editing,” such as it is, is cropping the pics in the right place and to (more-or-less) the right size ratios. It’s never the same twice, so it couldn’t be automated.

(Confession: I had to Google “mouse recorder.” I mean, I could kind of tell what one would do from the name, but I doubted that such things actually existed. SURPRISE! :) )

ajaysims replied to your post “So now that the second Blind Date gift I was called upon to make is...”

I really know what you mean. My head is always bursting with a million different hood and story ideas but at the end of the day a lot of the time I just wanna play without thinking about editing pics after.

Yep, that’s me, too. I mean, I have (literally) about 1200 GilsCarburg pics to post. I mean, they wouldn’t all be posted because a good chunk of them are similar, where I took a lot of pics knowing I’d pick the best one of the bunch to post, but still...a lot. It’s going through them and making the posts that I drag my feet on sometimes. I kinda have to psych myself up to do it -- although once I start, I enjoy doing it, so it’s not a chore or anything :) -- and it’s easy to distract myself by, for instance, downloading a bunch of hairs for my Castaway game because I want to try my hand at making defaults for it.

nekosayuri replied to your post “You're my Senpai. Lol jk but for reals I adore you! You make amazing...”

Senpai XD tbh this is one of those things though, people actually PLAY the game AND make cc AND download stuff AND organise downloads folder/Tumblr posts. How do people have time for all of that??

I honestly don’t know how most people do it. For me, the answer’s easy: I’m mostly retired -- I’ll do paid gigs if I get bored and want to, but otherwise? Eh. -- and I don’t have to worry about money. And I have employees. That helps, too. Also, I have health issues that prevent me from doing a lot of things I’d LIKE to do. So, I do Sims-related stuff a lot. And go on a lot of dates with my husband, but he DOES work, so I can’t be doing stuff with him all the time. So, for now, unless/until I decide to do some kind of volunteering, I occupy a good chunk of my time with Sims stuff. And with hanging out with friends and whatnot, too, of course. But...Yeah, I don’t have a “normal” life. I don’t know how people who DO have a normal life manage to do all the Sims stuff they do.

delicatesoul88 replied to your post “Hi there, I’m pretty impressed that you create and use a lot of high...”

@dramallamadingdang I feel like I should print this and place it up right next to my monitors for the next time I take the cc cleanup plunge. The flashing pink bug is real and has caught up to me, I also know its my own darn fault for having so much cc. My computer can handle it but my game can't, and this is the swift kick in the rear I needed to remind me of that.

dreadpirate replied to your post “Hi there, I’m pretty impressed that you create and use a lot of high...”

Personally what works for me (since I love my sims 3 and 4 conversions and my pretty hairs) is playing with smaller lots as much as possible and going easy on the clutter

Yeah, it’s all a matter of prioritizing. You truly can’t have everything because “old game is old” even if you personally own a supercomputer. So, you focus on what’s most important to you and sort of skimp on the other stuff. So if pretty hairs and conversions are your thing, OK, but you might have to sacrifice, yeah, large, heavily-landscaped lots and lots of deco-only clutter and/or a heavily-hood-decorated neighborhood. Or if you’re a person who doesn’t actually play the game and just does, say, decorating, you can have all the converted, high-poly/high-res shit your little heart desires because you don’t need the high-poly hairs and clothing or the neighborhood stuff. Or if you’re mostly a Sim-maker, you can have all the high-poly hairs with gigantic textures that you want because you don’t need anything else that taxes the game.

And if you want to do everything...Then I say: Separate user accounts/different downloads folder for each purpose. So, if you wanna decorate, you load up the high-res conversions. You wanna make Sims, load up the high-poly hair. You wanna actually play...Don’t go batshit with the big stuff and you’ll generally be OK. Conscious downloading is the way to go. Know what you’re putting in your downloads before you put it in there and make conscious, aware, informed decisions so you’re not surprised by any consequences (i.e pink flashing) that you experience..

It’s all balance, man. Like, be in harmony with the universal spheres, totally.

treason-and-plot replied to your photo “This pizza delivery dude that my game generated…looks like a pizza...”

He has seen things...

Seen many things, yes. Let’s just hope that he hasn’t done anything...to the pizza... :)

didilysims replied to your photo “This pizza delivery dude that my game generated…looks like a pizza...”

Just as long as he doesn't get any of those long hairs in the food.

Things like that, yes! :) Or, you know, worse. Ah, all those urban legends... :)

jellybeanery replied to your photoset “Happy Monday! Now that Blind Date is over, I’m back to doing Monday...”

Eeeee! Thank you! I'm grabbing this and gonna check it out tomorrow! ♥

Well, I hope it worked better for you than my first stab! :) Please let me know if it didn’t!

fuzzyspork replied to your post “To be or not to be...a bitch.”

My reply to this sort of thing is "Oo, this is short notice. We already have plans!" Even if those plans are to watch Netflix in our underwear. They are probably just doing the Christian thing by inviting you guys and they may not even care if you come (my sister is of the High and Mighty mindset and she invites out of "duty" but is always relieved with people can't come or cancel, lol).

You know, of anyone else, I’d believe this. But whenever we’ve turned down an invite, there’s always been tons of wheedling about it. So, either they’re really good actors or they really do want us there. I’m pretty sure it’s the latter, since entertaining and cooking big meals and all that is what the female half of the couple lives for, since aside from going to church, she’s stuck at home, homeschooling their 7 kids, ranging from infants to teens. (Which is another reason to avoid their house, as far as I’m concerned. I’m done with kids. I don’t hate them or anything, but I really don’t enjoy being around them. Especially not toddlers. I’m not even goo-goo for my own grandkids, so I don’t want to deal with anyone else’s kids anymore.)

pensblr replied to your post “Random non-Sims things”

Just going to leave this here. https://i.pinimg.com/originals/75/a2/2d/75a22d07e38b1fedd15834c67bea0bb2.jpg

*sporfle* Yeah, that about sums it up, I’d say. :)

immerso-sims replied to your photoset “Kitten spam, with captions.”

The nuzzle animation is so cute :3

It is! I think they could’ve done so much more with pet-to-pet interactions, personally. Like, cats and dogs sleeping in piles like they do IRL. Also, pets sleeping on beds with Sims. (I have the mod that enables that for children, but it would have been nice if that was possible for all Sims.) But at least that one interaction is cute. :)

fuzzyspork replied to your post “Random non-Sims things”

Oh god House Hunters. What gets me is when they decide they don't want to buy "the perfect in every other way" house because the paint/wallpaper/carpet is hideous. I always yell at the TV "THOSE ARE EASY TO CHANGE YOU PRISSY IDIOT!" But we ditched cable TV a few years ago and I've never been happier. It's so much more relaxing to just watch what we want streaming, when we want, not bound to a show's schedule.

Yeah! I saw that, too! I was like, “You know what? There’s this thing called painting. And if you don’t want to do it yourself, there’re even people who you can pay to do it for you!” But when the realtor says something like that (with not NEARLY enough snark, IMO), they’ll say “Oh, we don’t want any big projects.” As if painting one room before there’s anything in it is a “big project.” Stupidity abounds!

And yeah, I’m much happier without squawk boxes around. The only remotely good thing about it is Cartoon Network. And some of the HGTV-type stuff is fun to watch, I suppose, if only to get ideas for my game. ;) But I much prefer no TV. I mean, yeah, I know no one forces anyone to turn it on, but we feel like we should watch SOMETHING since we’re paying through the nose for it. :p

twofee replied to your post “Random non-Sims things”

house hunters international is hilarious because they always want to be in the center of whatever city, pay almost nothing in rent, and at least one person in the couple expects everything to be americanized. plus if they are asking for it to come furnished, they always complain about how its not their style or whatever. i just want to see the pretty scenery of the country youre lucky enough to be able move to. have you been able to guess which house theyll pick?

I can pretty much always tell the house they’ll pick because it’s usually the one that’s most like what the female half of the couple wants. Which is so stereotypical but...there it is.

And yeah, I watched an “International” one the other day. Some chick looking for a place to rent in Spain who was bitching about the lack of central air conditioning (In buildings older than America, that she said she WANTED to live in) and freaking out because -- OMG! -- the washing machine was installed in the (small) kitchen! Americans, SMH. Of course, she ended up in a new place with central air that was very American and also above her budget, but she justified that by saying she’d be more “comfortable” there. :p Moron. Why go live in another country if you just want to drag yours along with you? Isn’t that exactly what a certain sector of American citizens bitch about when it comes to immigrants? But what do American émigrés do? *sigh* Swear, most Americans just need to stay the hell in America because God forbid they deign to adapt to anything else. :p

hemfbg replied to your post “Random non-Sims things”

It's funny that you mention House Hunters- it's playing on the tv in the other room. Sometimes I'll watch it when it's on just because I like to look inside other houses, though I agree with you about it being very safe-for-tv and every episode being the same.

I did actually see a gay couple on it the other day! Of course, they were a white, middle-aged well-off gay couple looking for a place in Palm Springs, CA, which is pretty much a place you can’t live in unless you’re LGBT (and well-off), but still! Gay people, OMG!

nekosayuri replied to your post “˜Tis reply time! \0/”

Maybe you could suggest it over at MTS to people who actually mod? it is a great idea overall! and it *might* be possible, but wont know till we try right? :D

I did post the idea in the “Hacks & CC You’d Like To See” thread over there. It’s not a request thread, though, because MTS doesn’t allow requests. It’s more like an “I wish” thread, and a lot of the stuff wished-for IS impossible, but sometimes people have picked stuff out of the thread and actually done it, so...Well, it’s out there in the world. Of course, right after I posted it, a little argument broke out about something unrelated, so it quickly got buried, but maybe something’ll come of it. Who knows?

didilysims replied to your post “Random non-Sims things”

3) I need to get me some of those knives! I feel like I'm sharpening my junky knives every time I use them because I refuse to crush my poor vegetables instead of cutting them. Never heard of the brand but I looked it up and apparently they're still making them. Probably not as good quality as back in the day but...I'll keep my eyes open in the stores now. :)

I was amazed to find out that Ginsu still exists. But yeah, those knives are way nicer than their 70s/80s ancestors. Which, yeah, probably means they won’t work half as well. :) Gimme my cheap plastic-handled bread knife made of God-knows-what ANY DAY!

didilysims replied to your post “Random non-Sims things”

1) Pretty sure internet packages try to include TV these days because the TV stations are paying them extra money to force it on people. 2) I say it the American way (never heard the English way in my memory) but I spell it with an H. There are almost as many different spellings as there are different Canadians, however. I've also seen yogourt, which is an odd one.

1) I’m pretty sure you’re right. I’m also pretty sure that most people do still want TV...although I’m pretty sure that, as time goes on, most people will prefer to stream what they want when they want it, so I think standard TV’s kind of on its way to dinosaur-hood. So perhaps one day it will no longer be forced on people. Probably won’t happen before I croak, though. :P 2) Yeah, @twofingerswhiskey reblogged with a pic of a yog(h)(o)urt container spelled “yogourt,” which is apparently how they spell it in Quebec (so I guess that’s how it’s spelled in France? Who knew?), which is apparently where most of y’all’s yog(h)(o)urt is made. :) Which is kinda weird, if you ask me. Why Quebec? Are there no dairy cows in Saskatchewan or Ontario or Alberta? :) I’ve seen dairy cows in BC, so I know they’re there...

penig replied to your post “˜Tis reply time! \0/”

Army bases can be beautiful. Ever go to Ft. Sam Houston? There's a reason all the officers retire here...

Nope, never been there. I’m sorry to say that I avoid Texas as much as I can. No offense to you or to any other individual Texan out there, but...y’all have a lot of bombastic asshats amongst you. And y’all seem to elect sexist, grabby-hands asshats at an alarming rate, too. Whenever I’ve been in Texas, I’ve had bad experiences at the hands of those two groups. So...Yeah, not going there if I can possibly help it. THAT said, I know that the cities are generally better and I’d like to visit San Antonio one day -- and maybe Ft. Sam Houston -- because I’ve heard that it’s, like, the artsy/hippie capital of Texas, kind of like how Santa Fe/Taos is the artsy/hippie capital of New Mexico, but....yeah. *sigh*

#immerso-sims #nekosayuri #fuzzyspork #kairisu #alawren4ever #ajaysims #didilysims #delicatesoul88 #dreadpirate #treason-and-plot #jellybeanery #pensblr #twofee #hemfbg #penig #replies

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prompt-master · 6 years

Text

Ice Ice Baby

Anon asked: hi! Ohmygosh, ive just read every single one of your bmc fics, I love them so much! If you’re not too busy, could I request a fic where Michael gets sick from falling in a cold lake or something? Thank you so much

Flattery…will get you everywhere my friend.

–

It was a fucking disaster. Maybe if Jeremy had listened to him for once, just once, in his damn life. But no, it was a different kind of mountain dew so of course it’d be ok! Don’t listen to Did-All-The-Necessary-Reach Michael Mell, why would you fucking do that?

And even worse? It was cold, unbearably so. Michael’s face felt numb and bitter even though he was running. He had a thick winter jacket one that he was struggling to put his hood up for, he didn’t have time to put on gloves, a scarf, or a hat. He just threw on a coat, some boots, and booked it out his front door. He was still in his Metroid pajamas, his numb fingers barely able to hit call on Jeremy’s contact. He cringed whenever the Bluetooth headphones he was wearing immediately went to voicemail. He wanted to throw his phone. What a dumbass.

Jeremy had messaged him not to long ago: can’t control it, at the hideout.

Fuck. Michael shouldn’t have left him alone. Michael didn’t even want to leave him alone. No it was because his mom so desperatly needed him to help out with the cooking. Now his friend was probably possessed and doing who knows what in the woods. The hideout refers to an old hangout spot the two used to go to in their middle school years. It was a dinky little wooden bridge surrounded by dead forest and a lake. During the winter they used to test fate and walk across the lake. Michael had almost forgotten all about it.

“You have reached the voicemail box of-”

“Fucking hell Jer”

Michael hissed at his hands, skin cracking in the cold. If it was this bad for him who was in a rush, he wondered what Jeremy was wearing, who wasn’t even in control? The SQUIP could be having Jeremy sitting in a pile of snow in nothing by a t-shirt and shorts.

Michael shoved his phone into his pocket, ducking into the woods along the memorized path he and Jer carved out years ago. Years before a stupid computer chip got in the way.

“Jeremy!”

Silence, aside from Michael’s harsh breathing and footsteps. He almost wanted to take his coat off from all the heat getting to him.

“Jer! Answer me!”

He neared the bridge now, grabbing onto the splintering railing and pulling himself up, the bridge twisting and creaking with his weight. He held himself over the edge of the bridge, arms shaking holding him up, as if he were about to throw up. God this was so much stress. He could barely breath from the cold and the running and the anxiety. He took a moment to collect hinself, hoping to hear his best friends voice. But he didn’t.

He lifted his head again, another gulp being pulled into his lungs, “Jeremy!”

His eyes scaled the white forest, looking for Jeremy. He ended up finding a trail of footprints that weren’t his own. More calculated and calm. He followed them, until he saw Jeremy staring at him from the ice, just below the bridge.

Michael almost dropped with relief, arching himself back over the edge, “Jer…who am I talking to? Please tell me it’s you pal cuz I am so not in the mood for stopping another technology take over.”

Jeremy’s expression was cold, he looked across the features of the bridge then back to Michael, “You ruined my plans before.”

Michael glared, clutching the Red in his inner coat pocket, “And you ruined Jeremy’s life.”

“I question your definition of ruined.” His tone was blunt, yet teasing, “I should be thanking you really.”

Michael didn’t like the sound of that, “…Why?”

“Well you told Jeremy the website you got all your…valuble SQUIP Intel from. And now, poof, all gone. Meaning the only threat left to SQUIPS…” his eyes trailed back up to Michael, unwavering.

“…What are you doing here though?”

A smirk crossed Jeremy’s face, he stepped back from the bridge, “luring you in of course!”

“Wha-”

The SQUIP could tell in an instant that the support of the bridge was weak, and with one throw of a rock the whole thing came tumbling down, dragging Michael down into ice with it.

With bitter cold instantly snapping and biting at his skin, Michael was thrown into a directionless heap in the water. Up or down was nothing to him, and the panic pounding in his chest did nothing to stop the chilling thought that he could die. The way his mind slowed down was so different from the highs he was used to, this was an uncomfortable numbing force that was pushing pressure against his eyes and sapping away all ability to move. He could hear nothing but a ringing noise, and the last thing he saw was a hand reaching out for him.

“Michael! Michael!”

The shock of seeing Michael drop through ice was enough to snap Jeremy back into control of his own body. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at it. He shook his numb hands, shaking from the static running through them, and stumbled over to the hole Michael disappeared into.

He took fearful gulps of air, “Oh god…oh man I don’t- what do I do?”

He ignored the SQUIP mocking him in the back of his head, and blindly reached his hand into the murky water, gasping at the sharp embrace like ants. He reached in until his cheek was pressed against the water and he felt something brush against his fingertips. He instantly latched onto the heavy mass and pulled Michael out of the water.

He gasped and held his completely numb arm to his chest, trying to calm his rising panic, “M…Michael…oh god Michael…!”

He ran over to Michael, scrambling to grab him. He was so incredibly cold. Jeremy almost went into a full panicked state when he grabbed onto Michael’s arms. He let out a dry sob, cried “shit..!” And rolled Michael onto his back. His head rolled dead to the side, eyes open a sliver only showing the whites.

“No..no please…oh fuck Michael please” he shook him by the shoulders, watching Michael’s cold face move with it.

Panic was setting more and more in now, holding onto his heart. In the corner of his eye he saw the SQUIP, standing over him and Michael with their cold eyes glowing down. They watched Jeremy lightly smack his friends face again and again, begging him to stay alive.

With a deep shaky breath Jeremy left his hand pressed against Michael’s face, his skin was so unnaturally cold and now he was laying in the snow-

“…Are you going to check if he’s breathing or are you just going to keep crying?”

Jeremy looked up at the SQUIP in shock, pure unblinking shock.

“Don’t get me wrong,” the SQUIP started, reading Jeremy’s mind, “I’m only helping because you just put your DNA all over him and I’d rather not have a host accused of murder.”

Jeremy pursed his lips together and held his hand over Michael’s face. He held his breath, nearly feeling faint until he recgoznied the warm breaths against his freezing skin. He nearly collapsed from relief, and laid on Michael’s chest, listening to the wheezing breaths he was pulling in.

He let himself feel suddenly exhausted, breathing out a “he’s okay…”

But he was still unconscious and numbingly cold. Pressing his hand against his face, Jeremy thought his hand was gonna stick to the skin. Michael’s head rolled limply, his mouth parted slighted. Jeremy pulled Michael closer to himself, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He looked up at the SQUIP and felt a furious anger and disgust, but held it down in favor of helping Michael. He needed him this time.

“Wise decision Jeremiah.”

Jeremy took a deep breath to calm himself, “What do I do? He’s…he’s so cold”

“You need to get him warmed up, but not too quickly. It would probably be ideal to just bring him to a hospital in a car”

Jeremy frowned, “…But I can’t drive”

“I can.”

It was a terrible idea and honestly Michael was going to kill him for it when he found out, but he lifted Michael into his back and dragged him all the way back to his house and into his cruiser. Thing is, Michael always keeps his keys on him. So not only was Jeremy illegally driving but he was illegally driving in a friends car. Maybe he should just call an ambulance- no no. His parents are home and he can’t wait out in the snow. He couldn’t deal with Mrs Mell right now, she’d probably stab him in the throat or something. After all it is entirely his fault.

Jeremy was tense, white knuckled and wide eyed. Every now and then he’d glance at Michael, shivering in the passenger seat, only to get scolded by the SQUIP.

“Eyes on the road” he kept saying.

But Michael looked awful. He’d stripped the boy of his hoodie, he couldn’t bring himself to take off Michael’s pants and he wasn’t wearing a shirt under the hoodie anyway. Melted snow dripped down his brow from his hair, he was so still and silent aside from thin breaths.

“Eyes on the road.”

But Michael looked awful-

“Eyes on the road.”

But Michael was dying right next to him and he was going to be too late.

“Eyes on the road Jeremy!” His hands lost control, turning the wheel sharply to the left. Jeremy felt his breath catch in his throat, eyes darting from Michael to the highbeams blinding him, suddenly aware of all the honking behind him. The car swerved back where it belonged, Jeremy had been drifting out of the lane.

Once he realized he was safe he slumped over, letting out a breath.

“Jeremy you are driving illegally and if you prefer not to be caught I suggest you pay more attention”

Jeremy glanced up, his hands were still being controlled by the SQUIP, “…Can you just…”

He never thought he’d ask the SQUIP for help twice in one day.

“Can you keep doing it like this?”

“…If I must. But keep your eyes on the road nonetheless, I can only see what you and other SQUIPS can see.”

Jeremy nodded, only sparing another quick glance at his friend.

“Please please hang in there Michael”

———– “How did this happen again?”

Jeremy looked at his feet, noticing how one of the floor tiles were the wrong color.

“We were…uh…messing around on the ice. Just being yknow, stupid.” He pulled at his sleeves, stretching them out.

“Son you’re plenty old enough to know how dangerous that is-”

“I know I know I’m really sorry can I just…see him again?”

The man sighed, “Fine, be more careful next time. He could have died”

Jeremy gave a low whisper, “I know.”

Stepping into the room Jeremy could see nothing but Michael, he had been in the hospital for a few hours now. He already looked better, warmer. Jeremy sat by his side with his gameboy out, hoping to be there when he woke up.

And he was. But the problem was Michael also had a fever.

Now that Michael wasn’t dying though he was allowed to go home despite the fever, they prescribed some fever reducers and sent him on his way.

Jeremy had his dad come and pick him up, he’d explain how he got here to Michael later. In the backseat of the car Jeremy couldn’t keep his eyes off of Michael’s flushed face.

Michael groaned, sinking into his hoodie as if he was still cold, but leaned his head against the glass window as if he was hot.

“Mr. Heere,” Jeremy cringed, Michael’s voice sounded awful, “Do I have to go home? My mom is gonna kill me…”

“She’s just worried sport, can’t blame her. I know the feeling.” Mr. Heere gave a quick glance back at Jeremy.

“I’ll try and see if you can spend the night, but you gotta face her eventually.” He smiled back and flexed his arm, “Gotta take it like a man!”

Michael dryly laughed. The next second his expression was serious, peering into Jeremy’s worried eyes, “I’m fine Jer.”

“…but-”

“I’m fine.” Michael looked out the window again. The car ride was silent.

Michael ended up being able to sleep over. Because of Jeremy’s insistence he was laying in his best friends bed. Michael groaned, laying a hand over his hot sweaty forehead, his eyes were lost and dazed. He glanced over at Jeremy who had just walked back into the room carrying a glass of water for Michael.

“You ok? I’m not gonna die you know.”

Jeremy frowned and pressed the glass into Michael’s hand, “I’m still worried though, you almost did die after all”

Michael laughed, “it’s ok dude” he pressed the glass to his lips, taking gulps of water down. He finished the glass without even realizing it, he pulled the glass away and smiled shyly at Jeremy.

“You have a pretty bad fever you know” it was 102 last they’d checked. “What do I do if it gets higher”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that” Jeremy stood up, grabbing the glass. “I’m gonna refill your water-”

Michael grabbed his wrist as he turned away, “hey.”

Jeremy turned, his face void of any readable expression, but Michael knew.

“It’s not your fault.”

Jeremy shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it go. He nodded and wiggled out of Michael’s grip, “okay.”

For now the best he could do was help Michael feel better, then he could cope with the guilt.

#bmc #be more chill #boyf riends #fan fic

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whatzaoverwatch · 6 years

Note

Nonnie is right, We need more Doomfist asks, could I get OW Reader and Talon Doomfist falling in love with one another and trying to convince one another to join their side so they can "properly" be together

I went a severely angst route cause honestly thissituation wouldn’t end as you hope.

Doomfist fallingfor an OW Reader

It had appeared that one ofthe recent missions to eliminate some targets got a little sidetracked thanplanned. During the raid, some Overwatch agents had arrived to interfere withtheir work. Talon for once managed to get the upper hand in the situation. Theagents retreated swiftly, all except for one. From what Akande had heard, theymanaged to put up a real fight until they were captured. He knew that theywould be able to gain some intel on when the dreaded team would strike next,and figure out how the hell they always were one step ahead.

He entered the watch room thathad a window showing the interrogation room. Looking over to Sombra and Moirawho was watching, Sombra was typing away while Moira was looking veryintrigued.

“Have they managed to speak?”he asked making Moira turn to him with a shake of her head.

“Not yet, Reaper has been inthere for awhile, but they don’t seem even the slightest bit afraid,” Shecouldn’t but smirk tapping her fingers together, “perhaps we can proceed withthe older methods like we once did with Amelie.”

Akande grew curious of whothis person was as he went to turn to have a look at them. Suddenly he felt hisheart drop almost thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him. Inside the roomwas [Name] sitting there arms folded looking quite seriously at the hoodedfigure who was trying to make them talk. What the hell was [Name] doing here?This had to be some kind of joke. There was no way that they were an Overwatchagent.

He met [Name] years ago beforehe ever associated with Talon. Something the two of them knew was that theywere meant to be in some sort of destined fate. He had been in love with themever since. Of course he kept all of his business aside from [Name] as they didin return. All that mattered between them was their devotion to one another. Butperhaps keeping those secrets was suddenly paying them back as cruelpunishment. His thoughts were suddenly pushed away from the sound of Sombrasvoice.

“Man do they have a reputationon them,” the hacker snickered looking at some files on her computer, “[Name] [LastName], parents were both previous members of Overwatch before the fall. Theyseemed to have recently passed away. Father by car accident, mother by cancer.Specializes in combat as well as undercover operations. Guess [Name] decided tofollow the family business.”

“How interesting, [Last Name].I should’ve known they looked familiar,” Moira hummed narrowing her eyes, “itappears that the old methods would work perfectly in this situation. I shallget started on th-“

“Not yet,” Akande spoke upbefore heading towards the interrogation room leaving the two women confused.He entered into the room catching the twos attention. Reaper looked overquestionably while [Name]s eyes shifted over to the intruder. Almost seemingsurprised for a moment before looking away from Akande, “Leave us. I’ll handlethis.”

Reaper looked back over to[Name] before getting up and leaving the two alone in the room. Akande shut thedoor behind the wraith nearly slamming it as he kept staring at [Name]. Theirarms were folded, handcuffed to the table avoiding his glare. It was deadsilent, the room was completely tense. He didn’t even care if the others heardon the other side, he needed to know the truth.

“You’re an agent?” [Name]hunched over slightly exposing the deceit that they were covering themselvesin.

“I should’ve known you caughtword,” They cursed to themselves, “I was hoping that you wouldn’t find outuntil long after. I know I should’ve said something…but I wanted to wait untilthe time was right.”

“How long?” Akande askedcalmly at first, his tone was cold and direct. [Name] bit their lower lip for asecond not saying a single word. Suddenly he slammed his hand on the table causing[Name] to jolt from fear, “[Name] I asked you a question: how long did youknow?”

“S-Since the recall,” [Name]admitted gripping their arms tightly forcing themselves to look at him, “I gotthe message from Winston that was for my parents and I decided to go in theirplace. When the team went to after you I couldn’t…”

“And since then you decided tostill lie to me?” He glared at them still remembering that moment in Numbaniand how he was thwarted so easily, “When were you going to tell me? When I wasrotting in prison? When I escaped? Or were you going to stick around until Ihad my back turned.”

“Akande…” Their soft wordsthat once was able to ease him to sleep now felt like pins to his heart ballinghis hand into a fist.

“Don’t you even call me thathere,” He threatened doing everything in his power not to grab them by the neckfor what they had done. Relaxing himself for a moment, he stood up straight andfolded his arms, “Why did you stay? Even if you knew, you could’ve ran, or haveyou been using me to get information for your renegade group to stop my goals.”

[Name] looked down for amoment, he noticed them trying to force back tears from escaping their eyes. Heknew them all too well but apparently not as much as he thought. Part of himwanted to calm [Name] like he would before in emotional times, but here he feltsatisfied seeing that from his once love of his life.

“I stayed…because I thoughtI’d be able to persuade you,” [Name] spoke with a bit of strain in their voice,“By having you rethink about the war. Can’t you see people are still trying tomend themselves from the crisis? Years later and we are trying to fix thatchaos and you still want to cause more of it. Hasn’t humanity suffered enough??”

Akande did from time to timeexpress how much another war would advance society but he was disgusted by thewords coming out of [Name]. It was as if he didn’t recognize them. He had tofix this so he could get the [Name] he once knew. Frowning he approached thedesk once more.

“Humanity hasn’t even earnedthe right for that freedom,” Closing his eyes he took a second before lookingat them with a bit of hurt behind the intimidation, “and neither do you.”

The fear wavered in [Name]sheart looking at the man they fell for now in a different light. “You’re…you’regoing to kill me aren’t you?”

“No…doing that would be acomplete waste. [Name], I’m giving you a chance to join the right side. I donot care if it was what your parents wouldn’t want. Join with me and I willforget about this betrayal.” Even with [Name]s past now unveiled Akande knew hecouldn’t leave them. Curse his foolish heart for still looking at a bright sideto this. [Name]s gaze narrowed before standing up until the handcuffs ceasedtheir movements but held them at the point to look at him directly in the eyes.

“And throw away what myparents tried to salvage? Overwatch is the only family I have left. I can’tturn away that for the sake of what you want. If this makes us enemies…then sobe it…Doomfist.” The heartbreak in [Name]s words unveiled as the tears began tostream down their cheeks. Even when they were strong, they still had theirweaknesses.

“They have made you soft[Name]. This is not the person I knew long ago, but I will fix that from you,”Looking over his shoulder, he stared at what looked like a mirror but it wasthe viewing window on the other side. Knowing Moira was still watching he gavea nod signalling her to get to work. Turning back to [Name] he reached over andwiped the tear from their eyes before sighing, “I will make sure that everypart of that group is gone. You’ll thank me for this.”

“W-What are you going to do tome?” They whispered in fear watching Akande start to leave the room. Theytugged at the cuffs trying to escape them as best as they could do, “WHAT ARE YOUGOING TO DO TO ME??”

Akande knew exactly what hewas going to do…he was going to get what he wanted. That being the love hislife, even if he had to manipulate them into his side once again. How cruel can fate be?

#overwatch #overwatch scenarios #overwatch imagines #doomfist #akande ogundimu #talon

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wilsherejack · 7 years

Note

more of the assasin au would be amazing!!! hope real life is treating u well

(assassin au 1 2)

Andrew Minyard never met the original Butcher of Baltimore, but if he was anything like his son, Andrew understands the fanatical devotion.

Neil doesn’t elicit the same kind of loyalty, mostly; the only people devoted to him are Jean and Kevin. Andrew, too, if you’re counting people who are paid to be.

Andrew gets it, though. Neil is all poorly concealed confidence, simultaneously raring for a fight and backing away from a punch, shirtless whenever he can be just to remind his father’s people of who he is. It’s the same reason he’s never gotten rid of that brand on his face. He could afford to; he pays Andrew more than enough.

Neil is sitting across the room now. He’s not very good at sitting still: he always looks like he’s either on the start line of a marathon or about to throw a punch. Even when he’s negotiating through some unsavory business or other, he doesn’t look like he’s all the way there.

“What?” Neil says.

Andrew doesn’t respond. He looks back down at his computer, poring over a message board on one of the most useful sites on the Dark Web—for him, anyway.

“Someone in Wilmington wants to hire me,” Andrew tells Neil. “A quick job. Should only take me an hour or two.”

“Is it a Robin Hood one, or are you trying to negotiate a raise? Because you know Kevin handles all of that, and he says I can't—”

“Don’t worry,” Andrew says, responding to the post. “I don’t need more money.”

“Oh,” Neil says. “Good. When?”

They say Andrew’s mark will be alone in his house all weekend. Andrew needs to stock up on ammo and sharpen his knives, but otherwise, he’s ready to go.

“I need to borrow your car,” Andrew says.

Neil’s car is a blue 2015 Honda Accord. There are probably a million more just like it in Delaware. Andrew’s probably cost at least five times as much and sticks out like a sore thumb everywhere. It’d be faster, but it might draw unwanted attention.

“You have fake plates?”

Andrew nods. He has a few fake licenses, too. It’s good to be prepared.

“I’ll go Saturday after I take King to the vet.”

“I can take her,” Neil says. “Earlier you get to Delaware, earlier you get back, right? Unless you want me to come?”

Neil really is irritating. Smug, too.

“As I’ve repeatedly told you, I want nothing.”

“Right,” Neil says. He’s smiling. Andrew can’t stand him. “Of course. Let me know if you change your mind.”

It’s one person. Andrew can handle it.

Andrew hits the road early on Saturday morning. His one dollar payment is in his bank account already—a formality really, a way to make the deal work in his head. He’s not a superhero or a vigilante. He’s a paid professional.

Wilmington is an hour and a half from Neil’s house in the suburbs of Baltimore. Neil is in the process of packing everything up and moving to Baltimore proper. The cover story is that he wants to be closer to the businesses he funds. The reality is that he’s finally decided he doesn’t need to live in his father’s house to run his father’s business. Personally, Andrew can get behind that sentiment. He doesn’t care if Neil flinches every time he looks at a certain corner of the kitchen, but it makes Neil look weak to his people, so it’s in the best interest of his business for Neil to move.

It’ll be more convenient for Andrew, too. Baltimore is an easy city to blend into with one of the most notoriously corrupt police forces in the country. Neil can buy them out, and Andrew can use them to help legitimize his little side gig.

He glances in the rearview. There is minimal traffic on the I-95 getting out of Baltimore for once, but the same car has been behind him since he got onto the highway.

It’s probably nothing. He presses the gas. Neil’s car isn’t as shiny as Andrew’s, but Andrew’s had it tricked out—it goes faster than a Honda Accord probably should, and it drives smoother, too. It’s nice working for someone with an accountant who okays so much discretionary spending.

The car behind him is still there half an hour later. It’s obscured by other cars now, but Andrew still sees it, its gleaming windshield glaring at Andrew from the middle lane like a beacon. He stays to the left as long as he can, pushes the car as fast as it’ll go without getting himself pulled over—that’s all he needs, really, getting pulled over with fake plates and a fake license—and the car fades out of his line of vision by the time he’s crossed into Delaware.

Andrew’s GPS tells him to take the next exit.

Wilmington is quiet for a city. Compared to Baltimore, it’s practically a suburb. It has more violent crime than anywhere else in Delaware, though, a statistic Andrew intends to add to. He remembers those videos they showed when he was waiting to meet new foster parents—“I don’t want to be a statistic,” some ambiguously ethnic kid playing baseball instead of smoking weed, a cheerful white wannabe parent. Andrew doesn’t mind being a statistic. Not this kind, anyway.

He pulls in at the house he’s supposed to be at, and knows immediately that something is wrong. For one thing, it’s the last house on a dead end road. For another, there are two cars parked in the driveway. And one of them is the car that was tailing him on the highway.

He doesn’t know how this car beat him here. Maybe they were using a better GPS than he was.

There are two options. He can pop a u-ey and get out of here, or he can pull into the driveway and find out what’s waiting for him in that house.

Andrew is curious, but he isn’t reckless. He can send the dollar back when he gets home. He shifts Neil’s car into reverse and starts to back up, but his arm barely makes it across the back of the passenger seat before he hears a gunshot.

Fuck. He fumbles for his bag, digs out his own gun, and looks around in the direction the shot came from. He sees nothing, so he presses the gas again, but then—another bullet, passing right over the boot of the car.

Fuck. He’s stuck here unless he wants to risk getting shot at and having to drive home with a potentially mortal wound and bullet holes in Neil’s car.

He leans back in his seat and considers the facts. Obviously, this was a trap. If whoever set it wanted Andrew dead, he’d probably be dead. He can’t even tell where the gunshots are coming from.

No, they just want him to stay here. They probably think he’s going to come out of the car with his hands above his head. Well, fuck them.

He settles in the front seat, rolls down the window, undoes the seatbelt, and lights a cigarette. If he’s going to be waiting for these idiots, he might as well be getting something out of it.

He’s finished the cigarette before they realize he intends to wait them out. Two people come out of the house Andrew’s mark is supposed to be in, march up to his car, and open the driver side door. Rude.

“Andrew Minyard?” one of them says, waving a gun in Andrew’s face. “Get out.”

“Who are you?” Andrew says, but it’s pointless; neither of them seems interested in making conversation.

“Leave your weapons here,” the talker orders.

Andrew drops his gun on his seat, then makes a show of taking one of his knives out of the sheath strapped around his ankle.

“My colleague is going to pat you down for more,” the talker says.

Andrew stiffens, but he lets it happen. It’s not worth getting shot over, even if all signs point to it not being a fatal one.

The colleague doesn’t find any. Andrew supposes it’s lucky they got to him before he fully armed himself; they don’t think to check his armbands, but they might have if they’d found the switchblade he usually keeps at his waist and the knife he straps to his back.

“Put your hands up. Move.”

The patter-down pushes a gun between Andrew’s shoulder blades. Andrew hopes to god he’s practicing good trigger discipline and moves in the direction he’s nudged.

They go in the front door. The house is nothing special; it could be an Airbnb, or maybe one of these people really does own a house in Wilmington, Delaware for no good reason. Andrew gets shoved onto a couch. The goons sit, one on either side of him, and wait.

Eventually, more goons come in. This time, they flank none other than Ichirou Moriyama.

Well, Andrew supposes he was going to have to face up to this eventually.

“Stand up,” the talker hisses in Andrew’s ear. Andrew complies. None of them sit back down until Ichirou positions himself on the couch opposite.

“It’s taking you much longer than expected to take out Nathaniel Wesninski,” Ichirou says. “Originally, you told me it could be done in one week. It’s been a year, and his business thrives while my men keep disappearing.”

Outside, birds caw. It’s starting to rain. Andrew was planning on using the sound of the rain to disguise his footsteps in this house. He’s done it before. People always ignore their fears until the exact moment he has a hand around their throats, at which point it’s too late.

“Rumor has it you’ve grown close to Nathaniel,” Ichirou continues. “I understand that. His father was a compelling man, too. His employees were extremely loyal. Perhaps that is why so many of them have gone missing in the last year.”

There’s lightning, and chasing behind it, thunder. Andrew likes these late summer, early fall storms; they didn’t really have them when he was growing up in SoCal, but they make up the fabric of east coast Septembers.

“Nathan had his own team, but he worked for me. Nathaniel seems to be poaching people who belong to me without sending me their finders’ fees.”

He’s probably talking about Kevin and Jean, both of whom had no hope of continuing their exy careers thanks to this man’s younger brother. Andrew barely listens; one of the corners of living room ceiling has peeling paint. He wonders if it’s lead. He can’t remember how old you have to be for lead paint to stop affecting you.

“If he’d only sent me my cut, I would have been happy to grant him some autonomy,” Ichirou says. “After all, I am a generous man. Ask anyone.”

It really was stupid of Andrew to come here without better investigating the source of the post. He’s gotten complacent in the past year. Having an occasional partner does that to you. You forget to watch your back because someone else is doing it for you.

“But instead, he is having you and his other men pick off any of my people in Baltimore.” Ichirou pauses like he wants a reaction. “As if it were his territory. The audacity, honestly—Andrew, are you listening?”

Andrew’s eyes snap back to Ichirou.

“Yes,” he says.

“Good,” Ichirou says. “Because I am about to offer you a deal.”

“A deal.”

“Yes. I could just have you killed for not killing Nathaniel the first time, but I think you have the potential to be valuable, and I don’t like to waste valuable people.” Ichirou leans forward a little. “Nathaniel trusts you. You go with him everywhere. You drove his car here. Nathaniel does not trust easily, and he does not let many people get close to him.”

It’s a misreading of the situation. Correlation mistaken for causation. No one who knows what’s good for them wants to get too close to Neil. He has the bright markings of a dangerous animal.

“I want to know everything,” Ichirou says. “I want his books. I want his client lists. I want his grocery lists. Do you understand?”

Andrew nods.

“Good,” Ichirou says. “This is your last chance. Disregard my orders again and you will die.”

Andrew stands up to leave, but Ichirou isn’t done.

“I am prepared to sweeten the deal. I know what types of people the Butcher surrounds himself with, and they would not consider their lives adequate payment for betraying their master. When the task is complete, I will pay you enough to take you out of the game for good.” He raises an eyebrow at Andrew. “Get out.”

Andrew waits until he gets onto the highway to check his pulse. There it is, same as always, steady. Calm. Even death threats from the biggest mob boss on the east coast can’t faze him. If he had the capacity to be annoyed, he’d be annoyed.

But—he thinks, the type of self-betrayal he’s known for if only to himself—he does have the capacity to be annoyed. He digs his phone out of the glove compartment with one hand, keeping a mostly dispassionate eye on the road.

“Hey Siri,” Andrew says. His voice sounds flat and unaffected instead of how a normal person’s might sound—terrified, moments away from a panic attack. If he were Neil, he’d be looking up the fastest route to Vancouver and disposing of his phone in the nearest toilet. “Call Neil.”

Neil answers after half a ring.

“How did it go?” he says in lieu of hello. “Everything nice and smooth on your side of things?”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “How is King?”

“She’s fine,” Neil says. “Got all her shots. The assistant at the front gave me his card and told me to call if I have any issues, but the vet said King should be good until next year. I made an appointment for Sir, too, he’ll need to get his vaccines in six months, so don’t schedule any hits for the first Saturday in March, ha ha—Andrew?”

“Mm,” Andrew says. The car in front of him is driving too slowly. He rests his hand on the wheel to honk, and then—doesn’t.

“Are you good?” Neil says.

He thinks he can read Andrew, even a hundred miles away over the phone. Andrew hates him.

“Yes,” Andrew says.

“Okay,” Neil says. “What do you want for dinner?”

It’s such a casual question that Andrew almost laughs. Dinner.

“You choose,” Andrew says, even though Neil has terrible taste. Maybe he feels guilty. “I’ll be home in an hour.”

“There you are,” Neil says when Andrew meets him on the balcony in the master bedroom.

Neil uses it as a guest room, which means its only practical purpose is the balcony Andrew smokes off. Sir trails after Andrew, batting at his ankles, while King sits curled in Neil’s lap.

“She’s sleeping,” Neil says when he catches Andrew looking. “She had a long day at the vet. Speaking of which.”

Andrew knew Neil would jump right in. He sits down in his own chair, shakes a cigarette out of his pack, and lights it. Sir, who hates cigarette smoke, scratches Andrew’s ankle in disgust and scampers over to Neil.

“It was a set-up,” Andrew says, which makes Neil sit straight up. Andrew hates him. “Don’t wake King up.”

“Who was it?” Neil asks. His hand twitches above the scruff of King’s neck before dropping back down to resume petting. “Butcher people?”

“No. It was Ichirou.”

Neil goes tense again. “What?”

Andrew explains. Neil runs a hand through his hair several times. It’s getting too long, Andrew notes; he’s going to stop looking respectable and vaguely threatening and start just looking like a teenager with absent parents again soon.

“Call Ichirou,” Neil says. “Tell him everything about me. We can send him all my records, you take the money, and then I’ll run and you can meet me in a few weeks —”

“They will find you again,” Andrew interrupts. “You are not as good at hiding as you think you are.”

“So—what? We can’t just wait for Ichirou to show up and—and repo you.”

“I will figure it out,” Andrew says.

“This is my problem,” Neil replies. “I’ll solve it.”

“You pay me to solve this kind of problem.”

“You can’t kill Ichirou Moriyama. He’s too well-protected, he’d leave too big of a vacuum. It’s not—” Neil stops. Andrew knows what Neil is thinking. He’ll wait until Andrew is not paying attention, and then he’ll sneak off to negotiate with Ichirou himself. Neil is not nearly as slick as he thinks he is.

“I will figure it out,” Andrew says again.

Neil doesn’t look convinced.

Technically, Andrew has his own room in Neil’s house, but he hasn’t slept in it very often in the last few months. He doubles down on this vigilance now: he blinks himself awake in the middle of the night most of the time just to make sure Neil hasn’t run off to West Virginia or wherever the Moriyamas are based. In the mornings, he wakes up before Neil does. He double checks the lock on the front door, makes sure he’s on guard at night. He is a light enough sleeper that any movement from Neil should wake him up, except that he doesn’t have a test case for that because Neil hardly ever moves at night.

Which is, in the end, his undoing. Neil catches him off guard by disappearing one morning two weeks later.

Logically, Andrew knows that the last thing Neil would do is sacrifice his own life. Neil is not that kind of martyr. Neil will sacrifice happiness, but not his life. Neil is not stupid.

Then again, maybe it’s not logic. Maybe he is trying to rationalize.

He searches their house for possible hints. Neil’s laptop is out, but his recent searches are just for cat food and exy videos. There is food in the cats’ bowls, which means Neil didn’t leave by force, and there is coffee in the pot.

And, Andrew discovers when he opens the refrigerator for his cream, a note left for him.

Why Neil left the post-it note on the carton of cream, Andrew doesn’t understand. Maybe he knew Andrew would get coffee before anything else.

andrew—in WV. phone tracker is on. don’t follow unless not back before dinner. don’t worry—i’m fine. really.

Dinner? West Virginia is a six hour drive away. Unless he fucking flew, which Neil probably would do if he didn’t trust Andrew not to follow him.

The thing is, if Andrew leaves by car now and Neil really did fly, Andrew won’t get there until Neil is already on his way back. He can’t fly out because—he checks his phone—there are no nonstop flights into West Virginia until tomorrow. All he can do is fucking wait.

Andrew presses his fingers to the side of his neck. His heart beats a staccato. He hates Neil. He hates Neil. He hates Neil, he hates Neil, he hates Neil, he hates Neil.

He wants to break something. He definitely needs to do something. Part of that is probably trusting Neil.

He calls Kevin.

“He did what?” Kevin says. “Are you serious? Is he fucking stupid?”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “What will happen?”

“If Lord Ichirou is like his brother, he will probably be lucky to escape with all his fingers.”

“He said he’d be back by dinner.”

“Oh,” Kevin says. “Well, he’s not exactly known for lying. I mean, not to you, anyway. If he says he thinks he’ll be back, he probably thinks he’ll be back.”

“Ichirou wants him dead.”

“Yeah, Ichirou probably wants a lot of people dead. Doesn’t mean he kills them. Neil just has to make staying alive a sweeter deal than being dead, right?”

The thought occurred to Andrew on his way back to Baltimore, but he didn’t entertain it for long. After all, what can Neil give Ichirou that Ichirou wouldn’t get more of by just having Neil killed?

“I’m supposed to meet him today to help organize all his paperwork for the big move,” Kevin says. “Do you think that’s canceled? He’s such a flake.”

A flake. Neil is probably out there being tortured, and Kevin is asking about plans.

“If you are wrong, I will kill you,” Andrew says, and hangs up.

Neil wants him to wait. Neil orchestrated all of this to make him wait.

Neil says he’ll be back by dinner. Neil is not cruel enough to say that and then disappear for good.

Then again, maybe he is. Andrew has only known him for a year. Neil seems transparent until he doesn’t, honest by accident but deliberately, carefully opaque. He might be cruel and hiding it.

No. Even if he is secretly cruel, Neil is not suicidal. The only possibilities are that he genuinely thinks he will be back tonight or that he’s run off somewhere and will let Andrew know when he can. Neil is frustrating and annoying and occasionally indecipherable, but there is certainty in his—his affection for Andrew. Even if Andrew doesn’t like to think about it or put words to it. Even if it feels impermanent, threatens to slip out from between his fingers at any moment. It’s certain. Neil wouldn’t lie about this.

Andrew packs. He spends the entire day doing it, one eye on Find My Friends. They’re supposed to be moving into a new space in Baltimore at the end of the month; Neil is keeping this place, but they’re taking most of their things out of it.

He doesn’t think about what he’ll do if Neil doesn’t come back, or if he comes back maimed. He doesn’t think about the roomy three bedroom in Baltimore with its rickety fire escape and exposed brick and brand new kitchen appliances and how empty it would feel with only one person, even if that one person also had two cats. He doesn’t make contingency plans—Jean would take Sir and King if Andrew had to leave on short notice; he’s the only person the cats like other than Neil and Andrew. Kevin always gets scratched when he’s here—and he doesn’t consider the possibility of a future other than the one he has planned out.

He and Neil will move out in four days. Their new bed is set to arrive the same day they do. They will set it up. They will introduce the cats to the new space. They will spend their first week in Baltimore on vacation, making the space their own. Then Neil will inform his connections of the move. Then Andrew will get on with his life separate from Neil (he has three jobs lined up for after the move. It takes all his willpower not to cancel all of them). Neil will conduct his business from the actual city and presumably have more success while doing so. Andrew will continue to conduct his business in the shadows.

He puts layers of tissue between their flatware. He puts all their silverware in a box. When the sun starts to set, he orders enough takeout to feed ten people. By the time it arrives, he feels like he’ll never be hungry again.

Don’t follow unless not back before dinner.

Well, it’s dinner.

Andrew’s weapons are in a case under his rarely used bed. He digs it out, loads two guns, sharpens some knives, and lays everything out on the kitchen island next to the takeout boxes. He wonders how many people he’s going to have to kill tonight. He wonders if he and Neil will be able to come back to this place or if it’ll be taken over by Moriyama people as soon as Andrew murders their leader. He should drop the cats off at Jean’s just in case.

The lock clicks. The knob turns. The door opens.

“Jesus,” Neil says, looking appropriately startled at the gun Andrew is pointing at him. “It’s just me.”

It’s just him. Andrew has to pry his own fingers off the gun.

“You probably would’ve missed anyway at this range,” Neil says.

He loves joking about how bad Andrew is with a gun, but Andrew isn’t as bad anymore. He’s been practicing. Sometimes he can even focus for long enough to aim.

Sir trots over to Neil, and Neil bends to pick him up. Sir is like some combination of a dog and a baby, always chasing after one of them, never satisfied with having to use his own legs to move.

“You’re back,” Andrew says.

“I said I would be.” Neil walks over to him and moves to set Sir on the island, notices the array of weaponry atop it, and puts Sir on the floor instead. Sir mews in indignation, but Neil ignores him. “I fixed it. Everything is fine.”

“With you, fine is a loaded term.”

The smile Neil replies with is brittle.

“I’m alive and still run this business without outside influence,” he says. “It’s fine.”

“What did you give him?”

“Forty percent.”

“Forty percent is not without outside influence.”

“I don’t care,” Neil says. “I’m alive. You’re alive. He’s not going to come after Kevin or Jean. It’s fine. I had to fix this eventually, and this creates fewer problems than killing him outright.”

He reaches for Andrew’s shoulders, waiting for Andrew’s nod before gripping them.

“It’s okay,” Neil says. “Look. I’m not even hurt.”

He’s not. He’s wearing a suit, even, though it’s a little rumpled with wear.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I left. I knew you’d want to come, and I thought it’d be easier to swallow if I didn’t bring a hitman with me.”

Still. Andrew could’ve tailed him. Watched his back. Something. Ichirou isn’t exactly Honest Abe Lincoln. He could’ve killed Neil on the spot.

“And I’m sorry I let this drag on for so long. I knew after you didn’t kill me, and after Lola and Romero didn’t, he’d come to collect.” Neil’s fingers press into Andrew’s shoulders. “Look at me. He didn’t touch me. I'm—”

“Do not say you’re fine.”

“I’m okay,” Neil amends. “He likes it better this way. He can focus on his business while getting a cut of mine without wasting any of his own time or resources. It’s win-win.”

“It’s win-lose,” Andrew says. “You wanted to cut the puppet strings.”

“I’d rather be alive than completely autonomous,” Neil says, which is the kind of martyring Andrew has come to expect from him. “Look. We don’t have to worry about the Moriyamas anymore. You can focus on killing every rapist on the eastern seaboard, and I can focus on scamming rich people.”

Andrew pulls out of Neil’s grip and starts putting his weapons away. He locks the case, shoves it under his bed, and takes his cigarettes out to the balcony. After a moment, Neil follows him, patting King on the butt to get her off his chair.

Andrew feels strung out. He was raring for a fight. He thought he’d be driving through the night and then spending the morning cleaning blood out of his clothes. He thought he’d be driving Neil to the hospital, abandoning the car in a river, and buying fake passports to fly them to Austria.

He lights his cigarette one-handed; his other hand is still holding his preferred switchblade. He spins it in his hand, careful to keep the blade away from his skin, and leans back while the adrenaline seeps out of his body.

King bats at Andrew’s leg. He puts the knife away and lets her climb into his lap, where she promptly curls up and closes her eyes. Such a lazy cat.

“The vet says it’s normal that she sleeps this much,” Neil says. “I guess her breed is known for not being particularly energetic.”

Sir comes out onto the balcony, too, makes himself comfortable on one of the cat beds they have to remember to bring in when it starts raining. He licks himself thoroughly, and absently Andrew wonders whether Neil remembered to brush Sir’s coat before he ran away to Ichirou.

“I was always going to come back,” Neil says. “Or I knew you’d be coming after me. That’s why I left Find My Friends on.”

“They could have taken your phone.”

“Still,” Neil says. “It would’ve been a start.”

He reaches for Andrew’s cigarette. Andrew lets him take it; he doesn’t like smoking with the cats on his lap. He moves his hand to the back of King’s neck instead and rests it there. She doesn’t stir.

“How pissed are you?”

“I’m not pissed.”

“You almost blew my head off when I got home.”

“A protective measure,” Andrew says. “I thought you might be someone else.”

“You didn’t immediately put it down when you saw it was me.”

“Are you scared?” Andrew asks. He still has multiple knives on him. Not as many as he used to at all times, not since he’s just been sitting at home all day. But he could probably do some serious damage right now, if provoked.

“No,” Neil says. “But I think you were.”

Andrew doesn’t give him the satisfaction of contesting this. Neil takes a single drag of Andrew’s cigarette, then flicks it out in front of them. One day they’ll probably set fire to a neighbor’s bushes or something. Or not—their new building is relatively secluded and definitely fireproof.

“I’m sorry,” Neil says. “But I fixed it. And we’re alive.”

“If you ever run away again,” Andrew starts, but he leaves he threat hanging in the air. Neil knows, probably.

“I wasn’t running away,” Neil says. At once it feels like the conversation is about something else, or at least something more. “I was running toward. And now I’m back.” He twists in his seat to look at Andrew, sticks his arm out like he’s trying to save Andrew from drowning. “Sorry I missed our usual pre-job ritual. I thought it’d be bad luck to do it in bad faith.”

“You are not superstitious.”

“Just unlucky.”

Sir bounces into Neil’s lap and scratches at his shirt. Neil drops a hand on Sir’s back, but his other one remains extended toward Andrew, palm up.

Andrew gives in. The adrenaline is gone; he just feels tired now. Tired and maybe—if he squints—relieved. He winds his fingers through Neil’s and sits back in the chair.

In his lap, King purrs.

Andrew hates the cats.

#this got out of hand lmao #tfc #the foxhole court #tfc fic #andreil #thanks for letting me know!!#shouts to the other ppl in my inbox who want to see more of this #i have one more part ~*~*~completely written~*~*~#which will prob be up next week #and prob be the end of this verse #anyway i love writing them as soft murderers idk #if you leave nice things in the tags i'll see them and cry #the good kind of crying #my fic #assassin au #broship-addict #asks

254 notes · View notes

rrrawrf-writes · 7 years

Note

nah, I'm kidding, 1 & 33 for the drabble thing, please!

i was growing concerned

1. “That’s starting to get annoying.”

33. “Are you sure that’s the decision you want to make?”

(tw for threatening someone’s pets?)

“That’s starting to get annoying.”

“Oh, really?” Winn gave the back of Rembrandt’s seat another hard kick. “Wouldn’t’ve -” kick “- guessed -” kick “- it.”

Rembrandt leaned forward, hissing as a bit of coffee splashed out of his travel mug and onto his wrist. Weston, in the driver’s seat, shot Rembrandt a sidelong look, and then glanced up at Winn in the rearview mirror. “You should really stop.”

“Shut up, you — prick.” Winn squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, his cuffed hands making an uncomfortable lump between his spine and the back of the seat. Weston had even buckled him in before they started driving. “Let me outta the bloody car.”

“Prison made him even more of a child than he used to be,” Rembrandt muttered, as Winn kicked his seat again. He considered shooting his other leg, but they were too close to the heist to jeopardize their only thief. “Maybe I’ll tell Mr. Huntington to start kicking your dogs, Yale.”

“They’d tear him apart,” Winn retorted, but he finally subsided, slouching as best as he could in his seat. “Roll down the window.”

“It’s roasting outside,” Weston said. “No.”

“Mr. Weston, get out the gear, please.” Rembrandt leaned against the side of his car, looking up at the facility they had come to rob. It was supposedly abandoned, but everyone steered clear of it anyway - no one wanted to tr and break into one of Wildcard’s lairs. They were famously riddled with traps and lethal mindgames; Rembrandt wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of sending someone in there. At least, not until Winn fell right into his lap.

Weston moved around to the trunk of the car, while Winn skulked in the back seat. His door was open, but no one had yet bothered to undo his handcuffs, or the seatbelt. Rembrant normally wouldn’t have trusted mere cuffs to keep Winn contained, but he’d made sure to force the ex-con to change clothes completely, and then for added measures, stuck a pair of mittens over Winn’s hands. It was childish, but effective.

“Do you need another look at the building plans?” Rembrandt asked.

“I’m not going in there.”

Rembrandt just sipped at his coffee, rolling his eyes when he was sure neither Winn or Weston could see such an immature expression. “Oh. I wish you had told me that earlier. I’ll pass word along to Mr. Huntington, then. I’ll make sure he gives your dogs a clean death.”

Winn’s head snapped up. Rembrandt couldn’t believe that he had to resort to threatening a man’s pets to get what he wanted, but Winn always had been easy to manipulate. The idiot didn’t seem to have anyone else dear to him.

Weston interrupted their conversation by thumping a hard-sided case down on the hood of the car. Rembrandt winced, and looked at him sternly - he hoped Weston hadn’t scratched the paint.

“All right,” he said, “let him out.”

Winn frowned at the all-too familiar backpack Weston set on the hood of the car. “That’s mine,” he said, and the instant Rembrandt undid his handcuffs, he snatched it and unzipped the top. His grappling gloves were in there, and his lockpicks - the nice set. He’d left all this behind in a storage unit he hadn’t been able to get to since getting out of prison. “Where’d you get this?”

“Gary told us where to find it.” Rembrandt smirked as he leaned against the car again, as if it were impossible for the man to stand on his own two feet. Winn’s jaw clenched, and his hands tightened around the backpack’s straps. “We found your motorcycle, as well. I had Mr. Huntington drive it back to Boston. He was very impressed.”

“You let him what?” Winn looked up from his old backpack - he even had the mask in there, something ridiculous that he wanted to burn - and stared at Rembrandt. “I’m taking that back. Did he wreck it? He’s too big!”

“We’re wasting time.” Rembrandt nodded towards the case. “Hurry up, Yale. If I don’t have those codes in my hands in three hours, I’m going -”

“You’re gonna call that bastard and make him shoot my dogs,” Winn interrupted waspishly. “I know.”

He jerked the case away from Weston, the corners of it scraping against the car. Winn reveled in Rembrandt’s wince as he dug an earpiece out of the foam inside of the casing, jamming it into his ear. “I ——- hate you.”

“Here, let me,” Weston said in a quiet voice, as Winn pulled a digital watch out of the case. He set his jaw and let Weston wrap it around his wrist; the man was entirely too close, though. Before he drew away, he slipped something into Winn’s front pocket, a hard rectangle. A mobile phone. Winn opened his mouth, and Weston only shook his head, shooting a look over Winn’s shoulder, and to their erstwhile boss.

Rembrandt checked his own watch. “Thirteen minutes to one-thirty. You’d better get moving, Wings.”

Rembrandt had put a tiny camera in Winn’s new shirt, and he was more impressed than he would ever let show. Five years in prison had not done much at all to dull Winn’s skill - he navigated Wildcard’s abandoned labyrinth of traps with - well, Rembrandt wouldn’t call it ease. It wasn’t grace, either, but Winn’s panicked scrambling had a certain elegance to it. Rembrandt had never gotten to really see Winn truly in action, and now he regretted that the little bastard’s skills came with a cocky, self-absorbed arrogance and a truly bizarre moral code that prevented him from being a reliable lackey.

It was truly a pity that Rembrandt would have to kill him once he got the codes, but it would only be a matter of time before Winn betrayed him again. After this job, the man had to die.

Weston leaned over his shoulder to watch Winn’s progress on Rembrandt’s tablet. He was making good time - it had only been a little over an hour when Winn gained access to the facility’s inner sanctum.

“Could you have gone any slower?” Rembrandt asked archly. Winn let out a hoarse bark of laughter that sounded a little tinny over the earpiece.

“I’d like to see you do any of that,” he muttered, panting a little.

The room Winn had finally entered was a large, echoing space, filled with dozens upon dozens of enormous, square storage containers. Winn ignored them all, heading straight down the aisle to the center of the room. Lights clicked on after his first few steps, though more than one lightbulb fizzed and flickered.

There was a metal desk with a single computer in the middle of the room - but the computer was huge. Three large monitors angled around the desk, which was dusty from lack of use. Winn ran a hand through his scruffy hair as he circled the desk and computer, inspecting it for any last-minute traps left behind. He couldn’t find anything, though, not in this room, so after a few moments, he dropped down into the chair to catch his breath.

Despite being inactive for well over five years, the computer started up the second Winn’s thumb hovered over the POWER button. He pulled out the flash drive Rembrandt had given him, marked with Wildcard’s symbol. However the arms dealer had gotten this, Winn didn’t want to know. There was dried blood in the cracks of the flash drive.

“Just plug it in,” Rembrandt said impatiently, “it should take care of any passwords or firewalls.”

Winn rolled his eyes. He stuck the memory stick into a port and sat back. “This was way too easy,” he said, in spite of the tears and scorch marks on his clothes from a few too many brushes with death (or at least, permanent disability). “You gonna give me another challenge after this, Remy?”

He could just imagine the frustrated look on Rembrandt’s face at the old nickname. The bastard’s voice was far too smooth, though, when he answered, “Oh, certainly. You’ll have plenty of fun.”

I’m going to die after this. Winn stared gloomily up at the computer as code ran across the screens. Rembrandt was too smart to let him run loose. If Winn didn’t end up getting shot after all, he’d probably be chained up in some box, on hand for the next time Rembrandt needed a tool.

“Who are you texting?” Rembrandt asked - but Winn’s hands were laced behind his head as he waited for the codes to download.

“Nobody,” Weston said. A second later, the phone Weston had slipped into Winn’s pocket buzzed. Frowning, Winn pulled it out, and opened up a picture message.

It was Eli and Kawai. The former had his arms around two dogs - Braith was enthusiastically licking his face - and the latter stood in the background, her arms crossed as she glared down at a tied-up Huntington.

Winn stared, and then a grin crept over his face. He angled the phone so that the camera Rembrandt had stuck on his shirt could catch the picture just right.

“What were you saying about my dogs, Remy?”

Rembrandt stared at his tablet. “Where did you get that phone?” he snapped, once he found his voice again. “Who the hell are those people?”

“Friends,” Winn said, the smugness coming in loud and clear even if his voice was a little crackly.

“You don’t have friends.”

“Neither do you,” Winn pointed out. “Ha. Brilliant. Hey, look, there’s a self-destruct option in this computer.”

The camera angle shifted; Winn must have shifted his shirt to point it at the screen. A red line of code near the bottom right of the screen flashed at him. Rembrandt was no programmer, and neither was Winn, but the purpose was clear in the red COMPUTER SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE.

Rembrandt’s breath caught. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You wanna bet?” Winn’s face appeared on the screen; he had managed to finagle the camera out of its spot. He smiled at Rembrandt, but it was cold and unnerving. The expression didn’t fit on his face. “Don’t f—— threaten my pets, Remy.”

“We’re in the middle of the desert, Winn,” Rembrandt said, trying his best to keep his composure. “I’ll just drive away now, and maybe even call up a couple capes. Do you think Starblast would be happy to hear that a known thief was trying to run away with some of Wildcard’s greatest weapons?”

“They couldn’t catch me,” Winn said, but he looked briefly uncertain.

“It’s miles and miles to the nearest speck of civilization, Winn,” Rembrandt said smoothly. “If they didn’t catch you, the heat would kill you before you got anywhere.”

“No one -”

“And,” Rembrandt said, cutting Winn off. “I may not have any friends, Winn, but I recognize yours. That woman is from Mercury Independent - do you really think they’re here to do you a favor, Winn?”

Winn narrowed his eyes. Rembrandt gave him a thin smile. “My people will easily catch up to them, Winn. Think. Are you certain that’s the decision you want to make?”

“I’m certain you’re a —— son of a —-,” Winn snapped, and Rembrandt knew that he was winning. Winn resorted to insults when he felt like things were out of control - which, granted, they usually were.

“Mr. Weston and I will be driving away in fifteen minutes, Winn,” Rembrandt said coolly. “And I’ll be calling my people in two, and Starblast and Scorchstorm in five. You might want to be out of there and in my car before then.”

“Actually,” Weston said. Rembrandt started to look up from his tablet, and froze when he felt the barrel of a gun cold against the back of his neck. Sam continued, “We’re not going anywhere.”

tagging @gingerly-writing since she just loooooOOOoOOOOoOOOooves rembrandt so much (and sam)

#tumblr games #ask games #iwrite #winn #sam #rembrandt #superpowerverse #mercury independent #mi

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gashinamoon · 7 years

Text

Across the Hall - an Olicity AU

Words: 2405

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Humour, Feels, Neighbours AU

Summary: Felicity Smoak is used to being alone, used to loneliness. Until one day she doesn't want to be.

Notes: I woke up feeling sad and miserable and instead of wallowing in it, I decided to channel it into some writing. I'm posting this as a new work rather than sticking it in with my drabbles even though I currently have no plans to write anymore to it, just in case my muse ever strikes and wants me to continue it. I always forget how much I love a good old Neighbours AU until I start reading/writing them. And writing this has left me with only 3.2k words left to hit my Camp NaNoWriMo goal, so yay!

Any words of encouragement are always greatly appreciated! So please let me know what you think of this once you're done :)

Read on AO3

Friday nights are the worst.

Felicity is used to being by herself, she's used to the dull ache of loneliness and has grown to just accept it as part of herself at this point. She’s used to doing everything alone and spending entire days in silence, entire weeks without really communicating with anyone besides the cashier at the grocery store or the doorman delivering her takeout or the casual exchanges of small talk with her neighbour who lives across the hall whenever they happen to cross paths every now and then. Sometimes she even enjoys the long, quiet days; sometimes they feel more like solitude than loneliness.

But Friday nights are hard because she's aware more than usual of now unusual it is for a human being to spend so much time alone.

If she's really quiet, which she usually is, she can hear people in the apartments nearby all getting ready to go out on Friday evenings. She hears them playing music, singing loudly and out of key as the alcohol they're consuming starts to take over their body. She hears them greet friends and offer them inside. She hears them laughing and singing some more, together this time. And then she hears the door close as they head out for the night, to bars and movies and dinner dates.

The building is never quite as quiet as it is on Friday evenings, the loneliness never quite as loud.

Felicity knows she's partly to blame for the way her life is now. She knows she could try harder to make friends, introduce herself properly to her neighbours, even go out downtown one evening and start talking to people in bars. She knows she could look for a job, one in an office building or a store, anything other than one that she does from home, day in day out just sitting on her computer at her dining room table. She knows she could join the gym, go to a class on poetry or pottery, start going running or hiking with local groups. But she doesn't. Whenever she convinces herself to try, she talks herself out of it in the end. Convinces herself she's perfectly happy and content being by herself.

And she is.

Until the days where she isn't.

Until the days where she feels suffocated by silence and wants to stand out in the street and scream and beg for someone to notice her. Until the days where she sits alone and cries into the arm of the couch for what feels like hours. Until the days where she can't face getting out of bed in a morning because the thought of another breakfast alone is just too much to bear.

She hears her mother’s voice in her head on those days, strong and warm and whole, as though she’s standing right in front of her with her hands on her hips and a stern but soft look on her face. “You need to get out there, Felicity. You need to let people in.”

She misses her mom so much. She can't believe it's been two years now since she passed away.

She knows her mom is right, she knows that she should open the door and get out there, just out of her apartment, but she's become so used to the safety of her four walls. Nothing can hurt her in here. Nothing can leave her.

But for once in her life it's Friday again and she's sick of being alone. She's sick of drinking wine by herself and falling asleep halfway through a movie before it's barely 9pm because she's so exhausted.

So before she can even talk herself out of it, she's leaving her apartment and crossing the hall, hesitating only minutely before knocking on the door of her neighbour, the only one who has ever made an effort to speak to her in passing. She doesn't blame her other neighbours for ignoring her. She knows she walks around with her headphones on and her hood up and refuses to make eye contact or smile at anyone. She knows she's not an approachable person in the slightest.

But that's never stopped him. He's smiled and said hi almost every single time he's seen her for as long as she can remember, ever since she moved in two years ago. She doesn't even speak back sometimes, but that doesn't seem to deter him. Sometimes, those basic and short interactions with him have felt life saving. A simple hello can mean so much when you're as lonely as she is.

She doesn't know much about him; their conversations, if you can call them that, have never strayed beyond small talk. The most she knows about him is that he loves the rain. She knows that because whenever it's raining and she bumps into him, he tells her what a wonderful day it is. She hates the rain, but hearing him say that always makes her smile anyway.

She's deep in thought when he answers the door. He looks confused for a fraction of a second before a smile crosses his face. “Hey, you.”

Felicity smiles back. “Hi. I know this is weird because we don't really know each other but-”

“I know you. You're the mysterious girl from across the hall who hates the rain and is always listening to music,” he grins, leaning on the door frame looking completely at ease.

She's never really paid attention before to how tall he is, but he towers over her even leaning over like that. Normally she’d find that intimidating. But she doesn't feel intimidated at all, not whilst he’s smiling at her the way he is. Her face feels hot under his gaze and she knows she’s blushing. She hopes he doesn't notice.

“Right, I mean besides that, obviously.”

“Obviously.” There's that grin again, it reaches all the way to his eyes.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I know we don't really know each other and I've never knocked on your door before, but I was wondering if you'd like to come over and watch a movie with me? I have wine and snacks and an impressive collection of horrors. Or sci-fis. Or any movie, really. Except romantic movies. I hate those.”

“I can tell. You really don't look like the kind of girl who would cry herself to sleep over The Notebook.”

“Nicholas Sparks is the worst. His novels are so unrealistic. And someone always dies! I can't believe people actually want to make movies about depressing stuff like that. I don't understand why anyone would invest so much time into something that's going to make them feel miserable. I mean, what's the point? There's plenty of stuff in reality that makes people cry without creating fiction that does the same thing,” she laughs, rolling her eyes

Oliver doesn't respond, he just looks at her intensely, still smiling, like he's trying to figure out a puzzle.

She shifts awkwardly, resting her weight on one leg and then the other.

“Who would have ever thought you had so much to say?” He asks, although she's not sure he's asking her directly or whether the question is rhetorical, a thought he’s said aloud.

She shrugs anyway, biting her lip. “Sorry.”

He almost looks offended as she speaks. “Don't apologise. You have a nice voice.”

She blushes again and this time she knows he notices because his eyes warm and his smile grows as she feels the heat in her cheeks.

He holds out his hand. “I'm Oliver, by the way. I figured if we’re going to hang out, you should probably know my name.”

She takes his hand and shakes it, delighting in how warm and firm his touch is, feeling goosebumps run down her spine. It's been so long since anyone touched her. So long she can hardly bear to think about it. She inhales deeply, shakily, trying to stop her mind from going there.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and she silently screams at herself inside her head for being so readable.

“Yup. Fine. Just fine.” He's still holding her hand. “I'm Felicity,” she forces herself to say, before she lets go and returns her hand back to her side.

Oliver watches her every movement and for the first time that evening, she starts to question whether this was a good idea after all. Maybe making friends with an attractive stranger wasn't the best way to start after years of extremely minimal social interaction and human contact. Maybe she should just go home and call an old friend from high school or something.

“Felicity,” he says thoughtfully. “It suits you.”

She snorts. “Really? You know that it means happiness, right? I don't think I could be any less suited to my name.”

But Oliver doesn't laugh, he just smiles softly at her. “I think I could prove you wrong.”

It sounds like a promise.

She doesn't know what to say so she's says nothing. She figures he's used to her silence by now anyway.

He watches her for a long time and surprisingly, Felicity grows less and less uncomfortable the longer he does. She still can't bring herself to meet his eyes, so she continues staring at his hands instead. She wants to hold his hand again. She hates how much she wants to hold his hand again.

“Are you seeing anyone, Oliver?” She asks, surprising herself and him, and she blushes again. “Not that I'm asking for any particular reason, obviously. I'm just making conversation.”

She curls her fingers into tight fists, until she can feel her nails digging into her palms and for the second time wishes she hadn't come over after all. But Oliver doesn't seem too phased by her question. His eyes only stay surprised for a short while before the warmth returns to them and his smile.

“Honestly, Felicity, I'm not sure.”

She looks up at him then, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, she sees a hint of sadness in them. The overpowering urge to hold his hand returns but she forces it down, curling her fingers even tighter into her palms, almost until it hurts.

“It sounds like there's a story behind that,” she says and he chuckles, softly.

“Maybe after that wine you promised, I'll tell you about it,” he replies, his smile returning as he leans into his apartment and grabs his phone and keys, slipping them into his pocket. “Should I bring anything?”

“Hmm, well I have chips and I'm sure I have popcorn in the cupboard somewhere. And the wine, like I said. But it would be awesome if you happened to have ice-cream or something.”

“I have ice-cream.”

“What flavour?”

“Guess.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said guess. Try and guess what kind of ice-cream is my favourite. Which kind I always have in my freezer.”

Felicity stands back a little and regards him. For some reason, she desperately wants to get this right. She thinks carefully over each flavour inside her head, trying to picture exactly which one he’d indulge on after a long day at work.

“My instinct is to say chocolate, but that's boring. That's the obvious choice. And I don't think you're that obvious,” she begins, watching his face for any clue that she’s getting the answer wrong. When she doesn't spot any, she continues. “And I don't think you're a vanilla kind of guy either.”

Oliver chuckles, watching her as she watches him. “You really thought long and hard about this, didn't you?”

“I'm usually really good at reading people, I just haven't had a lot of practice lately. So I wanted to make sure I got this right,” she smiles, amusement pulling at her lips as she watches his reaction, watches him raise his eyebrows questioningly at her, clearly in disbelief that she’s going to guess correctly.

She thinks for a few more long seconds before she decides.

“Raspberry Ripple,” she says, confidently. “Am I right?”

He doesn't answer her right away, just continues looking at her with an unreadable expression.

“What makes you say that?” He asks, opening his door fully and stepping inside towards his freezer.

“I'm not sure, exactly. I just know that people wouldn't expect it. So that's why you choose it. No one would ever assume that you like the slightly bitter but deliciously sweet taste of raspberry in your ice-cream. Not a lot of people do. Most people prefer more conventional flavours. And that's why raspberry is your favourite. Because it's unexpected,” she says, thoughtfully, partly making it up on the spot and partly just watching his face and letting it tell her what to say. “And also because the stores never run out of it. Because it's no one’s favourite,” she adds with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Oliver is standing so still and looking at her so intensely that her joke goes unappreciated. She clears her throat awkwardly.

A smile creeps back onto Oliver’s face as he reaches into the freezer and pulls out a tub of ice-cream. Before he's even turned around to face her again, she knows she was right.

Raspberry Ripple.

“See? I told you I was good at reading people,” she says, feeling pleased and proud of herself.

She's glad she hasn't lost the ability to read others. In fact, if anything, it's probably stronger now than it ever was. Being a natural born introvert has always made it easy for Felicity to watch people and learn things about them without them ever having to say a word. She used to spend her entire lunch breaks at school just sitting in the cafeteria guessing things about the lives of her classmates around her. And given that she hasn't really spoken to anyone since her mother died, and before that even, most of her life is spent watching people, learning them, comparing their behaviours and unconscious habits.

“Felicity, you are remarkable,” Oliver says, as he approaches her again, his eyes meeting hers with that same intense look he’d had before, except now it’s a little softer around the edges.

She smiles somewhat awkwardly under his gaze. “Thank you for remarking on it.”

Oliver grins at that and steps out of his apartment, letting the door close softly behind him, the ice cream tucked under one arm. “So, where’s this wine you keep talking about?”

She smiles back. “Follow me.”

If you want to be tagged in my fics/chapter updates, feel free to let me know! :)

(Also, let me know if there’s anything you don’t want to be tagged in! i.e. fics that aren’t strictly Olicity/Arrow, I’m more than happy to remove tags!)

@geniewithwifi @scu11y22 @dandeelies @ghostfoxlovely @bellemmie @keytoflowers2509 @relativelyobsessedfangirl @oliverfel4 @hope-for-olicity @lemonlime799 @pleasantfanandstudent @almondblossomme @broken-canary @green-arrows-of-karamel @youngfolksoldsoul @lovethishealthylife @wherethereissmoak @flowerandsunshine @deyanirasilvaurtubia @chachurka @ontheolicityship

#mywriting #olicity fic #olicity fic rec #olicity #oliver queen #felicity smoak #oliver x felicity #olicity fanfiction #arrow fic #arrow

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demonicheadcanons · 7 years

Note

“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.” with Yoosung saying it to MC thANKS NO RUSH ILY

Yoosung and MC caughtin the rain

Prompt: “No, like...it’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

(AN: Gah this promptis adorable and it’s even better because??? It’s Yoosung saying it?? I love himso much, thank you for this prompt Anon! I hope I do it justice! Even though Ikinda strayed from it a lot ;; This is longer than I intended for it to be ;;

Feel free to send inmore prompts! Take care, and enjoy!)

You and Yoosung both squeaked and squealed as the rainthundered down heavily on the two of you. Yoosung quietly cursed to himself,grabbed your hand, and started running, making sure you didn’t slip and fall atany point.

You had been out on a date, a week after the RFA party. Aweek after he asked you to be his partner properly, and you happily agreed.Just the memories of it make him blush and smile to himself. He had just beendischarged from the hospital, and he wanted to spend his first full free daywith you.

He had suggested something calm and quiet, as he was verynew to this, and because he was already getting odd looks for the bandagescovering a little under half his face.

Yoosung had to go to the others for advice, but they allsuggested things that were just a bit off to him for his proper first date. Hedidn’t want to go to a cinema or a fancy restaurant or to just sit in hisapartment with you. He wanted it to be relaxing and comfortable and he wantedto spend as much time with you as he could, somewhere pretty and public butalso relatively secluded and quiet.

In the end up, the two of you met up at a café, but hesuggested you get your drinks to take away so that you could go for a walk andjust chat by yourselves. It would not only be more comfortable for him, butwould also make it more difficult for any of the other RFA members to listen inor intrude on your date. Things had to be perfect.

An hour in to your walk, things were going really well. Itwas a comfortably warm day, and so neither of you had thought to bring a jacket– although Yoosung was wearing his signature hoodie. You had kept up a nearconstant chatter, learning more and more about each other, and he loved it.

And then it happened. The wind suddenly picked up, andclouds began to form and cloud in the sky. It must’ve taken a good while tobuild up, but he had been so invested in chatting with you that he didn’tnotice until you sighed and looked up at the now grey sky. The raindrop hit hisforehead directly and trickled down his nose, and you giggled as he wiped itaway with his sleeve, smiling sheepishly before looking panicked.

You weren’t too far away from his apartment, maybe a fifteenminute walk, but the rain had begun to fall faster and faster. He took off hishoodie and gave it to you to keep you warm, ignoring the fact that it meant hewas left in a short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. Anything to keep you happy andsafe.

You had pulled on the hoodie quickly, and that was whenYoosung took your hand and started running, explaining to you in short burststhat you could wait out the storm in his apartment.

He was beginning to panic as the rain soaked in to his shirtand jeans, making him shake, and he glanced back to see the hoodie you werewearing was drenched too, and your hair was sticking to your forehead and neck,and yet you looked fairly amused with the way things were going, even laughinghere and there. You were so cute.

Whilst in the process of turning to face forward again, hestumbled, tripping over his feet and in seconds he was on the pavement. He hadlet go of your hand, and so thankfully he hadn’t pulled you down too, and hehad managed to catch himself on his hands and knees, but the stinging pain inhis hands was overwhelming. Still, he stood up, forcing himself to focus, andhe apologised sheepishly before wiping his hand on his jeans so he could takeyour hand again.

The rest of the way, you were both more careful, and he madesure to face forward the entire time, no matter how tempting it was to glanceback at you. His bandage was starting to get irritating, sticking to his faceand eyelids, and he was so glad when you both got to his apartment, drenchedand gasping for air. You burst out in laughter as he pulled you inside thebuilding, and you both happily waited for the elevator – you had done enoughexercise for the week in that run.

Yoosung held on to the railing in the elevator as he foughtto regain his breath, eventually becoming composed again. He glanced over atyou, and immediately began apologising. He hadn’t thought the date would go thisway; the weather forecast had said it would be a relatively sunny and brightday.

You chuckle and cup his cheek with your hand, and heimmediately leans in to your touch and visibly relaxes, although his breathingbecomes more shallow and a blush forms on his face. Even so, he smiles at youand you smile back.

The rest of the elevator journey is spent in a comfortablesilence. When you get to Yoosung’s floor, he fumbles for his keys and thenopens the door, apologising for the slight mess – his school books arescattered across the table from a failed study session, the cords for his computerare a mess, and there are a couple plates by the sink. It’s a nice kind ofmess, giving the apartment a lived-in vibe, and so you tell him this and hebrightens up immediately.

This doesn’t last long as you reach up to touch his bandagegently, frowning.

“We should probably put a fresh bandage over your eye,” youtell him, and he nods and retreats in to his room for a moment. You follow,standing at the doorway, and watch him as he goes through some of his clothes,not noticing you.

This would be the perfect moment to run up to him and scarehim, but you decide he’s had enough problems for today, and so you stand therein silence until he turns around and jolts anyway at the sight of you.

“Oh, MC, I didn’t realise you were standing there, I’msorry,” he says, smiling nervously. He holds up some sweatpants and anotherhoodie – a dark blue hoodie with stars decorating the pocket, the hood, and theinside of the hoodie. “I was trying to find some clothes you could change into. You know, just so you don’t get a cold in the ones you’re already wearing.”

You go over to him and give him a hug, beaming. “You’re sosweet Yoosung. Thank you so much.”

You go to get changed, leaving him to change in his bedroom,and a few moments later the two of you are sitting on the sofa in the livingroom. He won’t look directly at you, and you smile playfully and cup his facein your hands, forcing him to direct his attention towards you.

“Hey, what’s up? Do I look really bad in these clothes?” youask, pretending to be upset, pouting slightly at him.

“No, of course not! You look amazing, as always,” he admits,and then he blushes a deep red.

“So what is it? Have I done something wrong?” You can’t stopthe anxiety creeping in to your voice, and he immediately takes one of yourhands in his and kisses your knuckles.

“No, like... it’s just, I can’t believe you’re actuallywearing my clothes.”

You chuckle and lean forward, kissing his gently, feelingsome water against your forehead as you lean it against his.

He still has the wet bandage on, and he’s biting his lip asyou glance at it now.

“You want me to help you change the bandage, Yoosung?” youask, raising a hand to start unwinding it.

He flinches and then looks away guiltily, apologising. Hetakes a deep breath before sighing, his eye watering slightly.

“It’s not that I’m afraid you’ll hurt me or anything, it’sjust that I don’t actually really know how bad my eye looks, and I don’t wantit to freak you out or anything,” he mumbles, staring at the floor, tears threateningto spill from his good eye.

You’re even more gentle and careful this time as you takethe clean bandage from him and start to unwind the one he’s wearing. This timehe lets you, his gaze flickering between your face and the carpet. When you getthe bandage off, his eye looks really painful, and you feel yourself tearing upas you run your hand down the side of his face. This happened to him because hewanted to protect you.

“Is... is it bad? Am I hideous?” he asks, gigglingnervously, trying to lift the mood.

Instantly you lean in and gently, carefully, kiss hisforehead above his eye. He looks a bit taken aback when you pull away.

“It just shows how brave you are, my prince,” you tell him,forcing yourself to smile as you get up to bin the old bandage, before helpinghim put on the new one. As always, he’s blushing, your compliment making hischeeks a bright red colour. At least he is smiling now though.

The two of you end up seated beside each other on the sofafor a few hours, as the rain gently patters against the window, watching moviestogether. You both have a love for animated movies, and so you’re watchingthose when suddenly you feel a weight on your shoulder, and look over to seeYoosung has fallen asleep. You run a hand through his hair and move slightly,and his arm tightens around you as he cuddles up to you.

It’s not long before you fall asleep too. Yoosung is the firstto wake, in the middle of the night, and he just blinks slowly, yawning, beforerealising what has happened. You’re both now lying down on the sofa, with himsupporting you with one arm around your waist. You’re facing him, but you’refast asleep. He snuggles up closer to you, and you both sleep there untilmorning.

#yoosung kim #mystic messenger #yoosung x mc #headcanon #prompt #thank you so much for this prompt #seriously i love it afjskng #my writing #ask #anonymous #Anonymous #hush now karma

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