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lemonandtheart · 3 years

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@gxmonth Day 18 - This Wasn't In The Rule Book!! vampire au vampire aU VAMPIRE AU~~!! I have always been such a sucker for monsters and magic lol. I wrote a little fanfic drabble a hot minute ago that I'll include under the cut!

There were rumors running rampant all through Domino. Breathless whispers through the crowds of its residents. They spread fear like the plague, but who could blame them? With all of the people who’d gone missing never to be seen again it was only natural such a fear would grow until it had reached an unprecedented proportion. Whether it was truth or not didn’t matter because to the people of Domino there was no doubt. A vampire was on the loose through the city streets after nightfall.

Despite the lack of evidence, Jesse Andersen hoped the rumors true. He’d come a long way to hunt down this supposed dirty bloodsucker. His friend, Jim, had offered to come along on the journey too but Jesse had declined. They didn’t truly know if there was a vampire in Domino City. He’d certainly find out after dark. Since the people of Domino had been keeping holed up inside at night the past few months, he was sure the parasite had to be starved by now.

A chill settled in the night air once the sun fully disappeared over the horizon. Jesse pulled his thick, black jacket tighter to his chest. It would be a long night. He was glad he’s had the foresight of buying himself a hot coffee before the shops closed. It warmed him from the inside out as he perused the streets. Hopefully one of two things would occur: either there was no vampire and he’d be on his merry way after a quick report back to the Vampire Hunter’s Association or there was a parasitic lowlife lurking among the shadows that he would eliminate well before the sun would rise again. Either way Jesse felt that he’d be headed home within the next few days.

He paused underneath of a spotlight near a fountain. It wasn’t running and with the high-rise buildings surrounding he felt even the nearly silent sound of his pulse was amplified. It was quiet—eerily so. Not a thing in the whole city seemed to make any noise and the stillness of it was deafening. A soft, distant tapping of heels against pavement was a deliberate break in the silence. Jesse set his hand on the small stake launcher secured to his belt. The sound echoed and made it seem to come from everywhere at once. He slowly backed up to the fountain, craning his neck around to try and find the direction of the noise. Any direction would do. What he wasn’t expecting was the freezing hands on his shoulders matched with a silken, sultry voice from directly behind him. “Well, what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”

Jesse jolted from the grasp and yanked the weapon from its holster, aiming it squarely at the chest of the man, no, monster he was looking for. He had messy, untamable, two-toned brown hair and a set of gleaming golden eyes staring hungrily at him. He wore a low-cut V-neck shirt that nearly slit down to his stomach, the two sides of the fabric held together by thin string tied crossways. The sleeves, he noticed, were ruffled when he moved his hands up to the sides of his head — palms facing forward in a show of submission. His pants buttoned and sat snugly on his thin hips before disappearing beneath his high-heeled boots at the knee. The heels dug into the stone of the fountain he stood upon; the streetlights the ideal backdrop for his cape he wore over the ensemble. It fastened just above his clavicle with a jeweled button. Jesse sneered in disgust at the creature, but more so at the choice of apparel. It was far too extra, making him look more like a movie villain than a bloodthirsty creature of night. “Hasn’t anyone warned you it’s dangerous to be out so late at night?” The vampire questioned.

“I could ask the same to you, vampire.” Jesse responded, gesturing to the launcher aimed still at his chest. The vampire chuckled.

“Perhaps, but I own these streets. The name’s Jaden by the way. Jaden Yuki. To whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting this lovely evening?”

“Jesse Andersen. Sorry to say, but these streets were never yours.” Jaden kept his hands raised but stepped down from his position atop the fountain’s rim. Jesse began backing up, his eyes and shot never leaving the vampire as he strutted towards him.

“Is that so?” He drawled, continuing his slow approach. Jesse’s fingers twitched on the trigger, the small movement pushing Jaden to respond. He kicked high, knocking the weapon out of Jesse’s hands and into the sky. It came crashing back to the Earth and hit the rock of the fountain with a horrendous crack, bouncing into the water in a jagged movement. Jesse’s eyes widened at the horror of being disarmed. He hadn’t expected to find an adversary of any remarkable skill on the streets of Domino. Now, only panic and fear pooled in his stomach as he kept his eyes locked on Jaden’s. “Care to tell me what brings you here, Jesse?”

“You.”

“Me?” Jaden asked, cocking his head to the side in an innocent way.

“Obviously! You’re the one who’s been kidnapping people for the past few months!” Jesse’s words only seemed to confuse Jaden more. He furrowed his brow hard.

“Wait, wait. Hold on a minute. First of all, I haven’t kidnapped anyone ever! I haven’t even been out from the lair in a year or so! I’ve been—”

“I thought you owned these streets?” Jesse sassed.

“Well, ehe, I thought it’d sound cool. Didn’t it?” Jaden admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“That doesn’t matter!” Jesse exclaimed, shaking Jaden’s shoulders. Jaden pouted.

“Fine, fine. Anyways, I’m not the one you’re after.”

“Great! Now I’m stuck in the heart of Domino with two vampires wandering the streets with no weapon.” He whined, coming to sit at the fountain. Jaden shrugged casually.

“There are plenty more vampires than that here, but okay.” An idea struck Jesse, fast and hard and stupid. So stupid, in fact, it just might work.

“You!” He exclaimed suddenly, rushing Jaden and squeezing his shoulders roughly. Jaden blinked slowly at him.

“Me?”

“Yes! You’ve got to know all the vampires around here!”

“So?”

“So, you must know the one responsible! You can help me!” Jaden’s eyes narrowed, intrigue taking over.

“Oh? And what’s in it for me?” He purred. Jesse gulped but didn’t let the fear register. He knew it’d make his job so much easier to play the enemy. If he could get Jaden to work with him, he could eliminate not only the immediate threat but Jaden as well. Killing two vampires with one stake. All he had to do was play his cards right.

“Would…some of my blood be fine enough payment?” He asked, playing as though he was embarrassed by such an idea. He’d noticed many vampires he’d dealt with in the past responded well if he pretended like he was new, nervous, and never before bitten. It was like the idea of being the first to drink from a human was a special treat that was rarely given. He’d been bitten plenty by vampires and honestly it wasn’t that bad. It only would become a problem should he take his lifeblood—the true way to turn a human into a vampire. Jaden pursed his lips as Jesse lowered the collar of his jacket, offering payment upfront for his cooperation. He closed in on Jesse, gripping his biceps and wetly licking a stripe up Jesse’s neck to his ear. Jesse hated the way his body shuddered at the feeling, both of the lick and Jaden’s hot breath now in his ear. Though, he was also grateful for it. It helped to sell the unspoken act of it being his first time. He bit his own lip, mentally preparing himself for Jaden’s fangs. It was always the initial jab that was the worst part. A short, single noise of amusement left Jaden’s mouth before his answer rang numbly in his ear.

“No.” Jesse felt his eyes widen when Jaden pulled back to look Jesse in the face, a casual smirk present on his lips. He had never once in all of his time dealing with vampires ever had one turn down a willing, easy meal. It was astounding and almost admirable. Jaden was on an entirely new level of vampire he’d never seen before. He could feel his cheeks flush with real embarrassment of being turned down so casually. What, was his blood not good enough? “I came up for a reason tonight, Jesse. Would you like to know it?” Words failed, so he simply nodded. Jaden closed the short distance between them and slotted his chin in the juncture of Jesse’s neck, lips less than an inch away from Jesse’s ear. He whispered like he was revealing a grand secret. “You see, I’ve very recently come of age. It’s time to build a court of my own, but to do that I have to prove myself. Know how?” His answer was a shake of the head. He could feel Jaden’s smirk grow. “I have to turn a human into a vampire in front of everyone I know. A little ceremony if you will. I was hoping to find myself a willing participant to join my court. My first member. That’s all I could ever ask for.”

The color that’d been building in Jesse’s face drained. He was terrified in the, albeit gentle, grip of a vampire that wanted to turn him. It was a good thing in a way. At least Jaden didn’t have any desire to kill him, and that made him feel a bit better. Still, with all the vampires Jesse’d seen he’d never truly spoken to one longer than necessary. In one short description from Jaden, he felt like he’d learned more of the societal structure of vampires than he had in his relatively short career. Jaden pulled away from him, making eye contact with Jesse. He could feel the icy cold of Jaden’s fingers on the skin of his face. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Jesse shook his head, hoping to tune back in. “What?” He asked. Jaden shook his head softly, tsking.

“I said that if you wanted to, we could have a little fun. Make a game of it. Only if you’re a willing participant of course. I’d hate to coerce you into a life you’re uncomfortable with.”

“A game of what?”

“Rewards! If you win, I’ll help you track the vampire behind the disappearances and as an added bonus I’ll leave Domino. But if I win, you’ll stay and become my first court member. We can still track the vampire down, that’s a given. Either way you’ll still benefit in one fashion or another.”

“And what game will we be playing?”

“How’s hide and go seek? I know it’s a bit unfair since I know the city better than you, so we can keep tally at the fountain. Say, five minutes to hide and ten to seek? We’ll play ‘till dawn, so twelve rounds. No rooftops, no going into buildings, no turning into bats. Sound fair?” Jaden extended his hand to Jesse. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t believe he was even considering it, but it was true. Jaden was the best bet of actually locating the vampire he was looking for, and even if he lost Jaden didn’t seem like that bad of a guy. He was inclined to take Jaden’s hand, so he did. A searing pain ran up his arm and radiated through his body. “The oath is bound. I’ll seek first.” He turned his back to Jesse, covering his eyes with his hands. “One…Two…Three…”

Jesse ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The people of Domino were depending on him to end their blight. He had to win. He felt a sort of obligation to rid the world of these vermin. Yet, there was something about Jaden Yuki that’d drawn him in way too far for a first encounter. His initial presence had felt intimidating, domineering, and had in an instant become soft and genuine. It felt so wrong to see any good in one of those filthy creatures of the night, but Jesse couldn’t help it. He could sense the overwhelming good nature of Jaden and it made him feel inclined to believe that this would be a fair game.

That was five minutes. Jesse tucked himself tight into an alleyway. He slowed his breathing, trying hard not to give himself away. The click of Jaden’s heels against the concrete filled every crevasse and made it impossible to know how close or far Jaden really was. The gentle glow of the moon and the harsh lights of the city around were the only means Jesse had of sight. He wished desperately for the warmth of the sun. This alley felt like static on his skin. The clicking finally stopped. He held his breath, shifting slightly back behind the boxes he was obscured by. “Found you!” Jaden smirked. He’d moved so fast he’d nearly materialized out of thin air. “Alright! One to nothin’! Better catch-up Jess, unless you secretly do want to be a vampire!” He stuck out his tongue past his sharp teeth before taking off down the alley. Jesse couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face. This was actually kind of fun. Jaden, as dangerous as he had the potential to be, actually was making this unfortunate situation fun.

He found Jaden easily, far too easily. He’d been out in the open, almost waiting for him. With each passing round Jaden found him with unfathomable ease and Jesse him with increasing difficulty. It all came down to the final round – Jaden’s six to Jesse’s five. It was Jesse’s turn to seek. “Good luck, Jess. I can’t wait to see how good you’ll look on the ceremonial altar for me!” He winked suggestively and, in a flash, he was gone. Jesse closed his eyes and willed the color from his face. He was a grown ass man. He could deal with comments like that! He could! He began his count.

There was breeze now that brushed and caressed his skin with an all-new chill. It made him feel uncertain. Could he really find Jaden? He had been getting harder and harder to find. If he failed to find him, he’d still finish the job he’d come to the city to do. The only difference was that he wouldn’t be leaving. His heart fluttered in his chest. It was making him feel fuzzy to think about. He didn’t hate the idea; he hadn’t hated the idea from the start actually. If he had, he wouldn’t’ve agreed to play. Hell, he didn’t even hate vampires down to his core like most of his friends did. He’d mostly joined to thanks to Jim’s glowing reference and the promise of traveling about. You had to dehumanize vampires to bring yourself to kill them. He’d gotten good at it and he loved to be good at something. He didn’t think now though that even if a good opportunity showed itself that he could go through killing Jaden. He’d done an excellent job at humanizing himself from the start to Jesse.

His counted ended and the final chase began. He only had until the sun rose now. Domino was huge and for once that evening, he actually felt defeated. Still, he pressed onwards and kept his search going. Every alley, every street, behind every garbage can and every car. It was like Jaden had disappeared entirely until finally he reached the first place he’d hidden. “Jaden! I know you’re there!” Jesse bluffed. He heard a chuckle come from behind him and flipped around. Jaden was so close, leaning in towards him.

“So close and yet so far.” Jaden said, gesturing over his shoulder. The sun had already begun to slink over the horizon. He felt Jaden’s thin but strong arms wrap around him and a swirling vortex of black consumed them.

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anobscurename · 4 years

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ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I

concept: this is a collection of happenings, the little moments with him, rather than a whole thought-out fic. the slowest of slow burns. this is the second part, the reunion. this is what happens when the night is over.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,618

warnings: none, except a little profanity

author’s note: part two is here! i hope you like it :)

The second time you met Chris, was while you were at work. You were a cocktail waitress at a relatively posh, incredibly elite, uptown bar. The kind that charges you way too much for a drink so little, and probably sells diamond infused vodka. This was the night spot of everyone who was anyone – gods that sipped golden champagne from fine, polished Baccarat flutes that were probably worth your house.

You had no problem with rich people. You just had a problem with the way some treated you – and that was to say, not very well.

“Hey.” A male voice startled you out of your near robotic drink making. They were a bit understaffed that night, so you had taken the liberty of helping out behind the bar while the tables in your section remained vacant. You were somewhat of an expert cocktail maker – you could even safely say you could do it blindfolded (an exceptionally wild bachelor’s party provided proof enough). So it wasn’t uncommon for your mind to drift elsewhere while you mixed a drink. You tilted your head slightly in the direction of your co-worker, letting him know you were listening, while still pretending to be way more immersed in your task than you really were. It was that anti-social kind of night, where you’d rather be curled up at home with Netflix and a mug of tea rather than be there (despite being fully aware of how many girls would kill to have entry to the most exclusive club in Los Angeles). But the pay was good – excellent, actually – and you did get some really nice patrons at times. And your co-workers? They weren’t half bad, either. “There’s a table that just sat down in your station.”

You swore under your breath, finished mixing the drink with a sped efficiency, and handed it off to the patron. “Your station” was the VIP section, and was rarely very busy so early in the evening. You knew club routine well enough by now: pre-drinks before the party were often done at home, in the limos, or in a relatively tame bar somewhere nearby. This was for the pleasantries, the catching up, the conversations that would inevitably be drowned out by the pounding music if done anywhere else. That usually occurred around this time. This club – and many like it – the kind that was where everyone who was anyone had to be seen at – was the second phase. The party phase. The phase where most of the time, drama, and scandal, took place. This was often from 10pm till 4am, depending on the stamina of the party goers. And then the wind down: after parties, often held at someone’s house. This was the natural order of the night world, and you respected people who respected that. You modelled your entire schedule around that.

That’s why you had assumed that your station would’ve been empty until much later – until after pre-drinks and conversations. Whoever just sat down in VIP – they were disturbing the natural fucking order, and you were not having it. Well, you were silently not having it; you still needed, like, money.

Your job didn’t come without it’s perks, though. A murder of stunning people were sat on the plush leather couches surrounding black marble topped tables behind the velvet chain that separated them from the masses. Some you recognised instantly from the big screen, and others from the tabloids. And one from a personal encounter… Your breath caught and you damn near choked.

There he was, reclined on the couch, so at ease with his arms spread over the back, grinning and laughing at something someone had said. He wasn’t looking at you. Yet. That changed abruptly, as soon as you (after having gathered your confidence) introduced yourself to them.

He faltered slightly in his laugh, but his grin remained – growing even wider, as slowly, he tilted his head to look over at you.

Immediately his eyes brightened. If there was any doubt in your mind as to whether or not it was really him, it dissipated with that single nod of recognition he gave you.

You cleared your throat as a small diversion to clear your head. “Are you ready to order?”

They rattled off their orders, almost all of them barely paying any attention to your silent exchange with Chris. Almost.

A (begrudgingly) stunning female on Chris left, who was pressed eagerly into his side, gave you a dirty once over and sneered out her order to you. Oh. She was one of those. The ones who looked down at literally anyone not a billionaire.

He noticed her disdain, and his grin fell. A small victory, he revoked his arm from around her – bemused by her display of deluded superiority. You had to physically hide your smirk as you got the last order – his – and slipped behind the bar with the orders engraved in your mind.

——————

The group departed after about two hours. Two hours of eyeing the table (mainly to check if their glasses were still full, or if they needed anything else – or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself), two hours of stolen glances – ones that you were always the first to pull away from, usually after the inevitable smirk that touched his lips when you looked for a bit longer than you should.

When they left, you cleaned the table. Who was he? He seemed to have friends in high places, but there was something else… You knew, when you first met him, that you knew his face. Ugh, that itch was back – the one in the brain where you know you know something but it’s evading your every grasp – and it was refusing to go away. Like an earworm of a melody, lyrics forgotten.

It plagued you for the remainder of your shift – which wasn’t necessarily long, just an hour or so more – and even as you got ready to go home.

It was approaching peak hours now, and so you knew the front would be bustling with paps and desperate social climbers begging for entrance from the surly bouncers, who stood as monoliths in churning seas. Because with peak hours, came the rich and famous; socialites, actors, singers, designers, models. And with them, the gods of the nightlife, came the screaming hordes.

God, you were dramatic. You smirked to yourself, at the internal monologue you were maintaining, as you punched in the code to slip out the back. Anything to keep a scrap of sanity in these long nights. So wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice him following you until he laid a scopic hand on your shoulder.

You whirled, shoving him against a wall, knee approaching dangerously close to his crotch before you mercifully faltered at the familiar face.

“Chris?!” You were breathless with exhilaration, adrenaline thick in your veins at having been caught off guard. You released him, stepping away to run your hand through your hair to brush it away from your face. “What are you doing, hiding in a back alley, trying to catch unsuspecting girls off guard?!”

He chuckled at your scolding tone, at the way you pressed a hand to your beating heart, over the top dramatism at play in your actions. “Trying to catch an unsuspecting girl off guard. Obviously.”

You realised then how strange it was for him to still be here; his party departed at least an hour and a half ago. “Did you wait out here for me?”

“Can you promise not to kick me in the balls if I said yes?”

You laughed as he cautiously eyed your legs at his sentiment. “So, what, you’re following me now?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m not the one who waited an hour for someone, out in a back alley, in the freezing cold.” To punctuate your point, a cold blast of wind ripped through the alleyway, worming its way under your coat to stroke at your skin with cold tendrils. You shivered, crossing your arms to preserve the warmth. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

He patted down his pockets. “Ah, shit. Must’ve left my axe at home.” His tone was dead serious, but at your roll of the eyes, he grinned.

You buried your hands in your pocket to stave off the chill. Weirdly enough, after the initial shock, you were glad to have someone with you to walk with you to your car, parked three blocks away to make room for the patrons’ stretch limousines. You inclined your head in the direction of your vehicle, nodding for him to walk with you.

He smiled softly, following you out of the dim lighting of the alleyway, into the lights of the main road. The clamour outside of the club was a roar, the leering of the paps at the celebrities who entered becoming a jumble of white noise.

You noticed how, as soon as you both approached the light, he ducked his head and upturned the collar of his jacket, avoiding the peoples’ attentative eye. You both pushed by relatively unnoticed, and you only spoke again when the bellowing crowd was a distant memory.

“So, who are you?”

The question took him by surprise. The action of lighting the cigarette he had propped between his lips stuttered, and he gave you an apprehensive look. He struck the match he had poised in his hand, looking down to watch where the flame licked. “You know who I am.”

“You just sat where Justin Bieber sat. I served drinks to the Kardashians on that couch. Only the VIPs of VIPs sit there. So, are you famous or something?”

Shaking the match out, he took a drag – prolonging his answer as long as he possibly could. He deliberated you, wondering what your reaction would be. Would you treat him differently, now? “Or something.”

You eyed him up, skeptical, before breaking into a massive grin. “Cool,” you said non-chalantly. Or at least in your head. What you really said was: “I fucking knew I wasn’t losing my mind! I fucking knew it, Mr I-Just-Have-One-Of-Those-Faces. Oh my God, I’m not crazy, fuck yes!”

The look he gave you negated that entirely, because indeed, he was looking at you as if you were a mad woman, in spite of the amused twist of his lips. “Are you done?”

After a moment of appraising him, you nodded, calm again. “Yeah, I’m done.”

You were less excited that you were in the presence of celebrity royalty, more relieved that you weren’t insane for feeling he was so familiar. That was refreshing for Chris; usually after someone discovered his identity, they would treat him differently – sidling up to him, for a favour or money or status or cloning DNA. Or for workout tips, but he got that regularly. Barring the brief moment of unhinged happiness you displayed, you treated him as you did before. Like when he stole your cab.

“Andy Barber!” You had started walking again, him alongside you, in a pleasant silence. Your outburst caused both of you to pause again. “Ransom Drysdale? Steve Rogers…”

He arched a brow in question, taking a pensive drag from his cigarette. “Are you having a stroke?”

“That’s where I recognise you from.” Mumbling to yourself, you muttered “God, I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

He chuckled, flicking the ash off his cigarette, both of you continuing on in a comfortable silence.

“So, what did I do to deserve the chance at having you escort me to my car?”

He stomped out the cigarette, smoke curling from his lips as he tried to find the best way to word his question. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, you can proposition my fist to your face,” you chuckled in disbelief. “Just because you’re all high and mighty and famous doesn’t mean that every girl you meet is going to throw themselves at your feet even if you did buy me pizza and you’re all smug and handsome and have impeccable dress sense like, seriously, what is that? Armani? What? Why are you laughing at me?”

He had started laughing sometime during your rant and the sound, contagious and warm, had caused you to falter. You fought a smile that was threatening to rise. You were trying to make a point, goddamnit, and you would be damned if he was going to ruin it with his smug, handsome face.

“A business proposition, {your name},” he managed to say among the peels of laughter. “But please, do go on my impeccable dress sense.”

You were mortified. You probably sounded proper arrogant, thinking that he wanted to get in your pants. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a moment to conceal the fast rising heated flush of embarrassment. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let him know. Thanks, Elsa.

“What, uh,” you cleared your throat, turning away to continue your stalling trek (and to avoid his gaze). “What business proposition?”

“Do you like dogs?”

You ignored how laugh-drunk his voice sounded – gravelly and lilted with amusement. It just served to feed your embarrassment further. “Love them. Why?”

Now it was his turn to clear his throat. “I recently, uh, split up with my girlfriend and I’m heading to Vancouver for a few months for a film. She was meant to help look after Dodger and the house while I was gone, but, given the recent change in plans, that would appear to no longer be an option.”

He avoided your gaze as you glanced over at him, but you could see the throb of the muscle in his jaw, indicating the grit of his teeth.

“And you have deemed me worthy?” You tried lightening the mood a little, and was satisfied by his small smile and accompanying chuckle.

“I know it’s too much to ask of a stranger–”

“Why don’t you get a friend to do it?”

“I would, if any were deemed worthy,” he teased. Warmth swelled in his eyes when he looked at you next, and paired with that smile and the words he spoke next, you knew you would do anything he asked. “And I am asking a friend.”

A beat passed. “Fine. I’ll live in your stupid mansion and look after your stupid dog. Okay, I didn’t mean that last bit, I’m sure Dodger is lovely, but I’ll have you know: I don’t come cheap.”

“What, living in my mansion isn’t good enough?”

“Fuck no! I still need to feed the dog, clean up after it, clean the house, have money on hand for damages in case I get too wild by myself… There’s a long, fucking list.”

“I’m sure we can make an arrangement,” he smirked.

You shivered slightly at the double entendres laced in his words; good thing it was cold, so you could easily excuse it.

“What makes you think I’ll say yes?” You tip your head in the direction of the club from which you were making your slow escape. “They pay well, a lot better than house sitting.”

“Are you happy there?”

You balked at his question. “The money is good–”

“I wasn’t asking about the money, I was asking if you were happy.” He arched a brow, something close to concern crossing his face.

“I–”

He cocked his head, waiting for an answer. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.

“No, not really. Some people are real assholes, especially when drunk.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll come work for me.”

“Woah, hey now. I can’t just… Uproot my life and live with you. For starters, I have a lease and stuff. And I have a life, a job, a–”

“I have an adorable mixed boxer and a Jacuzzi.”

“When do I start?”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans/you #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans/reader #chris evans fluff #dina writes #when the night is over #ocean eyes #part two

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

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Apple Cinnamon Buns

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt: visual prompt [submitted by @mandelion82]

Rating: T

Summary: Katniss and Prim enjoy a late fall day at a Christmas market when Katniss discovers a booth that sells the most delicious treats and run by a delectable man with deep blue eyes and wavy blonde hair.

Author’s Note: Visual prompt under the cut.

_________

Katniss shivered and tugged her fleece jacket tighter around her shoulders. She was used to being up this early but not surrounded by people at this hour. The sun was barely over the horizon, but Panem’s Harvest Festival was already in full swing. Prim, her little sister, bopped along beside her, a grin on her face, as the Everdeen sisters prepared to take the world by storm.

Or attempt to get ahead on Christmas shopping, at least. It wasn’t that serious.

“Who do you have to shop for?” Prim asked, yawning as she spoke. She wasn’t a morning person, and the fact that she’d pestered Katniss for weeks to attend as well as gotten up early when she didn’t have to was evidence enough the Harvest Festival was important to her.

“Not too many,” Katniss answered, rolling her Christmas list like a movie trailer in her head. “Gale, Mom, Uncle Haymtich, you. The usual.”

“Gale, huh? Is that because…”

“We’re just friends, Prim. I’ve told you that a million times,” Katniss insisted. “I’m not interested in anything else. Neither is he. I’m like his little sister. He doesn’t look at me that way.”

“Maybe you’re not interested in anything else, but I’m about a thousand percent sure that he wants more than friendship from you.”

“Whatever.”

Katniss didn’t mean to be dismissive, but what Prim said just wasn’t true. Gale and she had been best friends for years, and there’d been nothing between them other than a deep friendship the entire time.

“Agree to disagree,” Prim chirped, thoroughly unconcerned. “I have to get something for Mom and Haymitch, too. Let’s work on those, and then we can take off on our own to finish shopping. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

They ambled together, strolling through the stalls, checking out crafts and decorations and all sorts of unusual things Katniss would never have thought would make good gifts until she saw them. They decided on an antique brandy snifter for their uncle and a basket of pampering products for their mother before separating to shop for each other. Katniss had just found and purchased a really cool pocketknife for Gale and the softest pair of cashmere gloves for Prim when she turned the corner and spied a refreshment stand. Her stomach rumbled at the sight.

“Oh, I need some of that,” Katniss murmured, her eyes wide.

She approached slowly, reading signs and sniffing the different aromas that wafted from the stand. Drawn by the promise of something delicious, she drifted close before stopping and staring. She could almost swear she was under a magical spell. Another customer jostled her as she stood, and she shook herself. Just then, she heard a deep voice, sweet and spicy like pumpkin pie.

“Can I help you?”

Katniss locked eyes with the man behind the counter, her eyes captured by his deep blue gaze. Kindness danced there and life and contentment. She wasn’t sure what he was selling, but she wanted all of it.

“I’m— I’m not sure,” she answered, moving a little closer and returning his wide smile. White teeth glimmered behind full, pink, kissable lips. Ashy blonde hair flopped in waves over his forehead, and he tossed his head to get it out of his eyes. Sapphire eyes deep as the mines from which they came sparkled. She wanted to tumble into them and fall forever.

“Hungry? Thirsty?” he asked.

“Yes,” came her immediate response before she blushed bright red. His smirk indicated he understood she’d been talking about another kind of hunger.

“If you want a little something of both, I can make suggestions.”

She nodded, eager for him to keep speaking, craving the sound of the rumbled baritone that filled her ears when he addressed her. Her eyes roved over broad shoulders under red and baby blue flannel sleeves that were rolled up to reveal strong forearms ending in masculine hands with long, tapered fingers. Artist’s hands, she thought. They had to be. When they gestured, she remembered he was talking and snapped to attention.

“Do you like sweet or savory?”

Katniss gaped at him, unable to speak. There was something about the way he’d said the word sweet that made her want to climb over the counter and jump him. Since that was completely inappropriate, she forced herself to answer.

“It depends. I like a little of both.”

His pupils contracted, and he cleared his throat. “Well, we’re known for our apple cinnamon buns, which you can see on the sign down in front. I’d suggest trying one with a scoop of ice cream, but we also have cheese buns if you’d rather try something savory.”

She hesitated, tempted by the idea of cheese buns because they sounded overly delicious, but if they were known for something else, who was she to turn it down?

“I’ll take the apple cinnamon bun, please.”

“Ice cream?”

“I guess?”

He studied her. “Yes, I think so. You’ll enjoy it more that way, I think. Very creamy. Evens out the texture and mixes well with the tartness of the apples. Or we have apple crisp, if that’s more to your liking.”

“No, I like buns,” she blurted and felt her face grow even hotter.

“Funny,” he said with a smile, “so do I. Now, for the drink. That’s harder. We have so many options, and you look like you’d appreciate several of them. My first instinct is apple cider, but that’s a lot of apple going on at once. What about hot chocolate? I think that could be more your thing.”

“I love hot chocolate,” she admitted with a grin. “It’s my favorite.”

“That doesn’t surprise me somehow. You have that look.”

“What look is that?” she asked and was mildly surprised it sounded a little bit like flirting. “Hot? Or Chocolate?”

Blushing furiously, Peeta stammered an answer. “N-no! Just…you… I meant… Yes, hot— That’s not what I meant. More like sweet. With some substance. God, kill me now.”

“Please let me have my bun and sweetness before you’re murdered.”

She ducked her head, embarrassed at her brazenness. What was up with her? This wasn’t her modus operandi with men. Usually, she kept as far from them as possible unless it was Gale. But there was something about this guy. He was gentle and funny and interesting, and she wanted to keep talking to him forever.

Unfortunately, the woman behind her coughed, indicating her impatience, and he hurried to get her food. His co-worker finished with his customer and motioned to the person behind Katniss in line who flashed a glare as she moved up to the register. Katniss didn’t bother to respond, she remained focused on the man warming up the apple cinnamon bun, topping it with a dollop of ice cream, and pouring a cup of hot chocolate. Before he turned back to the register, he counted out a few marshmallows and then added two more to her drink.

“Here you go,” he said. “That’ll be $7.50.”

Katniss fished in her wallet, produced her debit card, and tried to hand it to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, but we only take cash.”

Her face drained. She didn’t have any on her. She rarely carried it, and she hadn’t even thought about pulling out any to bring with her today.

“I-I don’t have any. I’m so sorry.”

The other customer left with her food, and his co-worker, likely a relative since they were so similar in appearance, slipped out the back of the booth leaving them alone.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urged softly. “It’s my treat.”

“You can’t!” she protested. “I’ll find my sister and see if she has cash. I’m… This is so humiliating.”

“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle, “it’s my treat. I know you’re going to love this, and word of mouth advertising is worth more than the cost of a bun and drink. Take it. Please.”

“I couldn’t. Seriously.”

“Please. I insist.” She hesitated for several moments, until he confessed, “Please, because if you wait much longer, my brother’s going to be back, and he’ll see what I’m doing. He can be, uh, a bit of a jerk, so you’d really be doing me a favor.”

She inhaled and held it for a beat before accepting his offering. “Thank you, uh…?”

“Peeta,” he said with a smile. “Peeta Mellark. This is my family’s booth.”

“Katniss Everdeen. Merely a customer at Panem’s Harvest Festival.”

“Well, I’m glad you chose to patron us. It’s been a highlight of the weekend, so far.”

Peeta’s brother returned, and he straightened, standing upright instead of leaning toward her over the counter. “Come by again before you leave,” he suggested. “I’d love to meet your sister.”

Katniss backed away with a nod of thanks. He obviously didn’t feel comfortable continuing the conversation with his brother next to him, so she decided to take the win and go. Glancing at the time, she realized she should be thinking about meeting up with Prim soon. First, though, she was going to eat her apple cinnamon bun and drink her hot chocolate.

The first spoonful melted on her tongue, and she released an indecent moan that would have horrified her if she hadn’t been in the throes of an orgasm in her mouth. There wasn’t a word to describe the explosion on her taste buds, but it was something to the effect of every superlative she could imagine. The hot chocolate was even better. She briefly considered selling herself on the street to get another cup.

“What are you doing?” Prim asked when they met up again. Katniss sat in a stupor, high on sugar and calculating how much more she could eat without quadrupling her daily caloric intake.

“How much cash do you have on you?” she demanded, eyes rolling.

Confused, Prim stared at her. “Why?

“There’s this booth. Best thing ever. Have to go back. They only take cash.” The words tumbled out in a half-coherent babble, but she didn’t care. She needed more of what Peeta had given her.

“Okay,” Prim agreed, although she flashed Katniss a look that indicated she thought her sister was losing it.

Katniss bounced to her feet and grabbed her purchases. Dragging Prim along by the hand, she wound through the stalls until she found Peeta’s booth again. He was still there, helping customers with a friendly smile.

“Oh,” Prim breathed. “I get it now. He’s gorgeous.”

“His buns are better.”

“Well, I can’t see them from here, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Katniss smacked her on the arm. Indignant, she snapped, “His apple cinnamon buns! Get your head out of the gutter.”

“Hard to keep the thoughts pure when a guy looks like that.”

“You know what, Prim? You’re absolutely right. He’s stunning. Let’s go get some of that.”

Katniss had every intention of laying her hands on more of Peeta’s buns. With any luck, she’d get his phone number, too.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #hutchhitched #submission #prompt

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goulets · 3 years

Text

Heartland

Chapter: 4/9 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Roy Harper, Lian Harper, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake Case Fic / Kid Fic a03 link

Lian looks proud. “My first word was Daddy,” she tells Jason. “I bet Dani’s will be, too, since she has two daddies.”

It takes Jason a moment to process what Lian is talking about, and when he realizes it, Roy is suppressing a huge peal of laughter and Dick’s eyes are so wide they’re about to pop right out of his skull.

***

(romina)

The view has changed.

When Romina Falcone was a child, she had stood in this very office at the right hand of her grandfather and looked out this very window, down into the sprawling urban jungle. She’d thought Gotham City was beautiful. Carmine had a story for every building, every street, every truck and car and pedestrian. The businessman who needed funds to keep his product line moving, soon to be in debt to their family. The district attorney’s office who wanted to cut fiscal corners on an exterior remodel, soon to enter into a contract with them. The gas station at a particularly desirable intersection, soon to be abandoned and auctioned off - the delivery van pulling up to the pump, soon to motivate the owners to abandon it. There was nothing, he said, that was out of reach for them. There was no one who could afford not to answer their call.

She sits in the seat he once sat in, her brother at her right hand, the city laid out below her, and she sees none of it.

“Romina? Are you listening?” her brother asks, angry.

“Obviously not,” she tells him. Who would she pick out of this crowd, if she was her grandfather? The woman in the suit, maybe - a journalist, ambitious and easily bought. The corner bistro, in the red for the third year in a row, about to be turned down for a loan extension. The restless pawn shop security guard, washed out from the police academy, in need of a better outlet to exert his will upon the public.

One by one, she thinks. One by one, they will all be within her grasp.

“ - drives me fuckin’ insane,” her brother is complaining, now, to their cousin Antoni and their new employee, Tiberius. “Never listens to a goddamn word I say - “

“Mario.” Romina turns in her chair to face him.

“What?” he demands.

She raises a dark eyebrow.

He straightens, and appears to compose himself. Much better. “Sorry, Ro. There’s a situation at City Hall that I’ve just been made aware of.”

When he doesn’t immediately go on, she feels a flash of irritation. “Well?”

“It seems that several records were accessed over the weekend - the logs were deleted, but our alert system was set off before they covered their tracks.” A dark look passes over his face. “They were looking into Uncle Vincenzo.”

Romina understands. Vincenzo Rizzuto, her mother’s half-brother, is the name they’ve been recruiting under, a name relatively yet-unknown in Gotham. They hid the real Vincenzo well - Romina had Antoni remove her uncle’s head and hands after he killed him, and since the man had been in the country illegally from Montreal, there should have been almost no way to identify his body. The city coroner’s office hadn’t managed it, but obviously, someone else did.

She taps her fingers against the desk. “How inconvenient.”

Tiberius looks curiously between them. “Think it was law enforcement?”

Antoni barks out a laugh. Romina has to agree - besides, she’s been given the distinct impression that Gotham PD is more than willing to welcome them back into the fold.

Unruffled by their scorn, Tiberius moves on. “Surveillance?”

“Plenty,” Mario says. A vein begins to throb in his forehead. “Doesn’t appear to be tampered with. There’s a camera pointed directly at the terminal that was accessed. Didn’t pick up shit.”

“Ah,” Romina nods. An invisible researcher. This explains Mario’s bad mood. “A meta-human, then.”

“Fuckers,” Antoni grumbles.

Tiberius glances around at them, faint amusement in his pale features. “Can I speak freely?”

“No,” Mario spits, but Romina holds up her hand.

“You may.”

Tiberius cracks his knuckles. “I know your family is more...traditional, let’s say, but you guys aren’t seeing the big picture. A lot’s changed since your grandfather was in charge, not just in Gotham. Meta-humans are a resource. A fucking gold mine. You can hire them, create them, sell them, buy them - as a commodity, they bring a higher return than almost anything else out there. And the scope of the industry is unlimited. The Russians are already in the process of cornering the market in Bludhaven. You could have shipping routes all the way out to - ”

He stops, suddenly, because Mario’s patience has expired. He advances heavily on Tiberius, clicking the safety off on his pistol. Romina wonders idly whether it would be more prudent to buy off or to threaten the city clerk to alter their records. It’s too late this time, but it would do well to have someone in City Hall working for them, in the future.

“How many times,” her brother seethes, “do we have to tell you, Tiberius. We’re taking the metas out. Your freak squad has been running this town for too goddamn long.”

“Hey, they’re not my freak squad,” Tiberius protests, putting his hands up. “I’m just pointing out a business opportunity, shit.”

Antoni looks between them, interested. Romina sighs.

“Enough,” she says coolly. “Mario, stand down. Tiberius, you’ve overstayed your welcome. If I want business propositions from you, you’ll know.”

Tiberius straightens his jacket, glaring around at them all dispassionately. He’ll not last much longer, she thinks.

“Antoni, when are the trucks coming in from Chicago?”

“Should be within the hour, boss.” He grins at her. Romina feels a wave of affection for her younger cousin, all bloodlust and mania. If their grandfather had known him, he would surely have adored him as well.

“Go meet them,” she instructs. “Take Tiberius with you. He should meet our cousin Nicola, since he’s so interested in the family’s shipping routes.”

Antoni grins wider. Perhaps Romina was too careless with her phrasing - if Antoni can tell she means to replace Tiberius with Nicola Viti, then he can probably guess it as well. No matter. With both cousins watching him, he won’t have an opportunity to betray them.

Once they leave, Mario comes to stand next to her, turning his gaze out the window to mirror hers.

“It looks different,” he says, sliding his Beretta back into its holster. “That’s what you were thinking about, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she replies. “But I find that the longer I look, the less different it seems.” And indeed, the view is becoming clearer. The run-down garage two blocks over, its owners tired and brittle and all too willing to sign away to new management. The half-finished housing project, abandoned by the city and looking for a new developer. The drug dealer squatting in its basement, hungry to ally himself with a steady supplier.

After a moment, Mario clears his throat. “We need to get rid of Tiberius. His ideals don’t align with ours.”

He’s right, of course. It won’t do to have one of their own sowing discord among the lower ranks. Romina has made one thing clear in their recruitment process - they’re not making a power play for Gotham’s meta-trafficking trade, not entering into competition with Scarecrow or Riddler or whichever absurd character is putting on a show to engage the Batman this week. They’re eliminating them. Meta-humans and theatrical villains might be an inescapable reality of their world, but Gotham belonged to their family first.

“I’m not ready for you and I to go public just yet,” she tells him. “We need Tiberius for one more thing, first.”

He doesn’t argue. “I hope it’s Susie. You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

Romina scoffs. “She’s lucky that’s all I’m doing to her, after she disobeyed me. No, I’ll have him fetch her in a few more days. Do you think he’ll suspect the trap?”

“No,” Mario snorts. “He’s too convinced of his own importance. Didn’t even blink when I pulled my piece on him. He thinks he’ll wear you down, eventually.”

She nods, satisfied. “That was my read as well.”

“Is it really necessary, though, to risk alienating Susie?”

Romina purses her lips. “She was instructed to leave no survivors,” she says. “I served her an opportunity to settle a score up on a platter, and she repaid me by doing the exact opposite of what I asked. She knew there would be a cost.”

Mario looks skeptical. “Seriously, Ro, it was just a baby. It wouldn’t’ve even remembered its parents.”

“It doesn’t have to remember.” Romina thumbs over the scar on her wrist, the memento from all those years ago. “I don’t like giving orders to kill children, and I don’t expect Susie to like doing it, but it’s necessary to do. The Maronis left us alive, and where are they now? Scrambling in the shadows like rats, terrified to show their faces. You have to be prepared to hunt the children of your enemies, Mario, or they’ll grow up to hunt you.”

Mario grimaces. “It fucking creeps me out, when you talk like that.”

“It’s something our grandfather understood,” she tells him. “It’s practically colonial.”

“Jesus, Ro.”

She smirks. “Don’t like that comparison?”

“You know I don’t, but you’re right. Fuck,” he sighs. “Fine. I’m guessing you want to put Antoni on it?”

“It can wait, for now.” Antoni is reliable as a triggerman, with no limitations to speak of, but he does have a habit of going off-script, and Romina doesn’t want any more deviations in this particular directive. “As you said, it’s only a baby. It can’t pose a threat to us for some time yet.”

Mario exhales, relieved.

On to more pressing matters. “Do you know, I think it’s time we started recruiting in Bludhaven.”

“I agree,” he says, immediately. “The Russians have been struggling to gain a foothold since losing Intergang. It’s the perfect time to strike.”

“And once we deal with them, the entire canal will be ours,” she muses. “Start looking for someone to run the cement factory, will you? I want that housing project on 15th.”

Mario grins wolfishly. “You don’t think it’s too early for city contracts? We can’t take them out under Vincenzo’s name, you know.”

“No,” she agrees. “But it’s nearly time.”

The view is shifting, the longer she looks. The points of connection are starting to take shape, the lines of power that her grandfather once saw so clearly all leading back into the palm of his hand. Recruitment is child’s play - the people of this city are as tired of the Bats and the Jokers as she is. It’s more than a mission, it’s her birthright. Her father was too foolish and weak to recognize it, but Romina was born with her grandfather’s soul. Now, in his office, with the city laid out before her, she begins to understand how he must’ve felt, back then. She can almost taste it in the air. Gotham is ready to come back to them, and Romina is ready to seize it all.

***

(jason)

“I gotta say, I’m a little hurt,” Roy says, throwing a sideways look at Jason.

Jason’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s gonna follow up with something obnoxious, but he gives him an indulgent glance over his coffee cup all the same. “Yeah?”

“That you didn’t call me, you tool. Why wasn’t I the first person to know about this?! Instead I gotta hear it from Donna, who heard it from Wally, who heard it from Dick!! Not cool, dude!”

Jason feels a headache coming on. They’re out on the balcony outside Dick’s room, and it’s as spacious as a balcony for a single bedroom can be, but it’s starting to feel claustrophobic all the same. “It was need-to-know, okay? I was going to tell you, obviously. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve had a few other things on my mind.”

Roy isn’t having it. “You know how Wally knew? Because Dick called him to ask for advice. Because Wally is a father. Kind of like someone else you guys know, right?”

“I did call you,” Dick says from the balcony doorway. Dani is awake in his arms, and Roy’s five year old daughter Lian is at his side peering up at her in fascination. “You didn’t answer.”

Roy flushes slightly. “Well, without a text, how was I supposed to know why you were calling? I figured it was something like, world-ending-cavalry-calling thing. Can’t blame me for wanting to sit it out.”

Dick nods at Jason. “But you’d answer for him?”

“Hell yes I would. I happen to like him better, no offense,” Roy says, offense clearly intended. Dick rolls his eyes.

Jason doesn’t exactly know what went on between the two of them, except that it happened when he was dead. Roy hasn’t been forthcoming about it, and he’s never bothered asking Dick. Clearly it’s not completely water under the bridge just yet, but Dick looks happy enough to see him, and Roy didn’t even blink at letting Lian run off with him, so Jason thinks they must be starting to make up. Really, it’s the last thing he should be hoping for. Dealing with either of them one-on-one is bad enough. If they get chummy again, he’s done for.

“You’re shit out of luck, then,” he says to Roy, about half a second before he remembers the guy’s daughter is standing right there. “Crap. Uh, sorry, Lian.”

“Daddy says ‘shit’ all the time,” Lian replies, shaking her dark hair back from her face. “Shit is just poop, really, so it’s not such a bad word.”

Dick laughs. “So wise.”

“When can baby Dani learn to talk?”

“Um…” Dick looks at Jason, who shrugs helplessly. “Probably not for a while, I’m guessing. She’s only four months old, so she has a lot of milestones to hit before then.”

Lian tilts her head comically. “What’s mile-stones?”

“That’s just a name for important things that babies learn to do, sweetheart,” Roy tells her. “Things like rolling over, grabbing their feet, sitting up, and standing up. You hit all your milestones right on time.”

“Grabbing their feet? That’s silly, Daddy.”

“Hey, it’s an important motor skill, kiddo. Just as important as first words. You were a foot-grabbing prodigy, so I should know.”

Lian looks proud. “My first word was Daddy,” she tells Jason. “I bet Dani’s will be, too, since she has two daddies.”

“We’re not - I’m not her dad, Lian. She’s not my kid.” Jason should probably just shut the hell up, since he doesn’t think Roy would be too happy about him explaining why Dani is in their care in the first place to his young, already somewhat traumatized daughter.

“We’re just taking care of her,” Dick adds, gently. Lian looks puzzled.

“So you’re babysitting her?”

“Exactly, yeah.”

“Hey pumpkin,” Roy says, reaching over and patting her on the cheek. “We’ll talk about this more later, okay? Let’s not ask too many questions to Dick and Jason, you know how silly Bats are about their secrets.”

“Oh, right,” Lian giggles, looking between them all conspiratorially. “Especially Mister Bruce, right, Daddy?”

Dick raises his eyebrows. “You told your daughter Batman’s secret ID?”

“You wanna fight about it?” Roy asks. His tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of real challenge in his eyes.

Lian looks confused, and Jason takes pity on her. “Guys, knock it off.” He shoves Roy’s shoulder lightly, and shoots a hard look at Dick. “Not in front of the kids, come on.”

Dani, fortunately, diffuses the tension by spitting up in a truly spectacular fashion all over her onesie and Dick’s arm.

Roy bursts out laughing. “Okay, I gotta say, I do not miss that.”

“Did she just barf?” Lian looks horrified.

“No, this is something babies do a lot,” Dick reassures her. “Usually it puts her in a much better mood when she does it, so it’s actually a good thing.”

“Okay…” Lian says uncertainly. “It’s kind of gross.”

“Kind of,” Dick grins. “I’ll just go change her, and, um, wash up.”

“Can I help? Can I pick out her clothes?” Lian looks at Roy excitedly.

“Sure, you’ll be a lot better at picking them out than me,” Dick beams back at her. “Be right back, guys.”

Once they’re out of earshot, Roy turns to Jason. “I didn’t tell her Batman’s secret ID, just so you know. He told her himself a couple years ago, after the attack on Star City. We were all up in the Watchtower, and he didn’t have his cowl...it was such a crazy day, I honestly never thought she’d remember it.”

Jason nods peaceably. “I don’t really give a shit, to tell you the truth.” It’s not quite the truth, actually, but hopefully Roy won’t call him on it.

“Just saying. Anyways, Jaybird, what the hell is going on with you and Dick? Are you fucking?”

Jason almost spits out his coffee. “What?”

“Is it really that weird of a question? You’re living here all of a sudden, raising a baby together, I mean.” Roy tilts his head, looking remarkably like his daughter. “Okay, I guess you’re not fucking.”

“We’re not anything,” Jason says, more harshly than he means to. “Jesus Christ.”

Roy gives him a look of dawning comprehension, which Jason doesn’t like at all. “I see.”

“Do you.” Jason narrows his eyes. “Well, fucking don’t.”

“All right, all right. I’ll cut you a break since I remember what it’s like to be up to your eyeballs in diapers and sleep deprived as hell and being expected to deal with your asshole friends like everything’s normal.” He leans forward to pour more coffee in Jason’s mug. “Talk to me about the kid, then. You said she’s not sleeping very well?”

Jason shakes his head. “She was sleeping great until this past week, I have no idea what changed. Every single noise in the room wakes her up. And if she catches sight of me, it’s all over. She just cries and cries until I pick her up, and she wakes up again if I try to put her down.”

“Damn,” Roy says sympathetically.

“I haven’t gone out in four nights,” Jason tells him, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dick’s got Russians to deal with in ‘Haven, so he hasn’t been able to take a night off, and I can’t…I just can’t leave her. Doesn’t seem right.”

“You shouldn’t, anyways, if your head’s back here,” Roy says. “Learned that one the hard way.”

“I don’t know what the fuck to do, then. It’s not a fever, she’s not hungry, or wet, she just won’t sleep.”

Roy leans forward. “Listen. This is actually a totally normal, completely awful thing called a ‘sleep regression’ that nobody fucking tells you about before you have a kid. They go through them every couple months, usually before hitting a major milestone. It’s fucked, but it’ll pass, I promise.”

Jason stares at him in surprise.

“What? I know things, fuck you.”

Jason kicks him lightly under the table. Not the best demonstration of thankfulness he could’ve come up with, but it’s all he’s got. “So what do I do, until it passes? Just keep holding her all the time?”

“You could try, but honestly, I think that’ll just make it worse. Do you have a white noise machine?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you tried really cranking that sucker up?”

“Yep.”

“Have you tried putting her in the swing?”

Jason frowns. “They’re not supposed to sleep in there.”

“What, really? Says who?” Roy looks incredulous.

“The fucking American Pediatric Association, that’s who. It says so right on the box. It’s a suffocation hazard.”

Roy’s forehead creases with worry. “No shit? Damn, no one told me about that. I used to put Lian to sleep in that thing all the time when nothing else was working.”

Jason spreads his hands. “Any other ideas?”

“Yeah, actually. Babies have REM cycles, you know, they’re just different from ours. When they’re in a sleep regression, you gotta wait until they’re deeply asleep to put them down. Give it, like, ten extra minutes after she falls asleep.”

“I can do that,” Jason agrees. “Doesn’t do me a lot of good, though, if she wakes up as soon as I fucking cough or unload my gun.”

“Oh yeah?” Roy cocks an eyebrow. “We’re unloading rubber bullets now?”

Jason kicks him again. “Shut up.”

“Shit, Jay. I just can’t believe Dickie is okay with it.”

Jason can’t quite believe it either. He keeps the loaded gun hidden in a shoulder holster under his jacket, but he’s not stupid enough to think that Dick hasn’t noticed.

Roy stretches his arms behind his head. “Sure nothing’s going on between you two?”

“Roy, I’m not having this conversation,” Jason says.

Roy grins. Jason hates that grin. “Alright. So, if she always wakes up when you’re in the room, don’t be in the room. Get a monitor and sleep in Dick’s room. Problem solved.”

Jason takes a long drink of coffee, trying to calm the sudden hammering in his pulse. “Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.”

“Why? If there’s nothing going on between you…”

“Roy,” Jason growls.

“Daddy, look! I helped baby Dani get dressed!”

They both turn to look at Lian in the doorway, standing in a superhero pose with her hands planted on her hips. “Ta-da!” she announces, leaping aside with a flourish. Dick appears behind her, lips pressed together like he’s trying hard not to laugh, Dani presented forward in his arms in a little red dress, red bloomers, and little red socks with white hearts. A little red bow is just visible among her tufts of black hair, and Jason’s heart throbs violently in his chest.

“Wow, sweetie!” Roy opens his arms and gives her a big hug. “Red, huh?”

“I think it’s her favorite color,” Lian says, shyly glancing at Jason. “It’s mine, too.”

Jason swallows. “Where the hell did that dress even come from?” He doesn’t know why he bothers asking, he doesn’t have a clue where any of Dani’s clothes come from. They seem to just materialize in her drawers, and he could probably pinpoint who purchased each item if he laid them all out and put his mind to it, but he finds it’s much easier just not to think about it.

“I don’t remember who got this one, actually.” Dick peeks at the tag. “It’s Ralph Lauren. Maybe Helena?”

“Hey Dick, I was just spitballing ideas with Jason,” Roy says, suddenly. Jason goes to kick him again, but damnit, he’s still holding Lian. Using his own kid as a shield, the fucker.

Dick looks up from bouncing Dani, his eyes widening innocently. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, about your kid’s sleep issues. Jay said she’s startling easily, once she’s down.”

Dick looks at Jason apologetically. “It’s been rough,” he admits. “Sorry, I know you haven’t gotten much sleep either.”

“Apparently it’s totally normal,” Jason says quickly, glaring at Roy. “Roy says it’ll pass in no time. Don’t worry about me.”

“I was suggesting, actually, that she might have an easier time if Jason wasn’t clattering around all the time and waking her up,” Roy goes on, pulling Lian up into his lap. Jason is going to kill him. “You’ve got room, right, Dick? Makes more sense for you two to share so she can get some peace and quiet.”

“Oh!” Dick spares Jason a fleeting glance. “That does make sense...we have the video monitor, after all. You are kind of loud, when you take off your armor.”

Jason crosses his arms. Everyone’s a fucking critic. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor, whatever.”

Dick makes a face. “Jason…”

Roy gives him an exasperated look. “What is this, cooties? Are you twelve?”

Lian tugs at his sleeve. “What’s cooties?”

“It’s what Jason’s scared of getting if he sleeps in the same bed as Dick, sweetheart. It’s super silly.”

Dani has apparently had enough of being held on display like a doll, and fusses loudly, kicking out towards Jason and curling both hands up toward her face. Jason can tell she’s a few seconds from a full meltdown - they’ve been coming on faster and faster, since this whole “sleep regression” started. He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, and Dick passes her over without a word. It’s a little terrifying how used to this they both are, Jason thinks as he brings Dani up to his chest. She’s already bigger than the tiny ten-pound bundle that had turned up at the Manor just a few weeks ago, and she’s outgrown the first sets of pajamas they’d put her in. He pats her back soothingly, feels the patch of drool on his shirt that indicates she’s stuffed her fingers in her mouth again. Normally, he’d drop a kiss on her head, but he finds himself reluctant to do so in front of Roy. He doesn’t want Roy to read anything into it - he’s already given away too much during this visit.

“Awww, she’s so cute,” Lian giggles, leaning against her dad. “I wish I could hold her, Daddy.”

“Maybe next time, honey. Baby Dani just wants her grown-up right now. You know how that feels, don’t you?”

Lian nods, looking up at Jason. “Yeah.”

Jason feels ridiculously exposed, under their twin gazes. If it wasn’t for Dani, he’d have jumped over the railing already.

“What are you guys up to for the rest of the day?” Dick asks, rescuing him from their unnerving combined perception.

Roy gives his daughter a nudge. “What are we doing, pumpkin?”

Lian lights up. “We’re going to see Donna!”

“Her favorite,” Roy confirms, grinning down at her. “They’re having a girl’s night, apparently. I’m not invited.”

“Maybe when Dani is bigger, she can come to a girls night with us,” Lian suggests wistfully. Dick looks sad, and Jason doesn’t have the heart to tell her that’s never going to happen.

“Hey, wouldn’t that be fun.” Roy ruffles her hair playfully. “You’d have to share Donna, though.”

Lian pulls back to give him a reproachful look. “I know how to share, Daddy.”

“Sheesh, okay. Anyways, I’ll be around, if either of you needs a wingman,” Roy says, looking between Dick and Jason hopefully.

“I’m staying in,” Dick says. Jason blinks, this is news to him. “Russians are laying low, and no one’s sprung our Falcone cousin from jail yet, shockingly. I know you’re going stir-crazy, so I’ll stay with her tonight.”

Jason feels a surge of warmth towards Dick. He is going nuts, and not just from sleep deprivation. It’ll do him a world of good to get out and get some real exercise, check on all his favorites in the neighborhood and put the fear of the Red Hood back into all the local dirtbags. Tim’s been doing a more than decent job on keeping him updated, and Jason’s grateful, but there’s something to be said for good old fashioned violence when it comes to keeping his people in line. Jason’s itching for it - he hasn’t been back in the field properly for way too long.

“You up for it, Jaybird?” Roy asks. His eyes are practically sparkling - Jason can already feel the beginnings of regret. “It’s been a minute since we teamed up.”

Jason sighs out heavily. “Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Roy laughs. “It’ll be fun! I can impart more sagely parenting advice, you can, um - ” he cover’s Lian’s ears “ - b-a-s-h some s-k-u-l-l-s, it’ll be real therapeutic.”

Lian swats at his hands. “Daddy.”

Jason looks at Dick. “You sure B’s okay with you taking a night off?”

“I’ll make him okay with it,” Dick says grimly. “Besides, I miss her.”

God help him, Jason’s going to miss her too, when he’s out for the evening. Not enough to want to stay in, but damn close.

He looks down at her, dozing lightly against his chest, one round cheek pressed flat, the other drooping onto her curled up shoulder. An image flits through his mind - Dani, older, her tufts of hair grown out long like Lian’s, a wide, toothy smile on her face and her big brown eyes crinkled up at Jason. Calling to him, reaching for him. Daddy. It feels like a bullet piercing his heart, but he can’t stop imagining it. Can’t stop imagining her laughter, the solid feeling of her body in his arms…and someone else next to him, strong hands held out to catch hers, sweetheart sounding out in a voice he’s gravitated toward since he was thirteen years old -

“Jason? You having gas or something?” Roy sounds half amused, half concerned.

Fuck. “Headache,” Jason manages, shoving the intrusive images as far back into his subconscious as he can. God, does he know how to torture himself.

“Well, get rid of it. Imagine how embarrassing it’d be if you got k-i-l-l-e-d by some punk in the Bowery because you were off your game.”

Jason shrugs. “You’d avenge me.”

Roy laughs. “Damn right I would. I’d have to fight Dick here for the honor.”

“To get back at some Bowery punk? Nah, Dickie wouldn’t bother.”

Dick rolls his eyes, but his mouth is twisted with humor. “Hey, I might, depending on how embarrassing your demise was.”

Roy claps his hands. “See, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

Dick goes pink, but he looks happy, at least. Jason imagines strangling Roy, to avoid anything revealing coming out of his mouth.

“I’d better go tell little D he’s got my patrol tonight,” Dick says, after a mildly suffocating moment of silence. “I’ll stick a bottle in the warmer for when she wakes up.”

“You are the worst person alive,” Jason tells Roy, once Dick is gone. “The worst. I literally don’t know why we’re friends.”

“Jason’s joking, sweet pea,” Roy grins at Lian.

Lian huffs dramatically. “I know that, Daddy.”

How the hell Roy Harper created such a great kid, Jason will never know. “What are you and Donna doing for your girl’s night?” he asks her, rocking Dani gently.

“So many fun things,” she tells him seriously. “I have a new Lego set, so we’re gonna build that, and then maybe we’ll play princess school? Or animal rescue school, or maybe both...and we’ll definitely watch a movie! And eat popcorn, of course.”

“Of course,” Jason nods.

She smiles at him, her nose scrunching adorably. “What are you and my daddy doing for your boy’s night?”

Jason makes eye contact with Roy. “Well, I doubt we’re gonna have as much fun as you.”

“No,” Roy agrees, tweaking her nose. “I think we’ll still have a pretty good time, though.”

***

Jason’s prepared for the worst, when they arrive in Crime Alley. He’s expecting his safe house to be trashed by squatters, his civilian apartment to be robbed, and all the local hot spots to be generally on fire. Well. Maybe not on fire, it does seem like Tim’s been doing a pretty good job covering for him. But still, he’s not expecting to roll into his territory and find it…quiet.

Roy takes to the rooftops, and Jason goes to the first busy street corner he sees. “Hey, Ginger,” he calls, jogging up to a working girl he’s got a friendly rapport with. “How’s it going?”

Ginger looks surprised to see him, but not unhappy. “You finally remember your address, Hood?”

“Doesn’t look like I needed to, though,” Jason remarks, glancing around. “Your girls are all good? Any problems that require my attention?”

“Aren’t you sweet.” Ginger looks over his shoulder, as though expecting someone to be there. “No Red Robin tonight? Damn.”

Wow, so that’s how it is. Jason’s already chopped liver. “Ouch,” he says in mock offense. “You know, it was me who told him which blocks to keep an eye on in the first place.”

“You can take that white knight shit straight back to wherever you’ve been hiding out, honey.” Ginger sounds unimpressed. He swears he was more intimidating a few weeks ago. She gives him a meaningful look and makes a shooing motion with her wrist. “It’s good to know you’re still in one piece, baby. Now run along, before you scare off all my customers.”

Taking the hint, Jason moves down the block to his favorite bar, a hideous dive run by a neighborhood relic called Mac Deveroux. Back when Jason was a kid, Mac had frequently paid him to make deliveries, taking alcohol and sometimes food to his customers who weren’t in a position to come and get it themselves. Most of the deliveries were superfluous errands that Mac could just as easily have run himself, but he liked Jason’s observational skills, and the real value of the trip was the gossip Jason was able to pick up along the way. Jason has no idea if Mac remembers him - it’s possible he had a dozen kids on his unofficial payroll, it’s equally possible that the years and the drinking have written Jason’s existence out of his mind. But the man is just as congenial and just as all-knowing about everyone’s business as he’s always been, so Jason makes it a habit to visit him and trade information.

“Hey, Mac,” he calls, pulling off his helmet and sliding into a seat at the end of the bar. He doesn’t always order a drink when he comes here, and he’s not planning on it tonight, but Mac seems to prefer talking to him in just the domino. “Been a minute.”

It’s early, so the place is still mostly deserted, except for a handful of local drunks in various stages of stupor. Mac looks startled for half a moment, then pulls his ballcap down and goes back to being inscrutable. “Glad to see you alive and well, Red.”

Why is everyone so surprised to see him? He’s only been off patrol for a week or so, and he was checking in every few days before that. “Some reason I shouldn’t be?”

Mac side-eyes him suspiciously. “Not especially. People talk. That friend of yours - Red Robin - stupid fucking name, by the way - he’s okay too?”

Jason picks up his helmet and switches the comm on. “Red Robin, Red Hood checking in. Are you dead or injured?”

Tim’s voice comes through almost immediately, annoyed. “Uh, no?”

Jason switches it back off. “Yep, still kicking. Pretty sure Batman hasn’t bit it either, but the night is young. What’s with the sudden concern for my well-being?”

Mac shakes his head. “Folks been talking lately, that’s all. Lots of shit about taking down the Bat, all the rest of the capes in Gotham. Can’t blame me for wondering.”

“People around here are always running their mouths,” Jason says dismissively. “Half the time they tell me about it to my face. Since when are you sweating shit like that?”

“Since it started seeming like more than just talk,” Mac says, serious. “I mean it, Red. You ought to watch yourself out there. And be careful who you talk to, too. I appreciate all you done for me, but it’ll be better if I don’t see you in my bar all too often. You need to chat, you’re better off coming in the back.”

Jason recalls how quickly Ginger had hurried him away, and feels his blood run hot with anger. So these fuckers think they can come onto his turf and threaten his people? They’re gonna be needing more than new kneecaps by the time he’s through with them.

He cracks his knuckles. “Right. Let’s go to the back, then.”

Mac meets him next to a stack of boxes behind his delivery door. He pulls out a joint and starts patting his pockets down, looking for a lighter.

“Here.” Jason fishes one out from his coat pocket, tosses it to him. Not like he’s lighting up much of anything these days.

“Appreciate you, man,” Mac says, catching it. “You want?”

Jason shakes his head briefly.

Mac nods, as though he expected Jason to decline. He exhales a stream of smoke. “Gives me a reason to be back here, you know.”

“Sure.” Jason leans cautiously against one of the stacks of boxes. “So, what’s all this chatter that’s got you and everyone else so spooked?”

“Hmm.” Mac takes another long drag off his joint. “Just a few too many mouths telling the same story in my bar, I’d say. I’m used to hearing guys talk big about taking you out. But this is different, they’re all telling the same story about somebody else taking you out. Taking all the Bat folks out, and the Jokers and the Scarecrow gang too. Saying it’s gonna be open season on all the capes and metas in Gotham, that sorta thing.”

Jason really doesn’t like the sound of any of this. “Who’s supposed to be taking us all out, exactly?”

“That’s the thing about it. No one wants to say, I don’t think most of ‘em even know. You heard about that bloodbath down by the docks, a month back?”

Jason tenses. “Uh-huh.”

Mac looks shrewd, suddenly. “You know who did it?”

Jason can tell from his tone that he doesn’t know, but that he’s dying to. “If someone like you hasn’t found out yet, Mac, I think it’s because certain people want it that way. Just like certain people don’t want you talking to me.”

“‘Certain people’ can kiss my ass,” Mac grumbles.

“Here’s a question, totally unrelated,” Jason says. “Does the name ‘Romina Falcone’ mean anything to you?”

Mac stares at him, dumbfounded. “No....Romina? Mario Falcone’s little girl?”

Jason shrugs one shoulder, trying to appear casual. “You heard anything about her being back in town?”

“No…she’s been gone from Gotham for years. Sad story, really. You know it?” Jason does, but since this is a casual inquiry, he motions for Mac to go on. “Her daddy was Carmine Falcone’s son, a real straight-shooting type, good student, honest, the whole nine yards. Never touched the family business.” Another long inhale off the dwindling joint. “When Falcone first went to prison, gotta be over twenty-five years ago now, the Maroni family took over. Mario wouldn’t throw in with them, so they killed him and his wife. The kids, Mario Jr. and Romina, went to live with relatives in Chicago, last I heard.”

A mob orphan, Jason thinks, just like Dani. Except that Romina and her brother hadn’t gone to live with just any relatives - they’d gone to live with the Viti family, headed by none other than Carmine Falcone’s bloodthirsty sister. “So, no one’s heard from her since then?”

“No one heard from her before then, either. She couldn’t’ve been more than eight or nine when all that shit went down,” Mac says doubtfully. “You sure your intel’s good?”

Jason’s deep in thought, suddenly. “Didn’t say anything about intel,” he tells Mac. “Just asking a question. I gotta go, though. Okay if I slip out the door here?”

Mac gestures obligingly. “Hey, be my guest. I’m gonna do myself a favor and forget this whole conversation now.”

Jason snorts. “Good idea. See you around, Mac.”

“Yeah, yeah. Watch your back out there, kid.”

Jason’s out the door before Mac’s parting words echo back to him. Watch your back out there - what was he, eleven? Twelve, the last time he heard those words?

Maybe it’s a coincidence. Or, maybe Mac Deveroux has a better memory than Jason gives him credit for.

He puts his helmet back on. “Arsenal, status report.”

“All good over here, Hoodster,” Roy replies brightly. “Knocked out a handful of drunk and disorderlies outside a Buffalo Wild Wings just now. Didn’t realize the Bowery was so gentrified already.”

Ugh. “Not all of it is,” Jason sighs. “But, yeah. Sure isn’t how it used to be, over there.”

“No kidding. I’m watching this girl steal a souped-up Camero right now. Ran the plates, and based on the owner’s resume, I might let her get away with it.”

Jason snorts out a laugh. “Works for me. I’ll come meet you over there, just give me ten.”

He’s barely made it two blocks when Oracle’s voice sounds in his ear, her tone making him snap to attention at once. “Hood, we have a situation.”

He stops still on a dingy government housing rooftop. “Go ahead, O.”

“It seems Susie Falcone was sprung from jail earlier today - we missed it because her release was processed under another name, but I have the video feed, and it’s definitely her.”

Oh, fucking finally. Jason was starting to think he wouldn’t have a chance to get any real exercise tonight. “You got a name for me?”

“Guy by the name of Tiberius. Albanian, according to Red Robin. I’m running his face through Interpol, but it takes time.”

Jason hops onto a nearby fire escape and swings up to the roof of an office building to get a better vantage point towards the harbor. “Is B gonna crap himself if I take the lead on this?”

Barbara’s quiet for a moment. “Do you care?”

Jason flexes his hand over the grip of the gun strapped to his thigh. “I mean, no,” he starts to say, knowing as soon as the words are out of his mouth that it’s not entirely true. “Just...it’ll be a pain in the ass if I have to fight a whole fucking mafia, plus him, that’s all.”

Oh, incredibly convincing. Jason’s surprised he doesn’t hear her laughing down the line.

“I think you know how to avoid his ire,” Barbara says. “You’re closest, so I’m putting you on it.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Jason adds, feeling more like an idiot by the second. Forget Dick, talking to Barbara always makes him feel about twelve fucking years old. At least she’s not openly judgmental about it. “Hey, Oracle. One last thing.”

“Oh? I’m listening.”

“Can you do some digging into the Viti family? I feel like there’s gotta be a reason Romina came back to Gotham now, when she could’ve made a play for the city years ago. If she’s been in Chicago all this time, it’s probably something to do with them.”

“…Yes,” Barbara says, slowly. Jason hears a flurry of typing. “Since they trade over state lines, that data will be with the Feds…it’ll take me a little while, I’ve got my hands full with some more urgent things right now. But it’s a good idea, Hood. You’ll know more as soon as I do.”

“Okay,” Jason agrees. “Thanks,” he adds, lamely.

She lets out a short huff of amusement, and Jason’s past self cringes at him in embarrassment. “Oracle out.”

Right. Tiberius. Jason’s been waiting for a chance to take on this ostentatiously-named asshole. From his own observations that night with Dick, and from Tim’s reports, the guy is a particularly sleazy type of hired muscle. Fantastic. Jason needs the workout.

He gives himself a shake, and then takes off towards the police impound lot. Within ten minutes, he’s found a suitable bike and is on his way to the East End, changing comm channels in his helmet to call Roy. “Arsenal, are you good to finish up my patrol? I got a lead on somebody in this mob case I need to handle.”

“Wow, Hood. And here I thought we were having a boy’s night.”

“Hey, if nothing’s going on over there, you’re welcome to join.”

“Yeah? Hey asshole, stay down,” he snarls. “Maybe I’ll meet you after I finish up.”

Jason hears a moan and a thud on Roy’s end. “Anybody interesting?”

“Just some model citizen I found trying to drag a passed-out woman into his car. Said she was his girlfriend, but he neglected to mention she dumped his ass two months ago.”

“Break his legs,” Jason proposes, feeling a mild rage rising in his chest.

“Red Hood says I should break your legs,” Roy tells the guy. “It’s not really my style, but I’m just temping over here. You’d better leave town, because if he finds you doing this shit again, you’re gonna wish I took him up on it.”

Please, man, Jason hears in the background. He hadn’t honestly expected Roy to take his suggestion. Turning onto a side street, he hears an alarm start to go off somewhere close by. Robbery, sounds like. Exactly what he’s looking for.

“Alright, I’m starting my manhunt,” he says to Roy. “You’ve got my coordinates if you need to find me.”

Roy makes some kind of hooting sound that Jason takes to be acknowledgment. “Make me proud.”

Jason kills the bike in an alley and parks it under a staircase, slipping a loop of electrified wire over the handlebars. Easy enough to disarm, but he’s not planning to be gone long. The store being robbed is a liquor store, and the goons smashing it up aren’t criminals so hardened that they’ll take any effort on his part to crack. He storms in the front, grabs the first guy, and throws him over the counter. The second pulls a gun on him - he shoots it out of his hand a split second later, then fires three more shots into a glass case of upscale liquor, to fairly spectacular effect. The remaining guys all hit the floor, visibly terrified. Jason holsters his gun.

“Hope you guys don’t mind me crashing this little party you’re having,” he calls, kicking the fallen gun to the side. “I need to find a guy by the name of Tiberius. First one to talk gets to walk away.”

They all goggle at him. “Did he say Tiberius?” one of them whispers.

“We don’t know anybody called that,” the one he tossed behind the counter says.

Jason clicks his tongue. “Wrong answer.” He fires a rubber bullet into the guy’s shoulder, and he goes down. By the time they realize it’s not a live round, he’ll be in the wind.

He holsters the gun again, and turns his attention on the one he’d disarmed. “Your turn.”

“We don’t know where he is,” the guy says quickly. “I only met the guy once. He doesn’t give us orders.”

“Who does he give orders to,” Jason counters, advancing on him menacingly.

“Dealers, mostly? My cousin Zion reports to him, he slings down by the Wharfside Pool Hall. Swear to God, man, I haven’t seen Tiberius since he moved us all off the docks.”

Jason looks around at the wreckage of the store, realizing something. “You guys aren’t robbing this place, are you.”

They don’t say anything. Jason doesn’t need them to - their silence is confirmation enough. They’ve been tasked by Romina and her lackeys to trash this place and force the owners to sell. And now he’s helped them do it. Fuck, this is why he hates mob cases.

Nothing to be done about it now. Once he puts a bullet in Romina’s skull, maybe he can come back and see that these people get their store back. First, he’s gotta find her.

“Be seeing you, gentlemen,” he says, tossing out a couple smoke pellets. “Don’t expect it to be as painless next time.”

It’s a quick ride to the Wharfside Pool Hall, and Oracle sends him a photo of Zion Lee on the way. He finds him immediately, parked on the corner by the emergency exit. It’s a short conversation. Zion doesn’t know where to find Tiberius either, but he does tell Jason where to find his supplier, and once Jason takes a look at the supplier’s rap sheet, he decides there’s not going to be a conversation at all. Kidnapping, trafficking, sexual battery - hell, if Jason can’t find Tiberius tonight, at least he can take his aggression out on this piece of garbage.

He roars up to the supplier’s house on the stolen bike and throws a smoke bomb through the window, the rush of impending violence like fire in his veins. Then, as luck would have it, he sees a familiar muscular figure rushing out the back door towards a Jaguar that’s parked in the shadows at the end of a driveway.

Tiberius, in the flesh. Looks like Jason’s date with this supplier will have to be postponed.

Quickly, he considers his options. The adrenaline junkie in him is tempted by the prospect of a good old-fashioned car chase, but this area is just a bit too residential for him to be strictly comfortable with it. Too bad. He lets Tiberius get to the end of the driveway, and then he shoots out the Jag’s tires. Tiberius returns fire immediately, which, again, is not the most desirable outcome in a residential neighborhood. Jason aims a shot at his firing hand, but the guy is already ducked down and reloading.

Fine. Jason will just have to throw something bigger at him, he supposes. He revs the bike’s engine, kicks off and guns it towards the Jaguar, bailing off to the side when Tiberius stands up to shoot at him some more. The bike keeps going, propelled by momentum, and crashes beautifully into the driver's side of the Jag, knocking Tiberius hard to the pavement when the open door that he’s been using as a shield swings violently sideways with the rest of the car.

He doesn’t stay down, of course. Before the impact is even finished reverberating through both vehicles, he’s hopping back up, more nimbly than Jason would’ve expected, given his size, and taken off running down the street. Jason pushes himself up and hightails after him, the thrill of the hunt making him practically giddy, his heart accelerating with the pace of his boots against the concrete.

Damn, but it feels good to exert himself. Jason’s been cooped up for too fucking long. Tiberius is seriously in shape, and fast, almost as fast as Dick, too fast for Jason to catch without playing dirty. He’s running too hard to aim with any real accuracy at a moving target, but he squeezes off a half dozen shots at the car windows Tiberius is running past, and the resulting spray of breakaway glass slows him just enough that Jason is able to launch a kick at the back of his knees and tackle him to the ground. They tussle - Tiberius pulls a knife and manages to wedge the blade under Jason’s chestplate, but luckily the tip of it catches on the kevlar, and Jason is able to knock it away before it does any real damage. He headbutts Tiberius savagely, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling out over the basement landing of a boarded-up tattoo parlor.

Before Jason can get up and draw his weapon, Tiberius is on him again, fists coming in like hammer blows and seeking out all the soft spots of his suit with frankly impressive accuracy. Jason’s pulse is pounding in his ears, he’s always gotten a kick out of fighting guys that are bigger than him - though, admittedly, most guys he went up against as Robin met that qualification. Fighting Tiberius is a little nostalgic, in that sense.

How did he used to do it? Bruce had taught him all the fastest ways to incapacitate someone, and Jason’s lived enough by now that he can admit that more often than not, Bruce’s way works just fine. Maybe with a few embellishments, depending on the perp. He’d need better footing, but he could do that here. He could snap Tiberius’s collarbone with the flat of his hand, knee him in the balls, and finish him off with a punch to the throat. But before Bruce, before he’d had his street fighting skills polished and streamlined, a younger, scrappier Jason would’ve had a different strategy. Back then he’d had to be patient, had to last out his enemies and watch for the moment they overextended themselves, the moment they let their defenses slip because they were sure they had him. A school bully, taking his attention off Jason long enough to call to his friends. His mother’s heroin dealer, pausing at the top of the long brick staircase to tell Jason not to bother checking on her. Batman, parking the Batmobile in an alley and just leaving it there.

Nostalgia wins, and Jason waits. He takes the punches and waits until Tiberius gets cocky, having landed a few well-placed blows to his ribs under the thickest parts of his armor. He rears up over Jason, sneering, hand going to Jason’s throat, arm fully extended and vulnerable - and Jason moves. He rocks up into a crouch, catches Tiberius’s wrist in his hand and wrenches, shattering the bones in it easily and dislocating his shoulder in the process. Within a couple of seconds, they’re back on their feet, but Tiberius is unsteady, his breathing thick and labored, and Jason takes the opportunity to kick him square in the chest, sending him crashing down into the walk-out landing and through the building’s flimsy door.

Then he follows Tiberius into the basement, and before he can dodge, a bullet catches him right in the thigh. Shit. He’d assumed the gun had been lost back at the car, but he hadn’t actually checked - an embarrassingly rookie mistake, Jesus. His armor stops it, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. “Real cute,” he snarls, stomping on his opponent’s broken wrist and picking up the gun. He debates shooting him in a few non-lethal places, but Dick’s face suddenly pops into his head, and then Dani’s, and the worst of his anger ebbs away. He empties the clip instead, pocketing the gun. “Now that that’s out of the way, you and me, we’ve got a few things to discuss.”

“Fuck you,” Tiberius seethes, curled up and clutching his wrist in pain. There’s blood all over his face, dripping onto the floor.

“Better men than you have tried, Tiberius.” Jason rubs his hands together. “Here, I’ll make it easier for you. I know you’re working for Romina Falcone. I know she’s back in Gotham, and I know she ordered the hits on your old boss, and most of your old coworkers. I know you sprung her cousin Susie out of jail earlier today, and I know she’s got you running the drug trade down here. So don’t bother telling me any of that shit. I just want to know two things: what her endgame is, and where I can find her.” He steps on Tiberius’s knee, puts just enough pressure to make him cry out. “Talk. Now.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Tiberius gasps, kicking out uselessly with his other leg. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, just let me up.”

Jason stands back, ready to kneecap the guy permanently if he goes on the offensive again.

Tiberius sits up, panting. “Shit. Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

“Hood, I lost your GPS signal,” Roy says in his ear. “Fortunately, the trail of destruction was pretty easy to follow. I’m on the warehouse roof outside, across the street.”

“She set me up,” Tiberius goes on. “She fucking set me up, that bitch.” He looks up at Jason, shaking his head. “Yeah, Romina asked me to bail Susie out of jail today. Probably so one of you fuckers would come after me. She’ll be pissed as hell that she didn’t get Batman.”

Jason grinds his teeth. “Arsenal, we’re gonna have incoming soon,” he barks into his comm.

“Thank God, I’d hate to get bored up here,” Roy replies easily.

“Whatever backup you have, it’s not gonna be enough,” Tiberius says. “Romina doesn’t take chances. I can’t tell you where she is, couldn’t even tell you the neighborhood. I’ve had two meetings with her at her office, they had me drugged and blindfolded coming and going. Drove for a long-ass time, too, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fine,” Jason snaps. “So you’ve had meetings with her. Tell me what she’s after.”

“What she’s after? She’s after everything,” Tiberius says bluntly. “The whole goddamn city. Thinks it’s hers by right, because of who her grandpa was. She’s fucking nuts, even for Gotham.”

Everything. Jason turns it over in his head. She’s not just seizing control of the East End, not just the canal, but everything. They’ve got an overachieving mob boss on their hands. Out-fucking-standing.

“I’ve got twenty guys coming in hot, Hood.” Roy sounds tense. “More trucks pulling in. I can take down most of them, but I think they’re just the first wave. We don’t have enough ammo for this.”

“She hates you guys,” Tiberius laughs bitterly. “If you get away, she’s gonna lose her shit. Sucks I won’t be around to see it.”

“A real shame,” Jason agrees, distracted. He can hear the sound of fighting outside. Time to bail. “Who else is - “

“Hood, we have to go, now.”

Jason pulls the gun from his shoulder holster. “If you survive, I’ll be seeing you soon,” he promises, voice low and deadly. The look on Tiberius’s face tells him just how likely he thinks that is, and Jason can’t help but agree. The blindfolds, the errands, the lack of family connection all add up to one thing: disposable. Tiberius is no made man, he’s just a hired hand, and it’s clear Romina has decided to terminate his employment. Jason remembers Tim’s story about Tiberius passing around photos of murdered kids to the grunts at Intergang, and he feels no sudden impulse to drag the guy to safety.

Outside, he and Roy shoot their way through the dozen or so remaining mobsters, Jason aiming as non-lethally as possible. Roy’s taser arrows cut the last few down, and then they hit the street running, down the block, through a boarded up ice cream shop, down an alley, and up to the rooftops. Jason hears a few gunshots below them when they make the jump over a particularly wide gap, but he keeps them running north, away from the harbor and towards the river, hoping to lose their pursuers on unfamiliar turf. It works. Romina may have her sights set on all of Gotham, but most of her henchmen have seldom ventured more than a few blocks out of the territory they grew up in.

After about half a mile, they stop to catch their breath, and Jason sits down to massage his thigh where the bullet had struck earlier.

“How’d you get over here, anyways?” Jason asks. They’d left their bikes in Jason’s storage unit on the west side of Crime Alley, Roy’s borrowed from Dick for the evening. If Roy left the bike next to a shootout, Dick’s going to be mad as hell.

“Helicopter arrow,” Roy deadpans. Jason looks for something to throw at him. “No, I just took an Uber. Grand theft auto’s not really my thing, these days.”

Jason stares at him. “Since when?”

Roy shrugs. “Since Lian started asking questions about it, I guess. It’s just like...whenever she hears about a crime, like finding out why we lock the car doors when we leave it, she asks me all these details about it. Sometimes she asks if I’ve ever done it, and I can’t lie to her, you know? I want to be able to tell her what she wants to hear, which is ‘no, Daddy hasn’t stolen any cars lately’.” He points at Jason accusingly. “Whatever. Don’t judge me. You’re just lucky yours can’t talk yet.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Jason protests. He objects strongly to Roy referring to Dani as his, too, but that’s probably exactly why Roy did it, so there’s no point bringing it up. “I’ve got a safe house not too far from here, next to a chop shop. Does it count as stealing to Lian if the car is already stolen?”

Roy laughs. “Not sure she can parse the nuance there. How about you do the stealing, and that’s the technicality I can skate on.”

“Fine.” Jason gets to his feet, wincing slightly as his thigh burns.

“You all good?”

“Yeah, just got a lucky shot in. My fault for not checking to see if he still had the damn gun.”

“Hey, at least in the Manor you’ve got all the whole Bat Hospital at your disposal,” Roy grins. “Among other perks, of course.”

Jason is very glad Roy can’t see him blush under the helmet. He was just thinking about how he wants to get back and see Dani - how he’ll need to take his armor off to check out the damage to his leg - how taking his armor off always wakes her up, so he’ll have to do it in Dick’s room - how the offer is on the table for him to sleep in Dick’s bed -

Business appears to be booming at the chop shop, and Jason decides on stealing a flashy little Lexus coupe that makes Roy whistle in appreciation. They drive back through the Bowery, stopping once so Jason can beat the crap out of a bouncer-turned-wannabe-pimp trying to sell girls outside of a gentlemen’s club. Then they get back to the bikes, and he checks in with Oracle to see if there’s any other action they need to investigate before they call it a night.

“I think you boys have stirred up enough trouble tonight,” she tells him firmly. “There’s been surprisingly little action in your neck of the woods, actually. Bludhaven is the hot zone tonight, I sent Black Bat and Spoiler over there earlier to help Robin out.”

“Fingerstripes will be sorry he missed it,” Jason says. “Russians again?”

“Arsonists, this time. At least five of them.”

“Shit. Sounds more like a Gotham thing than ‘Haven.”

“It does,” she agrees. “It feels choreographed, somehow. I’m going to keep looking into it, along with the Viti family. Oracle out.”

Roy raises his eyebrows. “Arsonists, huh?”

Jason snorts in surprise. “You hacked my comm line?”

“Let’s put it this way: Babs let me hack your comm line.”

True enough. “Sounds like they’ve got everything in hand, at least,” Jason says. “Don’t really feel like dragging ass all the way to Jersey’s armpit. You sleeping at the Manor tonight?”

Roy scratches the back of his head. “Thought about it, but I think I’m gonna text Donna and quietly crash girl’s night. Whenever I get shot at, or almost blown up or whatever, I just kind of need to see Lian. Tell Dick I’ll bring the bike back tomorrow.”

Jason nods. “I’ll catch you later, then.” In truth, he knows exactly how Roy feels. He’s dying to get back to Dani as quickly as possible, to see her and touch her and make sure she’s okay. It doesn’t make sense - he’s the one who got shot at, she’s been in arguably the most secure location in the whole tri-state area. But somehow, in spite of his bruised ribs and what’s sure to be a wicked hematoma on his thigh, all he can think about is keeping her safe. He’d walk through fire to make sure of it, he knows without a doubt. Fortunately, all he has to do tonight is make the trek back over the Robert Kane bridge.

Roy gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze, and then takes off in the direction of the old Titans bunker in Robbinsville. Jason parks the Lexus in his storage unit, arms the security system, and then kicks his bike into gear, making a beeline for the highway and the bridge, which will take him back to the Manor, and back to Dani.

***

#jaydick #taking huge liberties with canon over here but yolo #no one disregards canon more than dc herself #i promise the next chapter will have more actual jaydick and less Baby Justifying Plot ;;;;#my fics #heartlandverse

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arcencieldoux · 3 years

Text

don’t take my shit please

Budapest, Hungary, Saturday May 19th, 2015

Glasses clinked as chuckles among the wealthy guests are heard over the piano that’s being played lightly by a small band in the corner of the open hall. Louis feels the jacket to his middle-upper-class suit shift as he reaches for his flute of champaign. He is sat at an extended table where food expanded across it in colourful mounds. A banquet for guests.

It was a place with promised grandeur, perhaps an overshot if they were going for a pristine essence, for an auction, but at the prices things would sell for, it was understandable. Walls were trimmed with gold frames and velvet drapes hang from the domed ceiling, which was painted with tunicked Greek gods. The entire left wall was decked by a bar Louis was surely thinking about visiting later.

The room full of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen completes the aura of an antique, million-dollar auction that many guests, most of whom have come internationally, mingle and talk. It was the beginning of an auction in Hungary, in a beautiful building. Everyone was just arriving, but envy was still present, masked by a pretence of politeness.

You could see it with the small glances to a conversing group at the other side of the room, where one of the rich people would side-eye them with a look of pure envy and rage, and the tight-lipped smile they gave out. A lot of the guests were like this. But in the end, they were all eagles there to ravage an animal. Every-man-for-himself and all that.

There were the rare ones, where smiles shared between two friends who lost touch were genuine.

All of that, even the simple way they held their flutes of bubbling champagne, is observed and copied by Louis. He knows if he's supposed to be one of them, rich and wasting millions of dollars on a flowerpot, he'd have to act perfectly.

Louis has been at this event for a half hour, chatting up all different types of guests, and acting like a scored man who has more money than he should.

Currently, he excuses himself from the banquet, and takes up that thought on the bar. The bartender comes up to him, but Louis waves him away.

Maybe it’s his uncaring expression, or the suit, but people start to take a notice of him. One even approaches him. It’s a man, with almost zero lip, the hard line to his jaw pudged with age. He has a boring white flower design embroidered on his breast pocket.

“Hello, my name is Francis Boul de Sav,” the man introduces.

Louis smiles politely. They shake hands. “Pleasure meeting you, Francis. Can I call you Francis?”

“Oh yes, that’s alright.”

“I’m Louis Thompson. I love your embroidered flower, by the way. Trillium, is it?”

For ten minutes, he talks with Francis Boul de Sav, who had an interesting story to tell about his botanist daughter, who'd urged her father to come, even though he was reluctant at first. That would explain the flower.

Louis pays enough attention, so should the people he talked to ask for his opinion, he wouldn't be unaware. But he is ignorant enough of their words to focus on his target: Matthew Morrison, an American buyer, supposed to arrive here with his wife Golana Morrison.

His eyes station themselves at the front entrance where people in fine clothing and jewelry that just screamed "rich" are coming in, in with partners, and solo. They cascade onto the marble flecked floors in a flow.

There has been no sign of Mr. Morrison yet.

Louis keeps himself at low-profile, though. There are enemies everywhere, and one slip of who he was could blow up his mission. Quite literally. Take the agent in the room, for example.

He is not stupid. Agents were sent to take him down all the time, every day, and he is used to it. This one would be no different, just like the rest. Maybe the next could be a she? Louis wishes wistfully the one sent to kill him after this one would be female. Just so he could know that modern society is slightly better than it was before of their pictures of women.

He grins at that thought, despite how disturbing it may be.

At that moment, Golana Morrison comes through the doors. She's a taller lady, with dusty brown hair streaked with natural highlights, pulled into a composed bun at the back. Her tanned skin revealed that she and her husband live in California valley, something Louis already knows. She laughs at something another woman guest was saying in a contained manner.

Louis scans the area surrounding Mrs. Morrison. There is no man with her.

Louis has always been good at multi-tasking. It's why he excelled in this part of his profession. Not only was he carefully watching the entrance, but in the corner of his eye, he monitored the agent. He can tell he wasn't just another guest. The way he moved, didn't interact, kept a safe yet visual distance between him. It was practiced and thought-out.

It was something about that. Something about the way he watched Louis. It wasn't normal. It wasn't just the slip of the eyes. It's the look a Jaguar had, while it covertly hunts its prey. It's the one police had while undercover. It's the one of another agent sent to detain him.

A woman with pale skin, curled hair and few freckles talks to Louis. Social skills were an important thing, and Louis could be a master at that if he wanted. Instead, he got lost in his current state of mind.

He knew how much the agent was worth. Or, he could guess, with only one look. The way he held himself, how he moved through the crowd, how he smiled at ones who looked his way.

But he's been in situations like these before, an agent sent to get him while he was on a mission (sometimes not on a mission) that from the moment he saw the agent he shrugged it off, finding that the agent who thought he could differ from all the others was impractical.

If only he knew the number count of agents, spies, governments. Maybe then he'd change his mind and leave Louis be.

A staff caught his attention as they stepped up onto the stage at the front where the auction was yet to be held. His hair was black and slicked back, in a French stereotypical way, and wore a suit with golden buttons to match the theme of the event. He tapped the microphone. The chattering among the buyers quietens, and they turn their attention to him.

"Ladies and gents, before we continue our auction event, we've invited a band to play for you to dance to with your partner, and those of you who wish to dance, and to simply enjoy. The room is yours," He says with a slight bow. His accent is most certainly French, and the 'R's roll right off his tongue. "The auction will commence in 30 minutes. We have a bar, and of course, a buffet with plenty of foods for you to eat. Thank you and enjoy." Then he bows again and walks offstage, and a lovely melody picks up with the band.

Get them all drunk so they will burn their money later. It is obviously part of the reason there is a bar, other than it's mature and shows how much money the building has to host the auction.

Of course, the lady he had been talking with notices his small smirk, and mistakes it for a smile. But Louis wasn't, and was barely even listening, and was about to excuse himself when the lady blurts out: "Dance with me?" She flushes immediately. An outburst like that apposed lady-like behaviour that Louis never cared for nor dwelled upon.

Louis kindly declines. After she leaves he orders water with ice, thinking why not? He inspects it and sniffs it, then deems it drinkable. Before he could take a sip, a light finger touches his arm

"I'd make sure it's safe to drink first and not drugged. Don't want you getting hurt."

He was very sure that the agent disagrees with his statement

Instead of fawning over him or acting tough like he usually did with men to fool them — depending on what side of the coin Louis thought they were —, he took a sip and put the glass back down. He wouldn't hide his act of innocence with this one, sometimes it just got tiring. And it was a bold decision of the agents to approach him this soon, even if it had been an hour already. So, Louis made a bold choice too.

He looks at the person. He's relatively stunning. "I think I'll manage," he says.

A slow grin spreads across his face, kind of boyish charm. He holds out a hand.

"Harry."

Louis simply took another sip. The hand drops. Louis stands, smoothing down the front of his suit. "I know." Then quietly, so no one else heard him, he adds, "agent." He'll research him later.

"You're Louis," says Harry, "A darling of The Circus, criminal..." Louis bristles at the word, but he makes no comment on it. "Legally not a person, by the way," Harry adds. "You weren't that difficult to find, but I'm sure you'll make up for it with bringing a challenge when you leave with me."

"I won't be leaving with you anytime soon," he answers with what was almost a sneer.

"You realize that I know a lot about you, right? Enough for you to know your place."

At that, Louis' breath catches. He panics momentarily, but it's fleeting, and he reconstructs his composure. There is no possible way for him, for anyone, to know a lot about him. There are barely any records of him anywhere. "Now what makes you think I would do anything you asked for?" Louis says contemptuously.

Harry offers him a card, a business card with a navy blue theme and an official vibe to it. It’s plain except for a circular black emblem, difficult to see because of how dark the navy blue is. It has a bird-figure in the circle's ring. He stares at where it was between Harry's two fingers, then back to Harry's eyes. Harry raises his eyebrows, waiting for Louis to take it.

"You will eventually."

"You can't be serious," Louis says.

"I am one hundred percent serious."

"I thought you were an agent, not an advertiser."

Harry put it on the mahogany bar, tapping his index finger with it once. "Just take it."

Louis accedes. He leaves his seat at the bar, making sure the agent understood he was that confident in his abilities that he turned his back to him. He waited for the beginning of the auction, where he would finish his mission.

He went to find Golana. She wasn't the mission, but her husband was. And he had a plan.

He walks up to her, chatting with another guest. The other one notices him first, Golana’s back to him. Louis comes closer, a set smile on his mouth. The woman stops talking, Golana turning to see who the guest was looking at. Mrs. Morrison was the same height as Louis, but her bone structure was quite narrow. She definitely seemed like the type of person to own vanilla citrus candles and have fruit salads as a snack.

Still at the bar, the agent is watching Louis meet Mrs. Morrison. He sees Louis with a grin and talks for a minute with Mrs. Morrison and the other woman, who has jet black hair, dress, heels and eyes, but a kind face. He watches as the darling he has been sent after makes his way onto the dance floor with Mrs. Morrison.

The tune is slow, yet not too slow, so Louis doesn't have to stand too close to the woman as they dance. She quickly agrees after he did a job of eyeing her with patient, irresistible blue eyes, which he found disgusting. People's standards have decreased to practically nothing, and would cave after a look. Not to mention... Golana probably doesn't love her husband as much as she should, if she's so eager to dance with a younger lad. But she was talking to him and he was about to earn another mission point.

He was never told exactly why his targets were certain people, most of the time something vague, like they didn't pay back full price or an artifact was wanted and, in those cases, he'd just threaten and 'encourage' them to choke up some more to give back to The Circus. And he obeyed, because the alternative was a loss of the only sense of home. Plus, there was an unspoken reaction that may involve a bit of torture, but.

So every illegal thing Louis did to or for people it was not because he liked it, but because he had to. It was them or him, and he preferred him.

Flashing colours pass by his eyes. It's all headache-worthy, but Louis stays strong.

The ballroom is like bottles of all the royal colours spilled onto a canvas, the different paints forming one picture. Maybe people find him attractive, he'll never know. As soon as they get a glimpse of Louis, the memory of him dissipated, and he is forgotten about seconds later. After all, this was an event concerning money and valuable purchase, not just one pretty face in a crowd.

Louis dances with the woman as Harry, the open-plan agent joins the floor and asks a lady to dance, and since this was a switch-partner type of dance, she agrees.

For two whole minutes Louis talks with Golana Morrison, prying kindly for information, and to pass the time. While she speaks about when she almost got hit by a car one time, Louis calculates the time in his head until it would be appropriate for him to slip away and find the actual man he was looking for, then bring him into a restroom where he'd be threatened by the many knives hidden in various places around his outfit.

Louis always comes prepared. Guns are way too loud for such a public event, anyway.

And if that means dancing with Mrs. Morrison (who was terribly kind, remorsefully so) for two minutes while secretly keeping an eye on the one he was really hunting to throw the agent off his rhythm and to fool him, it is what he'd do.

Louis tries to focus again on the wife, fixing his smile with pink lips that made his blue eyes look less dangerous.

He suddenly twirls her, but like always, she was prepared, and went with it without a stumble. Before she could spin back to Louis, there was one with red hair already there, who caught Louis and tried to make conversation right off the bat.

"You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

The tune was picking up, going faster. The new woman who was maybe in her 30s kept pace with it, twirling under him before he could reply. Her red dress skirted outwards in the spin. Before Louis could frown at the sudden change in partner, he got caught not by another woman, but with none other than the agent.

Harry had one hand on his shoulder and one in his hand, and Louis put one of his own on his waist, looking up at his face. Harry's flush lips, hinting at possible lip gloss or balm of sorts, curved into a smile.

"Finally," he said.

Louis just sighs through his nose and flicked his eyes away from Harry's face and searches the crowd. Sustained eye-contact is not a biggie with Louis. Unless necessary, he likes to avoid it.

"I thought a lovely face like mine would improve your mood, not lessen it."

It was odd for an agent to be so communal with Louis—unusual, but odd. It made Louis wonder what Harry was doing, and what his plan was—if he even had any.

Reluctantly, Louis drags his eyes to Harry's.

"Is this even legal?" Louis asks.

The agent chuckles lightly. "Probably not. Not in this country." Yet he kept dancing with him. "You look splendid tonight, absolutely enchanting."

Louis doesn't find his tone funny, so he ignores him.

With his eyes near the agents' neck, he sees a silver chain peeking out from the collar of his vest. Louis frowns at it for a moment.

"Your eyes. Sparkle," Harry says just as monotonous.

"Suit is a nice black."

Louis' jaw clenches. He steels his eyes to the wall behind Harry's long hair. It’s cream with gold trim, and a scene painting hung in the middle with a burgundy inner-frame.

Then, "are you frequently this verbally inactive or just shy?" is whispered beside his ear.

If it weren't for the fact that the two of them were practically on different poles of the earth in terms of society positions, Louis might have cracked a grin, possibly even a chuckle. Instead, he kept his voice firm and responsive, far away from any amusement. "In my life, I've had loads of agents after me, sometimes multiple at once. Never, though, has one been as irritating and foolish as you."

Which was the truth, and at least deserved a point to Louis if this were an insult contest.

"I’m honoured."

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be. Who do you work for? Or, what, do you work for?”

Before anyone could say something else, the music switches, catching both Louis and the agent’s attention. Around him, partners were dispersing to the sides of the marble room. It became clear why when the same slick-back French man announced that the auction would begin in five minutes.

Detaching himself from the agent’s arms, Louis went to an open arch of white stone that was basically an entrance hole in a wall, except with a purpose. It opened up to another room full of tables, with four seats per each. There were many people already in there, taking their seats, and chatting among their companions. Louis found a seat for himself and sat down. The agent was right behind him.

Tensely, Louis took a brochure from where his plate would usually be. He pretends to read it, slowly. Meanwhile, he was getting more anxious by the second. How was he supposed to finish his mission when the agent was looking over his shoulder all the time — literally.

"Is it interesting?" Harry asks, his eyes trying to peer over Louis' shoulder. If it weren't for the situation, it might have sounded like an honest question; it was sarcastic.

"I find it entertaining," Louis replies.

"I guess it could be 'entertaining'." Harry sighed, moving his legs under the table. "Especially if you're trying to ignore someone." Out of Louis' peripheral vision, he saw Harry look around the room.

How was he so calm? Why was he so calm? It brought back what Louis thought earlier: an agent, hit man, whoever was after Louis always stalked from a distance, plotted then struck, yet failed. What Harry was doing was an entirely fresh approach for Louis, which could forth-come some problems. New was bad. It's better to stick to pre-mutual knowledge.

He tried to take advantage of the situation. Gain something out of uncertainty. "Who do you work for?" He asks in a confabulated manor. "FBI? The Avengers?" Louis flips a page. There was a picture of a glass egg. "Interpol?"

"Interpol works for the government, you know."

Louis sets his brochure down with precise movements, back straight like his spine was a rod. "I know. I just wanted to name three examples. Sounds better, doesn’t it?”

"Well, I don't work for any of those," Harry says. “I'm under a separate organization. Not run by the government."

"It's an NGO?"

"Correct."

This was unreliable information. What was the size of this NGO? Were they large enough to hunt Louis for a sustained amount of time? Could they be associated with those superheroes in New York? Well, if that were the case, they were probably government run. Or was Harry lying? If Harry worked under the government, at least Louis would know a precipice of their plan, and measures they may take. Interpol strategies were predictable enough. An organization working beyond the government and their regulations was different.

Louis blinks hard. He's trying to refocus. Eye on the game, shoot bullet to the target. What's his target? Mr. Morrison, also known as the very rich and frankly a bland man.

He clears his throat. The room had suddenly filled with guests, and was buzzing low from everyone's talking. A woman laughed somewhere in the room. The room was almost full, and Louis had yet to find Mr. Morrison.

"So you're an adherent to an 'NGO' cult, then?" Louis says mannerly. Caught off-guard, Harry's face lit up with a smile that even touched his eyes. Louis refused to acknowledge the reaction.

"No, I'm not in a cult. Although would you like to hear a funny thing?"

Louis actually couldn't believe this man. His face must look doubtful and judgmental and when he says "Why are you even here?", He said it incredulously, because why was an agent socializing with Louis.

"I thought we premised my intentions already," Harry says curiously. He went on. "Anyway; when I got assigned this mission, I thought I'd be dealing with a cult!"

Louis blinked at him, mouth a straight line.

"So I thought—"

"Stop talking."

Cut off by Louis' abrupt demand, Harry closed his mouth. Louis didn't like when Harry looked amused. Tampering down his irritation, Louis said calmly, "the auction is about to start. I suggest you stop talking, unless you're willing to miss the available purchases."

Harry snorts deprecatingly. "Okay."

Louis shifts his attention to the front, the displays of red carpeting and a stage light that is the only source for light in a dark room making his nerves go haywire. The only way to explain it.

Just then, the same man from earlier strides to the center podium, a smile still on his tanned skin. Under the lights, the man's black hair looks sleekier than previous states, and light reflects off it. It's oddly enough of a grounding for Louis to grasp his senses and steel his mind into the mission; soon.

Louis tips his head to the left a bit, stretching his neck. He realizes how the room has filled up.

The man clears his throat and the rooms' talking dies down. "Hello to everyone, pleasure to have you here," the man speaks. The room's occupants are smiling at him, and not to be outdone, Louis plasters on a smile as well. The man goes off to a talk relative to the admiration for attending, the auction's history, the first item being brought out, so on.

Throughout the course of an hour, he endures people raising paddles to up the prices, and whenever one gains an artifact from the front, the room claps. As if they weren't ascending to madness another item was passed along. Unless they had eyes set on something specific, it was free feeding.

Louis sat straight in his chair the whole time, so when Mr. Morrison was betting against another man across the room for the Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered 3 painting, worth roughly half a million American dollars after the prices were raised to the stake, he didn't show any facial expression change. Mr. Morrison won. Harry looked back at Louis and with a slow turn of his body, and his lips curled into a twisted smile. Louis’ eyes hardened a layer.

So he knew.

#Larry Stylinson #larry stylinson fanfiction #don't steal #the butterfly effect

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sophfic27 · 3 years

Text

The Mysterious Watch (You know the one)

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Chapter 3: Small Talk and Ugly Curtains

Word Count: 1,735

The car was quiet for a few minutes as Yaz followed the directions from the phone. Yaz considered turning on the radio but decided against it. She wondered what kind of music Jo would even like. She glanced to the woman on her left, who was watching the scenery scroll past. She wasn’t sure she would ever adjust to Jo being Jo, it was just too weird. She kept going over the differences in her head. Most importantly, Yaz hoped she would have her friend back to normal soon, but she knew it was important to the Doctor that she played along.

She glanced over to Jo again, and she suddenly became curious about her. The Doctor implied that Jo was fully convinced she was a real person, which meant she would have a background: memories, attachments, a life Jo wouldn’t be aware wasn’t real. Yaz was curious about what she thought and knew, so finally breaking the silence, she asked a question. “So, Jo, where are you from?” she asked, figuring she might just start simple.

Jo glanced over to Yaz. She hesitated for a second before answering. “Huddersfield,” she finally responded. Yaz nodded thoughtfully, the answer made sense with the Doctor’s accent. She wondered if the Doctor had planned that specifically. If not, how much of Jo had been automatically generated by whatever process the Doctor had undergone to become human? Jo cut into her thoughts. “What ‘bout you?” she said.

“Here, actually,” Yaz replied, “I’m from Sheffield.”

Jo nodded, “convenient mission for you, then,” she commented.

Yaz looked at her briefly. “Yeah, it is.” So much for no aliens in Sheffield, she scoffed internally. She decided to press a little further. She was curious to ask about UNIT but decided to avoid it, in the case that asking triggered some realization. Instead, “chasing down aliens. Not really where I saw my life going growing up,” she said.

“No kidding,” Jo chuckled lightly, “when I was a kid, I wanted to be a Doctor,” she said. Yaz blinked but didn’t say anything. “How I wound up doing this, I have no idea.” Jo threaded her fingers together behind her head, leaned back in her seat, and turned her head to look at Yaz more fully. “What did you want to be?” she asked.

Jo was doing the small talk for her, Yaz thought with amusement. She considered how she would answer, and decided the truth wouldn’t be too dangerous. “I was a police officer, actually,” she said.

Jo raised her eyebrows. “You were a cop?” there was a hint of mirth in her voice.

“Well, I was a probationer,” she said. She cocked an eyebrow at Jo. “Why? What’s that look for?”

Jo shook her head lightly. “Nothing,” she said, “just, I’ve met a few police, had to deal with them on the occasional mission. So many of them are so stubborn, refuse to believe even what’s right in front of them.” She looked back at Yaz. “But not you?”

Yaz thought of the first time she met the Doctor. She wondered if Jo’s comment was based on some residual memory of that day, and of her. “Actually, I kind of was,” she mused.

“What changed?” Jo asked.

Yaz suppressed her instinct to respond, “you.” Instead, she went the vague route. “Saw something I couldn’t deny,” she responded. “Once I knew what was out there,” she looked over to Jo, holding her gaze for a moment, “well, there’s really no going back to normal after that, is there?”

Jo studied her. “Guess not.”

Yaz turned her eyes back to the road. “What about you?” she asked, “what were you doing before this?”

Jo looked back out the window of the car. “I was just traveling. Got dragged into this stuff by chance.” A very vague answer, Yaz thought. “We keep up this ‘getting-to-know-each-other’ talk, and this’ll start to feel more like a first date than a mission,” Jo quipped. Yaz scoffed, slightly shocked by the comment. She saw Jo drag her eyes over Yaz from out of the corner of her eye. “Not that I’m complaining,” Jo drawled.

Yaz felt her face get hot, and she looked over at Jo. A smirk played across her face when she met her eyes. Yaz looked away quickly. Her thoughts raced for a minute before she realized they had arrived at the warehouse.

“We’re here,” she blurted, looking for anything to kill the buzzing in her head. She parked and started to unbuckle and get out when Jo stopped her.

“Hang on just a second,” she said. Yaz stared at her in confusion. “We’re going to go in there and talk to the renters and find out what they’re using the warehouse for.”

Yaz suddenly remembered what they were her to do. “Right, so how do we get them to talk to us?” she asked.

Jo reached into a pocket of her jacket and produced a familiar leather object. “Psychic paper,” Jo announced, “this’ll get us in.” She smiled confidently.

Yaz nodded. “Okay, that’ll work,” she said.

Jo went to unbuckle her seat belt as she explained, “since I have the psychic paper and the info, I’ll do most of the talking. Follow my lead, keep an eye out for anything weird that you might see,” she looked up and met Yaz’s eyes, “and use those police skills to see if they say anything shifty.”

Yaz nodded again, “it’s a plan,” she said.

Jo grinned and climbed out of the car, Yaz following suit. She locked the car and they approached the entrance together.

The building was large and relatively plain. There was a set of steel stairs leading up to the door. She could see big metal panels she guessed could probably be opened for loading and unloading trucks. Jo and Yaz climbed the steps together. Jo tried the door, which opened easily. It lead immediately into the main warehouse. The ceilings were high, there were boxes all over the room on palettes, and there was music echoing around the place from a stereo somewhere in the back. The echoes garbled the sound too much to actually identify what was playing. Yaz and Jo scanned the room, but there was no one immediately visible. Yaz heard someone laugh from somewhere to the right of the large room. She and Jo exchanged a look, and she knew Jo heard it, too. They made their way toward the sound. They discovered a small office in the back right corner of the warehouse. Through the window, Yaz saw a man sitting in a chair, facing away from them, and on the phone.

They approached the office, and Jo knocked on the open door. The man turned in his chair to see them, and Jo gave a small wave. He turned to speak into his phone. “Hold on just a minute, mate, someone’s here to talk to me I think,” he said. He waited for a few beats, and Jo gave Yaz an exasperated glance. “Alright, I’ll call you back in a bit,” he said and tucked the phone into his pocket. He stood and wandered over to where Yaz and Jo stood. Yaz took in his jeans, ripped at the knees, his plain grey tee, and his ratty flannel jacket. Unimpressive, but not particularly alien, she thought. “Hi, can I help you?” the guy said.

Jo produced the psychic paper once again, showing it to him. “Hi, we’re from the rental company,” he squinted at the psychic paper and then looked at Jo, “we just wanted to ask a couple questions,” Jo explained. “What’s your name?”

He looked between the two women. He was only an inch or two taller than either of them. “Carl Mason. I’m not in trouble for anything, am I?” he said nervously, “I thought all of our rental stuff was in order.”

“It is, we just need a few details about your usage of the space,” Jo continued. Her voice was level, professional in a way the Doctor rarely was.

Carl looked confused and a little suspicious, so Yaz decided to add in, “don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. We just had an issue with a renter using a space,” she paused for effect, “inappropriately.” Carl nodded, as if knowingly. “So now we need to check in with the renters with more vague descriptions of usage in the application.”

Apparently satisfied, Carl started to walk over to a small filing cabinet in the office. Jo gave Yaz an impressed look. Carl came back with a manila folder. “Well, no issues here, just me and some mates selling our curtains.” He handed the folder to Yaz, and she opened it to find a series of curtain designs.

Jo leaned over to look at the folder. “Curtains?” she asked, looking back up at Carl. Yaz flipped through at least five pages of some of the ugliest curtain designs she’d ever seen.

Carl nodded proudly. “Yep! Me and my mates designed them ourselves!” he announced happily.

“It shows,” Jo muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Yaz to hear, but not so much that Carl seemed to notice. Yaz glanced at Jo, stifling a chuckle.

Yaz closed the folder and passed it back to Carl as Jo said, “Right, thanks, mind if we take a look at some of your boxes? And then we’ll be out of your hair.”

Carl nodded and said, “sure, go for it.”

Jo and Yaz split off to explore the warehouse. Yaz scanned the whole room, looking for anything out of place while Jo pulled open a few cardboard boxes and dug through their contents. Neither found anything noteworthy. They came back together, Jo shook her head and Yaz shrugged slightly. They turned to say goodbye to Carl, but he had already disappeared back into his little office, now typing something on his computer.

Jo looked at Yaz. “D’you just want to go get a drink or something?”

Yaz blinked at her. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day for that?” she said incredulously. Jo just shrugged and started to head for the door. Yaz followed her helplessly, wondering if the Doctor drank. She didn’t remember ever seeing her drink. Maybe it was just a Jo thing. Despite only knowing Jo for a few hours, she thought she was starting to get a better feel for who she was, independent of the Doctor.

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iriswc1995 · 3 years

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Ash In Ordina

Chapter Two: ‘Church’

The camera scanned the invitation, and the glass doors whisked open. Ash tucked it back in her cloak and stepped inside the Worship Office. Its vast main hall was nearly empty, supported by several marble pillars adorned with artificial torches, contrasting the square, clinical lighting fixtures illuminating the ceiling. Her footsteps echoed through the hollow expanse. She watched the shadows dance beneath the various grotesque furnishings, embellished with colorful trappings and expensive decorations. She wrinkled her nose. The Redeemed were never doing badly for themselves.

At a desk at the end of the hall were two men wearing typical Rapturist attire who seemed to be waiting for her. The smaller figure immediately smiled and stood up, moving around to the front of the desk with a posture of welcome. He had a messy haircut dyed bright pink to match his large eyes. The second man, a few feet behind him, had a darker complexion and grim countenance, towering over both of them, a large cleaver strapped to his back. Ash met his cold gaze for a moment before the smaller one greeted her.

“Ah, you must be Ash! Your appearance is very distinct, in a good way, miss!”

“Thanks.”

“And um, just to double-check, no last name?”

“No. I’m curious why the Redeemed need to hire a freelancer.”

“Hehe, well…” The man scratched the back of his head before clasping his hands together. “I doubt it’s going to be the usual sort of work you do… rather, we need you to find someone. One of our high-ranking members has seemingly gone missing, you see.”

Ash tilted her head, but stayed silent, waiting for more details. But then the man laughed to himself and spread his arms.

“Sorry sorry, where are my manners! My name is Alistar Fey, Redeemed, director third-echelon, fifth mind. And my partner here is…”

The tall man sighed, cracking his neck as he turned his head. “Andre,” he answered coldly.

Alistar smiled and turned back to Ash. “Politeness is what keeps the world spinning, I think. Which is also why this is a strictly above-board, on-record job.”

“Right. So who’s missing, and why do you need me to find them?”

Silently, Alistar took a small binder from the desk and handed it to her. Ash’s breath caught momentarily as she opened it. Real paper? They’re rich enough for paper after everything they did? Swallowing her annoyance, she skimmed through the details. His name was Zachary Kells. A life-long worshipper, decently wealthy thanks to his job at Skyvault as a researcher and engineer. But it seemed he’d recently left his job to fully devote himself to the Church.

“We’ve tried contacting him, of course,” Alistar said, scratching the back of his head. “But no one has seen or heard from him in nearly a week. He wasn’t involved in anything shady, to my knowledge, and was largely a homebody. His residence is on this floor, and we sent someone to check there, but no answer again. And since he lives in one of the Castles, well…”

Ash closed the binder. “You need someone who’s good at getting inside places they aren’t supposed to. And you don’t want the authorities involved, for reasons which I’m sure you won’t tell me.”

Alistar hesitated. Ash nodded and continued.

“It’s fine. I’ll find him... for the amount we agreed on.”

“Wonderful! Then, that should be all for our business here. Part of me hopes you’ll simply find him at home, but I rather doubt it, unfortunately…”

“Freelancer.” Andre said, taking a step forward for the first time. Ash flicked her eyes towards him and stood up straight, hands open at her sides. He raised an eyebrow and simply folded his arms.

“Watch yourself. Unsavory types buzz around these neighborhoods like hungry flies. Zachary is an important man. I trust you’ll do your best to keep him safe.”

Ash hesitated for a long moment, thoughts swimming beneath the man’s cold gaze. Does he know something about me…? Finally, Ash simply nodded and turned to exit the office hall.

-----

Dark streets caked in rolling fog, dimly illuminated by fading streetlamps. One could almost mistake this for outside, if not for the globes of faint light on the ceiling, nearly two-hundred feet above, staring like gray stars. The housing here, the Castles, were essentially buildings unto themselves, like houses stacked on one another. Security systems and relatively safe neighborhoods, on top of this, were what created the floors home to the wealthier-than-most but not nearly of the mega-rich status.

Ash walked to a street corner two blocks away from the Worship Office, where she found Cygnus waiting for her, playing a game on his phone. He brushed his hair out of his eyes as she approached.

“So, is it about what we figured?”

She shrugged. “No assassinations or whatever. They're just missing one of their top guys. I need your help getting into his place.”

Cygnus nodded, and started following behind her. His face wore the same dark look that Ash figured she had made when she entered the Church. Neither of them liked doing work like this, and Cygnus had even more reason than most to despise the Worship Unity and everything they did. Their footsteps echoed along the cracked street. No one else was milling around this late in the evening. But then, someone made themselves known.

Harsh voices clamored from a nearby alleyway. Scattered around the trash-filled crevice like chattering rats were several individuals of varying appearance, though the black, red-trimmed jackets wrapped around each of their waists indicated they were a group. There were six in total, some tall, some muscular, some squatting on dumpsters, others leaning against the wall. Almost all of them had some kind of augmentation or another - metal arms, thousand-eyes implants, studded or scaled flesh. Their weapons were crude, but looked sharp - probably scavenged from the Bone Forest. They turned to look at the pair as they began to pass, and Ash stopped suddenly as their gazes met. She recognized their appearance, their vibe, and this scent. These were Harvesters without a doubt. Before there could be any pretense of just passing through, the group quickly filed out of the alleyway to block their path, their faces grim yet thrilled. Ash sighed and turned to Cygnus.

“Go on ahead. I'll handle this.”

“… you sure?”

She nodded. Cygnus scanned the group with an analytical look before hesitantly stepping forward, whispering to Ash as he passed.

“Don't get in trouble.”

“I'll do my best.”

He walked past the Harvesters, not meeting any of their sharp looks, and while a couple of them spit in his direction, none of them made a move to attack. The tallest one, most certainly the leader judging by her demeanor, stepped forward. Her arms were muscular and heavily scarred, the sleeves of her jacket were ringed with iron spikes, and she wore a mask that covered the top half of her face, adorned with chaotic black and red designs. Her wild, black-haired ponytail nearly reached her waist. She leaned into Ash's face and laughed.

“How's it going, killer? Where ya heading to? Gonna chop off some more heads with that shitty sword of yours?”

Ash stared back, coldly. Her stomach was tied in a knot, but she didn't let herself panic. She knew this type.

“I don't see how that's your business, bitch.”

The group laughed again, and the woman smiled. Ash knew better than to use honorifics like ‘miss’ around Harvesters. The leader leaned back, walking around Ash as she replied.

“But it IS my business, motherfucker! Our group here, we protect these streets from killers like you!”

She stood in front of her again, folding her arms.

“God damn, are you edgy-lookin’ or what? I would have thought you were some gutless nobody if not for this scent… the scent of blood, so unmistakable… it clings to you like a haze~ and if I had to guess, you can smell it just like us, can’t you…?”

Ash rolled her eyes.

“Maybe.”

“Hahahaha~! So if I had to guess, you’re trying to turn over a new leaf or something? Blood doesn’t dry that easy, kid. A muzzled wolf is still a wolf.”

“You’re right,” Ash said, and flicked an inch of her sword from its sheathe. Its red glow captivated the group for a moment, and several of them brandished their own weapons. “So get out of my way or see the wolf for yourself. I’m not better than any of you. Except in terms of skill.”

Silence filled the street. Strapped across the lead woman’s back was a massive saw-cleaver that made Ash’s katana look like a knife. She sniffed a few times, then smirked. Behind her lips, her teeth had been replaced with sharper ones modeled after a shark’s. She stepped forward, and offered a hand.

“Name’s Tesla. Any chance you’d wanna join us…? We make serious dough off the rich idiots on this floor~”

Ash didn’t take her hand.

“Those days are behind me. I hunt different prey now.”

She made sure to phrase her words correctly, sweat forming on her clenched palms. To most gangs, you're either a threat, or nothing to worry about. To Harvesters, you're either a threat, or a walking pay-out. And either option makes them liable to kill you. But mercifully, Tesla shrugged and finally backed out of her personal space.

“Fair enough, I guess… but don't go thinking you're done being a Harvester. Everyone who's alive has to take from others to keep living. At least the lives we take are put to good use when we sell off their lungs and heart!

“Save the preaching for the church.”

The other Harvesters laughed and playfully punched Tesla, yelling ‘she got you good!’ as Ash continued down the street, her cloak wandering in the breeze.

#horror cyberpunk writing writersontumblr

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

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Humans are Space Orcs “Human Repellent”

While you are reading this one, I want you to be thinking and come up with another marketable idea that aliens can use to repel humans like in the story :)

Also a few people have asked me lately if its ok to make suggestions or prompts, and I just want to remind you all that that is very much welcome to please do so.

They landed at Revelation Colony two weeks after the prison riot ended. If this had been an old sci-fi movie, than this would have been exactly the place for your titular hero to make a shady business deal with an underground alien mob boss, but in doing so manage to insult him inciting a chase across space itself. However, Revelation didn’t exactly follow the tropes of old film. Sure, it was the center for the black market in this quadrant of the galaxy, but instead of organs or artifacts of power, it mostly dealt in undeclared souvenirs like snow-globes and commemorative bobble heads.

The criminal presence was so laughable that, despite being the hub of black market trade, it was most known by tourists for its low prices, great market deals, and as a major staging area for UNSC and GA interests.

This was their main purpose for being here: speaking with superiors, allowing the crew a break, and perhaps finding someone who might be able to help them with Conn. Ever since the prison riot, and the defeat of the Gibb scientist the starborn hadn’t moved to so much as scratch an itch.

According to Krill, the starborn was stuck in a state of unresponsive catatonia with brain waves similar to that of a coma patient. Commander Vir couldn’t help but feel responsible for the whole thing. In fact, Conn’s current state was in direct relation to the rescue attempt by the starborn to save the Commander from losing more limbs.

They had discussed the incident multiple times since it had happened, but could make no real sense of what had happened. The commander was under the impression the starborn had overloaded himself, and the Gibb with some kind of memory flood or something similar. He could only vaguely remember the feelings that had come upon him when the starborn had touched him, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Sunny had suggested that the starborn had used Vir’s own memories and emotions to short circuit the Gibb, but also ended up catching some of the backlash himself.

Commander Vir wasn’t quite sure about that for he didn’t feel that his memories or his emotions were strong enough to do something like that. He personally thought it was some last ditch defense that the starbor itself could employ, but who knew.

IN the aftermath of everything, the Gibb scientist had been locked back up as catatonic as Conn, Noctus had managed to escape, but according to corporal Ramirez, he wouldn’t be gong very far, or at least not going where he wanted.

As the Tesraki was escaping, Ramirez had managed to partially destroy the warp converter leaving the Tesraki flying blind even if he managed to survive.

So, after all of that, they had returned to somewhere with human influence to rest, relax, and debrief. The admiral had been as pleased with the outcome as he could be, and had eventually conceded to give the crew a well-deserved break. Commander Vir, however hadn't been so lucky, and was ordered to do the admiral a favor before he got his rest.

So that is why he was here, walking down the dark, crowded streets, surrounded on all sides by colorful neon booths containing wares from all over the galaxy. Hundreds of faces stared at him as he passed hawking their wares with raised voices and pleading beckoning motions.

Behind him Sunny walked with her head high examining the crowd for any perceived threats. it hadn’t been a question that he was going to bring her with him, for by this point, it had been openly established that she was his partner when it came to the smaller operations. Not only did they work well together as a team , but they very much enjoyed the other’s company.

“Remind me why we’re here again.” The question sounded more jenuine than it did annoyed, otherwise she seemed relatively happy to be off the ship, and out and about. He also had a feeling she was relieved he hadn’t been reduced to a catatonic mess like the other two, and may have been slightly worried, keeping watch on him to make sure he didn’t collapse drooling.

“I guess the GA has caught wind of a new issue cropping up in some of the marginal alien markets. Apparently, there is a high market demand for products that can repel, or incapacitate a human.”

Sunny blinked in surprise as they cut past a colorful rack of hats, and down onto another less-crowded side street.

“Why would they be doing that?” she wondered almost managing to look baffled.

“Well, it’s only to be expected, with the influx of humans in the galaxy they are bound to run into the worst of us.” It was true, in fact, humanity brought with it what might be considered the best and worst of the galaxy. Where there were men like Commander Vir, there had to be his equal and opposite in all ways. Luckily the GA understood the nature of humans, the best and the worst mentality, an entire species of ride or die types who could come out the best of the best or evil beyond comparison.

Of course, before this understanding was met, there had been some massive PR nightmares which came with the first inter-species murder, assault, robbery etc etc, but eventually things had straightened out, but aliens were no less frightened of humans than they had originally been.

“So are we here to confiscate their things?” Sunny wondered

“No, no of course not, even on earth we make weapons to repel other people. We are just afraid of us as the rest of the galaxy pepper-spray, tasers, knives, guns,, your own keys. We have been in the business of protecting ourselves from humans long before you guys thought of it. No, the issue here is whether the objects are legal and use reasonable force.” Though when it came to humans, reasonable force usually meant lethal force for any other species, “Ah, here we are.”

The commander stopped in front of a shop, whose door was covered by a beaded curtain strung through with neon orange lights. The effect was gaudy and blinding, but he shook the light from his eyes and pushed inside. Sunny followed after.

Their presence, and entrance, into the small store immediately halted everything in its tracks. The Tesraki proprietor had frozen mid way through his sales pitch to a rather shiftly looking pair of Gibb. A few of the other customers squealed and hid behind the stands.

It was clear that a human and a Drev weren't exactly what they hoped to see this morning, perhaps the last thing they wanted to see. Commander Vir tipped the brim of his uniform hat and tugged at the collar of his suit jacket where- on stood his wings, the insignia of the GA and the UNSC, “Morning. I’m Commander Vir of the UNSC affiliated with the GA and this is my weapons lieutenant Sunny Lumnusdaughter.”

The tesraki eyed them suspiciously as they stepped further into the shop. Despite being a human, Everyone knew the name Vir, and Sunny to an extent, so they didn’t cut and run.

“What do you want!” The tesraki demanded, “I have my sales license, and my customers have every right to protect themselves from brutes like you.”

The commander simply smiled, “Of course, I don’t deny that right, The GA just wants to make sure that it is being done within the constraints of the law.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “So please, go on with your demonstration, and pretend we aren’t here.”

Hesitantly, the Tesraki went back to his pitch eyeballing the human the entire time as he went. “Yes this little beauty right here is made BY humans FOR humans and can apply a force of about 50,000 volts of electrical current directly into the body. This causes the muscles to seize up immediately and the human will be grounded. Downside is the human can immediately get back up after the shock is discontinued, so while it won’t stop one, it will be a serious deterrent.” The Tesraki eyed the Commander, “Of course, the best way for ou to test if my products are legit and ethical….”

The commander frowned, “You just want a demonstration to help sell your product.”

The Tesraki shrugged it’s furry shoulders, “You can hardly go back to your superiors and say that you know for sure this is ethical if you haven’t tested it.”

There was a moment of pause and the commander sighed eventually looking at Sunny, “If he kills me, rip his limbs off.”

That dampened the Tesraki’s smug look, but the commander was already unbuttoning his uniform jacket which he pulled off and hung on a hook on the wall removing his cap as well leaving him only in a white long sleeve- button up shirt and the uniform slacks. Sunny didn’t much like this idea, but glowered at the Tesraki to let him know she meant business.

The human stood legs slightly bent hands out to his side. Sunny stood behind him.

“Watch closely.” the Tesraki began before stepping forward and jamming the contacts against the human’s stomach. There was a sharp snapping sound which repeated violently as the human immediately seized up only managing to bite a curse through his locked jaw before falling backwards. Sunny caught him as the human twitched and jerked violently. She almost worried he was having another seizure before the Tesraki pulled back, and the human immediately regained his body groaning only to slowly regain his feet.

“Ow that hurts like a bitch.” He cursed rubbing his stomach where the contacts had made.

The spectacle had drawn a rather interested crowd, and the Tesraki was looking very smug, “See quite effective.” he looked towards the commander, “Do you want another?”

“Hell no, what kind of question is that.”

The Tesraki ignored him and turned back to his crowd, “See, a fantastic deterrent.”

“Now lets see, this little spray bottle here is another human invention for humans and contains the poison capsaicin in concentrated doses. Now, while some humans enjoy small doses of this poison on their food they do not enjoy it sprayed in their eyes. It will result in a burning sensation, and an overreaction of the mucous membranes.”

The commander backed away his hands raised, “Wow, uh I am not demonstrating that. I would like to be able to see for the next few hours thanks.”

“See even the mention of it causes them to back away in fear.” The Tesraki said dramatically

Commander Vir rolled his eyes as the rest of the crowd oohed and aahed.

“Humans, you may have heard have more senses than any creature in the galaxy…. Accept maybe for the Drev.” He glanced at Sunny, “So what if I told you that I could make the human run from this room without lifting more than a finger.”

Around the room the crowd shifted in disbelieving anticipation

“The one sense they have that the rest of us do not, can be used against them. You see that weird protrusion in the center of its face.” The commander frowned, “That is a nose and it can be used to detect particles in the air. Everything sheds particles of itself, and if there are enough of them, a human can sense it. I would very much recommend this little device for those who come from the Iota quadrant, and are known to smell irresistibly delectable to humans. You see, when this pin is pulled particles are released into the air. When a human breaths them in they bind to chemical protein sights in the nose, and I am told that the smell is quite revolting.”

The commander looked a bit skeptical one eyebrow raised, but the tesraki reached down and smugly pulled the pin. The reaction was ALMOST immediate. For the first second he just stood there and then the man’s eyes widened a hand shot up over his face, and he gagged violently. It seemed as if he tried to adjust himself to the smell, but then gagged again and turned to race towards the door knocking over a stand as he went doubling over a few more times leaving Sunny sure he was going to vomit. He vanished out the door after a couple of seconds, and the crowd clapped politely. The Tesraki returned the pin smugly.

Sunny sniffed at the air. She could just catch a whiff of something, but having been born on a planet dominated by volcanoes, it hadn’t been prudent to make her susceptible to bad smells, as sulfur was common. It was more useful to be able to detect sweet and sour smells.

“Scientists believe that this reaction exists as a primitive way to keep the creature from ingesting anything poisonous. The human nose cannot tell the difference between a smell inside the mouth and a smell outside the mouth. If the nose detects a dangerous level of certain types of chemicals that could be poisonous, it demands that the human move immediately. It can even cause an involuntary holding of the breath and a regurgitation of the last meal i.e those horrible noises it was making as it left.”

It took awhile for the commander to return, and when he did, he was mad. He marched up hand over his mouth and nose and grabbed the Tesraki by the arm. His voice was somewhat muffled by his hand when he said, “That smelled like a HUMAN corpse, so explain yourself.”

The tesraki calmly brushed him off, “Calm down, Commander, its a simple chemical compound that mimics the bacterial breakdown of your human flesh. No humans were harmed in the making of this weapon. Though you have to admit, it is quite clever.”

“Quite disgusting.” The man commented, but backed away

The Tesraki continued unfazed, “Now this one is a might bit more expensive, and takes a bit longer to operate. See first you used this to scan the human, and then you press one of these three buttons. Or you can press them all at the same time see.” There was a sharp clicking noise, and three small drones launched themselves at the Commander,’s face. The man tried to duck, but the three little pieces connected themselves together and latched onto his head and neck. The bulk of the device was locked around his neck, but a few legs of the contraption gripped themselves over his face.

“What the hell.” He muttered

“Then you press this button.” The machine whirred, and the human shrieked in pain falling immediately to his knees as his head was forced back and to the side. Sunny snarled, and the Tesraki let go of the button.

The man fell to his knees, and the device detached.

“Pressure points, areas of inherent weakness and high concentration of nerve endings on the human body. If pressed they cause severe pain. Humans have more of these points on the body but TW-17, GV-26 and LI-18 are sufficient. The last one can even cause nausea and unconsciousness if worked hard enough.”

Commander Vir rubbed his neck, “AND they can be lethal.” The tesraki frowned, but the huan held up a hand, “Which is why that device requires testing, authentication, and review from the electronics board. If it is going to e used, it has to be a NON-lethal measure with a short burst duration. We don’t want anyone getting funny ideas that they can enslave humanity.” He glowered at the tesraki

Later, when they walked from the store, Commander Vir was looking more the worse for ware. Sunny watched him in pity, “Why do you always insist on hurting yourself?”

The commander rubbed the back of his head, “Do you think I do this for fun?”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“I am allergic to pain.”

She laughed, leaned over, and picked the human up. He yelped in surprise than looked at her, “Really.”

“You look tired.” And this is how I show my appreciation.”

“Ah yes, by bridal carrying me through the city.” He gripped halfheartedly

“I can do fireman or sack of potatoes, but I hear this one is more comfortable.” She said beginning her walk through the city

Commander Vir only argued for the sake of politeness before dropping it, besides, he didn’t really mind. He was exhausted, and besides he actually kind of enjoyed the attention.

Don’t forget to comment with your idea for repelling humans, if you have one.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

1033. I don’t like the way they look at you.

This was prompted by the awesome @aurea-b and I... had fun XD Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

‘Is there anything else I can bring you, Sirs?’, Gavin politely asked, while he disguised his search of any hint or piece of evidence as gathering empty glasses. ‘Hmm, that fancy android over there, if you don’t mind.’ Gavin hadn’t expected that answer and followed the finger of the man before him over to the central pole of the club. Of course… ��I’m afraid we are not that kind of club, Sir.’ ‘How about a private dance then, beautiful?’ He had grabbed Gavin by the hand he was reaching for a glass with. ‘Sir, touching is prohibited in this club’, Gavin pressed through his teeth, trying his hardest not to snap and let his fist find its way right into his face. Although he had to play the clueless waiter, he knew exactly who was sitting there right in front of him: One of Detroit’s worst human traffickers. Until now they had only gotten a name, Andrew Jones, and the last sign of life of an android dancer. A message left behind before he had been abducted, just like countless others in his line of work. All androids. Most of them from this club.

The club Nines and Gavin were currently working at as undercover agents. Being the only other android-human partners of the precinct when Anderson couldn’t have played the “sexy waiter” even if he had been ten years younger, really was unfortunate. Gavin wouldn’t have described himself as that either, but apparently the manager of the club had decided otherwise. Nines on the other hand had simply downloaded some Tracy-programs and used his own to hack the application process.

Thankfully Jones let him go, although it had only been after a few beats of prolonged contact, just to show that he could. Oh, how Gavin longed for a fight with this stick of a man, mission be damned. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Sir.’ ‘Yeah, go see.’ Gavin turned around and tried to remember who else had sat in that booth with the criminal. Who were they? Costumers? Partners? Just friends? Whoever they were they requested a private dance from Nines, who was just stepping down from the pole to retreat backstage. They had their eyes on him and although that was generally a good thing because the android could figure out a lot more things if he was that near to them, it also was the first step to being kidnapped. The android they had gotten the message from had been selected for a private dance with this man and was never found again.

His worry seemed to show as he ducked behind the counter to unload the empty glasses, because Julia, the bartender looked him up and down. ‘Something happened?’ Gavin couldn’t let Nines’ cover be blown, even if the woman was trustworthy. So he simply said: ‘Over at table twelve, the guy touched me. Just the wrist, no big deal, but…’ ‘But it’s disgusting. Yeah, I understand. Should I get someone else to fetch their drinks?’ ‘Nah, no need. He wants a private dance with one of the dancers though. The rooms free at the moment?’ ‘They should be. Do you know who he wants?’ ‘The new one. Android, tall, -‘ ‘Exactly your type?’ Gavin looked at the woman shocked, but she just laughed. ‘Hey, I have eyes and I see how you look at him when you walk past. Don’t worry about me, I have no problems with relationships between co-workers. Just keep it private.’ Gavin swallowed. ‘Err… yeah…’ ‘Here!’ She pulled a few bottles of water from under the counter. ‘Bring that backstage and tell him. Tell him to be careful, too. I know people are disappearing and the police, as always, does jack shit about it.’ Gavin grinded his teeth at that, but nodded and took the package. ‘Oh and Gavin? I noticed he looked at you too, so good luck!’

He slipped past the curtain into the relative privacy of the changing compartments. Not that there were a lot of clothes to wear, just a lot of different outfits for different shows. He was on the lookout for Nines, what wasn’t too difficult as he spotted the tall android right from the door. Gavin sat the water bottles down at the entrance and hurried over. ‘Hey, Nines, you are- Ugh, Goddamn, put some clothes on, will ya?’ ‘Gavin, you saw me naked enough times, this is childish.’ ‘Yeah, well, they haven’t!’ He gestured to the rest of the room that was still very open. ‘Actually…’ ‘Okay, stop, they want you for a private dance.’ ‘Who?’, the android asked as he pulled some pants on – not really covering more than underwear would have. ‘Idiot. Our suspects of course.’ Gavin watched as Nines put on several glowing rings around his wrists and slowly adding more and more jewellery until he nearly wore more than clothes. ‘Oh! Perfect. Then this case is finally going somewhere.’ ‘I don’t like the way they look at you’, Gavin grumbled, leaning against the dressing table while Nines applied make-up and tested out new patterns with his artificial skin. His performance always consisted of some kind of display how synthetic he was. Retracting his skin and letting it reappear to the music, playing with how much he let the costumers see. With that he had made it one of the top attractions in record time and Gavin had to admit it was quite entrancing.

‘Oh, Gav, darling. It could have been the light, but I sensed you looked at me the same way.’ Nines looked up to him and smiled and though it was still alien to see him with make-up, he had to admit the android was absolutely beautiful. ‘Yeah, well, I don’t plan to abduct you and sell you to the highest bidder!’ ‘Really? And here I thought romance was dead.’ Gavin threw him a warning look. ‘Oh, come on, Gavin. I’m the most advanced model there is. Fowler installed more trackers inside me than Cyberlife did. If I get abducted this will finally put an end to innocent people getting sold off. Really, in this example the worst case is the best-case scenario.’ ‘For the mission maybe. But for you? What if they find out we’re cops and decide to kill you?’ ‘Gav, you worry too much. If anything goes wrong, then I still have you looking out for me, haven’t I, love?’ He reached up to Gavin’s shoulders to pull him into a kiss, before standing up. ‘I’ll get ready for it; you can show them to room four. I’ll reset the bugs there.’ ‘Okay. Stay safe.’ ‘Will do.’

Gavin went back behind the bar to get the keys for the room, before stopping in front of Julia’s grinning face. ‘What is it?’ ‘Oh, nothing… Just that I was right, wasn’t it? Ah, you two go so well together! You definitely have to tell me more when your shift’s over! Now hurry! Back to work!’ On the way back to the booth, Gavin rubbed his mouth with his sleeve. Damn black lipstick…

‘Ah, our beautiful waiter is back! And, what about that private dance?’ Gavin couldn’t look the man in the eyes, as he jingled with the keys. ‘If the sirs would follow me to room four? Your dancer is waiting.’ Jones hurried to come to his feet, urging his partners to stand up too. Gavin waited until they were up to lead the way. He entered the room and as everyone was in, Nines appeared, walking overly seductively towards them. Gavin felt bile rising up seeing him cupping Jones’ cheek in fake affection. ‘Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you today?’, he cooed, and Gavin pulled the door closed.

He carried drinks and empty glasses back and forth and looked on his watch every few minutes. They had booked an hour, had paid wirelessly over Nines hooked up to the club’s systems. It was the longest hour in Gavin’s life and no matter how that would set back the mission, he hoped for Nines to just get out of there and their suspect leaving. The worst was not knowing. The bugs they had installed were record only. Transmissions to an outside source could have been detected. So, it was only ten minutes after their time had ended and no one had exited, that Gavin knew something was wrong. The thought appeared the same time Nines message came in. Gavin. Get a car. Something went wrong. Your phone is set to navigate you to me. We are driving.

Immediately, Gavin reacted. He let the empty glasses fall back onto the table and sprinted to the bar. ‘Julia, I need your car.’ ‘You what?’ Gavin ripped his badge from his pocket and shoved it in her face. ‘I. Need. Your. Car.’ ‘Holy shit you are from the police. Oh damn and I said-‘ ‘Forget what you said, there is an android getting abducted from your club right now. I need your phcking car. Right now!’ ‘Of course, but you should rather-‘ ‘No buts! Car! NOW!’

Julia nodded, fetched her jacket and ran to the parking lot after Gavin. He looked around for her car and froze, as she unlocked a 1975 vintage Fiat 500. ‘Ex-phcking-cuse me?’ ‘I told you you should have rather taken John’s car, he drives a-‘ ‘Doesn’t matter now. There’s no time. Go.’

‘Doesn’t this thing have a gas pedal of some sorts?’, Gavin shouted at her from the passenger seat. The damn car was tiny as phck and for once he was glad to be too tiny as phck. But right now, every emotion he felt was anger. Anger about how they crawled through Detroit’s streets tailing a black dodge challenger. Their only hope was the cities well known and well hated rush hour that they were stuck in just as bad as their target. ‘Hey, you are a cop!’ ‘Yeah, and that means my word is law! Now go over the damn speed limit!’ ‘Alright, pretty sure that doesn’t mean that, but as long as you pay my speeding tickets-‘ ‘I’ll phcking pay you anything as long as you find that gas pedal and press it through the damn floor!’ ‘Alright, alright!’ Gavin was pressed into the seat as Julia seemed to take his advice literally. And once they got speed she was willing to break every traffic rule there was: She changed into the oncoming traffic and slalomed her way through every traffic jam. ‘Don’t tell me this is top speed?’ ‘What do you think this is? I loved that car ever since I saw it and it is amazing if you want to find a spot to park! Now, will you stop complaining? What do you plan to do once we reach them?’ ‘If we reach them, that is! This damn toy can’t compete!’ ‘Okay. You insult my car? Now I prove to you speed isn’t everything!’

Gavin regretted his decision dearly. Because whatever the tiny car told about its owner… Julia seemed to be a rally driver. Cutting every turn perfectly and finding small parallel streets or even a park to race through, they managed to catch up.

Gavin. Are you… driving in a Fiat? ‘Are you wearing make-up?’, Gavin spat back although the android couldn’t hear him. Make room in the passenger side, I’m coming. Drive to the left… now! Gavin pushed Julia’s steering wheel to the side without a warning, trusting her to manage getting them back on track as the trunk of the car in front of them was ripped open and the hood clattering to the street before quickly disappearing. Gavin climbed into the back of the already crowded car, as Julia steered it expertly next to the trunk and pushed the door open. Nines managed to jump over and land more or less gracefully inside but had to huddle over his knees to fit. Gavin reached forwards handing Nines his gun that the android took with a surprisingly unphased: ‘Thanks, babe.’ As if getting abducted was fun. ‘Wait, you two are really…?’ Nines nodded, picking at his too tight, uncomfortable and sole piece of clothing. ‘We are. Now keep the car straight, please.’ He opened the window and leaned half his upper body outside, taking aim and shot. They watched, as his bullet hit the other car, piercing the tire and it spiralled out of control. ‘Hank and Connor are informed; backup is on the way. But we have to keep them here. Julia, if you would be so kind to park the car? Gav and I have some traffickers to arrest.’ The woman nodded and Nines was half out of the door, before he asked: ‘You wouldn’t have some additional clothes somewhere, would you?’ ‘Unfortunately not. But it suits you.’ ‘Hmm. That’s not really the point…’ Gavin groaned from the backseat as he himself wasn’t exactly presentable with his tight leather pants and deep V-necked shirt. ‘That will be enough joke-material for years to come…’

‘I would say, you look rather handsome’, Nines commented, now that they were outside walking side by side towards the other car. ‘Oh, phck off!’ ‘Come on, it was fun!’ ‘It was not!’ ‘Why? Are you jealous you didn’t get to have a “private dance” with me?’ Gavin was about to shout expletives at the android, before shaking his head. ‘You know what? Maybe I am!’ ‘Aw, Detective, no one said I would have to delete this programming after the mission is done.’ Well, that sounded… promising.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Sexy Nines and Car chases

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dailytomlinson · 4 years

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It’s been a long and turbulent four-year road for Louis Tomlinson. Since his band, One Direction, announced their ‘indefinite hiatus’ in 2016, Tomlinson has struggled to find a professional path that suitably represents him as an artist. As he gears up to finally release his long-awaited debut album Walls this coming January, the singer-songwriter finally feels comfortable in his own skin, finding his own unique Britpop-inspired sound which has been spurred on by the resentment towards a diluting of his vision in a bid to find radio play in the States. Tomlinson, it is safe to say, has finally found his feet and, with a new record label firmly behind him and a renewed energy propelling his every move, the 27-year-old is now a man on a mission with two fingers in the air and a point to prove.

His remarkable story really needs no introduction. Plucked from a crowd of hopefuls auditioning for the X-Factor in 2010, the then 18-year-old singer was placed alongside Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Harry Styles and Zayn Malik by Simon Cowell much to the joy of their growing social media fanbase. Just 12 months later their debut album, Up All Night, was released and propelled the group to international fame. In the six fast and furious years as a band One Direction tour relentlessly, released five hit records and became unfathomably rich in the process. For Tomlinson, however, the immediate highs were quickly met by severe lows when it all came suddenly crashing down. The end of the band, the media relentlessly pursuing his private life, personal tragedy and more have followed. Now though, with a renewed vigour and clarity for his future, Tomlinson has picked himself up and is about to carve out his own niche of pop music. I met Tomlinson in a back bar of a central London hotel as I self-consciously began to consider the possibility that I may be underdressed for the occasion. Thankfully though—and much to my relief—he arrived casually dressed in a brown quarter-zip jacket, jeans and Adidas trainers which arrived as a refreshing change in reference to the typical, modern-day pop star. Having travelled down to London from Yorkshire that day, with my editor’s words ringing in my ears, the somewhat opulent surroundings of our meeting lacked the relaxing edge I was hoping for. It must be said that interviews with musicians of international fame can be tricky — especially when they have a new album to sell. With media training, PR managers typically watching over and a sense ill-trust with the media, it will come as little surprise that popstars can be standoffish in interviews. Despite my initial trepidation though, Tomlinson greeted me with immense warmth and immediately offered to get a couple of beers in from the bar—the first sign that our conversation would follow the laid-back pattern I was hoping for. After we’d sat down and had a sip of lager, our Yorkshire accents clashing, my mind turned to his recent performance of his last single ‘We Made It’ on Children In Need. Tomlinson looked in his element, like he’d finally found his feet as a solo artist—something that hasn’t been an easy adjustment for him to make in the last few years. “Yeah, naturally I feel as any fucking solo star finds – the longer you’re in it, the more experienced you get, the more confident you get. I think it took me a second to work out who I am musically, to fully detach from One Direction and stuff but I feel like I’m there now so, naturally, I’m more confident in my songwriting ability, I’m more confident performing, singing and all of that, so it feels good.” Following the split from the band, it did feel from the outside looking in that there was no clear direction where his solo career was going to take him. With collaborations with the likes of Steve Aoki and Bebe Rexha, both of which performed commercially well, there was a creative direction that left more questions than answers. Earlier this year, he took to social media to make a statement to claim that he was turning a page, that he was fed up with writing to a formula in a bid to chase radio play and instead he wanted to make music he loved. That moment was the beginning of the second chapter in his solo career, which he expands on looking while back at that difficult time with more than a pinch of honesty as always, disclosing: “Yeah but I’m not going to lie, it’s still something that I’m fighting up against if I’m being honest. I mean, because there’s constant opinion around me and you know a lot of people do want to focus towards radio—which I do understand—but what bugs me is just how much it limited me — especially because what I grew up listening to on pop radio is very different to what’s on pop radio now and because I couldn’t see a place for myself. I thought that it wasn’t not going to be authentic because I’m going to be trying to sound like what’s on the radio. Today, in 2019 more than ever, people can spot bullshit. So yeah, I think since that moment I’ve always been conscious of that and as I say it is a constant battle, but I think I’m winning at the moment.” The state of mainstream radio is something that Tomlinson is passionate about. As an artist who aims to make songs that are accessible to the masses without compromising integrity at the same time, Louis appears to be well versed on the shift in the popular musical landscape: “If I’m being honest, I didn’t actively search for stuff because it was on pop radio,” he said while discussing the change in approach to consuming music. “Especially a band like Catfish and The Bottlemen,” he adds after a moment of contemplation. “When I was growing up they would definitely, definitely, be on every radio and I think those bands are very important and now I have to actively search for them or listen to the right station.” He continues, “Also, I think it took me a second to come out and say what my influences are because I know what people expect from someone who has been in a boyband and stuff like that.” With this lightbulb moment, Tomlinson wanted to detail more about the inner workings of his creative process, how collaborating with like-minding musicians helped free his thought process. “Once I’d had this epiphany and put this message on social media, at that point I’d done four songs that are still on the album. I think ‘Kill My Mind’ was actually a turning point, I wrote it with a guy called Jamie Hartman and the next session we had together we wrote ‘Walls’ which is the title track for the album and is going to be my next single. I think from that moment it unlocked something and we got some momentum so then the second half of the album was written relatively quickly but I think as I say it being transitional I’d have loved 10 ‘Kill My Mind’s’ but maybe the next record.” ‘Kill My Mind’ looks and sounds like the first step towards the definitive direction that the Yorkshireman is aiming for. It has a punchy Hot Fuss era Killers’ chorus and is more reminiscent of the type of music that Tomlinson himself loves. “That’s probably the proudest I’ve been of a song because that is genuinely a song that I fucking love listening to and that’s not necessarily always the case when you’re playing for radio all the time. It didn’t get the attention that I think it quite deserved but that’s the way it is.” The shift towards the guitar-led music, which bucks the trend with current chart-toppers, is the path that the 27-year-old is determined to follow. A recent writing session with Australian indie giants DMA’s had popped up in our conversation and the beaming smile across Tomlinson’s face said it all: “I’ve hung out with those boys (DMA’s) actually, one night because we were in the same studio and I’ve written together with [them] before,” he said before clarifying that the drinks were flowing which resulted in an unfinished recording. When probed on whether this is something he’d like to re-visit at a later date, Tomlinson expanded with an eye firmly on the future: “The DMA’s session was a bit of an experiment, to be honest, when I look at my solo career I’m looking at it as a five, six or seven-year plan. I realise this from doing the DMA’s one, I would fucking love to do an album full of them but it’s a transition you know what I mean, I’ve got to understand the fan base and what they want. I don’t want anything to be so drastic so in my eyes, it’s a two, three even four-album progression before I get there and I also think to write those kinds of songs that I love I need to have more experience as a songwriter as well.” For someone who has had such rich successes in their career to date, the singer-songwriter does seem to have struggled with his self-confidence since going solo—but this year seems to have changed that. One song that stands out is ‘Two of Us’, a track which was released earlier this year is a tribute to his late Mother who tragically passed in 2017. Tomlinson’s life was then struck by more devastation following his sister’s sudden death in March this year. ‘Two of Us’ clearly carries a heavy weight of emotion. Created from the inner workings of Tomlinson’s grief, the song is by a distance the most personal release in his entire career to date. Despite that, the track manages to find the universal within the personal as it’s lyrics resonate for anyone who has ever lost anybody close to them—myself included. While our conversation remained on this topic I was keen to know whether these heart-breaking events had impacted his professional epiphany, whether the personal grief had allowed him to stop worrying about the chart and instead focusing more on enjoying the ride: “When I wrote ‘Two Of Us’ that was something I never really had with music before where I like to think every lyric has meant something. There was a different emotional weight with that song and just hearing people’s stories about what it meant to them and how they related to it, that was amazing for me.” “If I’m being honest what made me have my epiphany was me spitting my fucking dummy out because I was sick of being put in writing sessions which I couldn’t relate to, or people trying to pull me in a certain way to work on American radio. I could probably have commercial success like that, but I’ve got the luxury of having had that already with One Direction and I thought ‘what does success mean to me?’ I just thought I’ve got to follow my fucking heart and if I can win like that it’s like a double win you know what I mean.” One Direction’s immediate success was unprecedented for a British boyband. Together they conquered the world with their debut Up All Night going straight to number one in the States and shifting more than 4.5million copies globally. Just one to this moment, Tomlinson was an 18-year-old living for the weekend in Doncaster—but he was determined not to let his newfound fame change him: “Yeah I was always pretty resistant to it [fame] to be honest, I always say that when I got famous, when I first got put in band, that I was having the best year of my life. So, it was a lot to deal with to leave my favourite year behind and to be doing something else where you’re working really hard. The personal and professional problems that have occurred in recent years appears to have given Tomlinson a remarkable sense of life experience. Despite still being so young, despite having lived a whirlwind life, he still has the ability to self reflect on with a grounded honesty. “Being from Donny you don’t expect to get that kind of opportunity and I then got put into the band and then had to deal with everything on the job. Honestly, it was a fucking incredible time in my life that shaped me as an artist and shaped me as a person, I saw some amazing things but it is also nice now to have a little bit more free time because we were so fucking busy and also you know stand on my own two feet and say this is who I am.” “As far as what’s on my checklist of a credible artist you know they have to write their own tunes, that was always important to me and I did a lot of writing in the band which I think gave me the incredible experience to write now. It was like a crash course, there were so many sessions and I think it’s put me in good stead, but I feel like I’m always getting better as a writer man I feel like with every song I learn a little bit more.” Although, it’s clear from speaking with Tomlinson that he looks back on those years he spent with the band with all the fondness in the world. Yet the media attention that came with all the success was something that got the better of him at times. “That was hard and I’ve often envied artists from an era where smartphones weren’t around. There were definitely some days where it got the better of me. I suppose you’ve got to be selective on where you go and I learned the hard way from a few different people that you can’t trust. Some people want something out of you and it took me a second to understand, but again I think that helps me have a thicker skin in the real world outside of my job. There are times when I’ve gone through difficult things in my life and I’ve thought certain people haven’t been amazing but it’s part of it, fuck it.” As our conversation then meandered toward the split of the band and what life was like for Tomlinson after exiting the world of One Direction— which was all that he had known for the entirety of his adult life up until that point. A sense of honest emotion entered his voice, a moment that seemingly suggested that this permanent change was something that was taken from his own control: “It was good to be back doing normal things but I wasn’t ready for the band to go on a break and it came as a shock for me,” Tomlinson exclusively told Far Out Magazine. “It definitely wasn’t my choice but I understand why the decision was made and there’s a good argument for that. I’m enjoying expressing myself now but it rocked me for a time and for a bit and I didn’t know what I was going to do,” he said, vehemently. From the tone in his voice, it is obvious that the subject is still a relatively raw one for Tomlinson who initially struggled to find the right sound for him following the split of the band—a factor stemmed from his initial reluctance to move solo. From the gravitas of the moment to the importance of his first steps back into music, it was clear that Tomlinson wasn’t ready to be going out on his own so soon after the band’s breakup—a learning curve which other members of the group seemed to overcome in different ways. The break was initially thought to be just that ‘a break’, but nearly four years after the announcement there are still no signs that the group is entertaining ideas of reuniting anytime soon. With Louis Tomlinson set to release his debut album in January, Liam Payne’s debut LP1 out next month, Harry Styles’ second offering, Fine Line, being made available on December 13th and Niall Horan working on the follow-up to his 2017 Flicker, the One Direction members are firmly in solo mode. Tomlinson acknowledges that during the final One Direction tour he began to accept that the break was inevitable, admitting: “It had kind of been brewing and we knew the conversation might be coming around but it was just one of those things. It was always going to happen, we were always going to take a break, but I think there are always people who are going to take things better than others.” Looking on the bright side, however, since the break he has been allowed to live a bit more of a quieter life. From speaking with Tomlinson I get the sense that he’s in this because he loves the music, appreciates the love he gets from fans and loves playing live. However, the celebrity lifestyle that comes with it isn’t why he’s in this game. “I think I can definitely have a bit more of a balance now, there are obviously times when I’m releasing songs or releasing album when it’s really ramped up and It’s hard but definitely easier in those off times to have the balance because otherwise when you’re so busy it’s impossible to literally fit everybody into your life. It’s definitely nicer having more time to do normal fucking things,” he adds with an almost sigh of relief. Tomlinson’s solo career, which has found its feet with emphatic effect and is currently flying high with a sold-out world tour and highly anticipated debut on the horizon, was something that the singer himself had never initially envisioned. With Tomlinson originally wanting to take a back seat in the music industry following the end of the band, he revealed exclusively to Far Out: “I’m not going to lie it hit me hard but it definitely inspired me to get on with my own solo career because it wasn’t something I was always going to do. I was just going to write songs and just hopefully send them to other people and stuff like that, but everything happens for a reason, so they say anyway.” As the careers of all five members of the band have all taken off, with each turning into different avenues sonically, our conversation then turned to the competitive nature between the band since they went their separate ways. Typically, the avid Doncaster Rovers fan opting to use a hugely specific football analogy to describe the relationship with his former bandmates: “I could be wrong but I think we’ve all got that in us, there’s a competitive side to everyone. I can only speak from personal experience, and as time goes on you understand the differences. It’s not all that relevant but I liken to the feeling at first was that you’ve all been at Barcelona’s youth academy, so we’ll call One Direction ‘Barcelona’ and then we’ve all been put off at different clubs and that takes a second to understand and compute but we’re all still lucky to be able to do it as solo artists.” Having time off to relax over the last few years for the first time since stepping foot for his X-Factor audition all those years ago, Tomlinson seems to have returned with a renewed love for music and everything that comes with it. For a while, it appears the music was falling second in line to all the hysteria that surrounded his fame—a situation that has been duly rectified. Next year will see him return to Doncaster as part of his world tour for a very special homecoming and, with that mention, his face lights up with a grin on his face the size of South Yorkshire: “It’s going to be class, I can’t wait for Donny Dome. I don’t feel like my career has fully started until I do that first tour show, it’s all well and good writing songs, releasing songs, doing all the promo and everything that comes with it but the most important fucking thing is that you put on a good show. I started realising the longer that I’ve been in this that there’s a level of importance in these nights to people, especially the avid fanbase that I’m lucky enough to have. You can see from the reactions and look into people’s eyes and see what certain lyrics meant to them.” What struck me the most from the time I spent with the singer-songwriter was just how grounded he was, seemingly bereft of any level of arrogance and still just that same local lad from Doncaster who began this journey ten years ago. His working-class Yorkshire heritage, he told me, is what has made him the man he is today: “You’ve got to be fucking humble where we’re from you know what I mean? Because otherwise you get called out like ‘who the fuck do you think you are?’”. The greatest takeaway from our conversation is that Louis Tomlinson is still that music enthusiast that entered the music industry in 2010 who, despite all the success and fame, has managed to stay grounded. With surreal highs came earth-shattering lows—all of which has shaped him in one way or another. Instant success is no longer what he seeks with it now being about the long game for him, this change in attitude is a sign of maturity for Tomlinson who no longer losing sleep about pleasing streaming algorithms. Having been sitting at the mountain top of the music industry for almost a decade, it seems it is only now he is really getting started with a long-term plan of where he wants his solo-career to go. With a strong sense of support around him, his future and creative vision is firmly in his own hands. With an abundance of experience behind him and has renewed enthusiasm, Louis Tomlinson is finally ready to find his own direction. Walls is available on 31st January via Sony Music, for tickets to his world tour – visit here for tickets.

#press #291119 #louis Tomlinson #far out magazine #stunt mention #dlibyh

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quoth-the-sparrow · 4 years

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Old Flames In The Rain

A Sanders Sides One-Shot

Warnings: TS Deceit, Sympathetic Deceit, Kissing/Making Out, Smoking (If I need to add anything, let me know)

Pairings: Anxceit

Description: Virgil and Damien were together a long time ago. What happens when they meet up again after four years?

Word Count: 1,211

You can also find this story here on ao3

Virgil removed his hood, leaning against the brick wall and watching the cars go by. Usually this street was crowded with people, but the rainstorm had everyone seeking shelter either at home or in one of the restaurants or shops that were still open. The rain didn’t bother him, and he could stay relatively dry under the awning of this abandoned storefront. It was definitely better than going into a building packed with people. Infinitely better than going back home just yet.

He closed his eyes and sighed, hands in his hoodie pockets as he paced. He’d had a hell of a day at work and he would kill for a drink, the stronger the better. Or at least a smoke. Gods, he hadn’t done any of that since… Well. Since high school. Old habits die hard, he supposed. That time had long since passed. He decided to wait a while longer, see if the rain let up any before making the trek back to his apartment.

Footsteps approached from behind him. He turned, ready to move out of the way if need be. He wasn’t at all prepared for the figure to speak to him, let alone to recognize the voice.

“Virgil? Is that you?”

He blinked and focused on the man now standing before him. He’d gotten older, yes, and his hair was now its natural blonde rather than dyed green but it was definitely…

“Damien? I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, what are you doing back in town?” Virgil embraced his old friend, a move that surprised them both. Damien returned the hug and chuckled lowly before pulling away. Virgil tried his best not to stare too openly. Damn, Damien looked good. Better than ever, really. Virgil shoved those thoughts away, he didn’t need to dwell on that.

“I came back to see my mom, you remember how much she worries.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”

“Well speak of the fucking devil,” Virgil thought. What he said was “You know those things are bad for you.” He held his hand out for one anyways.

Damien handed him one and lit first his own cigarette, then Virgil’s.

“Yeah well, everyone has their faults. Besides, it’s not like I smoke all the time. Just every once in a while, to take the edge off. What’s your excuse, exactly?”

Virgil blew out a cloud of smoke and laughed. “You got me there, Dee. So how’s it been going? I haven’t heard from you in… what has it been, almost four years?”

Damien didn’t reply, not at first. Just smoked his cigarette and stared out into the rain. Virgil had a feeling he was looking at more than the scenery but he didn’t press the issue. Standing side by side like this was surreal. It almost felt normal, reminded Virgil of happier days. He shook his head and took a long drag of his cigarette. Finally, Damien responded.

“From a business standpoint, it’s going swimmingly. My designs are selling almost faster than they can be made, I’m in very high demand. I’m fucking rich, the way I always wanted to be.” His words were bitter, and Virgil frowned.

“It sure gets lonely out there though. Makes you realize just how alone you can be, even in a crowded room. Hard to make real friends. Acolytes, all of them. Leeches wanting a piece of your fame and fortune, nothing more.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot. Virgil did the same and put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to Damien.

“That bad, huh? Is it worth all that?” Virgil looked at Damien, really looked. The man was tired, a bone-deep exhaustion caused by more than just the journey back here. Virgil wondered when the last time Damien had gotten a decent night’s rest. He didn’t answer, just shrugged.

Damien moved closer and took Virgil’s hand. “I miss you, V. Do you miss me? We were so good together. Remind me why we broke up again?”

Virgil gave him a soft, sad smile but didn’t let go of his hand. “There are lots of reasons why we didn’t work out. We were just dumb high school kids, for one. Neither of us were ready for any kind of serious commitment. Our lives were clearly going in two different directions. I was staying in town to help my dad with his business and you had all those dreams of going to L.A and getting famous. I wasn’t gonna be the one to stand in between you and your dreams, Damien. That’s why we broke up. It wasn’t the right time for us.”

Damien nodded, giving Virgil’s hand a squeeze before letting go. “Yeah, those are some good points you made. But the chemistry we had, there’s no denying it was incredible. Like fireworks, like burning stars.” He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d had all the way back in high school.

Before Virgil could say anything, he felt himself being pressed against the wall, Damien’s lips on his.

Virgil kissed him back immediately, a fire igniting inside him, too hot and too bright to ignore. His hands went to tangle in Damien’s hair while Damien’s hands gripped Virgil’s hips, their bodies pressing against one another. The kiss was wild and passionate and every bit as electric as it had been way back when they first got together. It could have lasted minutes or hours or days; if anyone were to ask them, neither Virgil or Damien would have been able to say.

When they finally pulled apart they were both gasping for breath. Damien’s hair was mused and somehow Virgil’s jacket had gotten unzipped. The two stared at each other, each drinking in the sight of the other.

“Damien… I…” Virgil found it hard to speak. He hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, and though he’d had a couple boyfriends after Damien, no one had made him feel the way he did now. Not even close.

Damien grinned at the sight of Virgil’s blushing face. “You felt it, even after all this time. That fire. Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t, I know you did because I sure as hell did.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it or anything, Dee. How long are you staying in town?” Virgil zipped his hoodie back up as Damien fixed his hair.

“A few weeks at least. I’m on a hiatus, so to speak. I haven’t found a hotel yet but I’ll figure it out.” But Virgil was shaking his head, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Stay with me at my place. Here, put in your phone number.”

Damien did as he was told and gave the phone back to Virgil. “Before I agree to anything, I need to know something.”

Virgil looked into Damien’s eyes. “What is it?”

“What are we right now? I don’t want to do anything before I’m sure we’re on the same page.”

Virgil kissed Damien again but on the cheek this time. “To be honest, I don’t know, but I’m hoping we can figure that out together.”

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this story! Reblogs are greatly appreciated. Tell me what you think! If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my taglist, please let me know by sending me an ask. You can find me on ao3 at Storytelling_Sparrow. Thank you so much for your continued support!

Taglist: @theresneverenoughfandoms @galaxywitchwolf13 @magicallygrimmwiccan @daring-elm @creativity-killed-thekitten @007ardra @princeyssash @demigodnamedathena @khadij-al-kubra @im-shooting-straight @sawyer-saucee @gayzelley @it-me-the-phi @elfarmyenby @sparkedawg @ironwoman359 @today-only-happens-once @areyousirius-noheisdead @madly-handsome @milomeepit @princelogical @silversmith-91 @xxladystarlightxx @poisonedapples @romanamongthestars @ab-artist @ninjago2020 @anuninspiredpoet @justanormalfoot @gemini-the-kitsune-rp @urielthealienboio @aizawaisnotstraight @therubyjailcell @satanskatze

#sparrow writes #sanders sides fanfiction #ts deceit #virgil sanders #sympathetic deceit #anxceit #human au #past relationship #smoking #kissing #making out #ambiguous/open ending #reblogs are appreciated #let me know what you think

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louistomlinsoncouk · 4 years

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Louis Tomlinson, a new direction

Tomlinson, it is safe to say, has finally found his feet and, with a new record label firmly behind him and a renewed energy propelling his every move, the 27-year-old is now a man on a mission with two fingers in the air and a point to prove.

For Tomlinson, however, the immediate highs were quickly met by severe lows when it all came suddenly crashing down. The end of the band, the media relentlessly pursuing his private life, personal tragedy and more have followed. Now though, with a renewed vigour and clarity for his future, Tomlinson has picked himself up and is about to carve out his own niche of pop music.

I met Tomlinson in a back bar of a central London hotel as I self-consciously began to consider the possibility that I may be underdressed for the occasion. Thankfully though—and much to my relief—he arrived casually dressed in a brown quarter-zip jacket, jeans and Adidas trainers which arrived as a refreshing change in reference to the typical, modern-day pop star. Having travelled down to London from Yorkshire that day, with my editor’s words ringing in my ears, the somewhat opulent surroundings of our meeting lacked the relaxing edge I was hoping for.

It must be said that interviews with musicians of international fame can be tricky — especially when they have a new album to sell. With media training, PR managers typically watching over and a sense ill-trust with the media, it will come as little surprise that popstars can be standoffish in interviews. Despite my initial trepidation though, Tomlinson greeted me with immense warmth and immediately offered to get a couple of beers in from the bar—the first sign that our conversation would follow the laid-back pattern I was hoping for.

After we’d sat down and had a sip of lager, our Yorkshire accents clashing, my mind turned to his recent performance of his last single ‘We Made It’ on Children In Need. Tomlinson looked in his element, like he’d finally found his feet as a solo artist—something that hasn’t been an easy adjustment for him to make in the last few years. “Yeah, naturally I feel as any fucking solo star finds – the longer you’re in it, the more experienced you get, the more confident you get. I think it took me a second to work out who I am musically, to fully detach from One Direction and stuff but I feel like I’m there now so, naturally, I’m more confident in my songwriting ability, I’m more confident performing, singing and all of that, so it feels good.”

Following the split from the band, it did feel from the outside looking in that there was no clear direction where his solo career was going to take him. With collaborations with the likes of Steve Aoki and Bebe Rexha, both of which performed commercially well, there was a creative direction that left more questions than answers. Earlier this year, he took to social media to make a statement to claim that he was turning a page, that he was fed up with writing to a formula in a bid to chase radio play and instead he wanted to make music he loved.

That moment was the beginning of the second chapter in his solo career, which he expands on looking while back at that difficult time with more than a pinch of honesty as always, disclosing: “Yeah but I’m not going to lie, it’s still something that I’m fighting up against if I’m being honest. I mean, because there’s constant opinion around me and you know a lot of people do want to focus towards radio—which I do understand—but what bugs me is just how much it limited me — especially because what I grew up listening to on pop radio is very different to what’s on pop radio now and because I couldn’t see a place for myself. I thought that it wasn’t not going to be authentic because I’m going to be trying to sound like what’s on the radio. Today, in 2019 more than ever, people can spot bullshit. So yeah, I think since that moment I’ve always been conscious of that and as I say it is a constant battle, but I think I’m winning at the moment.”

The state of mainstream radio is something that Tomlinson is passionate about. As an artist who aims to make songs that are accessible to the masses without compromising integrity at the same time, Louis appears to be well versed on the shift in the popular musical landscape: “If I’m being honest, I didn’t actively search for stuff because it was on pop radio,” he said while discussing the change in approach to consuming music. “Especially a band like Catfish and The Bottlemen,” he adds after a moment of contemplation. “When I was growing up they would definitely, definitely, be on every radio and I think those bands are very important and now I have to actively search for them or listen to the right station.” He continues, “Also, I think it took me a second to come out and say what my influences are because I know what people expect from someone who has been in a boyband and stuff like that.”

With this lightbulb moment, Tomlinson wanted to detail more about the inner workings of his creative process, how collaborating with like-minding musicians helped free his thought process. “Once I’d had this epiphany and put this message on social media, at that point I’d done four songs that are still on the album. I think ‘Kill My Mind’ was actually a turning point, I wrote it with a guy called Jamie Hartman and the next session we had together we wrote ‘Walls’ which is the title track for the album and is going to be my next single. I think from that moment it unlocked something and we got some momentum so then the second half of the album was written relatively quickly but I think as I say it being transitional I’d have loved 10 ‘Kill My Mind’s’ but maybe the next record.”

‘Kill My Mind’ looks and sounds like the first step towards the definitive direction that the Yorkshireman is aiming for. It has a punchy Hot Fuss era Killers’ chorus and is more reminiscent of the type of music that Tomlinson himself loves. “That’s probably the proudest I’ve been of a song because that is genuinely a song that I fucking love listening to and that’s not necessarily always the case when you’re playing for radio all the time. It didn’t get the attention that I think it quite deserved but that’s the way it is.”

The shift towards the guitar-led music, which bucks the trend with current chart-toppers, is the path that the 27-year-old is determined to follow. A recent writing session with Australian indie giants DMA’s had popped up in our conversation and the beaming smile across Tomlinson’s face said it all: “I’ve hung out with those boys (DMA’s) actually, one night because we were in the same studio and I’ve written together with [them] before,” he said before clarifying that the drinks were flowing which resulted in an unfinished recording. When probed on whether this is something he’d like to re-visit at a later date, Tomlinson expanded with an eye firmly on the future: “The DMA’s session was a bit of an experiment, to be honest, when I look at my solo career I’m looking at it as a five, six or seven-year plan. I realise this from doing the DMA’s one, I would fucking love to do an album full of them but it’s a transition you know what I mean, I’ve got to understand the fan base and what they want. I don’t want anything to be so drastic so in my eyes, it’s a two, three even four-album progression before I get there and I also think to write those kinds of songs that I love I need to have more experience as a songwriter as well.”

For someone who has had such rich successes in their career to date, the singer-songwriter does seem to have struggled with his self-confidence since going solo—but this year seems to have changed that. One song that stands out is ‘Two of Us’, a track which was released earlier this year is a tribute to his late Mother who tragically passed in 2017. Tomlinson’s life was then struck by more devastation following his sister’s sudden death in March this year.

‘Two of Us’ clearly carries a heavy weight of emotion. Created from the inner workings of Tomlinson’s grief, the song is by a distance the most personal release in his entire career to date. Despite that, the track manages to find the universal within the personal as it’s lyrics resonate for anyone who has ever lost anybody close to them—myself included. While our conversation remained on this topic I was keen to know whether these heart-breaking events had impacted his professional epiphany, whether the personal grief had allowed him to stop worrying about the chart and instead focusing more on enjoying the ride: “When I wrote ‘Two Of Us’ that was something I never really had with music before where I like to think every lyric has meant something. There was a different emotional weight with that song and just hearing people’s stories about what it meant to them and how they related to it, that was amazing for me.”

“If I’m being honest what made me have my epiphany was me spitting my fucking dummy out because I was sick of being put in writing sessions which I couldn’t relate to, or people trying to pull me in a certain way to work on American radio. I could probably have commercial success like that, but I’ve got the luxury of having had that already with One Direction and I thought ‘what does success mean to me?’ I just thought I’ve got to follow my fucking heart and if I can win like that it’s like a double win you know what I mean.”

One Direction’s immediate success was unprecedented for a British boyband. Together they conquered the world with their debut Up All Night going straight to number one in the States and shifting more than 4.5million copies globally. Just one to this moment, Tomlinson was an 18-year-old living for the weekend in Doncaster—but he was determined not to let his newfound fame change him: “Yeah I was always pretty resistant to it [fame] to be honest, I always say that when I got famous, when I first got put in band, that I was having the best year of my life. So, it was a lot to deal with to leave my favourite year behind and to be doing something else where you’re working really hard.

The personal and professional problems that have occurred in recent years appears to have given Tomlinson a remarkable sense of life experience. Despite still being so young, despite having lived a whirlwind life, he still has the ability to self reflect on with a grounded honesty. “Being from Donny you don’t expect to get that kind of opportunity and I then got put into the band and then had to deal with everything on the job. Honestly, it was a fucking incredible time in my life that shaped me as an artist and shaped me as a person, I saw some amazing things but it is also nice now to have a little bit more free time because we were so fucking busy and also you know stand on my own two feet and say this is who I am.”

“As far as what’s on my checklist of a credible artist you know they have to write their own tunes, that was always important to me and I did a lot of writing in the band which I think gave me the incredible experience to write now. It was like a crash course, there were so many sessions and I think it’s put me in good stead, but I feel like I’m always getting better as a writer man I feel like with every song I learn a little bit more.”

Although, it’s clear from speaking with Tomlinson that he looks back on those years he spent with the band with all the fondness in the world. Yet the media attention that came with all the success was something that got the better of him at times. “That was hard and I’ve often envied artists from an era where smartphones weren’t around. There were definitely some days where it got the better of me. I suppose you’ve got to be selective on where you go and I learned the hard way from a few different people that you can’t trust. Some people want something out of you and it took me a second to understand, but again I think that helps me have a thicker skin in the real world outside of my job. There are times when I’ve gone through difficult things in my life and I’ve thought certain people haven’t been amazing but it’s part of it, fuck it.”

As our conversation then meandered toward the split of the band and what life was like for Tomlinson after exiting the world of One Direction— which was all that he had known for the entirety of his adult life up until that point. A sense of honest emotion entered his voice, a moment that seemingly suggested that this permanent change was something that was taken from his own control: “It was good to be back doing normal things but I wasn’t ready for the band to go on a break and it came as a shock for me,” Tomlinson exclusively told Far Out Magazine. “It definitely wasn’t my choice but I understand why the decision was made and there’s a good argument for that. I’m enjoying expressing myself now but it rocked me for a time and for a bit and I didn’t know what I was going to do,” he said, vehemently.

From the tone in his voice, it is obvious that the subject is still a relatively raw one for Tomlinson who initially struggled to find the right sound for him following the split of the band—a factor stemmed from his initial reluctance to move solo. From the gravitas of the moment to the importance of his first steps back into music, it was clear that Tomlinson wasn’t ready to be going out on his own so soon after the band’s breakup—a learning curve which other members of the group seemed to overcome in different ways.

The break was initially thought to be just that ‘a break’, but nearly four years after the announcement there are still no signs that the group is entertaining ideas of reuniting anytime soon. With Louis Tomlinson set to release his debut album in January, Liam Payne’s debut LP1 out next month, Harry Styles’ second offering, Fine Line, being made available on December 13th and Niall Horan working on the follow-up to his 2017 Flicker, the One Direction members are firmly in solo mode.

Tomlinson acknowledges that during the final One Direction tour he began to accept that the break was inevitable, admitting: “It had kind of been brewing and we knew the conversation might be coming around but it was just one of those things. It was always going to happen, we were always going to take a break, but I think there are always people who are going to take things better than others.”

Looking on the bright side, however, since the break he has been allowed to live a bit more of a quieter life. From speaking with Tomlinson I get the sense that he’s in this because he loves the music, appreciates the love he gets from fans and loves playing live. However, the celebrity lifestyle that comes with it isn’t why he’s in this game. “I think I can definitely have a bit more of a balance now, there are obviously times when I’m releasing songs or releasing album when it’s really ramped up [...] It’s hard but definitely easier in those off times to have the balance because otherwise when you’re so busy it’s impossible to literally fit everybody into your life. It’s definitely nicer having more time to do normal fucking things,” he adds with an almost sigh of relief.

Tomlinson’s solo career, which has found its feet with emphatic effect and is currently flying high with a sold-out world tour and highly anticipated debut on the horizon, was something that the singer himself had never initially envisioned. With Tomlinson originally wanting to take a back seat in the music industry following the end of the band, he revealed exclusively to Far Out: “I’m not going to lie it hit me hard but it definitely inspired me to get on with my own solo career because it wasn’t something I was always going to do. I was just going to write songs and just hopefully send them to other people and stuff like that, but everything happens for a reason, so they say anyway.”

As the careers of all five members of the band have all taken off, with each turning into different avenues sonically, our conversation then turned to the competitive nature between the band since they went their separate ways. Typically, the avid Doncaster Rovers fan opting to use a hugely specific football analogy to describe the relationship with his former bandmates: “I could be wrong but I think we’ve all got that in us, there’s a competitive side to everyone. I can only speak from personal experience, and as time goes on you understand the differences. It’s not all that relevant but I liken to the feeling at first was that you’ve all been at Barcelona’s youth academy, so we’ll call One Direction ‘Barcelona’ and then we’ve all been put off at different clubs and that takes a second to understand and compute but we’re all still lucky to be able to do it as solo artists.”

Having time off to relax over the last few years for the first time since stepping foot for his X-Factor audition all those years ago, Tomlinson seems to have returned with a renewed love for music and everything that comes with it. For a while, it appears the music was falling second in line to all the hysteria that surrounded his fame—a situation that has been duly rectified.

Next year will see him return to Doncaster as part of his world tour for a very special homecoming and, with that mention, his face lights up with a grin on his face the size of South Yorkshire: “It’s going to be class, I can’t wait for Donny Dome. I don’t feel like my career has fully started until I do that first tour show, it’s all well and good writing songs, releasing songs, doing all the promo and everything that comes with it but the most important fucking thing is that you put on a good show. I started realising the longer that I’ve been in this that there’s a level of importance in these nights to people, especially the avid fanbase that I’m lucky enough to have. You can see from the reactions and look into people’s eyes and see what certain lyrics meant to them.”

What struck me the most from the time I spent with the singer-songwriter was just how grounded he was, seemingly bereft of any level of arrogance and still just that same local lad from Doncaster who began this journey ten years ago. His working-class Yorkshire heritage, he told me, is what has made him the man he is today: “You’ve got to be fucking humble where we’re from you know what I mean? Because otherwise you get called out like ‘who the fuck do you think you are?’”.

The greatest takeaway from our conversation is that Louis Tomlinson is still that music enthusiast that entered the music industry in 2010 who, despite all the success and fame, has managed to stay grounded. With surreal highs came earth-shattering lows—all of which has shaped him in one way or another. Instant success is no longer what he seeks with it now being about the long game for him, this change in attitude is a sign of maturity for Tomlinson who no longer losing sleep about pleasing streaming algorithms.

Having been sitting at the mountain top of the music industry for almost a decade, it seems it is only now he is really getting started with a long-term plan of where he wants his solo-career to go. With a strong sense of support around him, his future and creative vision is firmly in his own hands. With an abundance of experience behind him and has renewed enthusiasm, Louis Tomlinson is finally ready to find his own direction.

Walls is available on 31st January via Sony Music, for tickets to his world tour – visit here for tickets.

#louis tomlinson #29nov19 #far out magazine

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hlupdate · 4 years

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Looking on the bright side, however, since the break he has been allowed to live a bit more of a quieter life. From speaking with Tomlinson I get the sense that he’s in this because he loves the music, appreciates the love he gets from fans and loves playing live. However, the celebrity lifestyle that comes with it isn’t why he’s in this game. “I think I can definitely have a bit more of a balance now, there are obviously times when I’m releasing songs or releasing album when it’s really ramped up and I don’t get to see my boy, Freddie, as much as I’d definitely like to. It’s hard but definitely easier in those off times to have the balance because otherwise when you’re so busy it’s impossible to literally fit everybody into your life. It’s definitely nicer having more time to do normal fucking things,” he adds with an almost sigh of relief.

#louis tomlinson #far out mag #291119 #stunt mention

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shainlov · 4 years

Text

New Years Exchange!!!

@the-sociopathic-jacket I was your gifter! And this is... longer than it was supposed to, I’m so sorry.

Nemuri never forgave herself, but life moves on.

A year before Midnight joined UA staff, she had a difficult case including her family members that no hero should've go through but it’s just such a common trope.

Nemuri Kayama was forever convinced that the case of Sosuke’s killer was going to forever stay her hardest one. Even five years later, she still grieved the boy she didn’t know until a few brief moments before his demise.

If she were to guess when it all began, it would be when she got involved in the case. Though… Sosuke’s... parents would point at her pathetic hero career and shout that it was then when she went to the hero school when she started... she doomed Sosuke to death... because anyone else would’ve done a better job and saved him.

If she never went to the hero school, Sosuke would’ve never attracted the attention of that villain. Or any villain at all.

If she were a smarter woman, a braver-- If not for her incompetence he'd… well, either way, she’s never been the same.

Kayama saw horrible things, but the death of the young boy taken it’s greatest hit on her yet.

She couldn’t bear the guilt alone... she was very bad at handling her feelings on her own. She depended on people to help her to take care of herself when she was at her worst.

Of course, those people weren’t either Present Mic or Eraserhead, they barely held their emotional baggage. It was her wife who helped her through awful episodes each time.

Midnight was ever so slightly jealously looking at a monitor, watching a disgustingly romantic scene playing out between Ms. Joke and Eraserhead - it was the origin of Emi’s “marry me” joke that she repeated endlessly tormenting both Nemuri and Shouta with.

Both of her... friends were very good actors - convincing enough to make Midnight envious, even a little worried about whether they were genuine. She had to pinch herself to calm down and tell herself that Aizawa Shouta was gay. A few times.

Shouta would never answer to the advances of a person he wasn’t attracted to. Shouta would never try to hurt Nemuri either - hell, he asked many times if she was alright with his part in the operation because he knew of her silly crush.

Other than three of them at the scene, there were also two other underground heroes and a nearby police station on alert, waiting tensely for a signal. One of the extra teammates was inside the bar as an immediate back-up, while Midnight was waiting outside with the other guy. Shouta said he's never seen either of them before. It made Midnight wonder about how big the Underground Agency was.

That’s when Nemuri’s mobile meant for hero-related stuff rang. Excusing herself, she stepped out of the van, gladly distracting herself from the monitors.

“Lovely," She murmured to herself, "who’s this?” She answered in her "Midnight" voice, she didn’t recognize the number. Her fans liked to get her phone number from her agency’s site and call her. Some were sweet, while others just plain creepy.

“Mistress Midnight,” The voice on the other end of the line striked her immediately as someone dangerous. She was pretty good at reading people based off of their voice alone. Nobody in her agency had this voice and only those people addressed her as Mistress. “I’d suggest you come to your office quickly and pick it up, you have a very important message there." The person sounded almost giddy, like a little child who got a treat, or rather, in this situation, left someone a treat and wanted to see their reaction to it. With years of hero training and experience, she formed a suspect’s profile. "Time is extendable, but I don’t have forever.” This could be another freaky fan, but her gut was giving her especially bad vibe. “Ah, and don’t worry, we’re going to meet soon.”

Kayama was confused as to what the hell was that supposed to mean, but for now, she returned to the van. She was still on her mission and she had to keep the watch in case of Shouta and Emi requesting a back-up. Stepping back into the van, she bumped into the underground hero guy.

He shouted at her to get out there and "do her thing" because the operation was going to shit.

Alright then.

Nemuri counted herself as a part of the case ever since the villain called her phone which led her... home. The home of a naive pretty little girl who grew too fond of heroes and aspired to become like them.

Which resulted in the pretty little girl getting kicked out.

At 4 AM, about five hours after apprehending the villain gang and sending them into jail, Nemuri was sitting in her office.

Her leg bouncing as she looked at her phone. She had only a few saved numbers - only people she trusted were there, but there was an exception. There were two numbers saved of people she didn't trust one bit, and the missed calls came from them.

Back then, the agency building was her only home - she had a side room off of her big office - where she lived. Her office was modest, the only pieces of furniture were a desk, three leather armchairs, and her chair on wheels. The walls were covered praising articles and her posters, and also a sue for "too revealing outfit". She won that lawsuit by saying that the costume-regulation laws weren't established yet. They served as amusement for her bad mood.

In her desk's drawer, there were letters from her fans, police officers, some secret admirers and not-so-secret ones. She never responded because of her brand, and the other reason was... well, she was irreversibly lesbian. Male advances flattered her, but she wasn't interested.

"Hard to get" was helping her to sell more merchandise.

Below that drawer, she held some private things - like embarrassing photos of her cousins and aunts - and her identification documents. Only a small fraction though, she knew how things could get messy, and the most important stuff were kept in the side room, where she was the sole person who had access. It was relatively small and consisted of a pull-out couch and a wardrobe, and a small kitchen, and it connected to a bathroom with a shower and bathtub.

She used the shower at around 1 AM and ever since has been sitting motionlessly only changing the object that she was blankly staring at. The leather armchair in her office already dried from the water her wet tangled hair left.

Two notifications read:

You have missed 4 call(s) from Father

You have missed 17 call(s) from Mother

...and Midnight was… puzzled.

What was she supposed to do? The Kayamas have disowned her ages ago! What could’ve they wanted from her? They had everything! She was their disappointment! Her parents disowned her when she got into the hero school because she didn't want to play "status", and "power", and "house".

She disobeyed and went against what her parents thought was best for her. What was she even to them after all? A doll? They've married out of love and she was supposed to be sold? What's fair in that?

Pretty face, no brains and talented at dress-up games - that's what she started as. She still had little to no brain, but she wasn't useless anymore.

Surely, there was no emotional attachment to her. After all, they threw her out of her--their home. Well, not officially, and since that wasn't legal and they didn't want to be labeled as child abusers by abandoning her, they got her an apartment, moved her things and paid for it until she was 21.

She got her act together, unlocked the phone to look at dozens of missed texts.

Most of them were demanding to call back as soon as possible. When that list ended, she noticed the gap between this flood of texts and the last ones she sent them on New Year’s Eve back when she was 22 and hoped that she could fix their relationship... somehow.

So, not minding the hour, she called. It took two attempts - each to different parent - before Mother picked up. Her voice sounded… weary.

“Hello?”

“What happened?” Midnight didn’t quite sit well with the fact she was talking to her parents after promising herself to not look back.

“Nemuri?” The surprise in the woman’s voice that answered the phone was no wonder - she didn’t hear Nemuri’s voice for straight-up over ten years.

“Yeah. Why were you calling me?”

“Well… it’s about Sosuke, yo-- my son.” Nemuri flinched at that.

Of course, her parents wouldn’t know about her being aware of who Sosuke Kayama was. Her mother didn’t tell her she was pregnant, she officially hasn’t met him, she never talked with him. Nemuri was disowned sixteen years ago, and Sosuke was fourteen.

When she heard her mother went into labor, she sneaked into the hospital to greet her replacement and wish him good luck, but after that, she didn’t make any effort to contact him.

“What about him?” She kept her voice flat.

“He’s been kidnapped and it’s your fault.” Kayama Saori’s voice was sweet in her perfume commercials, but now it made Nemuri want to throw up. She leaned forward with her ear pressed to the phone. The heroine didn’t know whether she wanted to start apologizing or to throw the phone yelling that it wasn’t her fault.

“It’s not. Did you call to send me hate mail?” For the first few moments, it didn’t reach Nemuri that she was talking about a kidnapping over a phone. She never came to accept that her mother and father rejected her. So now, thoughts processed slower than usual.

“They want you to be the one to find him. You HAVE TO do this.”

“They?” Nemuri frowned, slightly surprised her mother hasn’t broken into wails yet. That was unusual…

“Yes. Whoever did this.”

It’s a game then?

Midnight bit at her thumb frustrated. Her little brother-- Sosuke was in danger because of her hero career? Was that true?

“I’ll call the police to question you, I am not a detective.” She said simply going for the disconnect button.

“No police or else he will be killed. Hurry.” Her mother hissed before she hung up. That left Nemuri frozen in her seat. So it was because of her.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848440

#midjoke #midnight x ms joke #bnha #bnha new years exchange #the gift #uwu

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shyvioletcat · 5 years

Text

Shot in the Night

I’m just so excited for this. That is all. Let me know what you think.

When her parents died in a horrific car crash Elide was only 7. So young that much of who her parents were has become a blur of memory and feeling. Since that night Elide’s life had spiralled downward into the bleak existence it now was.

The court and legal powers ruled that Elide be placed in the care of her uncle who was also to be given control over the Lochan estate and all its assets. Cal and Marion Lochan had been the head of management of the Terrasen Hotel in their home city of Perranth. To say they had been successful would be an understatement, they knew how to do their job and they did their job well. And all that wealth went straight to Elide’s uncle.

But all that wealth and power wasn’t meant to go to Vernon Lochan. In the will it stated that Elide, along with everything her parents owned, would go to the Galathynius family who would look after Elide until she came of age. But the car crash had not only killed the Lochans, but also Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius, their closest friends. In lieu of a valid will the courts had done what they thought best and put Elide with her last remaining relative.

Vernon Lochan was not a good man. He saw the opportunity of that enormous fortune and took full advantage of the situation. But he lacked the business smarts that his brother had and within a few years that wealth that was meant for Elide was squandered away and the Terrasen hotel in Perranth was self destructing due to all of Vernon’s terrible decisions. He had to sell it, there was no other choice.

That was how Elide had ended up here. A dingy little motel on the outskirts of Perranth. Is was frequented enough that it kept itself afloat. It offered affordable accommodations close to the casino so they got a myriad of patrons. Older groups of women on trips, hens and stag parties, bitter men who had lost everything after spending hours and hours at the casino, and couples who paid by the hour.

And Elide, she did everything.

She was at the reception desk, she cleaned the rooms, she kept the books. Anything the the motel needed, it was Elide who did it. There was one other employee, an older woman named Finnula, a cleaner who was paid a pittance compared to the amount of work she did. Unfortunately Elide could not help Finnula in that regard, the closest person she had to a friend. Because the only thing Elide didn’t do was control the money. Vernon did. He had the accounts tied up so well that the only way Elide could get money for anything was to go through him.

That’s why she was still here, just over 10 years later. Elide had no where to go and no means at all the get herself there. As soon as she finished school she had worked at the motel every day and every night, too tired and hopeless to dream of anything more.

Elide rubbed her eyes as she sat by the computer screen. She was going over the incoming guests booked via the Internet. She suspected that the large group booked under the name Jeff Griggs aged 22 were going to be troublesome. She predicted at least two bits of broken furniture and heavy consumption from the mini bar and Elide was hardly ever wrong. It was both a pro and a con, the furniture was the real bother but Vernon jacked the prices up so high on the minibar items that it would practically pay for itself.

“Elide!”

Elide grimaced at the command barked from the other room, but stood regardless and walked from computer in the lounge room to the kitchen. Vernon stood by the stove cooking what looked to be eggs. This surprised Elide but she was smart enough not to say anything about it. He didn’t acknowledge Elide as she stood in the doorway.

“I need you to go pick up the drinks,” Vernon said as he flipped the eggs over in the pan.

Elide sighed. That explained it, he must have been hungry if her couldn’t wait the hour or so for Elide to get back.

Elide glanced at her watch. “You want me to go now? It’s 7:30.”

“If I wanted you to go at another time, I would have asked you to go at that time.”

“Yes Uncle,” Elide said as she grabbed the keys and headed out the front door.

Elide limped down the stairs that led up from the small apartment above the motels front desk reception. She hated sharing that tiny two bedroom apartment with her Uncle. Some nights she would sneak off into one of the empty rooms for just some semblance of space. Some semblance of peace.

Elide started the car and pulled out onto the road. She glanced at at the tank. As usual there was just enough fuel in the car to get Elide to where she needed to go, and that was it. It was just another sick game by her uncle. The illusion of freedom, but always that chain that bound her to him. This time her destination was to an old friend of Vernon’s that imported knock of brands of alcohol, watery and disgusting, but it had the right label for charging a higher price. And it wasn’t just the fuel, he prepaid for the products so Elide never had the need to carry money with her.

Elide flicked on the radio, some inane pop song played and Elide turned the radio back off almost immediately. She preferred the quiet anyway.

The drive to pick up Vernon’s order was uneventful. She ignored the snide remarks from her Uncle’s associate as he loaded the disgusting liquids into the boot of the car and left.

It was on the drive back home that Elide ran into trouble.

She was driving along a road that wasn’t commonly used, thanks to the out of town location of the product pick up, when Elide felt an thump like she had run over a pothole. But then she felt a vibration throughout the car then a flapping noise and the car started to pull to the left. Elide tried to keep calm as she pull to the side of the road.

Elide pushed her hair back out of her face before undoing her seatbelt and got out of the car to look for the problem.

“You’ve got to be kidding me...” Elide whispered to herself.

Elide stopped by the front left tyre. It was flat. Proper, likely to cause further damage and a car crash kind of flat. What made the situation worse is that Elide didn’t have a spare tyre, and even if she did she didn’t know how to change a tyre.

Elide pulled out her cell phone. A basic thing that called and texted nothing else, the kind you give children in case they get lost and need to call their parents. Her uncle’s number was the only number that she had saved so she called it. Over and over. He didn’t pick up.

A steady stream of expletives ran through Elide’s head as she sat on the front bonnet of the car. Elide didn’t know what to do.

One hour passed, Elide just sat on the car dialling her uncle every 10 minutes or so. Still he didn’t pick up. Elide was at a loss, she didn’t know what to do. Then she heard someone coming down the road, the opposite way to which she had been heading. Looking up she saw a single headlight coming towards her and she realised it was a motorcycle. Elide sat up a little straighter as the motorcycle slowed down as it passed her, but it didn’t stop. Elide scoffed at her luck and dialled that damned number again. That was when she heard the motorcycle approaching again.

Elide turned to see the bike coming towards her and she squinted against the brightness of the headlight. The rider pulled over a few metres in front of Elide and dismounted. The lights of her own car silhouetted the rider and Elide watched as the rider took off her helmet, her moon white hair catching in the light of the actual moon. Besides that Elide couldn’t make out much else in the darkness.

“Need some help?” The woman asked as came to stand on front of Elide.

“Um...” Elide said quietly, gathering herself after the shock of someone actually stopping to help her and she hopped down off the car and indicated to the tyre. “Flat tyre.”

It was then how pointless the help of the motorcycle rider was going to be. She obviously didn’t have a spare on her, and they were so far from anything. The stranger approached the problem and pulled out her phone, flicking the torch light on before crouching down to get a better look. After inspecting the damage she let out a low whistle.

“Yep. That tyre is officially gone. Do you have a spare?”

“No.” Elide said flatly, resigning herself to calling her uncle for the nest hour until he hopefully answered.

“What’s your name?” The stranger asked.

“Elide,” replied flatly.

“I’m Manon. Do you have someone who can help?”

Elide felt herself physically wilt and let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah.”

“That didn’t sound too convincing,” Manon said as she came to stand in front of Elide.

“My uncle, I’ve been trying to call him,” Elide explained.

“For how long?”

“Over an hour.”

“Well Elide, this is the way I see it. You can sit here by yourself and call your uncle and hope he answers. Or you can come with me. I’m on my way to meet some friends. Many of whom have cars. I’m sure one of them would be happy to help. Trust me, they’re that kind of people.”

It was like Manon had read the expression of Elide’s face. The I highly doubt any of these strangers would drive out into the middle of nowhere to help someone they don’t know look.

“Are you sure?” Elide said rubbing at her arms.

“Yes.”

That was all Manon said before she turned back to her motorcycle, expected Elide to follow no doubt. Which Elide did after she grabbed the keys out of the ignition and locked the car. Everything else that she would need was already in her pockets. Manon was unhooking another helmet before from the rear seat of the motorcycle when Elide caught up to her.

“Do you have a jacket?” Manon asked.

“No.” Elide was wearing only a light sweater and and jeans.

“I don’t have any other gear besides the helmet so you’ll just have to hope we don’t crash.”

Elide was glad that it was dark and Manon couldn’t see how her face paled. She had never ridden a motorcycle before, they always seemed like loud unstable death traps to her. But now Elide was out of options.

Manon didn’t wait for an invitation and pushed the helmet onto Elide’s head. If she was being honest, Elide found Manon’s frank and abrupt manner a little disconcerting, which was not making her any more eager to get on the back of the motorcycle. Elide buckled the helmet herself as Manon turned and mounted the motorcycle and started it up. The sudden noise in the quiet night made Elide jump. Manon just waved her on from where she sat on the bike.

Elide shrugged to herself. Surely their paths had crossed for reason. Maybe only to help Elide to get out of this miserable situation. Each step Elide took towards the bike Elide’s stomach tightened and her anxiety rose, but she pushed it down as she awkwardly mounted the bike behind Manon. Manon didn’t bother with words and pulled Elide’s arms around her waist, tapping her forearm twice as if to say to hold on tight.

Then Manon revved and kicked off and they were moving. Elide lurched at the sudden movement and gripped Manon’s waist tighter. Riding the motorcycle was both thrilling and terrifying. Elide felt as though they could die at any moment, any shift of weight in the wrong direction, if they took a corner too tightly, there was nothing between them and the road. But the speed and the freedom that Elide felt as the cold night air rushed past her, it made her want to laugh from the burst of pure adrenaline.

Sooner than Elide expected they were in the city, the streets and lights passing in a blur. Then Manon slowed down and pulled to the curb.

“You first.”

Manon’s voice was muffled as it sounded through the helmet. Elide got off the bike, stumbling awkwardly from willing her cold and stiff limbs to move. Then she took off her helmet, blinking at the lights and the clearer sounds. Elide looked up and saw where they had stopped and her stomach dropped.

Terrasen Hotel

A group of people stood outside the front doors, many of them turning when Manon pulled up. Elide didn’t take much notice, she was too busy staring at the hotel, so many emotions running through her.

“Who’s this Manon? Sure doesn’t look like Dorian. Since when do you pick up strays?”

Elide looked to the owner of the voice who had broken away from the group to approach Manon and her. Elide’s hand went to her chest, her breathing turning heavy and uneven.

“Aelin?”

Brilliant turquoise eyes snapped to hers and the brows above them furrowed in confusion. Then Aelin’s face went slack as she recognised Elide.

“Elide? Elide Lochan?”

~~~~~

Tags: @fucking-winchester-trash @literary-licorice @galyxsy @darknessinthediamond

#elorcan #elorcan fanfiction #throne of glass #sarah j maas #throne of glass fanfiction

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