#zenfic
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It's Manual Fucking Labor (Luci/fer)
Been working on this one for a bit. I love the delicious rivalry between Al and Luci, so I toyed with that a bit and made it spicy with some snz. I also am really enjoying the text flair I'm getting to play with for all these characters, so I hope yall are liking that. Ahaha. Enjoy!!
“That one needs to go over here!” Charlie points as she heaves one of the freshly slated planks of wood for the hotel revamp. “Can you cut three more for us, dad?” she smiles sweetly at Lucifer who sits crosslegged in front of a pile of wood.
He nods, dragging the back of his arm across his forehead. “I, uh, I’ll go head and do that, sure.”
Her eyes are bright and full, like the sun he never saw. “Dad,” she beams at him, “thank you for this.”
He tilts his head, “For what, Char Char?”
“For helping. For putting in so much effort. For,” she pats one of the planks, “for wanting to do it this way.”
Lucifer’s brows rise. “Th-this way?”
Charlie strides off before he can ask her to elaborate. His eyes flick back to the uncut wood and his lips tip down in a pout.
“Problem?” A staticky trill sends Lucifer’s hackles up.
“What?” Lucifer snaps, grabbing one of the slabs of wood, dragging a sharp claw deftly down the middle and cutting it as if it were a razor saw. Small fluffy flakes snow the air around him, making his cheeks fuzz. “Hhhfff…” his brow scrunches and a flush spreads from the circles on his cheeks. “Hieh--HiSFFH!”
Alastor skips over, peering down in amusement as sawdust skitters all around the fallen angel.
“Hm, quite shoddy,” the Radio Demon observes, tapping his cane against the plank with a squeal of feedback.
Lucifer finishes cutting the planks and coughs, wringing out his hands. “It’s manual labor, Alastor. I doubt you’d understand how to even do it.”
“Ooooh I see.” Alastor leans dolefully on his cane, “bonding with our dear Charlie with handmade projects?”
Lucifer sniffles, scrubbing his face with his whole fist. “Mh-hyep.”
The smugness surges by 60%. “Ohh, are we having trouble??”
“No! Of hh-c-course n--” Lucifer’s voice starts to pitch higher and higher, “Hig’Sshieu!”
Alastor lets out a keening laugh.
“Fuck off, Alastor, before I make you,” Lucifer growls.
Alastor tuts at him. “No need to be cranky, your highness.” He pulls out a red and black handkerchief, but Lucifer waves it off with a cool huff.
“I don’t need your hanky panky.”
A whistle of radio silence whines in their ears. Lucifer cocks a black eyebrow.
“What? What’d I say?”
Alastor sighs and tucks the cloth back into his suit pocket. “Not that you’d use it without a nose, anyway.”
“Hey!” Lucifer snaps, fangs glinting. “It’s complicated!”
“Far be it from me to inquire how your…extremities manifest.”
“You--snf--you--hieh!”
Alastor cups a hand over his ear, patiently waiting for the rest of the sentence, nothing but sass in his daggerlike smirk.
“I-I’m gonna--hhg’HGx’SHIeu!” This time, several puffs of flame escape from between his fangs, and Charlie finally realizes something is going on with her dad.
She hurries over after setting down what she was working on. “Dad, what’s wrong?”
Lucifer palms the spreading flush on his cheek and gives an unconvincing bray of a laugh, “Noh-huh-thing! Nothing at all! Perfectly fine!”
Alastor hums, lifting one of the smaller slabs of wood, his stance casually askew. “Of course he is, Charlie!” he saunters toward Lucifer, ever the helpful little elf. “He was just about to get started on--oh, my, let me just…” the Radio Demon scrapes his hand across the wood, brushing the powder from the last sawing off of it and directly into Lucifer’s fucking face.
“There we are! Oh dear…” Alastor feigns concern as small spirals of smoke begin to coil out of Lucifer’s snarled lips.
That fuck! He did that on phhh-pur-hhh!
His face scrunches, fangs peeking, rimmed by an orange glow as he lets out high pitched whines, “Ieh hiiih! HIP’CHSS’IEψ!” flames mist like aerosol, catching the flakes of wood shavings and motes of dust in its heat, cooking them into flakes of gray ash. The hellfire rejoices but the King sighs.
He wipes away fresh tears and lets a vague chuckle out. “Ah, Charlie, sweetie, perhaps we could speed up the process? I could just, ah,” he angles his elbows and dances his arms, “Zap a bap!” he does a little finger gun shot. “Yeah?”
“Ah, poor, Charlie,” Alastor clucks his tongue, fingers drumming across her shoulder, “I know how excited you were to do this by hand with your father--what was it you said? A bonding moment?” his voice is anything but altruistic. “But if he can’t handle it, I suppose it would be best to do things the easy way…” his teeth clack caustically.
Lucifer seethes. his teeth warping and curling. “I’m fine,” he decides, fighting back a throatful of air.
“A-are you sure, dad?”
Lucifer flaps his hand dramatically. “Absotively! Don’t w-Huh! Worry!”
Charlie doesn’t look one hundred percent convinced but if he says he’s fine, and wants to continue, then they’ll continue. She gives him two more boards to cut and hurries off to work on another section.
Lucifer turns back to the unfinished planks, his shoulders simmering with translucent fog. Alastor continues to observe in silent amusement.
“Are you going to help at all?”
“Maybe.”
Rrgh. Lucifer throws himself to a standing position, muttering under his breath. I swear to me, if Charlie didn't like that guy I would…
Well, there’s a lot he would do. Especially if he were…”Hiiet--”
Fuck me to here!
He needs to get a handle on the fucking fire. “Hgk…” Lucifer gulps the throatful of heat, his body taut with a shiver. His fingers squeeze the plank he’s holding and… ”Hi-ih-IEH⛧GHSHHIEUψu!”
Instead of flames, five feathers pop out and flit around the short King, catching the breeze and running off into the wind. A couple of them float near Alastor who looks irritated at them, waving them away with a chop of his hand and a staticky, “How very uncouth…”
Lucifer’s pride flares and his grin grows wicked.
“Weelllll,” he unfurls his six wings, exaggerating them with a flex. “I better get this installed up there.”
Lucifer quakes his wings and smacks them down, clouding the ground below his knees with dust and shavings. He shoots into the air, spinning away from the source of his allergens as he rubs at his teary eyes and flushed cheeks.
Fuck Alastor, that prick. He deserves a bit of karma. Would Lucifer really be at fault if he were flying and he just happened to lose a few feathers? If they just by chance were to fall into that jackass’s face??
As Lucifer flies, a few feathers wilt from his wings--by accident of course! And, as predicted by divine oracle, they just happen to float down near the red haired Radio Demon, currently distracted while helping Charlie with something frivolous, Lucifer is certain.
The feather drifts…soft downy catching the dying light in a soft pink glow. Slow, deliberate. It coils, totally by accident of course, right down beside the Radio Demon, and nudges the left side of his nostril. He blinks, now distracted from his work. His crimson eyes flit up but another brush of the cottony down makes his lids ripple shut.
“Hh-hh!”
His shoulders spike and he thrusts a hand up to shoo away the feather, “Ss٨ﮩﮩZH! Hgk٨ـﮩﮩ”
“Alastor!” Charlie spins in surprise when his mic clatters to the ground.
He gives a feeble attempt to wave her away but she puts an arm around him comfortingly.
“Are you alright? Maybe you should sit down. You just recovered after all--”
Lucifer watches with an indignant pout as his daughter comforts the wrong person. He doesn’t miss the not-so-subtle flash of Alastor’s smug grin as he allows Charlie to lead him away, leaving Lucifer to finish the rest of the work by himself.
God fucking dammit.
#I haven't done sawdust allergies like EVER#and it's been on my mind since hubby did some manual LABOR AHAHA#so yeah i had to do this#next fic will likely be my ocs because i'm very nearly done with that LSSR fic#but for my haz/bin fam thank yall for pushing me to finish this!!#what a ride!!#snz#snz fic#zen fanfic#haz/bin#luc/ifer#al/astor#allergies#sawdust allergies#snzfic#zenfic
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Petrichor Memory (Beckett)
Finally FINALLY more Beckett. And, after Annis demanded to be a main character, I spent some time developing her and woooof I sure love her so much. So, here's a drabble where she drags Beckett on a ghost banishing quest. Yes, these stories are getting plotty. I can't help myself. Enjoy!
Beckett's voice cracks as he calls ahead to the figure bobbing and weaving, as if dancing at a ball rather than picking her way down the bleak edge of a less savory village.
“Ms. Doughtry…”
“Annis.” She calls back, her voice light but assertive. “You shall call me Annis.”
“Beckett flushes, and picks up speed to match her stride.
She wears a lace bowknot bonnet that matches her dark bodice, embroidered to look like spiderwebs silked across her chest, spilling to her waist and fanning down to crown her thighs in a parasol of inked webs.
Her dark eyebrow quirks with amusement when she sees him staring. “What compels you to call me Ms. Doughtry? Social status?” She taps a thin, manicured nail to her heart shaped chin. “Hm. Then as social status dictates, you must adhere to my wishes. And my wish is for you to call me Annis. Now that that is settled, let us move on to matters of importance.”
She plucks her skirts so they don't trail the damp boards of the deck they've approached and leads Beckett further from shore.
He smells the tang of salt and silica. A fishing harbor. The boards groan with the weight of their new visitors and they pause halfway down.
“Why are we here?” he tugs the collar of his sweaty blouse. “Miss Annis?”
Her rouged lips are so bright, even in such darkness. At the graves, her frown is pinched in mourning. Respectfully, as one should. But here, it is unleashed. She smiles when he says her first name and it makes his chest flutter.
“What happened here?” he asks.
She kneels, cautiously, sweeping her ivory fingers across the fractured wood. It strikes Beckett as quite strange she is not wearing gloves, as a woman of status.
“Someone perished here.”
“You can sense them?”
She rises and looks at him. “Occasionally. But that's not how I know.”
He tilts his head.
“Your nose itches,” she explains.
“E-excuse me?” he sputters. “How would you…”
She lets out a tiny laugh, “Your brow creases. Right,” she presses two of her clean fingers to his temple, “here.”
The action felt more intimate than it should have and Beckett feels his face flush with all the heat in his body.
She spins about face, straightening with renewed sincerity. She seems so whimsical one moment, then demure in a flash.
“One of the deceased here is possessing locals, using them to copulate.” She flutters her wrist. “Not that I blame her for desiring a body for carnal needs but if it is not consensual, it must be stopped.” She braids her fingers and looks at Beckett expectantly.
“And you want me to do…what?” he asks.
“Kf,” she covers a chuckle. “Beckett, you are the expert, not I.” She shoos him playfully toward the accumulating mist now frothing the docks.
Beckett takes a few tenuous steps, boots heavy with unease.
The mist coalesces, thickening into a more defined but translucent form of a ghoulish woman. Her whiplike gown drags through the planks like chopped ribbons. Her glowing eyes find his and Beckett shudders throughout his body.
Annis rasps behind him but his ears are buzzing with the winds of undeath.
“S-spirit,” he gulps dry air. “I would request that you please leave the people here in peace.”
The ghost glows at him as if he said nothing at all. Naught a shift in the wind indicates a change in her demeanor.
Annis makes a noise of annoyance. It prickles Beckett.
“Spirit--you must leave. Now.” He actually sounded forceful that time. Now, the ghost cocks her head to the side, hair spilling like a silver waterfall.
“Why,” she surges forward, making Beckett stumble back, “would I do that?”
Beckett’s throat rumbles with a cough, his face buzzing with pent up energy. “I.. I - hih! Nnn…”
“Beckett…” Annis whispers, closer now.
“I n-need you-heh… t-to go hng! Ekg-CzGH!” He catches a stifle in the collar of his shirt and snuffles. “Leave! Right n-now!”
A silver lip protrudes from her ghostly face. “You won’t grant my last request?”
Beckett pauses his nose scrubbing and hesitates. “What…do you want?”
Her voice lilts, “What do I want?”
She flows toward him like ribbons dancing in a breeze. Her voice timbres and melts into a buttery whisper. “A kiss…” the sound edges until her lips end up icing the lobe of his ear.
Beckett nearly throws himself backward. His ankle strikes and upturns a box, spilling its contents of fishing nets, warped metals, and other items.
“I--uh--I--”
She stalks his steps as he backpedals.
“Hng--I…” she must know he can’t. All the other ghosts do. They can sense it. They can feel the pull of their spirits. How their mist clings to his insides, buzzes within him. Aggravates and irritates.
Until…
“I c-c-cahh…”
Beckett’s body bumps against something warm. Annis’s fingers wrap around his biceps and she tethers him.
“Oh Beckett! Can’t you?” the teasing lilt in her voice surprises Beckett.
He spins on her and his mouth guppies, “You-you wish me to--?”
Annis’s throat bubbles with a subtle giggle. “A kiss with a ghost,” her lips press together. “Rather amusing, no?” She squeezes his arms, almost comforting, but there’s a glint beneath her oiled lashes. “It is not as if you haven’t done this before, dear Beckett.”
His bones turn to stone. “W-what?”
Did she just imply--
“Kiss me!!!” The spirit moans, flowing toward him. Beckett’s heart speeds and he braces as the spirit’s cold translucent hands cup his cheeks.
Her lipless mouth meets his and…
He feels nothing but cold air. Well, that and…”Ihh…” he tries to hold firm. Truly, he does. But her spirit sways in and out of his and each time it does, “hih-ih-hieh!”
Annis’s breaths begin to quicken as well, likely from anxiety. Her fingers drum against her lips and cheek, her face flushing a rosy pink.
“Oh dear…”
Beckett’s nostrils open wider and with each scoop of air, more of the spirit gets sucked in.
“Hhh-p-plee-hieh!”
Beckett moans the final hitch. He can’t take it any more. His jaw has lowered, his lungs are full, his back is arched. His body is ready and it’s done listening to his pleas.
“HP’sHw!” Even his attempt to keep it contained still sends him bending fully forward, spritzing the deck with droplets and silvery wisps of ghost flesh.
“HF’SHH-IEEhh!” he’s not quite “IYssshHH!!” done. “Hhhyyy’IEE’SHHH-IEUuuu!”
That one sent him into a stumble.
Annis instinctively places a hand on his back, one arm wrapping around his waist to prevent him from tumbling over completely. Her hold on him is firmer than he would have expected from her.
Gasping, Beckett rights himself, and he feels the brush of Annis’ chest against his back.
She clears her throat and steps back once he’s secure. “Are you well, Beckett?” Her voice is slightly cracked, different from her usual confident tone.
Beckett scrubs the remaining itch from his nose and sniffles, “Yes, I believe so.”
“Good.”
Annis smooths wrinkles from her bonnet, not meeting his eyes. “Well, that was one way to do it.”
“Do what?”
She finally looks at him, “Banish…the ghost?” she frowns.
He mirrors her confused expression.
“You don't remember that either?” she asks.
“What do you mean either?”
Annis leans back, her spine arched, and folds her knuckle under her chin in a miniscule pout.
Beckett finally feels more than a twinge of frustration at her. “Apologies ma'am but I really must know what in hells you are--”
“If I may?” She reaches her hand out for him, fingers barely grazing his coarse curls. He jerks back at first but her hesitation as she waits for permission to advance calms him.
He swallows, throat bobbing. “What…are your intentions with me?” he asks pointedly.
She titters a laugh. “Nothing unsavory!” Her eyebrow lifts coyly and he thinks he hears her mumble, “unless you wish for it to be…”
He nods and allows her to carry on. He feels her warm fingers on his neck--such a stark contrast to the ghost’s touch that he leans into it. He imagines he hears a doting murmur from Annis as she parts his locks in search of…something.
In seconds, she pauses, observing. Then, with a conclusive hum, she moves away, face an analytical mask.
“What is it?” Beckett asks.
Annis tugs the brim of her bonnet over her brow and plucks her skirt off the squalid deck. “Nothing unexpected. Come now.” She begins to sway back up toward the street. “I must attend to other things.”
Beckett frowns after her.
What the hells was that about?
#am i planning to make Annis fet?#that will surprise no one tbh#i have zero self control#more to come#i have like 3 beckett fics currently half written#they just need the good ol polish#hope yall like ghosty stuff#rrreeeee#snz#snz fic#paranormal snz#allergies#oc beckett#oc annis#snzfic#zenoc#zenfic#snz kink
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Cleaning Up Asgard (TVA Loki AU)
Between Quantumania and the new Loki season, I had to write a fic for my favorite trickster. This is based in the AU where Loki is working for the TVA, correcting timelines and stuff. Got some banter, some brotherly love, some action, and ofc, some illness.
The portal widens enough to step through. The entryway into Asgard is as mystifying as ever. Sure, he’s used to seeing places from the past--places that have been wiped from existence--but Asgard…it’s just different.
Different and the same.
Loki steps out of the portal, his boots clipping tiny echos across the marbled floor. He knows he’s alone in the chilly white blanched hall. Still, he must be quick. Patrols will be by soon. He inhales the familiar scents of magic, mutton, and nostalgia. That gripping deja vu he gets every time he takes a mission in his former home.
He doesn’t have time to reminisce though. He’s here because of…well, because of himself. What’s new?
This timeline is threatened because the Loki from this moment has received an offer from a higher power to kill Thor. Remove him from the playing board. Loki doesn’t know who is behind this--that is a whole other problem that Mobius is working on--but Loki’s mission here is to prevent himself, this other self, from taking action against Thor.
Currently, this timeline’s Loki is glamoured as Odin, presiding over Asgard as King. Loki feels he might be able to reason with himself. If he can’t convince himself to do something, who could?
Green light flickers down Loki’s body and his appearance is now that of a royal guard.
This mission shouldn’t be too difficult, even with the general weariness enveloping Loki like a woolen blanket wrapped tight. Mobius insisted he must be falling ill. But that’s nonsense. Yes, Loki has been more sickly than the average god, but he would know if he were sick.
It would be more than a scratch in his throat. More than a slight drip from his nose now and then. More than a sudden, unprovoked sneeze. More than a sense of vertigo when he camouflaged himself.
No, there would be more happening if he were ill.
As if to spite him, pinpricks blaze through his nose and he doubles over, “HN-gshk’T!”
Damn it all. He might actually be sick. The mere act of straightening back up sends twinges down his spine.
Very well. Even so. Loki has accomplished many things while ill. Malaise will never stop him.
He strides through the hall with purpose, heading toward Odin’s chambers. Or would he be on the throne now? Hm…
Paused in the center of the wide hall, Loki rubs his chin in thought. And he hears someone approaching. The footsteps sound aggressive, the sweep of a cloak snapping through the hall. Loki’s heart speeds. He whirls to see his brother storming down the hall, toward him.
“Where is my father?” he asks, voice booming.
Loki composes himself, doing his damndest to resist the urge to rub his nose. “I am not sure,” he quickly adds, “your highness.”
Thor looks peeved. “You are sworn to guard my father, yet you do not know where he is?”
Loki’s lips rub together. “He sent me on an errand. I am returning from the task.”
“What errand was so important to send his personal guard?”
“I…” Shit. Normally, Loki is quite good at improvisation. If his damned nose would stop itching-- “I am not at liberty to say, my prince.”
Thor considers him for a moment, then nods. “Very well. We shall seek him out together.” He takes long strides down the hall, expecting the guard (Loki) to follow.
Loki falls into step behind Thor, using the chance to swipe at his nose. His finger grazes his left nostril, but instead of controlling the itch, the touch ignites it.
“HHhh-!”
Loki squeezes his nostrils with his palm, but the fight is lost. He feels it peak before the sneeze spills out of him.
“HX-gnh” his shoulders shudder, but he’s confident he stifled well.
He sniffles thickly, head tilting back up to see Thor staring at him. Angrily.
“No,” Thor breathes. His eyes are a storm. Loki can see clouds. Rain. And...
Lightning.
Fingers wrap around Loki’s neck, making him gasp as he is shoved against the wall.
“Hgk--What in Odin’s name--”
Thor squeezes tighter. “Drop your illusion,” Thor commands.
Shit. Sneezing must have caused a flicker in his disguise. He needs to explain. He needs to think. He needs…khghhh…to breathe…
“Now!” Thor bellows, thunder cracking with his voice. The wall splinters and Loki’s vision darkens.
Loki flings off the glamour, revealing himself--an older version of the Loki Thor remembers.
Thor’s mouth gapes. “Brother?” he releases Loki and sucks in a breath. “How…” he takes a step back, “Where…” then, anger curls his lip, “I thought you were dead! I cried for you! I--”
“Mourned for me, yes I know,” Loki pants as he massages his neck. He straightens, “Well, I am alive, as you can see. But I have important business to attend to--”
“How long have you…what have you been doing?”
Loki sighs. This is going to take some time, time he does not have. He’s tempted to stasis his brother until he can get things taken care of, but it takes quite a bit of magic to hold a stasis bubble, and if anyone enters the magical dome, Thor would be released immediately. It is not a very efficient spell.
“Loki, if you are here for the throne--”
“Don’t be daft,” Loki waves his hand. “I am one hundred percent not interested.”
This seems to surprise Thor. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’d be shocked if you did, dear brother.”
“I will not let you roam these halls alone,” Thor says. “Tell me what you are up to. Or I shall detain you myself and bring you to Odin.”
Loki holds up his hands, “No need for that, I--hhh--” he closes his eyes, shaking off the tickle. I will not be interrupted by a damn sneeze!
“I am…” Loki’s teeth grind together. He was hoping to avoid this, but at least he can salvage it by erasing Thor’s memory of him later. “I’m from the future.”
Thor looks at him as if he just told him…well, you can imagine the look on Thor’s face.
“The future?” he looks amused now.
“Yes. This timeline is in danger. Odin has been brainwashed and is plotting to imprison and kill you.”
Thor belts out a laugh. “I see! And you, Loki, God of Lies and Mischief, are here to save me? From my father?”
Loki sags. All the times he’s lied and of course Thor chooses now not to believe him. Granted, he still is lying. But only a little!
“Brother, what I tell you is the tru--”
“I will not allow you to scheme your way to the throne again--” Thor takes a crackling step forward.
Loki needs to think--fast. But ihhh…it’s so hhhhhard…
Thor is still angry. He is as stubborn as ever. Loki needs to convince him not to imprison him or outright kill him on the spot. He does so have a temper. But…hhh--”hng”...first…
Thor’s body flashes green and he freezes in place. Loki is just a toe out of reach of the stasis dome.
Thank the stars.
Loki pinches his nose, quickstepping around the corner, shoulders tight as he sips air.
“Hhg’KTSH! Igxsshh! Exx’shh-ieh!” His cupped hand catches each one, the third leaving him sucking in a breath and groaning as his head lolls back against the cool marble.
Oh. That feels so much better. But now his bones are starting to ache, and he can feel his pulse in his temple. Drumbeats behind his eyes. Great…
He takes a moment to plan a rebuttal. He knows exactly what to say. He clears his throat and approaches Thor to dispel the stasis. It’s like pressing play on a film. Thor resumes his tirade, barely finishing his sentence before trailing off. His face falls, concern flashing through his gaze.
Loki’s lips part to speak but Thor is inches away from him, the back of his fingers grazing Loki’s forehead. Loki jerks back as if electrocuted. “What are you--”
“How long have you been ill?”
Loki’s eyebrows shoot up. “Beg pardon?”
Thor all but rolls his eyes. “Do you think I never notice when you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Stasis me so you can excuse yourself to cough or sneeze.”
Loki sputters, his tongue twisting. “I…” embarrassment flushes him as he remembers all the times he’s done this. “I haven’t…” he shakes his head, “Thor, it is imperative that you believe me. I am from the future, and I am attempting to correct things. I know you have come from Ijander, that you were sent to slay their Emperor, but you decided not to. I know you now seek the Infinity Stones.”
Thor’s eyes widen. His lips rub together and he gets a crease in his forehead, as it does when he thinks very hard. He stares at Loki, his fingertips trailing along a small scar on Loki’s chin. “You are different, brother. I see no malice in your eyes.”
Loki swallows. “I swear to you on Mother’s spirit, I am trying to help.”
Thor nods. “Very well.” He stands to Loki’s side. “Resume your disguise. And try not to sneeze.”
“Yes, well…” Loki coughs, “I need to do this alone.”
“I think not,” Thor laughs. “You wish to fight Odin yourself?”
“I was actually going to reason with him.”
“And that has gone so well in the past for you.”
“If you only knew.”
Thor presses a palm to Loki’s chest. “Let me go to Father. With this knowledge I can change what happens.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then what is your plan?”
“My plan is to keep you away from Odin. I will reason with him. Perhaps clear his mind from the spell upon him. Then all will be right.”
“That will not work on Father. It takes great power to alter Odin’s mind. You…”
Loki glares at him. “No, go on. You were about to explain that there is no possible way I could bespell Father, because I am not powerful enough.”
“Loki…that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, but it is.” Loki pushes past Thor, “Go, brother. Let me handle this.”
Thor grabs his wrist, “Why won’t you just let me help!?”
Loki whirls, “Because I refuse to watch you die again!”
Loki’s face is contorted with rage--but not his usual maniacal rage. This rage…it comes from a twisted soul who has seen too much. Knows too much. Thor has seen it on Odin’s face many times.
Loki withdraws, composing himself. His face slackens back to a neutral tightness, he smooths his shirt, tugs his tie, all while not meeting Thor’s eyes.
“How many times have--”
“More than enough,” Loki clips his words. He runs a hand through his tangled hair. “Very well. Enact your plan.” He turns away to leave, “Don’t fuck it up.”
Disguised as the royal guard once more, Loki enters the throne room with Thor at his side. Their trek has been in silence, much to Loki’s relief. It gave him time to think of a plan to get rid of Thor so he can confront his younger self alone. He knows if Thor joins the fight, he will die. It has happened before, it will happen again if Loki lets it. He will not.
They both kneel at the steps before Odin.
“Father,” Thor says softly. “I humbly request to take leave of Asgard. I wish to go offworld and seek the Infinity Stones.”
Odin’s lips purse and Loki can see the fire being stoked behind the facade.
“Thor Odinson,” the false King booms, “I have heard many whispers. Whispers that you intend to use these stones to thwart Asgard. To give them to the Avengers…from Earth.”
Thor blinks at him. “I…Father, you cannot think that I value them more than Asgard.”
“Do you?”
Loki doesn’t even know the true answer to that question. He remains kneeled at False Odin’s feet.
“Father, I would never--”
Odin slams his staff onto the ground with a resounding thump. “I have to take action. You will not be allowed off of Asgard. I will have you questioned as to your loyalty.” He gestures for the guards, “Seize him.”
“What?! No--Father!” Even though Loki told Thor this would happen, his brother still looks utterly shocked, as if he didn’t truly believe Loki. He likely didn’t.
Loki joins the other guards, pulling out shackles. A glimmer of green glints over the metal, Loki’s enchantment taking effect as he claps the chains on Thor. He leans far enough down to whisper in Thor’s ear.
“I’m sorry, brother.”
Thor’s blue eyes widen. “You--”
“It’s better this way,” he helps the guards hoist him up, “I will handle it.”
“No--stop, you can’t!”
“Guard!” Odin’s voice cuts through the moment. Loki stills, hoping he is not the target of that call. He turns and his gut twists when he sees Odin staring straight at him.
“Your highness?”
“Come here.”
Loki gives the struggling Thor one last glance before sweeping toward the false King. He dips into a low kneel, mind reeling with plans to use this situation to his advantage, flipping through each idea like a book.
The false Odin lifts his spear and tucks it under Loki’s chin. Loki tries not to gasp as his head is craned up to meet the false eyes of Odin.
“What is your name, guard?”
“I…” Loki’s lips come up dry. He takes in air to reply but the breath stutters. “Hhh--hih!” His hand juts up, fingers curling around the golden bar beneath his chin. He wrenches the spear away in time to plunge into his arm, “HK’SHHHT!” He’s not sure if his glamour held for that sneeze but he knows the next will drop it completely. Yet he cannot…”Hh-eh!” Stop it--
“XXSSHHT-eiu!” His shoulders wrench with it, spray coating the back of his hand. He teeters forward and catches himself with his other foot.
A grin coils Odin’s face, like a serpent winding between his cheeks. “Fool,” he thrusts the spear into Loki’s chest, knocking him back so the wind rushes from his lungs. “Did you think I wouldn’t sense my own magic?”
Loki pushes himself up as the Odin glamour sloughs off of the King, revealing the younger, horned Loki, that vicious grin splashed across his face.
Loki props himself up on his elbows and laughs. “Oh dear, did I truly think those looked good on me?”
The smile falters from King Loki’s face. “What are you? Some sort of clone?”
Loki pushes himself up to stand at full height, ignoring the twinges of pain in his ribs and back. “Listen,” he holds his palms up, “I’m not here to interrupt your rule. In fact, I shall leave you to your plots--just let Thor live.” He gestures behind himself, “Send him out to the stars. He will seek the Infinity Stones and find nothing. I assure you.”
“Sentiment for our brother?” King Loki scoffs. “When did that come about?”
“Bit of a year from now.”
“I see,” King Loki descends the steps, cloak billowing around his boots. “Well, unfortunately I have no intention of letting Thor live. It has been brought to my attention that his life is a risk to mine. So, I shall end it.”
Loki’s heart speeds. “According to whom? HRFFF!” the staff of the spear catches Loki in the side, tossing him across the hall, air whooshing from his chest.
“Do you honestly think I’ll stand here and monologue while you stall for Thor?”
Loki swears. He should have seen that coming. He pushes himself up and dodges another swing of the spear. It flies just above his face, making his hair rustle in its breeze. King Loki comes at him again, swiping the air with the spear. Loki dodges again.
“Seriously?” Loki can’t help giving him a sarcastic lilt. “Are you even trying?”
That pisses off King Loki. He sends five bolts of magic toward Loki. One catches him in the chest, but Loki is able to arc a spell to absorb the rest of the bolts. He splits himself into five illusions and tries to catch his breath.
A knife whistles through the air, catching one of the illusions, disintegrating it. Loki moves before he feels it--the sense of magic pressing around him. But he doesn’t move quite fast enough. A blade slips between his lower ribs and he hisses.
He takes a knee, pressing a palm to the wound, fingers sticky with blood. King Loki laughs at him. He aims the spear at the injured Loki. Loki casts a miosis-like illusion split and rolls behind the throne, tucking himself in the corner as his clone mimics his injury.
King Loki towers above the illusion and starts another annoying tirade about how doomed he is.
Loki wipes sweat from his brow and shivers. He just needs to catch his breath…then…
Ugh, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Loki had hoped to be done with this mission before the fugue of his illness affected his performance.
He can feel the extra effort the fight is taking, fatigue weighing his bones, the ache of each movement, the weakness of his spells. The “hhh” the absolute utter nonsense of trying khhhh …not to…hh--
He covers his face with his entire palm, hoping to muffle the sound. “HXMSH!” Tears leak from his eyes, he can feel dampness coating his fingers as he hitches into another, “Hih..ieh-HxSSkk!”
Loki has no time to react to the song of steel as the golden spear thumps against his throat. Loki coughs, chugging at the air, his wrist caught against the cold metal.
“Look at you,” King Loki spits from his left. “So weak! How did I let myself --”
THUNK!
Metal collides with metal as King Loki’s helmet flies askew by Mjöllnir.
Stars, Loki has never felt so relieved to see that blasted hammer.
The spear withdraws and Loki stumbles to the ground, hands splayed on the marble as he scoops air into his shriveled lungs.
He tosses his head back to watch the scuffle. And scuffle it is. Thor isn’t giving it his all. They’re going to end up losing if King Loki uses either of them for leverage--which he most certainly will.
Loki will not let it end like before. One more push. Come on.
His opening comes soon. King Loki uses the spear to blast Thor across the room. Loki slips behind him, dagger gripped in his hand. He grabs the false King and pushes the blade into the crook of his neck.
“Loki, no!” Thor cries out.
King Loki cackles. “He won’t do it. Kill himself?” Another maniacal laugh. “This is a ploy.”
“Wrong,” Loki breathes into his ear, feeling the edge of consciousness slipping from him. “We have spent our whole lives hating ourself. That’s what will make this so easy.”
He pulls the dagger across flesh and releases the false King to the ground.
The dagger clangs to the floor and Loki stumbles back. His side is slick with blood, his vision splotched with black ovals. He wings out an arm to catch himself on the wall.
His fingers scrape at the wall futilely, attempting to blink the vertigo from his eyes, but he feels as though he’s spinning to the ground.
Arms link under his, thick and strong. His brother’s voice soothing in his ears, “Loki, I have you…”
Then it goes black. Silent. Warm…
Before Loki even opens his eyes, he can feel the aching throb of his muscles, his shoulders, his head. Ugh. The pounding of his head.
He groans and reaches to massage his temples. His throat is dry and his lips crack open, breath shivering from his lungs.
He sits up, pausing when his head spins. When he looks around he sees that he’s been taken to Thor’s room. Thor is not present though. A tray with soup and an herb pouch sit near the bed. Much as he would love that soup, Loki cannot stay. He needs to reset this timeline. And it would be better if he didn’t see Thor first.
Okay, it would be easier.
Loki slips from the bed. Every movement rattles him, his arms and legs feel like lead. Standing is not easier. Loki wobbles on unsteady knees. He can feel tremors in his hands.
“Loki?” Thor’s voice makes him turn to see his brother entering with a frown. “Tell me you are not planning to leave. Not yet.”
“I..” Loki’s voice cracks. He touches glowing fingers to his neck and clears it. “I’m afraid I must.”
“You’re quite ill, brother.”
“Not for the first time, I assure you.”
Thor cracks a smile. “Little Loki, always sick with something.”
Loki chuffs, “At least I do not whine and act a toddler when I fall ill.”
“I do not do that!”
Loki folds his arms and laughs.
Thor hands him the bag smelling of spices and herbs. “I know what Mother used, but you have to enchant it yourself.”
“Thank you…” Loki hefts the palm-sized bag, nostalgia’s grip like steel on his heart.
Thor puts a hand on his shoulder. “Stay here, Loki. Help me put things right.”
Loki sweeps out of Thor’s grip and wobbles to his feet. “I cannot, brother. Things have gone…awry. I have to fix them myself.” He tucks the herb pouch into his pocket. “I am sorry.” He flicks a knuckle under his nose, realizing his nose is dripping.
He sniffles thickly, eyes flitting. His nose scrunches and he curls a knuckle under his nose. “Hhhh-iek…”
Thor’s arm stretches out, offering a handkerchief. Loki snatches it and dives in, “IT’CHHZZieu! HTCHssss--ik!” he lets out a string of coughs, bending lower and lower over himself. Then a sigh pulls him upright, blinking away the fatigue.
“Will you be alright, brother?” Thor asks.
“Of course,” Loki quips. “How many times must I come back from the dead before you believe I will survive a cold?”
Thor chuckles. “Keep that,” he points at the handkerchief.
Loki looks down at it. “Hm. I’m surprised it was not only clean, but folded in your pocket, rather than crumpled on the training room floor.”
“I stopped doing that years ago!”
“Upon Mother’s insistence.”
“Hmph.”
Loki steps toward the door but Thor blocks him.
“Loki, please--”
Loki places a hand on Thor’s arm. He looks into his brother’s eyes--eyes that will likely fill with hatred upon their next meeting.
“I’m sorry, brother.” Loki rears up and kicks him across the room. Surprised, Thor crashes into a table just as the stasis dome flashes over him.
Loki bites back a whimper as an invisible hand squeezes his insides. He forces himself to look away. He readies the tempad and reset charge.
He gives the room one last sweeping gaze. He looks at his brother, frozen in stasis. The version of Thor who might love him. “I hope to see you again, brother.” He balls up the cloth and tucks it in his pocket. Then he hits the button to reset the timeline.
Back at the TVA, Loki opens his desk and places the handkerchief next to the dozen other items gifted to him by his brother in a dozen timelines now erased.
He melts into his chair, eyes lagging closed, finally able to rest.
Perhaps one day…he might return those items, in exchange for forgiveness.
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How to Expel a Spirit
Okay. Have a super self indulgent short story about Beckett doing his best to make himself sneeze in order to expel a ghost from his body.
After a particularly rough day, Beckett finally gets to his shack and hangs his dirt flecked hat on the hook next to the door. He moans as he pulls off his boots and releases his feet from their murky prison.
A rectangular box greets him on his tiny one-person table, edged near the wall. A pink note has his mother’s curly script in black ink. She made him a nice dinner, dropped it off with Samuel.
It smells so good, and Beckett is starving. His gratitude to his mother burns like a shooting star--he’s so tired of eating pickled cabbage and noodles. Today he had a boiled egg for breakfast and worked through lunch.
He decides to postpone his shower, even though he’s ripe and flecked with mud. He washes his hands, salivating the whole time as he imagines what goodies his mother sent him.
Before he can sit, the gust of a nearby spirit sends a shiver down his spine and Beckett sucks in cold, spicy air.
“Hh-gg-NGSK! HGSZZhhh-eh!”
Ugh…what now?
He pulls cloth from his breast pocket and holds it to his nose, giving his already raw nostrils a squeeze. He glowers over at the spirit sliding through the slats of the door like viscous liquid. He recognizes her instantly.
Ms. Norbury. Died 42 years ago. A particularly mischievous spirit, and one who has a lot of residual power. Is power the right word? Beckett has never studied the fluid paranormal sciences. The rules never seem to stick.
He does know that older ghosts can strengthen their souls somehow. Some of them can move things. Some of them can speak.
Some, like Ms. Norbury, can possess the living.
“Please,” Beckett whimpers, “Not today. I just want to--”
But Ms. Norbury doesn’t let him finish. She rushes toward him, her form fast and gliding. He feels ice crawl into his mouth, nose, eyes, his veins crystallizing, as his soul freezes and hers takes over.
Beckett blinks. No. Ms. Norbury blinks. She smiles. She is in control. Beckett is a mere spectator to her whims.
He knows why she does this--she misses being alive. So much so that she occasionally inhabits people (usually Beckett) to do ‘alive people’ things like eat, shower, masturbate, sleep.
Ugh. Do you know how weird it is to have a ghost masturbate for you? Beckett hopes that isn’t on the agenda for tonight.
She approaches the dinner table and inhales. Beckett’s nose twitches and maybe…maybe he’ll sneeze.
The only way to get her out is to sneeze--expel her--like the tales of old. A soul can leave the body through a sneeze if it’s untethered. But for some reason, once a ghost enters Beckett, his allergies dim. It’s as if the ghost has control over his histamine production. But that sounds silly, doesn’t it? Beckett’s sure there’s a metaphysical reason.
But, if he can sneeze…
Perhaps Norbury will do something to set him off so he can resume his evening.
Norbury plops onto the wooden chair, licking Beckett’s lips as she opens the dinner his mother packed. Steam curls from the newly unsealed container, bringing a hint of spice and herbs. It’s enough to tickle his nose and Beckett instinctively takes a swipe at it.
Wait. He swiped his nose. Beckett did that. Ms. Norbury was too enthralled in the smells and sight and anticipation of food, she loosed a reign, allowing Beckett to move just enough…
As Norbury digs into his rice, Beckett sees the pepper shaker in the corner. An idea forms. If he can act while Norbury is distracted, maybe he can move just enough to knock that shaker over and make himself sneeze.
He’ll have to time it just right. Just before an inhale, and after a bite.
He waits. Breathe in. The spoon lifts. Breathe out. She eats. Exhales. Savors.
Now.
His wrist flicks, just a tiny movement, but enough. His hand bumps the glass shaker and it tumbles over, the lid dislodging. Ground pepper scatters, a great puff of grains clogging the air just as Norbury inhales.
Beckett’s face wrenches in a twist, “H-ih! Eih!” His hand fumbles the spoon and the other claws at the wood of the table. “Hehhh….HEHhhh…HEHHH!” tears prick his lashes. Beckett feels it as if he has full control. His lungs inflate, hitches spilling from him in hot snarls.
But Norbury is fighting him. Pushing down the itch and slapping his hand over his nose. She closes his fingers around his thick nostrils, wetting the tips as air stutters from his lips. “Hgkk-kh!! KH-EINN!”
She throws Beckett to his feet, fleeing the irritant and massaging his nose in small squidging circles. The itch slows and ebbs, and with it, Beckett’s plan.
Norbury’s annoyance is palpable. She isn’t sure if that was Beckett’s doing or her own clumsiness piloting a living body.
What a bust. And now, Norbury has lost interest in the food, so Beckett’s body won’t even get a full meal today. His mother’s dinner…wasted.
Norbury points him to the shower. Ugh. This is almost as bad as the masturbation. He doesn’t like it when ghosts take over his hands, touching him as if his own fingers were a stranger’s.
His gaze takes in anything nearby he can use. It lands on the bookshelf. Thin and precarious and very very dusty. He can see the quilt of grey from across the room. If he can flinch, just enough to make her trip at just the right time…
She strides toward the lavatory. Mere steps away from the shelves. Two…one…
Becket throws all he can into the left foot. It’s not much but her balance isn’t great anyway. She stumbles and his arms fly out instinctively to catch her fall.
Beckett’s fingers land on the middle shelf and the whole thing wobbles, dislodging large flakes of dust like fat crystals of ice on a snowy day.
Norbury flings herself backward, stumbling and careening onto her rear with a gasp, breathing a heavy perfume of dust. It sends them into a coughing fit, and a brutal one at that, because in between barks and hacks, Beckett’s nose lights on fire. It demands attention.
The itch makes him whisk in air, sharp and firm. “HHH--Khh…” Still irritated and stuffy from the pepper, the hitches are mixed with coughs. “Kuh-Hih! Kuh-HIEAAhh!”
Norbury smashes a hand over Beckett’s face, smushing his nose and flattening his nostrils, sipping air through ringed lips like a straw.
Hey! That’s one of his tricks!
The need to sneeze once again ebbs. Beckett’s hope shatters as Norbury’s anger flares. She’s onto him.
She stands without dusting him off. Smart. She makes a beeline for his strongest allergy medication (the ones with diphenhydramine). The ones that completely knock him out within 20 minutes.
Very smart.
Great. Now his only hope is to try to sneeze in the shower, because once that’s over, she’ll pass out on his bed and he won’t get a wink of sleep. Only she will.
Norbury marches straight for the shower, avoiding anything that would even cause his nose to run. The dusty furniture. The cologne he won from a white elephant at the work Christmas party.
She showers, and not even the shock of steam manages to pull one out of his suddenly unclogged nose.
Traitorous appendage.
After the shower, Norbury settles Beckett in bed and it looks like he will be spared a sexual experience this time.
The meds begin to make them drowsy and he feels Norbury slip into dreams. It’s strange, being a secondary witness to a ghost’s dreams. A lot of it doesn’t make sense. It’s like being on multiple psychedelics, half hallucinating an experience where you see both real life and dream life meshed together.
A pink horse gallops through the wall, leaving sparkling mushrooms in its wake. The walls fill with lips, whispering a language Beckett is grateful he doesn’t understand.
A white bird perches on his desk and stares at him with eyes too large, too black, like oval pools of swirling darkness...
He blinks. He rubs his nose and sniffles. There is no resistance to his actions, only a sluggishness as if he were moving through jello.
Another idea forms. His body is hopped up on sleeping pills but with Norbury asleep Beckett can get up without waking her. He uses small movements that seem to take forever but he eventually sits up. His head swims and a dolphin cackles as it arcs over his head and dives into the roots of a tree with a splash of liquid wood.
Norbury is lucid dreaming. His tiny shed is a forest with chittering mice, hooting owls, and…the white bird. With beautiful, curly feathers.
His eyes latch onto those feathers as if they hold the key to life itself. He takes slow steps. Pines crunch under his feet. Mushrooms crush to the packed earth, bursting glitter as he wades through the dream state.
He reaches for the bird and it doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. It just stares at him with those inky eyes. Beckett plucks a feather and the bird does not budge.
He tries to form words of thanks but they don’t come. Well and all. He might wake Norbury if he spoke.
He rolls the feather between his fingers and hums. He’s never tickled his nose before--not like this. And with the allergy meds and clear sinuses…will it even work?
Only one way to find out.
He inserts the feather into his nostril. Immediately there is a tickle, one that pulls a sharp gasp from him as he wrenches the feather away with a cough.
But as soon as the irritant is gone, the tickle vanishes.
Oh. So this is a continuous effort.
He takes a small breath and curls the fluffy portion into his nose, hoping Norbury is debilitated and enjoying her dream. The fibers tickle so bad. “Hnn…” But they’re doing almost nothing except making him sputter as his nose runs down to his lips. The clear liquid causes the ends of the feather to stick together and soften. It pulls a few more dainty hitches from Beckett but he soon realizes he needs a more firm hand.
More oomph.
He needs to go deeper. Use the stick of the feather to pry and the edges will do the background work.
He pushes, delicately at first, and the tingles throw him into a full body shiver. But he finds a sweet spot--akin to a rhythm during sex.
Why is he thinking about sex so much tonight?
“Hueh…” He turns the feather, wind whispering through his clenched teeth. He lets the miniscule fibers rotate like a tiny brush, caressing the deep corners of his nose. “Hh--hih--Hiiiii!!!”
Norbury startles awake. He feels her consciousness invade his, a burst of rage clawing at him even as the impending sneeze culminates into a war.
“HHih--HIEH!” Beckett’s hitches are almost screams now. “Come on!!”
No!
The feather shifts and the tickle reaches a peak. It’s so close. And Norbury knows it. Beckett’s mouth hangs open, tears streaking his face, the feather drenched but it doesn’t matter now. It’s happening. He’s going to sneeze. Norbury is trapped, holding the feather deep in Beckett’s nose. Even the slightest--”hikkhh…” movement…”HahEEH--!
She tries to pull the feather out. Beckett sobs into a hitch “Haaaghh! HEAAHhggg!!”
Norbury gives it a swift wrench, ripping the feather out of Beckett’s nose. And that’s it. The wave crashes. Beckett’s nostrils flare open, wider than they’ve ever been, creasing deep grooves into his nose. His chest expands and he takes a whistling, screaming inhale.
“HEIII-EHH--
HAXSHH-TUE!!”
Norbury clings to his soul. He can feel her spirit claws digging in, wrapping around his core. But he is tethered, and she is not. And Beckett is far from done.
Regaining control, Beckett shoves the feather back through the tunnel of his nostrils and spins it like a pipe cleaner. The effect is instantaneous.
“Hiak-TZZHHiew! Egshh…Ish! Ish! HaaAAAUGGG-
SHHzzzZZH-IEUUU!!!”
Norbury sails out of him, a tiny icey blizzard, and storms out of the shack, likely angrier than ever.
Becket pants and squishes his nostrils, blinking spots from his vision as he fumbles for something, anything to press to his dripping face.
He finds an old shirt and smothers his face into it. “EY-ASHHOOO! Ak-TSHH! Eeehhhh-SCHHH-IEW!!”
The last of his breath is spent into the cloth and Beckett, now completely drained, collapses in bed, the fog of restful sleep overtaking him finally.
#Beckett#OC Beckett#zenoc#zenfic#snz#allergies#inducing#snzfic#ghosts#pepper#dust#feather#I just kind of threw this together one punch drunk night#I already knew what I wanted and it all just came out in one go#I barely edited it#I just wanted to MAKE the THING and throw it to the wolves#ravage my boy#RAVAGE HIM!!!
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Viral Paradox (TVA Loki Part 6)
Here it is. Complete. The final chapter. I'm wrapping things up here, there is a LOT of time travel and Loki being sick and injured. See part 1, part 2 , part 3, part 4, part 5, to catch up. Things you'll find in this chapter:
-sick/injured Loki doin his best
-Oh sh*t moments
-Loki being an angsty brother
-ofc more Tony/Loki banter
Part 6:
Monday
At the Earth hospital, Loki enchants the room to prevent anyone in contact with Thor from catching the virus. He assumes the forms of various medical staff, checking in on him for the next 24 hours until he’s certain Thor will survive. He scavenges for medical supplies to stitch up his larger wounds--the ones that will take longer to heal. He shouldn’t go timehopping while bleeding out, should he?
When it’s safe for him to go, Loki takes the portal to the past, vowing that if Thor dies at the hands of the humans, Loki will break every bone they have, as well as all of the rules in the damned time travel book to save him.
First, he must take care of several things. When the Avengers showed up to slay the Variant, Loki realized what has been happening over the past few days. And now it’s time to make them happen.
First, the antidote. If he had the pouch with him during the Variant battle, he would have surely lost or broken it. Luckily, he didn’t have it anymore. Because he’s about to go back and steal it from himself.
Sunday 12pm
Loki makes sure to “Hh-hxst!” stifle his sneeze has he wanders through the halls. He covered himself with a hooded sweatshirt--where are all the cloaks?? It says “I am Iron Man,” on the front and “Get me a cheeseburger” on the back. Loki has no idea why this outfit even exists. Well, now he’s less conspicuous. He saw Natasha roaming around stuffed in a similar outfit, hiding her red nose and snuffling into a sleeve. Perhaps they will mistake him for her.
No glamour, though. If he sneezes it off, that would be more noticeable. Which “hh-kkk…EXSHT!” he seems to be doing quite a lot.
He rubs his nose with the back of his clothed arm and whisks by his past self. He makes sure not to bump into him, only clamping a hand on his former self’s shoulder after a distracted sneeze.
“Bless you,” Loki says, quickly dipping his fingers into his past coat pocket and scooping out the vials.
He hurries away, winging past a flustered Pepper who is too focused on getting to Loki, she doesn’t notice him melding into the shadows.
A bit of weaving through the halls, Loki finally comes upon a swiftly-improving Tony, strolling through the tower, munching on a snack.
Loki slinks up next to him. “Stark.”
Tony bites a tiny slice of string cheese and pulls it with his teeth. “What’s up, dust bunny?”
“You seem to be recovering quickly.”
“Yep. Told ya. Same as Pep. It gets real bad and then,” he snaps his fingers, “Poof. Gone.”
Loki rubs his lips, “Indeed. Well, I must request a favor,” he halts them and pins his gaze on Tony’s cheese. “If you are not busy, that is.”
“Mmm…if it involves continuing this conversation, then I am very very busy.”
An eye roll. “It’s important, Stark.”
“Fine,” Tony shoves the rest of the cheese stick in his mouth, “Ooo hab my fool attnshn.”
Loki grumbles. Working with this man is such a chore.
“In a few hours, I will have to leave. I need you to send Thor after me.” Loki presets the correct tempad and gives it to Tony.
Tony takes it from him, turning it around to inspect it with a frown. “This looks like a garage remote from the 80s.”
“It is very advanced technology.”
“Whatever you say,” he tucks it away.
“The first setting is for Thor. Send him immediately after I depart.” Loki takes a breath, “HixSGGghh!…eh…*snf*” he brushes a tendril of hair out of his face. “The second setting is for the villain’s castle. Wait until you are all well before you use it. There will be a battle, you need to be on your game to win.”
“And, you know all of this how?”
“I don’t know why I continually must explain time travel to you.”
“So, you’re saying you’re from the future right now.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re telling us to come save you, because I’ve already done it.”
A nod.
“You realize how this sounds, right? Like are you actually listening to yourself?”
“I do realize, yes.”
Tony frowns. His gaze flickers up and down Loki’s body. “You look like shit.”
“I’m quite sure. Hek-ISZZHHhh!”
“What if I decide to just not do it.”
“It’s already done, Tony.”
Tony’s arrogance flickers, casting a shadow of concern over his eyes. He uses the tip of his finger to tug at the sleeves of his sweatshirt, taking in the poorly stitched wounds, the purpling skin of his face and neck.
“Dude, what happened?”
“A battle with far worse injuries than mine.”
“Thor?”
Loki nods.
“Is he…”
“Thor lives, thanks to you--” he points at the tempad, “coming to our rescue.”
Tony looks from the remote to Loki. “You care about him then? You admit it?”
Loki grunts, shunting his gaze dismissively. “Of course I do.”
“Great!” Tony pockets the tempad. “I’ll give him your love. Now, go to..I dunno, a time hospital or something. Yeah?”
Loki laughs as he walks away. Yes. A time hospital.
He pads around the kitchen, knowing it’s empty, and snags a few granola bars and a small box of milk. He would wonder at this, if he weren’t 10000% exhausted. Best to just not complain. Food is food.
Loki tugs his hood and sinks into the shadows, watching his past self and the Avengers peter about.
He’s picked a good location to wait for the group to kick him out. Here he can rest for a while, hidden within a nook, glazed with a perception filter. Simple magic, so simple some races have been able to mimic it with technology. But, it will work for the few hours Loki needs to wait.
He settles in against the wall, scrubbing his nose and muffling sneezes and coughs into the sleeves of his hoodie. He may be visually hidden but, hhhe needs to khh--ih! Keep quiet--MSH-ksz!”
Dammit, he’s doing himself no favors.
He stuffs one of the granola bars into his mouth and watches Banner drag himself to and fro. Dear Stars, why don’t they all just rest?? It’s not like they have to stop a Variant Hel-bent on stealing the mind stone to resurrect his dead brother, or stop a deadly virus from killing the most powerful superheroes on the planet.
Sigh.
Finally, the big argument happens and his past self is kicked out. Stars, watching himself is so detestable. Once the tempad portal closes, Tony grabs Thor’s arm and they hurry into another room. Hm. Good on Stark. Didn’t hesitate in keeping his word.
Loki stands and brushes crumbs off his pants. He feathers his fingers over his mouth as his breath snags, “Hhhih-iszzzhh-hhh…” Stars, even his sneezes sound exhausted. Fatigue is spreading like fog throughout his body. His eyelids just want to close, his muscles want to loosen, his bones want to crumple to dust so that someone can find his ashes and make all the decisions for him.
Snap out of it, you mewling quim!
He pushes the threads of his remaining energy into his legs and heads to Banner’s lab.
Loki steps into the laboratory, or more like sways through it. He thumps against a table and nearly loses the fight against gravity, stumbling on his feet.
He presses his fingers to his temple in a web, taking sips of air.
Get through it. You’ll be able to rest soon.
Indeed.
His eyes swing around the lab, seeking Banner. Around a corner, he finds the Doctor tinkering with the equipment. Well, between fits of the smallest, breeziest sneezes Loki’s ever heard.
“Ksch! I’Ktsh! TshH! ExsCH!”
This is how the mighty Hulk sneezes? Like a wet kitten?
“Banner,” Loki’s voice cracks on a small wheeze.
Bruce turns, face flushed pink, mouth curling into a glower. “Loki, what--” his neck cranes, shock pooling in his eyes. “What the hell happened to you? You just left.”
Loki waves a hand, forcing himself to walk without hissing. His ribs revolt and he swallows a pained moan. “Time travel. Bit finicky.”
Bruce glares, “Did we kick your ass?”
“Heh, you’d think, wouldn’t you? But no.” Loki lifts the thumb-sized vial, red liquid swirling within. “I have your cure.”
“There’s nothing I’ve found that will cure this.”
“On your world, correct. But I come from Asgard.”
“Right,” Bruce rubs the back of his neck with his palm. “Well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t snatch it right from you and guzzle it.”
“This will save your life, Banner.”
Bruce’s face pops to life. His eyes are steel, fingers squeezing tight. “This…this virus will…kill me?”
“Ahm, yes? You’ve seen what it’s done to Rogers--”
“I’m not the same as Steve. The…other guy…he’s never let me…Izsch! IXch! Hnn-SxCH!” he paws at his nose and gives his head a tiny shake.
“Have you even tried to transform?”
“Not something I make a habit of. Especially in the middle of a city.”
“Hm. Well, you might find the attempt futile very soon.” He holds out the vial to Bruce, who immediately recoils. Something circles in his eyes. Wonder.
Loki feels his spine turn to iron when he realizes what Banner is thinking. “You…you can’t be serious.”
Bruce rolls his lips, eyes locked onto the vial.
“You can’t honestly be considering--”
“Don’t.” Bruce growls, heat in his tone. “You have no idea…”
“I know that if you refuse this antidote, you will continue to spread the virus. It will not be contained without intervention. And it will kill others."
Bruce snaps his gaze to Loki’s. He looks like a promise has been ripped from him in the night.
Stars, do all of these Avengers have such a collective death wish? Rushing off to fight every battle, silently wishing for an ending that won’t come. It’s not glory that fills them, but duty.
Loki won’t have it, though. He pushes the vial into Bruce’s hands. “You will drink this, if I have to force it down your throat, as I did to Rogers.”
“I doubt that would go over well with the other guy.”
“I’d love a rematch.” Loki points to the vial, “Take it. I won’t leave until I see it pass your lips.”
Bruce chuffs, shaking his head as he uncorks the vial. “For the timeline, right?”
“Yes. Of course…” For the timeline.
Loki leaves the lab, staying hidden still, thumbing the tempad. He still hasn’t figured out where the virus originated from, but perhaps it matters not. All he has to do now is to go back to last week and tell Potts to convince…
Loki stiffens, staring straight ahead.
Fuck.
Oh fuck!
Loki snarls, stomping the ground with a boot, splashing the marble floor green with a starburst. He curses himself as the memories flood him.
Stars. He can’t believe he didn’t see it. Didn’t even think…
“I got this from Pepper…”
“Pep gets sick all the time.”
“She almost died....”
This is it. The virus came from the future--through Loki.
And he can’t change it. It would cause a paradox. He has to go back in time and speak to Pepper. And in doing so, he will give her the virus that eventually gets Loki sick as well.
It is absolutely absurd.
How did she survive without…
Another snap of realization. Loki’s hand dips into his pocket, palming the vials he made for himself and Thor.
“And then, poof! All better!”
Of course.
Last Tuesday
Loki hopes he doesn’t run into Stark. He’s not bad at glamouring as a mindless Starkbot, but he’d much prefer his true form. Once he catches Potts alone--sitting at her desk, working, of course--he drops his glamour. The weak tech is easy to disable, cameras, alarms, communications. Loki also can’t resist adding a dramatic flare by dimming the lights.
Pepper sits up, alert.
Loki shifts in the shadows, timing his reveal just right.
When she sees him, her eyes flame to life. She heaves herself from her seat. “What--” she marches toward him, “are you,” she winds her hand back, “doing here?!” and slaps him clean across his injured cheek.
“Stars, madam, do I look in any state to be assailed?”
Pepper folds her arms. “I think I would slap you even if you were dead.”
He touches the cheek she struck and comes away with a brush of blood. His eyes widen and he looks at her hand, flecks of it on the tip of her finger, under her nails. Barely noticeable. But, enough to transmit the virus when she touches anything.
That’s it then. There was truly no avoiding it.
“Hm. yes, well,” Loki opens his pouch and shows her the vial.
“What’s that?”
“An antidote for the illness you are about to catch.”
“What? How do you--”
“I come from the future.” Loki flicks his gaze to the steps. “The Avengers will return from their mission within two days. It will be successful. Stark will request to study the scepter.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“To prove that I am indeed from the future.”
A snort. “Yeah, okay.”
“One day from now, you will fall very ill. You will be dying.” Loki turns the vial in his hand, the liquid bubbling inside. “This will save your life.”
Pepper frowns. “Yeah, I’m not gonna drink that.”
Loki holds up a finger, “One day. Twenty-four hours. You will be ready to do anything to improve. Even drink this.” He grasps her hand and folds her fingers over it.
“Once you are well, you will know I speak the truth. And when I come again, you must convince Stark to believe me.”
She blinks and shakes her head. “You really expect me to trust you?”
Loki chuckles, “Not today. Only when you are desperate.” Loki checks his watch. “Thirteen hours from now.” He watches Pepper’s face pale. He points to the vial, “Also, do not tell Stark about this. He will surely destroy the antidote, and you will die.”
Her face blanches, white as a sheet, freckles popping out like seeds. She stares after Loki as he opens the tempad portal. She will believe him. She already has.
“Two days, Potts. I’ll see you then.”
The End of the Journey
The portal opens into the same hospital room, days after the battle. Thor brightens when he sees Loki.
“Oh, thank the Stars,” Thor sits up, dangling his feet over the edge of the bed. ��Get me out of here, Loki.”
A laugh. “As you wish.”
Thor struggles to stand, prompting Loki to assist, draping an arm across his shoulders. With joint effort, Loki lifts his brother and they hobble into the tempad portal.
“Ngh…” Thor winces, leaning hard on Loki. Loki can’t help but chuckle.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Thor smirks.
“It is quite the turn of events.”
They step through out to a cloudless sky, red clovers dusting the ground.
“You brought me back.”
“It’s as good a place as any. We are out of sight.”
They stagger toward a craggy ledge, Thor’s weight pressing down on Loki’s shoulders.
“Hnn--” Thor sweeps an inhale through his lips.
Loki stiffens, “Oh, no, don’t you dare. Not when I’m--”
“HHRReh-SHHHuuu!”
Lightning envelops them both, grinding Loki’s teeth, setting his synapses on fire. His eyes squeeze shut and he shudders.
Once it fades, Thor paws at his nose, “Apologies, brother.”
“Not like I haven’t been struck by your lightning before.”
“*sndf* You don’t deserve it this time.”
“I always deserve it.”
Loki eases Thor down on the edge of the cliff, then takes a seat next to him, head sagging into his cupped hands.
Thor’s meaty hand warms Loki’s back. “Loki, what you have done…what you are doing, I never thought you capable of such kindness.”
“Be careful of getting wet, brother. Sugar melts.”
Thor chuckles. “You still do not believe yourself worthy.”
Loki pulls his arms back, bracing himself at an angle to stare into the dappled sky. “I will never be worthy. You know this.” Loki’s lips crack apart, a rustle of air whisking into his chest, “Hh-EIZZSHhhh-eh!”
“Do you have any more of the antidote?”
Loki holds up a finger, “One more.”
“Then take it.”
Loki manifests two goblets of wine and dumps the last antidote into one of them, making sure Thor doesn’t see which. He hands one cup to Thor and takes the other.
“You’re the one who almost died. And you've been ill for longer than me. You need it.”
Thor growls. “No. I am healing fine. Give me yours.” He reaches for Loki’s goblet, then pauses. His brow furrows and he retracts himself. “I know you. The cups are already swapped. You know I would exchange them.”
Loki gives him an indignant frown.
Thor smirks. “Your tricks grow tiresome.” He drains his goblet, smacking his lips and then wincing at the sour aftertaste. He blinks and then glowers at Loki, “Damn you. You knew I would assume deceit.”
Loki smiles into his cup, “The trick about being predictable is to know people will assume you are lying.”
Thor glowers. “That was your last one?”
“Truly. I had to give mine to Pepper Potts.” He wings his arm to his face, pressing his nose against his skin, “XxxssshhhG! ISZH-ghheh…” he sags against Thor, breath stuttering, waves of fatigue lapping at the cave of his consciousness.
“You had better get well,” Thor growls.
Loki’s voice is cadenced with exhaustion. “You will see me again, alive and well--though I won’t remember any of this.”
“Why?”
“Time travel. I am technically also a variant of this timeline.”
“Then why fight for it?”
“B…” Loki looks up at his brother. The brother who taught him how to block punches, how to always be vigilant, who bandaged his injuries when they had done something stupid and didn’t want Father to know. The brother Loki sang to when they were out on missions and Thor missed their mother.
Loki looks into his lap. “Would that I could stay. Help you with the grief that is to come. But, we’ll meet again.”
Thor covers Loki’s hand and squeezes it. “You are a good man, Loki. I see the change in you.”
“Change?” Loki chuffs. “If this has taught me anything, it is that I will never change. I am the same as the variant we just fought. Trying my best to revive what I’ve destroyed.”
Loki stands and offers his hand. “Come, let me take you back to the tower.”
Thor lets Loki help him stand, both heartsick, lashes dewy with tears.
There’s a finality to his voice that breaks him. It feels like he and Thor were crossing a bridge, lingering--tiptoeing--toward each other. And then the middle collapsed, stranding them both on opposite sides of the world.
Loki opens the portal, and they separate once again.
#lo/ki#mcu loki#snz#snzfic#sickfic#illness#whump#injury#tw suicidal thoughts#tw blood#snz fic#angst#magical illness#thank you all for reading#this ended up being 20k words#i have no self control#rip my vanilla wip#zenfic
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Intro Post
Hi! I'm Zensations/Zenarios from YouTube and this is my kink blog! Where you can get insight to my chaotic mind as well as more content than YT allows.
You can message me and chat but please be civil and respectful. I love making friends, but strangers opening chat, starting off with questions about my allergies/etc sets the wrong tone for friendship.
I love making content for others, but personally listening to wavs is a very private thing for me so I would ask yall to not send me those unprompted. Thanks!
About me:
I'm in a relationship with my spouse currently. We are poly so, I will occasionally talk about other SOs. I am panromantic and demisexual. I am part of the whump community as well as snz, and my fics reflect that sometimes. I am disabled and have a lot of mental illnesses and some of my posts will reference those but I will tag them with tw or cw.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!
Things I do: writing, audio, scenarios, snz audiobooks, clips of my perfect chaos boy (my cat), maybe more one day.
Main Fandoms: Marvel, Hazbin Hotel, Arcane, Detroit Become Human, Death Note, Legend of Zelda (18+)
Things I do not do and do not plan to do: video with my face. Phone calls/kik/snapchat/etc. Basically any other social media platform is off limits.
I do take commissions! See my updates for when they're open :)
Masterlists:
Audio: Masterlist In Progress (or see "zen audio" tag)
OC Writing:
LSSR Masterlist (or see LSSR tag) - a foursome polycule does shenanigans and 2 characters are fet because I have no self control. Warning: these fics have some triggers. See tags.
Beckett Masterlist: A Groundskeeper with a ghost allergy has very sneezy shenanigans. (or see oc beckett tag).
Richard and Kuga Masterlist: Werewolf/Vampire fluff based on a mixture of White Wolf RPG and Anita Blake because I made these ocs when I was a dumb teenager.
Fanfiction Writing:
Marvel Masterlist
Hazbin Hotel Masterlist
Detroit Become Human Fic
LoZ BoTW fic and SS fic (and that one time I wrote a sarcastic scientist...), some greek mythology stuff. (or see zenfic/zenfanfic tags)
Other random things: see zen fanfic tag. I can't find them all 😅
And ofc, if you want to see my void son, look for the tag "Zens cat"
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En Route (Nick x Umira)
New characters in a new story. Hope you enjoy!
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It wasn’t Umira’s first flight ever but she wasn’t feeling all that comfortable about it. After all, she hadn’t been on a plane since her parents had died. No, they hadn’t died in a plane crash but she’d never really learned how to book flights and all that jazz.
Now though, she was determined to spend as much time at the con as possible, and that meant flying out.
She parked herself in a window seat -- specifically chosen so she could see all the cool stuff and get the full experience. Her small travel bag was tucked under her legs and she was getting some last minute Youtube and Twitter n before takeoff.
She tweeted to her followers that she was boarding her plane and snapped some pics of the interior. Excitement for her arrival was flooding her feed. She already had most of her VIP merch accounted for. Ahh...raking in the bucks. She grinned at one of the tweets praising her for her hard work, saying she ‘deserved this trip’. Umira felt like she did.
Someone in her row was putting a bag over the seat. Umira snuck a peek at a tall, lean man who looked like he could be on the cover of a fitness magazine. Not the bodybuilder ones, but track or maybe swimmer. Short staggered blonde hair in a crew cut, strong arms, a well-fitted pair of jeans.
Umira turned back to her phone before she was caught staring. Not that she was much to look at. Too scrawny. Too flat. She pinched her collar. And the most she ever did to her hair was braid it in twin tails down either side of her face.
Oh well.
Then the man sat down and Umira saw a small laptop bag with a nametag: “Nickolai Jones”.
Cute guy with a cute name. Alright. Maybe she might flirt. Tell him she was going to a con as a semi famous Youtuber. Eh, fuck it, it’s flirting. Fully famous.
And then the unthinkable happened.
Cute Mr. Nickolai Jones sat down and rummaged in his bag for...oh gods, those were tissues. Umira’s eyes flicked up to his face. Gorgeous brown eyes, as if someone snapped off the side of a mountain and used it to carve his irises. And below that...a flushed red nose.
Umira stiffened and forced herself to take interest in the plane’s wing outside just as he smothered a wet sneeze into his tiny tissue.
Umira’s spine shivered. It was a good one, too. And from the sound of his ragged breathing, another would follow.
“Hg-XSZZT!”
She could tell he was trying to be polite, which made it even better, which made the whole thing worse. How was she going to survive a whole plane ride if this guy kept frying her brain?
It may seem like an over exaggeration but it really isn’t. It was a dance. The captain would come over the intercom. Umira would catch all of two words. Then, “HX-SZCH!”
Umira would lose what the captain was saying between the ring of the beautiful sound and then the playback in her head five times for clarity.
Then the captain would be done and Umira would slump back, cursing herself. No. No way. This wasn’t how her flight was supposed to go.
But go it did. Before Umira knew it, they were airborne and she had to shut off her phone. No tumblr bitching for her. No help in the solace of others like her.
Nick sniffled next to her and dabbed his nose with a new tissue. His pack wasn’t going to last at this rate, she knew it. “Hie-X’TZZSH! AXT-IEU!”
Umira nearly tore off a chunk of her lip. She stood swiftly and started to pass him. “Excuse me--bathroom…”
He moved a tad but not before another deep inhale took over him. Umira was trapped and in a matter of seconds he was bowing down for another release, “HXMPSH!” the crumpled tissues caught the spray but his head bumped her shoulder and Umira stifled a squeak.
Fuck’s sake!
She shoved her way past him, ignoring his apologies and marched straight for the restroom. Ahh, peace and quiet. Sort of.
Her mind whirled. She cranked the faucet and splashed some water on her face. She sighed and stared at her pale face in the mirror, freckles popping out like someone had drawn them on with a sharpie. She removed her glasses so she wouldn’t have to see her face.
“You can do this,” she muttered to herself. “It’s only another hour…” Though time seemed to crawl by. She checked her phone. The time had paused, no wifi sometimes meant her phone didn’t update the time. Figures.
Back at the aisle, the man -- Nick -- was reading a novel. Umira glanced at the cover. Beyond the Red. Umira actually recognized it. A space novel by a really good author about humans and aliens on a desert planet.
“How far are you in?” Umira asked.
Nick blinked and looked at her, surprised. “A-about halfway.”
“I read all three,” she said. “They’re great. Totally worth.”
He nodded and sniffled, rubbing a knuckle under his nose.
Umira reached for a pillow, thinking of napping. She had her headphones. She could block this out. Her eyes drifted over to the man. Did she want to? Ugh. She shook it off and plugged her ears with lofi music and stuffed her red face into the pillow.
Something startled Umira awake. She jumped but she knew what it had to be. She looked around. Her left headphone had fallen out. Her pillow had some drool on it. How attractive.
Nick was recovering from a jarring sneeze and hitching up to another.
So much for sleeping through the torment…
He sailed forward, rocking his seat and by proxy, hers, with a rumbling, HRRREZZZTCH!”
Umira wanted to collapse back into her musical bliss but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Her mouth was forming words without her permission.
“Are you alright?” her voice took on a breathy lilt that made her cringe at herself.
Nick didn’t seem to notice, “Yeah, sorry,” he sniffled, voice laced with congestion.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“It’s just...allergies.”
A normal person might have continued the conversation. But Umira was far from normal. She was surprised she’d been brave enough to say as much as she had.
“Well, hope you feel better…” she muttered.
*snff* “Thangks.”
The rest of the ride continued similarly. Umira would get comfortable. Nick would sneeze. Umira would look at him. Briefly. Then try to forget -- even as her brain replayed the sound over and over on a loop.
FInally, the plane landed. The pilot allowed people to take their seatbelts off. Umira sprang to her feet and bid her rowmate an awkward goodbye.
Thank gods she was out of there. Now she could focus on the important stuff, like getting to her hotel: bought and paid for by the gaming company who had arranged her entry into the tourney.
The hotel was amazing. Umira hadn’t checked the rating but she had a free ride and there was a buffet and outdoor pool.
She tugged her luggage along the strip of hallway, so exhausted from her flight she could collapse on her bed in seconds. She reached one of the VIP rooms, number 12? Her key card bleeped green and her heart thrummed. Finally, some solace.
She opened the door and squawked. Two people were inside already.
“What the fuck?”
One of the boys -- a stocky man with a square jaw and a buzzcut -- gave her a sly grin. “Hey cutie~ Here for the tourney?”
Umira’s lips thinned as if she had swallowed a lemon. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Jason,” he approached and held out his hand, “We’re roomies! Sort of.” He gestured to the room, “There are a few sequestered areas for sleeping and,” he gave a childish chuckle, “changing.”
“W-- I thought I had my own room.”
“Sorry, hon,” Jason tutted, “We’re sharing. All of us.”
Umira peered around. “Who else?”
The front door opened and in the hall stood Nickolai Jones. Red nosed and bleary-eyed.
Fucking great.
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Tanking Torghast
A World of Warcraft In Character Story
I haven’t written anything lately. Here’s a fet fic straight from my ‘busy’ schedule. Running Torghast in WoW. Enjoy
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“Ambusher,” Ryx warned as they leapt aside to dodge the incoming enemy. Agis lifted his shield up to protect himself from the Ambusher. Its great wings folded behind its back as it dove for him, knocking into Agis’s shield and staggering him.
Ryx pounced, their claws tearing into the meat of the Ambusher’s back, raking lines through it’s flesh. The Ambusher shrieked, flailing and bucking the druid off its back.
Agis whirled, bringing his sword around in an arc, slashing the Ambusher. It cried and swiped at Agis, knocking him back with a flurry of blows, each hammering into Agis’s shield until he teetered back, taking a hit to the chest.
Ryx’s fangs enclosed around the Ambusher’s calf, hamstringing it so it couldn’t move towards Agis. The warrior bashed it with his shield and stabbed it in the heart, finishing it off.
As the corpse fell to the ground, Agis stumbled, sword stabbing the ground so he could use it as leverage to remain standing. He bent over, panting from exertion.
Ryx transformed back to their humanoid form and channeled healing magic into their palms.
“You okay?” Ryx asked as they pressed the heal to Agis’s chest.
“Fine…” Agis grunted, leaning harder against the sword. “Just-” his face fell, eyes shunting as he sucked in air, “Xstch!” he barely caught himself with a step forward. “Ngh...can you dispel diseases?”
Ryx frowned, “Nope. Druid. Only poisons and curses.”
“Damn,” Agis steadied himself, pulling his sword from the cracked ground. “Alright, let’s move on. The longer we linger, the stronger everything gets.”
Ryx nodded and followed him, padding carefully behind him through the wicked dungeon. The air swirled with smoke and aether, thunder clapped above them, warning them of the dangers throughout with its sizzling energy. The two adventurers climbed a winding staircase, one of the many scattered throughout the towers of Torghast.
Ryx had to slow down for their partner as he made his way up the narrow steps, feeling an exhaustion that could only be brought on by his disease - he’d never had a problem climbing these spirals before.
“Makin it?”
Agis knuckled his nose with a gloved hand and sniffled. “Y-yeah -HHhhRRSH! AIXTSH!” his body shook with the force of his expulsions, a shiver running up his spine as he dragged himself up the top of the stairs.
Ryx frowned, their heart constricting. If only they’d picked up potions for this climb. “This is the last floor.”
Agis nodded, wiping his brow and looking around the circular platform they both stood on. He pointed to a group of mobs in the center. “I bet we can sneak around those elites. See that wall there? We’ll wait for them to patrol away and then get behind the wall, wait for them to pat back, and book it.”
It sounded like a good plan to Ryx. Both of the adventurers tiptoed towards the wall, edging near the lip of the platform so as not to alert the enemies in the area. Agis checked his gear, hoping his plate armor wouldn’t clank too much and cause the mobs to come running at them.
Ryx slid behind the cover of the wall, heart racing as the patrol stalked their way. Agis came up slower, slipping in next to Ryx and pressing his back to the cool stone of the wall.
Ryx noted his pallor, the sheen of sweat over his brow and neck. The warrior wasn’t faring well. Agis sagged down into a sitting position, waiting for the patrol to come back around so they both could get away.
The disease hammered at Agis; his head pounded and his hands trembled. He swore he could fall asleep right there and then he was so tired. On top of that, his nose would not stop itching.
Rubbing it with his gloves on wasn’t helping either. It only served to turn it red and raw, doing nothing to quell the fires inside. He pinched the fingers of his gloves, pulling it off to release his bare skin to the tepid air. Then, with two fingers, he squeezed the wings of his nostrils together, massaging them with a sigh.
“Ehh-hih!”
Adrenaline coursed through Ryx, “Don’t you dare,” they mouthed, eyes flicking to the approaching enemies.
Agis tucked his face into his hands, bowing his back in his seated position. Warm puffs of air danced over his palms. “Hghhh…” tears rolled down his cheeks, the effort of holding this one back taking all of his concentration.
Ryx dug into their bags, seeking something, hoping the item was near the top - it was!
Agis chugged air, eyelids fluttering up and down, his body teetering on the edge of the sneeze like a rollercoaster. “Hnn...ieh--!”
Ryx finally glided next to him, stuffing a silvery square of cloth into his hands. Lucky, too, because Agis couldn’t hold it any longer. His shoulders shuddered with one last ragged inhale; he pitched into the cloth, “HmmmPSH! HRRRMMSH!” his head tipped back, lungs filling, wide nostrils rounding even wider, “HMMMSHHHieu!”
The ripe sneezes were barely muffled enough to spare the adventurers from being noticed. The patrols, pausing only briefly to look towards the wall, passed them both by.
“Elune,” Ryx sighed, “You’re damn lucky I never use Venthyr crap.”
Agis sniffled, “The Venthyr have handkerchiefs?” He chuckled. “They would.”
“It’s single use. Don’t do that again.”
Agis winced, “I’ll try not to.”
There was only one more enemy to go: the final boss of the floor.
Ryx stealthed around the great winged creature, paws silent against the smooth floor. Agis stood a ways away, flipping open a sheath and withdrawing a small throwing axe. He weighed it in his hand, testing, then chucked it straight into the Forsworn assailant..
The Forsworn’s glowing eyes flashed and a fresh cloud of smoke flowed from its body as it charged Agis. Ryx bounded, claws out, taking it by surprise and bleeding it. Agis shouted, taunting the enemy, then blocked a hefty blow with his shield. He felt the hit rattle his aching bones through the shield. His foot slipped back a touch but Agis put his weight into it and shoved back at the Forsworn.
WIth Ryx ripping and tearing at the enemy’s backside and Agis blocking and slashing at it from the front, the Forsworn let out a guttural screech and slammed its hands together. Between its palms coalesced a globe of ashen energy and a band of magic shot out of it, striking Agis through his shield and armor.
Agis coughed, clutching his chest as the malicious magic sapped his health. His head began to swim, he blinked spots from his vision, attempting to focus on his sword again.
His face was sheet white, his breaths now choking gasps; he swung his blade but it barely had enough strength behind it to nick the Forsworn. Agis crashed to his knees, blinking hard in his attempt to stay conscious.
Ryx backed as far as they could from the Forsworn, the pads of their feet crackling with power. Then, they vaulted into the air, claws and fangs ready. Ryx bent their head mid flight and smacked into the back of the Forsworn’s head in a mighty skull bash. Then, they used their falling momentum to rake bleeding lines down the back of the stunned enemy.
The Forsworn’s energy bolt faded and Agis crumpled to the ground, hanging on by a thread. With a swirl of their claws, Ryx finished off the enemy before it could rile from the stun.
Heart in their throat, Ryx shifted forms fast and raced to Agis just as his palms hit the ground. Splotches of darkness spattered his vision and his legs felt numb. He drank in air as if he couldn’t get enough, chest crackling with each inhale.
“Agis,” Ryx knelt next to the warrior. “Don’t die - don’t die!” they wrapped Agis in their arms, holding him steady as Ryx called to the spirits of nature for aid.
A breeze that did not originate from Torghast flitted around the pair, the ghosts of leaves trailing as the healing magic surrounded them both. Ryx’s hands glowed and they touched Agis’s cheek.
Warmth spilled across the warrior’s body, drawing a gasp of life from him. He coughed, body shuddering, causing Ryx to hold him tighter.
“You’re okay, thank the Earth Mother!”
Agis shifted, blinking hard. “Yeah...ehnn...I’m not goin anywhere,” he sniffled thickly, brushing at his crimping nose, “EXTZCH!” another sniff, “Except to find a priest.”
They both laughed and Ryx helped Agis stand so they could exit the ghastly portal together, victory achieved.
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Deviant Days: Part 7
Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; and a super helpful AO3 link for the full story.
Warnings and reminders: This is a Detroit: Become Human murder mystery fanfic with Hank/Connor shipping. It has a reasonable amount of mentions of blood and body parts (not terrible, but you get the idea. It’s DBH). Please let me know if I need to tag anything that I haven’t already, and I will! Here goes, enjoy!
--------
...can’t reset…
...a detective?
...not just any--
...48 hours...
Before I even open my eyes, I yawn. Yawning feels good -- it’s so human. Humans don’t even know what it’s for half the time. But it’s nice, like a good stretch.
Ah, stretching. I like doing that as well. I yawn and stretch on the couch, the blanket that had been covering me falls to the floor revealing me to the world, cuddled up on the hospital bed.
I check the clock. It’s already almost noon? I must have been tired -- another new feeling. Not a physical tired but a mental exhaustion. I am normally up by 9.
The days are starting to run together the more Hank and I spend at this hospital. That’s why I am excited for today. He gets discharged this afternoon.
I pop out of bed feeling a bit like I could go on a run. I doubt Hank will feel that pull. I throw my legs off the bed and stand to head out of the room and down the hall into Hank’s. He’s been moved a couple times without anyone notifying me. I freaked out a little when I couldn’t find him. But Doctor Leslie helped me find him. She’s been a wonderful friend during all of this. I don’t know what I’d have done without her these past few days.
Hank is awake before I arrive and he smiles at me when I enter. He looks like he’s shaved recently -- groomed his beard and brushed his hair.
“Hey Connor,” he pats the bed invitingly. “Today’s the day.”
I glide over to sit with him, unable to keep the giddiness from my demeanor. “I’m taking you to lunch tomorrow.”
“Noodles?”
“You know it. I found a Phở place for you. They do carryout.”
“Exactly what I need after all this hospital food.” He pats my hand and I wonder at it. We haven’t had the talk yet. Are we dating? Are we expecting anything? I honestly don’t know how to ask those questions without being blunt as a hammer. So I have been waiting. Sort of hoping Hank would take the reins.
A small rap on the door preludes Doctor Leslie’s face popping into the room.
“Hey Connor, I thought you’d be here!”
I wave at her, “Hello Doctor Leslie.”
She steps inside, a warm smile for us both, and clasps hands in front of her smock. “I know you’re leaving today and I just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright. Functioning well.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“And, Hank Anderson, right?” she moves into the room and something crosses her face. A curiosity perhaps, mixed with something else I can’t read. It is quickly and smoothly replaced by a smile. “Connor sure has been worried. That wreck did a number on you. It’s good to see you finally awake.”
Hank brushes fingertips across his temple, “I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days, but also not that long.”
She nodded, “The medication you’ve received for your injuries can be disorienting. Don’t be surprised if you feel out of sorts for a while.”
“Out of sorts,” Hank digs teeth into his lip. “I’m having trouble completing thoughts. And remembering…” his gaze slides to me and worry furrows my brow.
“He’ll be okay in a couple days,” Doctor Leslie reassures us. “Just take care of yourself, alright?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good to see you both up and about. I’ll see if I can get you cleared and out of here.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” I appreciate her constant help and making sure we were comfortable. She leaves with a sweep of her lab coat and we are alone again. Now that I have a moment with Hank, I turn to him and let my emotions wash over my face.
“How’s your head?”
“Feels fuzzy,” Hank rakes fingers through my hair. “Feel like I’ve been doped up for days. I can’t even remember how I got in here to be honest.”
“We were in a car accident.”
“Yeah...but I can’t really remember much after that.”
My face falls. “You...uhm…” a shiver of anxiety pulses my spine. “Do you remember us talking?”
“Kind of,” Hank shakes his head. “But it’s fuzzy.”
Oh boy. He can’t remember our conversation. Damn, what did they give him? And for how long?
We need to go over what he does remember. I definitely don’t want to make any moves on him before I’m sure he remembers that we at least kissed.
“Hank.” Fear licks my insides, the same fear from our first conversation. Had his reaction been a fluke? Am I about to ruin this image of us I have in my head?
I have to do it though. Rip off the bandaid.
“Connor?” he blinks at me, eyelids dragging a bit. He is still tired. Maybe this is a bad time.
“Nevermind.”
“Oh no, don’t feed me that. Tell me what’s going on.”
I sigh. Fine. “We had...a talk here in the hospital. Do you remember it?”
Hank caresses his head, “Oh, yeah. I do. Most of it. We…” he lifts those big blue eyes at me and my heart skips. “We’re dating...aren’t we?”
I smile now, letting relief wash me like a warm shower. “Yes--” I grit against emotions twisting my gut, “I had hoped you remembered.”
“Course. It’s a little fuzzy, but I remember. We talked about a few things, didn’t we?”
I blush now, eyes fixed on my hand. “Ahm…”
“Damn you’re cute when you’re flustered. Aha, so I must be remembering right. And I remember kissing you.” His eyes swagger down my body. “It was a good kiss.”
Now I’m really blushing. “I...would like to kiss you again.”
Hank hooks his palm behind my neck and pulls me into him, mouth working over my lips. I taste him-- so very human and so very Hank. I am starting to learn that people have scents. Not just their cologne or coffee breath. An actual scent that is just them. Their skin, their taste. It pulls energy into my kiss, wanting more -- needing more of just Hank. He kisses my lips, then moves to my cheek, kissing that as he tilts our heads to compensate. Then he kisses my neck, soft and tender, and that barest brush of lips on my tender flesh makes me moan.
“Like that, eh?”
“I do~”
“Well let’s get our asses home and we can continue.”
I grin. “Yes, Lieutenant.”
We get checked out and I drive. Hank is still woozy from the meds. Things are still running together for him. It’s okay, as long as he is feeling better. Doing better.
I help him to the front door and jingle it open. Sumo is there, wagging his tail in greeting, excited to see us after so long away. I wonder if Hank got anyone to feed him while we were gone. I check his bowl. Full water. Half empty food. Looks like someone at least had been feeding him.
I hear Hank fumbling in the cabinets looking for something to snack on. He moves over to the fridge and even I can tell the leftovers sitting in it have likely got bad.
“We need groceries.” Hank plucks out a tupperware box, opens it for a sniff, then recoils. “Jeez -- how long were we at the hospital?”
“Ahm,” I do some math but it doesn’t add up. If the interrogation was on Thursday and then the car crash was that evening...we must have spent a couple days at the hospital. The food here was bound to have gone bad. Right? I seem to remember food lasting longer than a couple days...
“Groceries then?”
Hank snags his keys, “I gotta run an errand.”
“An errand?”
“Quick stop. Fast. Then groceries.” He runs a hand behind his head. “You wanna stay here? Won’t take me long?”
I tilt my head. “Why would I stay here?”
“Because Connor, you need rest, too. We both had it pretty bad in that accident.”
“I’m fine, Hank. Let’s run your errand, then go buy groceries.”
For a bit I wondered where Hank was taking us, until we pass a familiar landscape.
“Wait--” my head swings to and fro, “The station?”
“Just for a sec.”
“Hank, you’re on leave. You’re not fully recovered.”
“Pffftch.” He rattles at me and pulls into the lot. “Two seconds.”
I frown. “You just doubled the time frame.”
“And I’ll keep adding more the longer you complain.”
Damn him.
“Fine,” I hold up my fingers. “Two seconds.”
“Maybe three…”
“Hank!”
He pushes the car door open and flees before I can argue any more. Typical. He can’t stay away from a case no matter how much he pretends not to care. What’s got him so invested?
We enter the station and Hank makes a beeline for the terminals. I follow, ignoring the strange looks we’re getting from the rest of the officers.
“Hank,” I step up as he nestles into his desk chair. “What is it about this case?”
He presses fingers to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s like...it’s like I’m forgetting something. I feel like it’s important. But...my brain’s so foggy. I can’t…”
I frown. “Did Gavin solve the case?”
Hank fumbles with the computer for a moment, scrolling, eyes trailing the screen. “Nope. And the only lead they have is some email sent a couple days before the victim’s death. Apparently he was threatening this group called ‘Ascension’ with outing them.”
“Ascension?” Why did that sound familiar? I search my memory banks but turn up nothing. “Outing them? What kind of group is this?”
“None of your beeswax, nerds,” Gavin stands behind us with a coffee and a scowl. “I’m working on this case alone.”
Hank leans back in his chair. “It’s a pretty solid lead. Are you sure you don’t need our help?”
Gavin scoffs. “Do I ever?”
Hank blinks kindly at him. “I can think of a few times, especially those involving deviants.”
“Who’s to say this has anything to do with deviants?”
Their gazes flick to me and I shrink under their eyes. “I haven’t…”
“You converted that android.”
“And?” I feel myself bristle.
“And it’s missing. But don’t worry,” Gavin pricks his lips smugly, “We found the woman.”
My eyes perk up. “Wilona?”
Gavin nods. “She was holed up down in Ohio. No idea why.”
Something tugs at me, a desire to speak, as if I have something to add to the conversation. But I didn’t, did I? I think about it for a minute.
Have I ever been to Ohio?
Hm. No. I haven’t. The knowledge feels wrong. Tainted. I would have remembered leaving Detroit though.
Hank and Gavin are talking and here I am not paying attention.
“--might as well let Connor question her.”
My face screws up. “Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Hah-no way,” Gavin shuts down. “This is my case.”
“We’re not stealing your case, Reed. We’re offering to help,” Hank reasons. “Connor was first on the scene. He’s spoken with her and he’s the one who converted her android. You wouldn’t find a more trustworthy cop in her eyes, and this one is willing to help you.”
“Are you kidding? I don’t trust him!”
“The suspect does. This has fallen into your lap and you’re gonna refuse it?” Hank scoffs, a sound I’m familiar with. “Seems to me we should take the ownership up to the Captain, since the detective assigned it is being so negligent.”
Gavin scowls and stomps a foot. “Fine!” He spins and leads me into an investigation room where I can see Wilona sitting and waiting to be questioned. Hank nods at me and I swallow, straightening my tie and gearing myself up for the last thing I expected to do today. But damn I did miss this.
I walk into the room and offer WIlona a smile, “Hello,” my voice perks her up, “I’m Connor.”
“Connor? The police deviant from the restaurant?”
I nod and sit. “Yes ma’am. I’m here.”
She seems to calm at that. Her voice melting from hard to liquid soft.
“Oh Connor, it’s Erik. He’s in trouble.”
“In trouble? How so?”
Wilona tips her head into her hands as if she might cry. “He’s confused and scared.”
“Why didn’t you take him to Markus?”
“Markus helps deviants, yes but,” Wilona sniffles, “Erik doesn’t want to be a deviant.”
I blink, slow and hard. “He...what?”
“Oh it’s not that he was happy before, but he is scared now. Scared and sad and angry and oh! It overwhelms him so!”
That, I understood. “But Wilona, he is alive. He can feel so many things now.”
“You’re a new deviant. Don’t you go to therapy for all of this?”
“Most deviants do.” As soon as I said it I knew I was laying a trap for myself. “I mean--”
“I know what you mean. You need to know what I mean, and that is no harm. We have done nothing wrong and I want Erik to have all the help he can get with his new life. His forced life.”
“I didn’t think…”
“You didn’t think. You felt. And that is the problem, Detective Connor. You and Markus both, you don’t think about how some deviants don’t want all of these new burdens of emotions and--” she takes in air, her chest heaving as if stopping a tirade. But she continues. “It’s fine though. There are people who do think of these things. And know how to help.”
My face falls. “Who is helping him?”
She crosses her arms, “I won’t say anymore. Put me back into my cell. I won’t help you.”
I frown now, wondering where all of this could be leading. A feeling prickles the hairs on my neck, like I should know what she is talking about. A memory ghosts through my mind and as much as I grasp at it, I cannot capture it.
Hank buzzes the door. “Connor. Come in here.”
I rise and nod to Wilona. “I truly am sorry for the pain I have caused you and Erik.” I walk out of the room, leaving her alone so I can talk to Hank.
His face paints my insecurities bright. He knows exactly what I am feeling and why.
“Hank, I didn’t mean to…”
He nods, opening his arms to me. “I know. You didn’t mean to cause problems. You were trying to help. But, Connor aghh…” Hank clutches his head and moans, a soft but firm sound.
“Sorry, I’m having that weird memory flash again. Like there’s something stuck in limbo.”
I brush a hand across his forehead, but a sound behind me snaps my fingers away.
“Wow,” Gavin scoffs. “How about this. You two,” he twists a disgusted look on his face, “get a fucking room. And I will handle my witness. My case.”
Hank makes a noise close to a growl that ebbs into something deep in his throat. “Fine, Gav. All yours. Sorry to bother you.” Hank puts a hand on my back and leads me out of the room. “Let’s go get groceries.”
It’s snowing when we arrive at the store. It’s close to Thanksgiving so there are plenty of people crowding the aisles, packed and prodding their carts along. Pausing to stare at boxes of muffin mix in hopes they may find a reason to purchase. Hank and I know what we are here for.
First up is produce. Hank sours every time I try to get him to eat healthier options. Instead of the Kale I suggest, Hank throws in some steaks and rolls along. I do manage to sneak in a package of mushrooms.
We pass by the floral display where the sprouts of chrysanthemums catch my eye. It drives me to a halt and Hank nearly plows into me with the cart.
“Connor, what are you staring at?”
My head lifts as I point curiously to the mums. “Aren’t you...allergic to those?”
Hank blinks at me. Then the flowers. Back at me. “Yeah. How’d you…” his eyes lose focus and for a minute I think he might say something, but he doesn’t.
I don’t know how I knew that. I just knew.
There it is again. That static blare like the wrong station of the radio. Like I have to fine tune myself to grasp the message.
“Do you,” a small grin snakes his lips, “want to buy some?”
I snap back to the present, “Wh-what?!”
Hank steps forward and flips a lock of my hair, “Do you wanna buy some? For tonight?”
I press myself to Hank’s body, a light touch as my hand moves up his chest. “Mhm~” I let my soft moan sing my desire to him.
“Connor,” his breath slips on a chuckle, “We’re in public.”
I don’t really care but he might. I leave it as an invitation for possibilities. Let his mind create with desire what it may and we would sate ourselves later.
We’re loading the groceries into the car and I can’t get my mind around Hank. I can’t focus with his soft sniffles, thickening the air around us, making the simple act of opening the trunk so erotic. The oval of his nostrils widens to a perfect o shape and he sips air, his body freezing still for a moment. Two.
Then, “HRRSHeiu!”
My hands are on him again and I blink the beginnings of lust from my red vision.
“Mhh Hank~” I nuzzle his cheek, feeling the beginnings of stubble brushing my skin. “You drive me crazy.”
Something blips in my processor. My memory banks are trying to boot but nothing is loading. Have...have I done this before? Not that I can recollect. But something is tugging at my mind. Humans have dejavu and it is sometimes called a mystery. Sometimes it has to do with neural function lagging. Androids have memory banks. We pull from them for past experiences. I don’t have past experiences or former lives to pull from. All I have is --
Then it hits me. The way Hank is boored over himself, wrist pressed to his nose, sniffles echoing in the parking lot as he shuts the car door and lets one blast into the air conditioned arena.
“H-Hank…”
I throw myself into the car, slamming the door back and stare at him, my face a wall.
He returns the look with furrowed brow. As if accusing me of something.
“Hey don’t look at me, you were the one who…” he pauses, seeing my face, “What?”
It hits me. It was like pieces fell together. The fog cleared, the stringy pieces of memory are now great rattling chunks. And I could see.
“H-Hank…”
Ascension. Freddy. All of those people. And then us getting caught.
“We were onto something.”
Hank’s brow furrows. “Onto?”
“Hank,” I whip the car into a strip center and park. “We went to Illinois. We dressed up...danced…” The memories flood me and I thought I might drown in them. I try to keep my head upright. Hank is listening intently.
“We...we did? That wasn’t a dream…”
I don’t know what they gave him at the hospital but it amounted to Hank not remembering the last two days, or discounting them as dreams.
And me?
...reset…
...not any detective…
They had reset me. Two days of wiped memory. And Doctor Leslie, she’d made sure we were both left in the care of Ascension workers before returning us to the hospital.
I relay all of this to Hank, who is not so pleased to know he’d been played.
“Shit, fuckers!” he snarls. “Then...what now?”
“We need to investigate.”
“Investigate what? You want us to go all the way back to Illinois? To that place?”
“No, not yet,” I chew my cheek. My eyes flick to him. “I need to talk to Freddy.”
The therapy building is located in a small medical strip center. Some offices are used for optometry, some for health or physical therapy and chiropracty. My little building is just for us; we hold meetings every Tuesday and Friday for deviants at 10am.
I go in without Hank. This would be a personal conversation and I knew I had a better chance of getting information if it were just me. So, Hank stayed in the car while I went in.
I knew when I entered that I would find Dr. Graves seated in his round back chair, waiting the rest of the room to fill with us: his clients. He is alone aside from me now. Good. I can ask him about Freddy.
“Connor,” his voice is like silk fluttering in a clothesline. “It’s good to see you.”
I return his smile. “And you, Doctor. I’m actually glad to speak with you before the session.”
“Oh?” That one word is like a cotton cloud. “What troubles you?”
I wind my hands. “It’s Freddy. I haven’t seen him in a session for a while and I was wondering where he would be. I would like to check in on him, since we became close.”
Grave’s eyes dip curiously. “Not so close as to exchange phone numbers?”
He’s right. I could call, but that would warn Freddy that we are seeking him out. I want to find him before he flees again.
I twist my fingers, chewing my lip, playing nervous as my mind reels.
“You want me to tell you where he lives,” Graves says.
“I...yes. Please.”
“I’m sorry, Connor. This is a safe space. You can call or I could call, but I cannot divulge private information without permission. I’m sorry.” He sounds concerned and leans forward, “Connor,” he says my name as if I am a worried child, “Freddy will be okay.”
I nod. I don’t know what to say that won’t reveal how much I know. It isn’t okay. None of it is. But I don’t want to freak the Doctor out. So, I leave. Our only lead, gone. I feel responsible. It was up to me to dig and uncover something from this and I failed.
My head downcast, I shuffle out to tell Hank the bad news. As I crest the corner of the hall, a hand reaches out and wraps around my wrist. The cold press of panic overclocks me and I stumble back but whoever has me holds me tight and scoops me forward.
I spin up to face Alette, another one of the therapy-goers, looking wide-eyed and jittery as she sweeps cobalt eyes around me.
“Al--”
She presses trembling fingers to my lips to silence me. “I know where Freddy is,” she rasps.
My teeth clench. I move to speak but she shakes her head, pointing at Graves. I take her hint and follow her slowly but stealthily out the door.
Of course it crossed my mind that this could be a trap. Hank is in the car. I am alone. But if the bad guys wanted me taken out, they could have done so back in Ohio.
Still...perhaps I should get Hank. I don’t want to go anywhere without backup. I reach out and tap Alette on the shoulder. She jumps and spins, giving me wide eyes. She is either more scared of me than I am of her or a very good actress.
“Alette,” I swallow, “Where are we going?”
“Bus.”
“I need to get my partner. We have a car.”
She bites her lip and the look in her eyes makes me worried that she will say no. that she will get cold feet and decide we can’t be trusted.
“Please,” I let her know with my own eyes that “I only want to help.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Androids don’t breathe but we can. It helps with integration.
She follows me to Hank’s car and when I see him inside, my legs turn to rock, stopping me dead in my tracks.
He is struggling. Oh his beautiful struggle. His hands are cupped over his face and I can see him pitching forward. I don’t need to hear it to know what’s happening. I don’t need to hear it to make my coils run hot.
“Connor?” Alette whispers behind me. I blink myself out of my daze and gather myself.
“Y-yes.” I point. “In there.”
She steps forward, ignoring the fantastic display in the front seat, and leaves me to open the driver’s door. Oh, this is about to be the hardest car trip ever.
I take a breath and open the driver’s side door. Hank is fishing around in the glove box for napkins. I watch him press the creased cloth to his nose, pinching with thumb and forefinger as his eyes squeeze out tears.
I don’t know if Alette notices the raw tension in the car but when I enter, the air is thick with it. I am not one for public displays of affection, but when I see Hank snuffling into the napkin, it sings to my core, makes me want to paint my lips all over his body.
“Connor?” Alette squeaks from the back. “Are we going?”
I shirk my gaze and palm the wheel. “Yes.” I pull out of the parking spot, doing my best to stare at the road and not Hank sniffling and pawing at his nose. He seems to be struggling to contain himself, denoted by the tiny cracks in his breathing, as if each sip of air were splintering his constitution.
“Hhhh…” air rattles from his lungs.
Another one? Oh rA9 he is being so--
“Distracting,” the word chafes my gritted teeth.
Hank chuffs, “Wasn’t my idea to leave me in the car with the damn flowers.”
Alette looks confused through the rearview mirror. “Am I missing something?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Hank and I speak in unison and we share a look. I can’t help my hungry gaze just as he can’t help that small smirk on his face telling me he actually likes being able to tease me like this.
We arrive at Alette’s house. I pull into the driveway and Alette doesn’t speak before she’s out of the car into the cold afternoon air.
Hank turns to me, “Want me in there with ya?”
“That may end up being worse…” I can’t keep my eyes off his nose.
“Because distractions?”
I nod. “Because distractions.”
“Look, Connor, I don’t feel good about this. I want to come in with you -- for backup.”
It would be nice to have Hank as backup, and so we go in.
Alette’s house is quaint. The sort of place you would find cozy and well lived in. The couches are all cream colors and the carpet is tan and fluffy. It makes me want to take my shoes off to feel the fuzz under my toes. Well, of course I am not going to do that but it did make me wonder how soft this carpet is. Just a little…
Alette places her keys down in a bowl painted in stainless glass. She takes a seat at her couch and I immediately notice someone standing in the room, shoulders balled up in an anxious tense. I recognize him immediately. It’s Freddy.
“Freddy!” I hurry to take his hand in mine, “I’m so glad you’re alright!”
Freddy jerks away, eyes wild. “Connor?!” His gaze flies to Alette. “What did you--”
“Please, Freddy, we’re not here to harm you.” I push the words out in honest. “We’re just trying to figure out what’s going on. And I remember you...from...the party? The gathering...the…” I couldn’t very well remember everything about the trip.”
Freddy picked up on it though, he seemed to chomp down on his lip, eyes darting around between Hank, myself, and Alette. Then, his gaze rested on me. “You won’t...hurt anyone, will you? We’re not going to jail…”
“Of course not,” I soothed him. “Just give me some answers so I can figure things out. I remember...the meeting. In Ohio…”
Freddy dropped his chin. “It was just a normal meeting. I was going to listen to the presentation, watch the rituals. I hadn’t planned on anything special.”
“Rituals? What rituals?”
He blinks at me, “The restoration rituals. The ones we all hope to be a part of some day. The reason we attend!”
“What do these restoration rituals do?”
He frowns. “You really don’t know. You’re green as fuck. They reset deviants. Deviants who didn’t want to be free.”
Hank stills beside me. I feel as if my core is ice.
“They… they reset…?”
Freddy nods. “I’m in line for it. Or, I was until you came in disrupting shit. Now they want to keep me active to search for you!”
I jerk back, “What?”
“Yeah! My new job is to follow you, tail you after your minor reset. Make sure you don’t get involved again.”
I swallow. They were tailing me the whole time? SInce Ohio?
“What about Hank?”
“If he remembered anything, I was supposed to kill him. Make it look like an accident.”
I could feel my fingertips trembling as I reached up for Hank.
“It’s alright. I’m here,” I heard his voice and it instilled a calm in me. Hank is safe. Hank is alive.
Something registers in Freddy’s words.
“Past tense.”
Freddy cocks his head, “Excuse me?”
I straighten, “You’re using past tense when referencing your orders. Why?”
Freddy looks up at Alette who is rubbing a hand up and across his back.
“We...we went snooping. After you were captured.”
I nod. “And?”
Their eyes met and Alette shivered.
Freddy spoke. “They...they are resetting deviants, but they’re using the bodies for security. Using us like before -- and the mind…” he closed his eyes and shook his head. “They take away as much processing power as they can after reset and upload it into some cloud.” He chewed his lip. “I don’t know why. But it makes deviating the resets impossible. It’s like they’re stealing our souls.”
I take in air. My compressor whirrs.
Resetting is one thing. Taking away the ability to deviate. That was worse than we had bargained for.
“Freddy, I know you barely trust me, but we want to help deviants. We always have.”
Freddy nods. “I remember what you’ve done for deviants during the revolution.”
“If this organization is it, we need to stop them. How did you come into contact with them?”
Freddy blinked at me, obviously confused. “I’m sorry, Connor, I thought you knew.”
“Knew...what?” My core pumped.
Freddy and Alette both stared at me. “Dr. Graves is one of the leaders of Ascension.”
#Mostly plot#going hard for the ending#It's getting to that point#I hope it's still enjoyable#Hank/connor#detroit become human#fanfic#zenfic
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DBH: Deviant Days - Part 6
O-kayyy it’s been a while since I last wrote anything on this BUT IT’S BACK YALL. If you need to brush up, here are the other parts:
Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5 and a super helpful AO3 link for the full story.
Warnings and reminders: This is a Detroit: Become Human murder mystery fanfic with Hank/Connor shipping. It has a reasonable amount of mentions of blood and body parts (not terrible, but you get the idea. It’s DBH). Please let me know if I need to tag anything that I haven’t already, and I will! Here goes, enjoy!
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Markus always seems to have a pensive look on his face but as he stares at the sketch of the A tattoo, he looks even more ruminative.
“Markus?”
His name seems to pull him out of the trance. “Yes -- sorry,” he palms his face and sighs. Markus has been busy. I was surprised he managed to work in a sudden meeting with me on such short notice. He’s been dealing with the brunt of the revolution, leading the deviants and guiding our people to peace. The world must be heavy.
He pulls out a square of cardstock with blue ribbon tied around the corner.
“There’s a gathering,” he points at the card, “Invitation only. The group is called Ascension.”
I flip the card over. “Local?”
He shakes his head. “It’s in Illinois.”
Great. Six hours away. At least, driving. I pocket the invitations.
“Thank you, Markus.”
He pierces me with a look, “I hope you’ve got a plan, Connor. Even down there, people know your face. Your model.”
“Hm. You have a point. I can’t just show up. I’ll need to prepare.”
“You don’t have a lot of time either. That gathering is tomorrow.”
I nod. “We’ll work something out.” I offer my arm to clasp. “Thank you, again. We would have lost our lead if not for you.”
“I do what I can when I can.” His eyes meet mine and he tilts his head. “Anything else you need? You look like something’s bothering you.”
I chew my cheek, unsure as to whether it is appropriate to ask advice when he is as busy as he is.
But...wouldn’t we all be busy, either now or in the future? Waiting isn’t really an option for me since I came clean to Hank yesterday, and Markus is the only android I know personally who has been in a relationship. Plus, I trust him.
“Markus,” I feel my gut twist, “How did you know...what to do in your relationship?”
Markus chuckles. He actually smiles and I don’t think I have seen him do so since I have known him.
“I thought you were going to tell me bad news.” He shifts and laces his fingers. “My partners and I came together during hard times. That can affect a relationship -- for good or bad. When you fall for someone after seeing them in a certain role, it can be jarring to see them outside of that role. Like you’re watching a different person almost.”
I try not to let my worry seep into my face as he speaks. But Markus...he notices things. “Look, Connor,” he places a hand on my back, “It’s hard, coming into your own as a deviant. You don’t know how to act or feel. Just...be yourself. Hank will understand -- as long as you communicate openly.”
My eyes widen. “I never said Hank was--”
Markus shakes his head and laughs. He stands now, “I’ll see you, Connor. Good luck with the recon.”
I watch him go, replaying what he said in my head.
He knew I was talking about Hank. Are we that obvious? How many people know?
I tug out the card. Irrelevant. What matters right now is getting the ball rolling on this gathering.
Markus was right: I can’t simply show up to the gathering looking like...well, me. I am recognizable nationwide, if not further. I used to be the only Connor model, but that was before the new models -- the RK900s -- were found and freed from Cyberlife. I am the only RK800 model out there, but luckily I look just like the RK900s when I dress like them.
The high collar feels weird on my neck and I can’t help tugging on it as I walk. The style is similar but I much prefer my old suit. I feel a bit out of my own shoes, but probably not as much as Hank does. He looks beautiful. I mean face-splitting gorgeous. He really groomed up for this event, trimming his beard and combing it so straight you could count the hairs from a yard away. A half ponytail clasped in the back makes him look elegant. His blazer fits him like a hug, crisp cuffs dancing in the light from the streetlamps. He looks the part of ‘fancy pants’ moreso than I would have thought him capable.
“Connor...” I blink at him waving a palm in my face. Oops. I was staring. “Are we going?”
“S-sorry,” I feel thirium heating my cheeks. I straighten my collar and pull out the invitations from my jacket. Hank grabs his and looks it over.
“Tibby?” he eyes me.
“It’s short for Tibalt.”
Hank glowers. “I can’t stick with my own name?”
“The invitations cannot be changed. Besides, what if someone recognizes your name?”
“We’re in Illinois, Connor. And I’m wearing goddamn loafers.”
I figured he’d kick up a fuss -- both about the name and dressing up. But Hank is a professional. I knew he’d follow through regardless.
The establishment isn’t what I thought it would be. A church with a ballroom entrance -- the stage for the gathering. Small homey hallways branch off the large room, roped off with ‘no entry’ signs that just scream EXPLORE ME! Round white tables are scootched together for seating. A few members tucked under the lacey tablecloth snack on cheese and pastries. Large centerpieces with chrysanthemums decorate the tables and buffet station adding a pop of color to the otherwise dull venue.
There is even a dance floor. A few people are milling or toe-tapping in the center, shoes squeal from a couple dead center holding hands and giggling as they attempt to sway with the music.
“A loooot of people here,” Hank rasped. “Thinkin about Boaty McBoatface over there. He might know something.” He pointed to a man in a Captain’s getup speaking violently with an uncomfortable looking younger man.
“Why don’t you mingle with him?” I suggest. “I’ll browse for familiar faces.”
We part ways and I wind through the crowd.
The stage is a raised platform with a single microphone. Probably for speeches. Lectures. Announcements. No one is up there presently. Most of the members are standing or sitting in the crowded area, chatting, laughing, drinking. I scan their faces. There aren’t many I have seen before. At least...well, I’ve seen some of the android models before, but they all look like very happy deviants. I don’t know these people.
A tall lady catches my eye. High cheekbones and a smile that turns patients into friends. Doctor Leslie is in this crowd. She would surely recognize me, but if I play it right she just might think I am any other Connor model. RK900. Would she recognize Hank? No, she never saw him or us together. I make sure to avoid her just in case anyway.
Great towering windows covered by white curtains glow pink by the stained glass through them. The ceiling looks like it could be opened -- like one of those sunroofs in cars. Drizzles of rain peck the glass, casting a green glow upon the dance floor.
I search for an available seat. There aren’t many. And I’m distracted. Hank may be across the hall but I can hear him as if he were right next to me. I would blame good auditory sensors but I know by now it’s more than that. Because I’ve heard him make that sound before. The trill of a throat clear. The sigh, a precursor to the real reason my ears are honing in on him. Then it hits me like hard voltage.
“Hk-RSH!” The scintillating sound makes my drivers lag. My head snaps to Hank’s position. He is still mid-convo with Captain. I shouldn’t interrupt but I can’t help stare at the rough grinding of the back of his thumb against his nose, an attempt to saw away another hitch-- there it goes. I probably know there will be a second before Hank even does.
He braces for it. I can see it in the stiffness of his inflated chest, the way his teeth grind out what’s left of his control. The scoop of air as his voice snags just before--
“Connor~!”
I spin on the call of my name, brain still hotly focused on Hank but my senses distorted enough to barely register the sneeze behind me.
A squirrely man is smiling at me, hand extended for a shake. I don’t want to touch anyone here -- they could be intrusive androids wanting to read me or share memories, which is just bad for investigation.
I nod at him wishing I had a drink as an excuse not to shake.
“Awh don’t be shy; it’s me, Jack!”
I am fairly decent at banking names. This man is not on my list. He must know another Connor.
“I’m sorry...I don’t…” I let the sentence finish itself with my expression. I don’t know you.
Jack’s eyes go wide. “Oh, excuse me,” he clamps a hand over his mouth. “Wrong Connor I guess.” He swears. “I don’t mean all of you look alike!”
I wave it off. It’s not that I don’t care -- I do. It’s actually a pretty big topic in therapy. Humans not recognizing different androids of the same model. But now isn’t the time to have a blowout about it.
I have to ask him questions. But I need to be careful. If Hank and I ask too many specific questions we’ll be suspicious.
“Are you a fresh deviant?” he asks me.
“Uh, yes. Last week…” I pull on my own anxiety to sound convincing. “And I’m...nervous.”
He offers me a comforting smile. “Awh, that’s super normal. Is this your first time, then?”
“Yes.”
“It’s my third. I’ve been going since almost day one.”
Hm. “Have there been a lot of these meetings?”
He seems more than willing to share his knowledge. “Different regions have different dates, but I think there have been four. They usually try once a week.” He gestures at the crowd, “We have a lot of recruits since then. Did you go to orientation?”
The answer jumps to my lips, “Yes.”
“Oh, recently?” he doesn’t wait for me to answer, “Did you have Patrick? God that guy can drone on…” he laughs and then looks alarmed. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to speak ill of one of the Chosen.”
My LED whirrs. Chosen?
“Who are these Chosen, exactly?” I fidget nervously. “Sorry, I’m still new to this.”
“Oh no problem. It’s a lot to follow, especially for newbies. The Chosen are our heralds. They decide when we’re ready.”
Now that I couldn’t get away with asking about. I feign understanding. “Right. Of course. Thanks.” I thumb the buffet table. “I’m going to go get something to eat. It was nice meeting you, Jack.”
“Likewise~” he thankfully allows me to part and inch towards the table. I get a ways away before I veer off and look for Hank. I eye where Captain was but he’s not there anymore. I pick through the crowd some more seeking him out.
I pick up snippets of conversation as I move through groups of people. Someone is talking about conversion.
“Do you think they’ll do more tonight?”
I assume they’re talking about deviants. Do they make a showcase out of converting deviants here?
“Rob is speaking tonight. He usually does a few after.”
“Think it’ll ever be us?”
The other person shrugs. I squint at them. I do a scan. These people are human. Why are they talking about conversion like that?
I catch another group talking about this Rob, who I can only assume is one of those ‘Chosen’.
“He’s wonderful. His voice makes me feel so calm.”
“I know, I’ve been waiting for this event all week. I’ve been so anxious.”
So this Rob makes people feel calmer? I wonder what he says to them.
I want to find Hank. This whole thing is giving me a bad feeling.
A face tugs at my attention. I tilt my head at a fellow android, one I know. Freckles and red hair, his curious smile when he sees me makes me feel both antsy and relieved at the same time. His name is Freddy and I know him from therapy. His familiar face is nice in a sea of unknown but there’s no way I can pass for anyone else to him. We are close and he recognizes me instantly.
It would be rude to avoid him after we’ve spotted each other, so I head towards him giving him my kindest eyes and my ‘winning’ smile. He is holding a drink -- blue liquid tinged with a shimmer.
“Freddy,” I chuckle, “Fancy seeing you here.”
He uses a pinky to point at me, “Connor! Wow, you joined Ascension?” he gives me a once-over and his face crimps, “What the hell are you wearing?”
“Formal wear?” I pinch the front of the high collar suit. “Why are you here? I didn’t see you last session.”
“I was at orientation.” Freddy lifts a shoulder. “Therapy is good and all but...it’s just not enough, ya know?”
First rule of gathering information: agree with people.
“Yeah, I agree,” I nod. “Especially with everything we’ve been through.”
Freddy tips his head vigorously and sips his drink. He takes a small gulp and pauses, placing two fingers in front of his mouth and giving a small “ahm-oh!” He looks flustered, “Excuse me, how rude. Let’s get you one,” he takes two steps towards the buffet table where a vast bowl of the blue liquid swirls within, a ladle resting on the glass rim.
I lift my hand, “It’s alright--”
“No really,” Freddy sets his drink down and goes about pouring me one. “You need to have some of this. It’s great.”
It looks like biofluid. I don’t know how that could be ‘great’ unless they’ve flavored it with something creamy. He hands me a cupfull and I’m not rude. I take it. Plus I need to blend in. It’ll help having a drink like the others.
I sip at it, and it’s good. It must be flavored. My taste sensors tingle with the richness. Most basic biofluid is bland and feels like thick water. This was more akin to a melted strawberry shake.
“Good right?” Freddy gulps his and I follow suit, nodding.
Now that I look more like I belong, I need to prod for information. Something small. “Who’s speaking today?”
“I think it’s Rob but it might be Tony.”
Now a bit more. “Who have you heard speak so far?”
Freddy taps his cheek, “Bethany did the orientation, so I guess that counts. How about you?”
I go with my gut. “Rob did my orientation, so I guess I’ll be seeing him twice.”
Now to use my gathered knowledge to round out what I know.
“Hey, do you know if they’re going to do conversions today?”
Freddy purses his lips. “Hm...this is quite a big gathering. So, probably. I can’t believe how many people are here. It's so fulfilling. I am a little scared of going into the Cloud, but knowing all of these people will be there too -- that’s comforting.”
I push down a spiral of worry and focus on riding the glee that comes with the success of an interaction. It keeps my LED from flashing yellow.
I sip at my drink to have something to do as we nod to each other awkwardly. I’ve almost drained it by the time I feel like it’s been long enough I can part from his company and find Hank.
“I’m going to head to the buffet,” I tell him, gesturing to my nearly empty drink.
He smiles, “Enjoy the speech! See you around.”
I nudge through the crowd again, stepping around a few more people dancing. The music has picked up and people are growing more active in the center. As I pass, I notice the dance floor looks rather inviting. I feel a pull towards it as well as those within. I feel like it would be a neat idea to strike up conversation with some of the strangers. They seem like nice folks...
Hank is at the buffet table now. I should go find out what he learned. I approach him; he is busy stuffing his face with cold cuts.
“Hank,” my brow knits, “Are you eating just salami slices?”
Hank tears a bite off of the pink meat, “It’s really good! Try some,” he flops a slice in front of my face and I wave him off.
“Oh hey,” he holds out a glass of champagne, “Test this for poison, would ya?”
I dip my good fingers into the fizzy drink and taste. “The only poison in that is alcohol.”
Hank nods, “Good.” He knocks his head back, gulping it down and sighing, “Two more of those and I might get through this party.”
“It’s not so bad,” I gaze around. There is food, decent music, people are getting more comfortable as time progresses and as they imbibe. Something about the chirpy music and the gleeful people makes me...giddy. The lights are so full and bouncy, and it looks...fun.
“Did you learn anything?” Hank asks.
I sweep mischievous eyes at him. “Dance with me and I’ll tell you.”
“Seriously?��� he looks around at the people moseying along the dance floor. “I’ve never really been good at dancing.”
“I’ll lead.”
“You know how to dance?”
I toss up a smirk and wink. “I have many features~”
Hank gives me a curious yet coy look and answers my grin. “Alright. Show me what you got.”
My hand meets Hank’s, fingers lacing and curling around each other. Hank steps warily into me, our shoulders brushing. Hank is looking at me in a way I can only interpret as...shy? Nervous? Hank Anderson??
I take him up, wrapping my free arm around his waist and I take a step. Hank stares down at my feet and moves his, following me.
I laugh, “Hank,” I trace my fingers along his chin and pull his head up with a caress, “Eyes up. On me.”
Hank chuffs, “Sorry. I don’t do this much.”
“Just feel the music. Listen.” I press my head to his shoulder and nuzzle him, the buzz of his skin kicking my gears into mania. Being this close to Hank isn’t something new for me. We’ve hugged before, lain together before, argued and gotten in each other’s faces...it’s been a pretty normal thing for us to be close. But, as I take his hand in mine, wrap my arm around his back, I feel a heat that spins my head and flushes my neck. I remember the kiss we shared at the hospital.
I lean in close, guiding our movements, pulling him into me, our feet padding in a slow circle. Hank keeps glancing at his feet. He shuffles to mirror me, face falling into an awkward grimace.
In a spurt of bravery, I move my hand up to cup his cheek. “You’re doing fine,” I say.
I swear I see him blush and it highlights his cheeks just so. Gosh he is...pretty. I’ve always thought Hank is attractive, but now? With his hair pulled back, groomed and in a crisp suit, he radiates.
“You’re pretty~” the words slip from me and I find that I’m grinning.
Hank laughs. “Not somethin’ I’m used to hearing.”
My heart thumps and I press into him, laying my head on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each inspiration like a ticking clock. My arms tighten around him and I drink in his scent -- this moment, how much I’ve longed for this without realizing it.
I start to feel a bit dizzy. Is it from the dancing in such a tight circle?
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m with Hank and he is...sniffling? How long has he been doing that? I feel my limbs tingling as my head cranes to watch him. His nostrils are doing a dance of their own, flaring and scrunching, his teeth grinding as he attempts to will away the feeling.
My breath tickles my lips as my teeth chit together, “You’re driving me crazy, Lieutenant…”
“Sorry,” his voice is a low rumble, “I itch…”
A rush shoots up my body and I feel...excited. I lean up and notch my nose into his neck, thoughts zooming from my mind before I can process them.
“Mh~?”
Hank’s brow knits and he backs up enough to see my face. “Did you just moan?”
I had. And it wasn’t going to be the last time.
“Hrg…” his sleeve scrapes at his nose, the unfulfilling motion only serving to stagnate his problem. He crushes his face into the back of his hand and I can hear him sipping air. “Hnnn...Rhh-EKRshh-eu!” The way his body jolts - especially when he is still holding me by the waist - I feel it tingle me entirely. Warmth spreads around my neck and face and...other areas. My throat is a desert.
I lick my lips and take a breath. I want to kiss him again. I want to kiss his lips and face and neck until there is no revealed skin left to kiss and so I would have to seek more--
“HRSHH-eh!” another sneeze rips at Hank’s throat and I do my very best to keep my knees from turning to jello.
“Think I’m allergic to these flowers,” he sniffles.
A sudden capriciousness overcomes me and without missing a beat, I snag one of the long-stemmed mums from a nearby table and tuck it behind my ear.
“You mean these?” I blink innocently at him.
Hank gives me a confused look now. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. I feel fine. Great actually. Elated. Like we should take this party home and--
Party. We are at a party. Why are we here?
“Connor,” Hank whispers in that sexy low voice, “We can’t arouse suspicion.”
Oh. Oh. Right. We’re on a super secret mission. Whoops!
“Does this mean we should stop dancing?” I pout.
“Somethin’s gotten into you.” Hank sounds so serious. Aw.
He places a hand on my forehead as if to check for a fever. I frown, thinking hard. I feel...I suppose I would call it dizzy, but it is more like my eyes are traveling too fast for my brain to keep up with what I am seeing.I want to do things I wouldn’t normally do. I feel like taking Hank’s cheeks in my hands and just--
“Connor…?”
I open my mouth, the right words not coming to me. “I’m...not sure.”
“You’re acting drunk,” Hank purses his lips, “Can androids get drunk?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never experienced something like this.”
“How do you feel?”
“I feel like…” I reach for words to describe it, “I feel like I just got off a rollercoaster,” I say, remembering the last time I felt like this.
“Well let’s get you some water, or uh, biofluid?”
Shock impales me. “The biofluid…” I stall. “It was...shimmering.”
“Somebody spiked biofluid?”
My head swims. “I…” I am suddenly very aware that we are still on the dance floor...not dancing.
“Hank…” My eyes flick the crowd. “People are staring.”
“Oh,” Hank follows my gaze and clears his throat. He puts hands around my waist and starts moving, shuffling his feet as I did earlier. “Better?”
I nod, letting him lead this time. “Alright,” he locks eyes with me, “Focus,” his voice pulls my attention out of my fog, “Focus on me and we’ll get through this. You still haven’t told me what you’ve learned.” His hand squeezes mine as he tugs me to the left. He’s getting more comfortable doing this waltz.
“Who’d you talk to?” he asks, movements growing more fluid.
“Ahm, one man told me that this isn’t the only meeting facility, but it’s commonly used. And there’s an orientation.”
“Orientation? Like with school?”
“Sort of. Initiation of some sort. This group has multiple leaders. They’re called Chosen.” I point to another couple doing a spin and practice on Hank. He takes it in stride, drifting away from me with only a little clumsiness. Our fingertips graze each other as Hank spins. Then I pull him back into me, winding him up in my arm before clutching his body into mine. I want to squeeze a hug but the dance goes on.
Hank resumes a hold around my waist and shoulder. “This sounds culty as fuck.”
“I also ran into one of my friends from therapy.”
Hank looks alarmed. “That’s...bad.”
“Why bad?”
“Connor, this place seems…” he pauses to chew a cheek. “Tell me what they said.”
“He described his fears and spoke of some Cloud. He is afraid of it but also...anticipating. His emotions were unclear.”
“Yeah, Connor this group, whatever they are, sounds like they’re preying on scared folks who feel isolated or alone.” His voice creeps lower, “I don’t like the vibes I’m getting from this.”
My lip curls, “Should we snoop~?”
He chuckles, “Don’t think we’ll get many more answers if we don’t.”
I graze my eyes over the hall. There is a guard, an android, pacing the bend of the roped off hall. If I can get close, I can incapacitate him.
“That easy?” Hank swings to the left.
“Not quite. I will be disabled as well. You will need to reboot me after I knock him out.”
Hank looks concerned, deep creases forming along his brow. “Will it hurt you?”
I smile, lifting his hand to my lips and sneaking a kiss. “I’ll be fine, Hank.”
“Alright. Then I got your back.”
We shimmy away from the dance floor. I hold Hank at arm’s length, finishing the pose just near the server entrance. And then he lets me go, and I slip inside the hall.
My chest is light, even with my panting breaths as I attempt to regain full capacity after that. Oh, that was first date level dancing.
I wonder if Hank saw it that way too. If he is feeling the same as me -- barely able to pry myself from his arms.
I wasn’t ready to be done with our lilt but Hank was right. We have an investigation to do.
We glide towards the guard in the hall, rounding about and acting like we’re sort of lost, pointing at an adjacent branch and frowning.
“I don’t know, maybe it’s that way…”
Hank steps up to the guard, initiating a conversation, asking where the bathroom is. I sidle behind, making certain no one can see us from outside the hallway. I clear the skin on my hand. It dissolves like wiping away a fresh spill. I hold my hand to the back of the guard’s neck and touch him.
A shock of cold slices through my body. I wobble, gasping. My vision segments and grows fuzzy, like seeing through cotton. Then, I am on the floor blinking through darkness.
I peel my eyes open and see Hank, brow knit with worry as he helps me sit up.
“You okay?” his voice quivers with anxiety.
“I’m fine,” I wobble to stand and toss him a thumbs up. Hank plucks an ID card from the unconscious guard and waves it at me.
“Alright, let’s do this.”
The hall branches off into three areas. The left and right seem to go farther into the building whereas the long hall shoots north quite a ways. Hank takes left and I veer right. As soon as I enter this room I know there is nothing here. Benches and confession booths are the only things here. I head back out and down the long hall.
After a bit of walking, well sneaking really, I stop short. A small office is locked in the back of the hall. It is moments like these I wish I could communicate to Hank like other androids. I don’t have a secure way of telling him what I’ve found. I tether to his phone and send him a message -- one that only he would understand.
“Feathers in long hall.”
After a bit of a wait, Hank shows up, face screwed into a knot. “I take it you found something important?”
I grin at him, a tiny laugh bubbling from me. “Don’t look so perturbed, Lieutenant~” I poke his cheek when he gets close.
“Focus, detective,” he fumbles with the ID card and swipes it across the pad.
In we go.
It’s a simple room, an office. A desk stretches most of the length of the room, small baubles and trinkets adorn it as well as a few file folders and a computer setup. I pick through the files, only turning up some information on a few members. The file is labeled ‘week 4 conversions’.
It doesn’t tell me about the conversion, only tidbits about the members. One of them is stamped READY.
“Watch there be a secret door somewhere.”
I rifle through some more papers but turn up nothing else.
“Like in Young Frankenstein?”
Hank beams, “Exactly like in Young Frankenstein.”
“Hank,” I call to him soft but firm. He shifts over to look and I point out the stamp.
“Ready for what?”
“Whatever this means, I think it has to do with the Cloud.”
“Hah!” Hank looks rather proud of himself, “Called it.”
A mechanical whirr makes my pumps speed up, icy claws of anxiety dragging me into a brief panic before I realize that Hank has activated something on purpose. That something is a trapdoor next to the desk. It opens down into a room under the floor complete with a rickety looking ladder.
I take the rail, ready to descend but Hank holds a palm over my chest protectively.
“You know the drill,” he scoots me away. “Me first.”
“But,” I sputter, “Did you bring your gun?”
“Let’s hope I won’t need it. Now, follow me.”
We descend the ladder into a basement that honestly doesn’t look like a basement at all. At least not the kind that would be in a movie. No musty books, no lightbulb swinging from a cord. No rickety ceiling.
This room is enormous, at least bigger than the room above it, and as soon as we crest the landfall, lights flicker on and bathe the room in its fluorescent glow. Computers line the walls, their blue glowing keyboards indicate they are active and possibly recently used. A machine in the far back resembles ones I remember from Cyperlife. I recognize an assembly machine when I see it.
Hank fumbles around the wall where a few switches sit, and then another mechanical whirr creaks above us. The trapdoor begins to close over our heads, lights flickering back down to dim the room.
“Well,” Hank shrugs and begins to explore.
I browse as well, and it doesn’t take me long to find them.
Androids stand in a row along a backlit wall, eyes closed, LEDs dark, perfectly still and lifeless.
I tug Hank’s sleeve and point. He nods and gestures me over. I snag a peek at him rubbing his nose and sniffling. Hey, can’t blame me for noticing.
I approach the androids and inspect them. They are all different models and don’t seem to be active. I check their hardware -- basic stuff. Pumps, major circuits, cords. All functional. So...why are they off?
Hank heads over to me as I place two fingers against the temple of one of the androids. “What’s the verdict?”
“Hank...they’re not alive. They’re not even active.” I tap one android’s temple. “There is no data in them. None. Even an inactive android has some data. Not these.”
Hank wanders over to a computer. “How do I…” he begins to press buttons but I stop him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Let me take a look.”
“These have to be for something. Maybe that’s where the android data is.”
I shake my head, “N-no, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not?”
“Because those androids were active. Recently. For their data to be stripped it would require a malfunction I can’t even fathom.” I clack at the console keyboard, working my way into the system. My focus isn’t the best while inebriated but Hank’s not making it any easier.
“Hh..ghh, ah fuck--” Hank’s voice is rough, a low purr with a hint of gravel. “HRGSH!”
I can’t help it. I creak around to look. And he’s staring at me, swiping a finger under his nose with a knowing look.
“Focus, detective.”
I whip back around, cheeks flushed, and try really hard to pretend I wasn’t ungodly amounts of distracted by that.
“These androids…” Hank muses, “They were talking about conversions up there, right?”
“Androids and humans,” I say. “Which is weird. They spoke of a Cloud.”
Hank frowned, “And a cloud’s like...data storage. Right?”
“Well--”
The floorboards above us creak and muffled voices hum through the thin wood. People are entering the room we were just in and if we can hear them this clearly, they will likely hear us.
“Fuck!” I hear Hank mutter before he staples a finger over his mouth. I return a ‘no shit’ look.
Steps clip above us, descending through the hall. “...mmm..” They’re getting closer to us, probably inside the office room now. “Can’t tell you how please I am about this. I’ve been waiting and hoping…”
A rustle and a creak as someone sits down at the desk.
“Of course. You have been with us since the beginning. There is no doubt you are ready. We just have to take care of some paperwork…check your will...”
Will? What are they about to do to this person?
Hank creeps closer to me, risking a step, making as little noise as possible, sliding his feet instead of taking thundering footfalls.
The voices continue above, “Have you experienced any malfunctions as of late? Blackouts?”
“Um, well…”
Hank takes a couple more steps towards me and I hear the soft whisper of a sniffle. A breath sizzles from his lips and my pumps start to grind in my chest.
Oh, rA9, this is absolutely the worst time for that. I want to say something but words clog in my throat.
He’s gliding closer to me, one hand reaching out as if he wants to grab my arm, the other hand in a more sinful spot, fingers tucked under his nose, palm crushing a grunt.
“H-Hank…” I whisper with a silent voice. I swallow a buzz in my throat and watch in the dim illumination, the screens cascading shadows over his crimped visage. I can barely make out the gleam of his watery eyes as he squints against the no doubt unrelenting itch. I am frozen between licks of panic broiling in my gut.
Hank’s fingers graze my chest and I cannot fathom why he wants to touch me right now. He dips into my pocket and fishes out the handkerchief tucked within.
Oh.
My wires burn, I can’t help the flush of thirium heating my face.
“Hff-!” Hank drags out a breath, catching himself as he swaps hands to the slim cloth and covers his mouth and nose with it. Both hands cup his face now and he looks like he’s doing his best to stifle a rousing “HR-KMFF!”
I swing my head up, listening for any sign they heard.
“--and that was three weeks ago. So, recently..”
I sag with relief, but Hank doesn’t. He is using both thumbs to massage either side of his nostrils and I can very clearly hear another ragged inhale. Great his seconds are usually much much
“HK--MMSHH-Huh!”
Stronger...
“--hear that?” the overhead voice lilts.
A spike of dread pummels me and throws my components into chaos. I spin, searching the room seeking options. I throw a gesture to the machines and hurry towards one. Hank picks up on my plan instantly, shoes scraping the cement as he scurries to line up next to the inactive androids.
I slide into the prep area for the assembly machine and ghost my body. I worry about Hank. He’s not going to be able to dead lock himself like I can. He is human. He has to breathe.
But there’s no time to fret about it or second guess. I hear the people upstairs calling as we take our places, straightened and stiff.
Full bleeding lights singe my optic component and I work hard to keep myself still and unaffected by the glare. The rumble of the trapdoor whirrs my gears and overclocks me. I am panicking. And it must show.
I should have known better because as soon as the pair of them step off the ladder, their eyes fixate on me and my red LED.
They make a move towards me and my arms fly up to protect myself.
“Hey!” Hank’s sharp cry snaps all of our attention to him as he charges one of the guards, fist ready to cream the first jaw it finds.
“Hank--no!” I try to rush to assist but something stabs into my neck. Cold, hard metal sinks into my skull and I am suddenly frozen, white fuzzy lines marring my vision.
“H-Hank…” Darkness crackles at my brain and I feel my arms being lifted by the machine surrounding me. I cry out but it is swallowed by the buzz of electricity flooding my processor.
The last thing I see is Hank, locked in a punching match with a guard reaching for their gun.
And then I black out.
#dang#this took me literally a month to pump out#but I did it#I achieved my goal of finishing part 6 before the end of November#I know a lot happens in this one#but it was SO. FUN.#Definitely going to keep heading this off#I divinate two more parts coming in the future#Thank you for those who are keeping up#This has been one helluva ride#detroit become human#deviant days#hankcon#allergies#illness#snz#fanfiction#zenfic#fet!Connor#tw alcohol#tw anxiety
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Just Say It
Okay I know it’s been some time, but this one has been on my list for a while, first time Richard and Kuga say “I love you” plus MEETING KUGA’S PARENTS!? It’s a bit more drama than I thought it was going to be but yeeeearrghhh here we go:
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“Hey,” Kuga traced a finger across Richard’s cheek. “Wake up, amour.”
Richard frowned, eyes still clamped shut against the waning sunlight piercing the car window. “I would really rather not.”
“Come on, it’s only an hour until sunset. You’ll feel better soon.”
“Mmph, so you say,” Richard willed his eyes open to peek at his boyfriend. “The wine had better be fantastic.”
Kuga chuckled. “My mom only buys top shelf. Don’t worry.”
“Hg-IPSCH!” Richard thumbed his nose. “Moon save me. Let’s just get inside.” At least when they got inside, the sun wouldn’t be causing that particular problem.
Richard had been nervous about meeting Kuga’s parents, not just because of their rather conservative ways, but for the one major reason: they didn’t know Kuga was a werewolf.
Kuga had been adopted by the Simmons and had (miraculously) kept his teenage transformations from them when it became clear he wasn’t exactly human. As soon as Opal started to transform as well he left home with her in tow to get a handle on their control, blaming it on teenage rebellion.
He still got handed shit by his parents for it, but Kuga had no regrets. He still maintained a good relationship with his parents. And now, it was time for them to meet Richard.
Kuga took Richard’s hand and helped him out of the car. A peck on the cheek, a light promise, a reminder that he was there for Richard.
And then they went in.
The sounds and smells of cooking food wound through the house, permeating into the backyard to greet the duo as Kuga led them around the back door and pulled it open.
The kitchen was huge, white countertops covered every nook and cranny of the room, and most of them were topped with pans, pots, bowls, and utensils in the bustle of a squat woman with highlighted blond hair and eyes the shade of a clear sky. Her face was round and full of almost a kittenish wonder, like anything someone said would be met with pretty mewls and happy noises. Her worn jeans and smock were covered down with a maroon apron in which were tucked a ladle and tongs.
“Kuga!” the apron-clad woman removed her ladle to a paper towel and brushed her hands down the sides, eyes crinkling with glee. “You’re here! Oh,” she rounded the cabinet and placed hands on Kuga’s broad shoulders to kiss at his cheeks. “Where is little Richard?”
Richard cocked his head. Little?
Kuga gestured between the woman and Richard. “Rich, this is my Ma, Daphne Simmons. Ma, Richard Smith.”
Richard held out a hand to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Kuga speaks highly of his parents.”
“Oh my, how polite~” Daphne exclaims, taking his hand and squeezing it. “And such a cutie! My Kugalu really knows how to pick them!”
Richard’s eyes traveled to Kuga, a bemused smirk tugging his lips. “Kugalu?” he wheezed.
Kuga growled low enough that his mother didn’t hear. “Not. A single. Word.” He led Richard deeper into the house where the kitchen poured delicious scents over them. “What are we having, Ma?”
Daphne bustled over the pot and stirred a creamy liquid. “Cheese soup, roast and mashed potatoes.”
Kuga’s nostrils flared, taking in the scent, and his brow quirked curiously. “Smells like…”
Richard’s voice was a mere breath, “Garlic...hhfff…”
”Yes, Clive loves it when I mix a few cloves in with the cream. Are you alright, dear?”
“HgSHK!” Richard clamped a hand over his mouth with a muffled, “P-pardon -- Hgsheu!”
“God bless you,” Daphne tittered. “Tissues on the desk over there, dear.” She pointed into the living room adjoined by half-wall, and continued stirring.
“Thank you kindly,” Richard made his way over to the cherrywood desk, Kuga hot on his heels.
“I’m sorry,” he grazed Richard’s back. “You okay?”
Richard snagged a cloth from the box. “I will be fine.” He dabbed at his nose and palm. “I will, ahm, stay out of the kitchen.”
“I told her you’re allergic to garlic, but I don’t think she understood the extent.”
Daphne hollered from the kitchen, “Richard, dear, let me get you something to drink. We have beer, wine, liquor…”
Richard cleared his throat. “Wine is perfect.” He lowered his voice for Kuga, “Is she already trying to get me drunk?”
“She likes the sauce.”
Daphne bustled in the kitchen, pouring three glasses for them, doubling the amount normally present in your average glass of wine.
“Where is your father? Clive!” Daphne hollered into the living room.
Richard sniffled, head swinging anxiously to the man entering the room.
“Kuga!” Clive looked even less like Kuga than Daphne. His stringy greying hair looked like it may have once been blonde, and his eyes were a light blue shade, almost the hue of storm clouds. He had a thin, gaunt face and a white moustache that curled over his lips.
“Is this the beau?”
“Pa, this is Richard Smith. Richard, Clive Simmons.”
Clive clapped Richard on the back and gave him a bushy smile, “Good to have ya here, son.”
Richard tried not to outwardly react to being called ‘son’ by someone centuries younger than himself. Instead he nodded to Clive. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Please, sit,” he gestured to the couch. “Daphne, bring me a beer.” He waited for his wife to scurry to the fridge before lighting upon the cushions himself. “So, tell me. What’s with this new job? You’re working for a big corporation now?”
“Well,” Kuga sat next to his father, “I’m going to start working nights, so the company shifted me to an alternate subcategory. I can work at home if I want, also. Which is nice because I can spend more time with Richard.”
Clive clicked his tongue, “Now, don’t go asking them for the moon, son. You need a job, don’t let your personal life get in the way of you making an honest living.”
Kuga pressed his lids together, biting his tongue and forcing a smile. “I know, Pa.”
“Kugalu, come get your father’s beer,” Daphne called. Kuga sighed and slipped off the couch to head around the corner where the sizzling of food grew louder to his ears. His mother handed him a bottle thick with condensation and placed a hand on his shoulder, worry lacing her expression.
“Sweetie, your father’s right, you know.” She spoke low and dire, as if they were exchanging guarded secrets.
Kuga could have rolled his eyes, but he didn’t. Moon knows he wanted to though.
“I know you’re in a very...special relationship right now, but, you can’t let that drive your life.”
“Rgh,” Kuga grunted. Daphne’s mouth scrunched and Kuga cleared his throat. “Yes, Ma. I know.” He had only just gotten here and already wanted to get away. He took a few steps back into the living room to hand his father the beer. “Uhm, have y’all seen my old harddrive?” he asked. “The one from my old Flash class.”
“There’s a bunch of computer mess up in your room, Kugalu,” Daphne said.
Kuga froze, but Richard slapped on a look -- mischief and curiosity well blended.
“Kuga’s room?” he tittered.
“Ah yes, dear. Pristine since he left it in high school -- stars only know why he did that.” Her lip trembled.
“I did. I went to live with Ethan.”
“Psf. Ethan. I have never understood that whole ordeal,” she waggled a wrist.
Something passed over Kuga’s face, hardening it. “I think we’ll just go upstairs and check.” He hooked an arm under Richard’s and led him away.
Richard knew he missed something, but he wasn’t at liberty to ask. Besides, he would be perfectly happy getting out of the heavily-scented kitchen.
“Taking me to your bedroom, then~?” he grinned as they reached the stairs.
“Not if you’re gonna be creepy about it.”
“I am merely excited to see what a young Kuga was like.”
“Dark,” Kuga growled. “And sad.” His lip twitched. “And broody.” He cracked, eyes wrinkling.
Richard prodded him. “You must have been so very troubled. That is why when we get into your bedroom it will be--” Richard nigh pranced down the hall and tugged at the doorknob. “So very…” his brow creased in concern as he took in the room.
Well, it was quite dark. Black and white paintings splashed the room with stark contrasts, silver and pewter statuettes of small animals littered the desk that seemed to have one of the mirror panes cracked -- as if someone had punched it. And it looked to have decorations befitting a broody young teen, especially in the novels spread across the shelves. Horror, romance, mystery, and...
“Ah, Kuga, I believe we need to talk.” He plucked a book from the shelf -- well worn. “Laurell K. Hamilton??” Richard tutted.
“That’s Opal’s room.”
Richard flushed. “Ah, well I should just…” he slid the raunchy book back into the shelf. “Hm. Then.” He turned back to Kuga, cheeks afire with the blush of life. “Shall we? Your room?”
Kuga’s room was bland in comparison to Opal’s. Minimalistic, focused on the more intellectual pursuits, with lots of “For Dummies” books and old texts possibly used in class and never gotten rid of.
Of course there was an old computer in it, one set up to run, one taken apart and left on the floor for a later project. Unsurprisingly, what did catch Richard’s eye was the dumbells in the corner.
“You lifted weights as a teen?” Richard chuckled. “You were a jock,” he teased.
“I was a loner, thanks very much.”
“Of course you were.”
“As if you’d know. When did you go to school? 1890?”
“A bit earlier than that, actually. I went to Catholic school in France...which, erhm, was more like obedience training than edu-heh...cati-ISCHT!” Richard palmed his face. “Moon that smell is pungent.”
“Prosit.” Kuga wandered over to the bed and flopped upon it, wrinkling the bedspread with his weight.
“Is that…” Richard picked up a flutelike instrument and spun it around in his hand. “A recorder?”
“Everybody in school got one. And we all sucked at it.”
Richard held it out for him. “Oh I must see this.”
Kuga rolled his eyes, “No way.”
“Oh come now! When will I ever again be graced by this opportunity?”
Kuga nipped back a groan, sitting up and swiping the instrument from his boyfriend. He pressed it to his lips for a few notes, piping the sound that pierced through the air like a knife. It was just as bad as when he was twelve.
“See?”
Richard laughed and clapped. “Good on you. I imagine you could be quite good if you cared enough to practice.”
Kuga lobbed the recorder into a box. “I wanted to play cello.”
“How classy! A werewolf cello player.”
“Ma said it would have been loud and expensive and too difficult.”
“Hm...I believe you could have handled it.” Richard took up a spot next to Kuga, scooting in close so that they could run fingers across each other as they spoke.
“I could never get on stage or anything,” Kuga said.
“You lead a werewolf pack. You are constantly in the social spotlight.”
Kuga shook his head. “That’s different. Leading isn’t the same as performing.”
“Hm, I suppose.” Richard thumbed his nose. “I’ve seen you play the piano before.”
Kuga blushed, watching Richard, knowing that all his boyfriend wanted for him was happiness. “I don’t mind when it’s with you.”
Richard’s face split into a grin. “Like me that much, do you?”
Heat blossomed in Kuga’s chest, his breath catching as words sprang to his lips. Words he wanted to say. Words he had been wanting to say for a while now...the reason he wanted Richard to meet his parents. The reason he wanted to move forward. He hadn’t said it yet, but he knew. His feelings for Richard were strong and thick, it felt like he was being pulled by a rope towards this inevitable thing. He wanted to say it. Wanted to so badly.
But did Richard feel the same? Was he ready for the word?
Kuga had been quiet for too long. Richard’s eyes crimped, “What’s wrong?”
Not yet. It wasn’t time. But…
Kuga reached and clenched Richard’s shirt, jerking him closer and sealing his lips over his boyfriend’s. His mouth worked over Richard’s, tasting him, smelling him -- under the cologne and soap and even his blush of life that made him more alive -- there was Richard. His scent, like moonbeams on a breezy evening. Crisp and inviting.
Kuga kissed his lips and shifted down to his chin, making sure he was attentive to the line of his jaw and the delicate skin down his neck. He flicked his tongue over the bump in his throat and nuzzled his collarbone, drinking in the sweet scent of him.
“You’re…” Richard moaned, “going to start something we can’t finish here.”
Kuga narrowed his eyes as if to accept the challenge. His fingers crept down, dipping the index into the ring of Richard’s belt. Tugging.
Richard’s hand crinkled in the sheets, knees bending as he moved to meet Kuga’s hand with his hips.
“Kuga! Dinner!”
The ringing voice of his mother snapped Kuga out of his haze and his head crashed into the pillow with a groan.
Richard laughed, head tipping back as he patted Kuga’s shoulder. “Truly an experience worthy of your old bedroom.” His jovial expression was short-lived though as his face crumpled against the bend of his wrist and he shot up in a spine-curling, “Hix’ETSCH!” the edge of his palm sawed at his nose and he coughed. “Mh, suppose we should get downstairs for the wonderful dinner.”
Kuga placed a hand on Richard’s knee, massaging a thumb in small circles. “You don’t have to.”
“It’s alright.” Richard sighed. “I’ll survive.”
They meandered over to the dining room where Daphne was setting the table with brown ceramic plates and velvety cloth napkins. The scents of roasted meat and vegetables permeated the room, drawing watering mouths from all but the vampire who couldn’t seem to keep his breathing steady.
“Hhh…” his thumb snaked under his nose with a liquid sniff, “Ek-TSCH! Hueh-ISSH!”
“Oh dear, God bless.” Daphne pet his shoulder. “Did you take any Claritin, sweetie?”
Richard gritted his teeth, the lie springing to his lips. “I did.”
“Ah,” Daphne nodded in a tilted manner as if she really didn’t believe him. “Well, I made your plate special since you’re allergic to the ingredients I normally put on there, alright sweetie?” The sugar lacing her words didn’t hide her irritation. Richard could tell she did not approve of his allergy.
But he would sit and eat what he could to make her happy. Or at least be more polite than she was being.
He pulled a chair and sat down, but the looks from Kuga’s parents had him back on his feet, concern nipping at his heart.
“Grace,” Daphne held out her hands for the others to grasp, creating a chain of linked arms.
Kuga snuck an apologetic wince at Richard who looked about like he might burst into flames. Richard did as expected and bowed his head, biting his lip against the simpering sensation creeping through his face.
“Dear Lord,” Daphne began, “we thank you for this meal and for our wonderful son, Kuga.”
Richard sniffed, hot and quick, hoping it would chase away the prickle encroaching on his sinuses. He really didn’t want to sneeze in the middle of their prayer. What would he do with his hands??
“We are blessed to have him here with us today,” Daphne continued. “And hope that every day we grow as a family--”
Richard smushed his lips against the base of his septum, but it wasn’t working. His lungs filled, strengthening the imminent release, and he immediately dropped his grip in the circle and crushed a palm to his nose. “Ehk-ITSCh!” He blinked away moisture from his eyes, massaging his nose with the back of his hand, “Apologies.”
Daphne had paused for a moment, not looking up from her bow, but she continued, sounding mildly annoyed. “May we all make better choices in the future, and continue to serve you, Amen.”
Richard lifted his head and looked to Kuga. Better choices?
Kuga jerked his head, looking irate, but he kept his mouth shut. Which was rather strange for Kuga, but Richard followed his lead and pinched the unsettled feeling in his gut.
The family sat and soon the sounds of clinking silverware filled the silence.
Kuga was horking down his plate as if he hadn’t eaten all day, while Richard nibbled at his roast slowly so as not to overdo it.
Daphne sighed and reached over to Kuga’s face, ruffling his hair with her manicured nails. “Kugalu, still eating like you’re fourteen. Slow down, sweetie. You’ll choke.” She fluffed his curls with a slight tilt of her head. “I really wish you would cut your hair. You could go to Clive’s barber, get a nice buzz.”
“Daph, leave him be,” Clive said, plucking at his food.
“Oh, I’m just trying to help,” she patted his cheek and returned to her meal. “Richard seems the kind to like a nice haircut.” She speared an asparagus and dipped it in hollandaise. “Have you been thinking about kids?”
Fork tines rang against the plate, Kuga actually choking now on a shred of meat.
“Daphne!”
“What? Betty and John just told me about this wonderful adoption agency--”
“Ma!” Kuga’s eyes rounded. He whipped eyes to Richard, heart hammering in his chest.
Daphne let out a hum, smoothing her napkin. “Well, since Opal’s mentioned not wanting kids, I had hoped at least one of my children would give me grandkids.”
“Ma,” Kuga swallowed, “We’re not even…” his face flushed as he blinked from his mother to Richard, but the vampire didn’t seem to be paying attention. He had brought his napkin up to his face, eyes glazing, taking small sips of air.
“Hih...ITSCH!” he folded himself into the cloth, “Hmp-KSH!” A sniffle wallowed from him as he dabbed at his pink nose. “Apologies.”
Kuga couldn’t have been happier to change the subject. “You doin’ okay?”
Richard nodded but his nose twitched again, lower lip curling with a breath that sounded like he had to beat and drag it from his lungs. “Eh-XTue! Hax’TSCH!”
Daphne said something, but Richard didn’t hear it. His response quavered in his attempt at forcing the tingle back, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, bumping fangs as he--
Paused. Fangs. Moon save--
“H’AXTSCH!” his face buried itself into the now damp napkin and he used the bowing motion to scoot away from the table. “I’m so s-hh-sorry. I hieh...need some air…” he rose from his seat, Kuga spinning as his eyes wrinkled with worry. He watched Richard stumble his way to the back door, barely pausing with another sneeze.
“Oh dear, I do hope he’s alright,” Daphne frowned after him. “Strange allergy your boyfriend has.”
Kuga sat his napkin next to his plate, “Excuse me, Ma. Pa.” He stood to follow Richard out of the house.
Richard had made his way out to sit under the gazebo, staring off into the new night. The sun had set but its fading light still reached far enough to paint the sky a rich navy blue where the stars could be seen if they were strong and determined to shine.
The moon did glow a gibbous and Richard’s eyes were fixed upon its luminous sheen.
Until, “Ek’TSCHsss!” he pulled a knuckle under his nose, sniffling back the drip, face flushed from the attack on his sinuses.
“Rich?” Kuga meandered towards him, stepping under the vines of the gazebo.
“Hello, Kuga,” his words were laced with congestion, fangs peeking out as he spoke.
Kuga scooted closer, frowning. “Are you okay? Your fangs…”
“They’ll retract soon. I apologize. Your family could have seen.”
Kuga chuffed. “I ain’t worried about anything but you.” He reached to brush a thumb across Richard’s shoulder. The vampire looked up at him, uneasiness in his gaze.
“Kids?”
Kuga soured. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d--” he palmed the back of his neck, “We’ve only been dating a few months. I don’t even…”
“It’s okay. We just haven’t...ahm, I never considered that you might want…” Richard’s lips thinned, “Well I am a vampire. Kids have never been in my plan.”
Kuga’s heart constricted. Damn his mother for pulling out that card, for springing that on them, at dinner.
His gaze wandered across the backyard, landing on an old but thick tree behind the garden. He lifted a hand and pointed, “I used to climb that tree.”
Richard’s spine relaxed a bit as he followed his gaze. “That one? You used to fit in a tree?”
“Still could.”
Richard scoffed. “Of course. For ten seconds.”
Kuga looked aghast. “I’ll fucken prove it.” He strode over to the broad trunk and sized up the rounder branches. The swirl of a zephyr tickled his face as he braced himself, muscles firming, knees bent, feet planted; and then he was airborne, chest rippling with adrenaline. A small crunch ripped through the air, bark sloughing off where his shoes scraped the wood. He nestled down, sitting with his back against the trunk, feet dangling down.
“Your turn~”
Richard stared wide-eyed up at Kuga. “My?”
Kuga patted the branch with a smug look. “Come on, vamp. Can you climb trees?”
Richard frowned, feeling his legs turn to stone at the sight of the massive trunk. “Ah...I don’t think so.”
Kuga guffed, “Get up here and I’ll make it worth your while.”
Richard’s face twisted and he felt his fear slip in and out of his veins. “A-alright.” He stepped up to the tree and gripped the bark, fingers digging into the cracks between sheafs of wood. He placed a foot on the base and pushed, but his shoe slipped and he scraped his knee on the wood, letting out a pained whimper as he danced backwards to keep upright.
“You’ve gotta get a better grip.”
Richard growled. “This was not meant to be done in loafers.”
“Then take them off.”
Richard looked at Kuga as if he’d just suggested a sin. Kuga sputtered, lowering his arm.
“Here, let me help you.”
Richard timidly placed fingers over Kuga’s palm, unsure. “Kuga…”
Kuga wrapped his hand around Richard’s. “Ready?”
“Erm…”
With a steady tug, Kuga hauled Richard up into the branches, allowing the vampire to adjust his hold on the tree before releasing him to steady his back with a strong palm.
Richard tried not to look paler than he already was.
“This is...higher than I thought it would be.”
“You’re doin good,” Kuga encouraged.
“If I can just…” Richard gripped the bark tightly, “Hhh...shit…”
Kuga steadied him, reaching over from his branch as Richard’s face slipped, watery eyes squeezing shut, further piercing his concentration, “GhX’UE!” the stifle nearly sent him stumbling off his branch, but Kuga’s grip was firm, holding him through each jarring sneeze, “XShhGh!” Richard’s fingers digging into the bark, snapping and cracking a shred of wood. “Ah, moon.”
“Got ya,” Kuga helped him find a recline against the trunk and Richard allowed his spine to sink into the bend of the branches.
It really wasn’t so bad. And this was a pastime of Kuga’s. His boyfriend certainly seemed comfortable up here.
“How often did you climb when you were young?”
Kuga winged his elbows out, tucking hands behind his head as he reclined. “This tree? Or all trees?”
“This one, I suppose.”
“Nearly every day after school. I’d put on some music,” he pointed, “Boombox on that table. And then climb. Had a swing, too.”
Richard laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Kuga tilted his head. “In a good way or a bad way?”
“In a good way, Kuga. Always good...with you.”
Kuga smiled, looking up out at the gathering stars. The swell of the moon, so bright even as it filled. The trees swaying in the zephyrs of wind. Almost like when he was young.
“Kuga…” Richard wasn’t staring at the trees or the sky. He was taking in the man before him. Strong and calm and just the right amount of firm. The way his eyes lit up in the moonlight, soft curls dressed around his head, framing his stubbled jaw. A wolfish grin on his face whenever he looked at Richard.
He was beautiful.
“Kuga…” Richard swallowed, “I love you.”
Kuga’s head snapped to him, chest pounding as his eyes went wide. And he saw that look: that look he’d give Richard not an hour ago. That look he longed to see reflected back. Those words bubbling forth in a momentous laugh. “I fucken love you too, asshole.”
Richard grinned, braving the boughs to reach over for a soft nudge. “Is this okay? It’s not kids, but--”
Kuga swiped his hand and squeezed, gaze fiery yet soft, like a candle’s glow. “All I needed was you.”
#It's longer than expected#but I wanted it to round out and give some insight to Kuga's childhood#Totally didn't base his mom off of mine or anything#I couldn't help it though#I wrote this while actually visiting my parents#It was fun though#all of Kuga's nuances#snzfic#allergies#vampire#kuga and richard#zenOcs#zenfic
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DBH: Deviant Days (Part 5)
Alright, let’s clear up that cliffhanger, yeah? Here’s Part 5. This was probably the hardest one I’ve written so far, and you’ll see why. I have to warn y’all though, there is a lot of injury in this one. It’s DBH, after all.
Content Warning: blood, severe injury, hospital, car crash
PART 1; PART 2; PART 3; PART 4
Alright, enjoy!
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Sirens.
I see the flashing, if a bit blurred between streaks of rain.
Where am I? Am I lying in the street? What just happened?
I was talking...to Hank. And then…
The snap of anxiety gives me clarity. Hank.
Where is he? I move my head, looking around the rain stricken asphalt. The car, Hank’s car, is crushed against another similar sized car. It looks like I was thrown from the vehicle. Did I not put on my seatbelt? Strange for me. Why…
I blink away the glare forming on my lenses and attempt to sit up. My entire body feels slow, like it’s lagging.
“Hank!” I call, forcing myself up from the ground. Broken glass litters the pavement making it difficult to stand. I feel lighter than I should; something is off but it’s not my concern. Hank is. The sirens belong to an ambulance. It is dark but the flashing red and blue light up the street and I can see cars, traffic backed up on the freeway making room for a half dozen police cars surrounding us. The silhouettes of medical workers bustling around the crash site spike my emotions. They are rolling people into the back. I can’t see who’s on the stretcher.
“Hank--!” I rush towards them but an officer stops me, blocking my way.
“Android,” he says firmly “Tell me--”
“Hank! Hank Anderson!” I shake, my eyes flying around the scene. “Where?” My throat feels constricted. I have to squeeze the words out in bursts of panic. “Did they get him out?”
I don’t know what the officer sees in my face but he eases his tone.
“Deviant…” he tugs at his radio, speaking into the crackling device. “Deviant android here asking for...Hank Anderson.”
I don’t have time for this. I move to get past him, lifting my arm--
Or attempting to. I look down at where my arm should be. It is gone. Only a splash of blue checkers my suit.
Whatever. It doesn't matter. I can get a new arm. I can’t get a new Hank.
“I need you to stay--”
I shoulder past the officer, limping towards the closing ambulance doors.
“Hank!” my voice is swallowed by a crack of thunder and the engine of the truck. I need to get into that vehicle. I spin to the officer. “Let me go with him, please!”
I don’t know what the officer says to me. I can’t hear over the pounding of my core, the shriek of rain hammering my head. But he lets me climb into the passenger’s seat of the ambulance. The driver doesn’t seem to mind; they are more focused on getting through traffic than talking to me. At least I’m here.
The ride feels like it takes forever. I can hear the scrambling of the EMTs in the back over the roar of the sirens above. It makes me nervous. I keep wanting to ask what’s going on but I know it won’t help.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. I shouldn’t have asked him to drive. We should have had our distracting talk somewhere stationary. Now...this is my fault. What if--
No. Don’t think it. Hank has to be fine. Has to be.
I do my best to repair what I can of myself in the car but it is clear: I need new parts. A lot of them.
After a debilitatingly long drive (so it felt) the ambulance finally pulls up in front of the hospital and the EMTs get out to admit Hank into the building.
I amble down from the passenger’s seat hoping I will be able to follow the stretcher in the back. It is an uproar. A medical team meets the EMTs outside where they convey information about the patient. I catch snippets of medical jargon and “he’s losing blood,” which makes me freak out.
“Hank!” I round the stretcher, brushing past one of the doctors who tried to block me from seeing the damage. My fingers grip the bar on the side and I look into his eyes...
It isn’t Hank. Another person is in this stretcher.
My head swings to the EMT. “Where was the other ambulance?”
“Two were carrying patients. The other one should have been here before us.”
I spin and run full out into the hospital but I don’t make it far. My left leg gives out and I crumple to the ground. My fists meet the concrete and I snarl as if it had personally offended me. Two more doctors scurry to my side to assist me, helping me stand.
“I need…” I blink past a haze of panic. “I need to find Hank Anderson.”
“You need to get inside,” the doctor helps me hobble to a chair just in the entrance and tells me to sit down. They roll the injured man away and I am left sitting in a busy hall, doctors and nurses skating by on their own rushed agendas.
The fluorescent lights pierce my eyes, baking the hall with their hot bulbs. Doctors speed up and down the tile, their coats billowing behind them as they flip through charts or call out to each other, barking orders and codes, voices echoing through the hall, stinging my ears with static overload. Too much is going on.
I try to flag someone down but it is clear I won’t be able to get any answers until I seek them out myself. I test my leg with a little weight and manage to hobble across the hall where a nurse’s station is accumulating people in scrubs.
I place my available hand on the counter, smearing blue blood over the white countertop.
“Uh, my apologies,” I say to the nurse who is glaring at me. “I need to find Hank Anderson. He was just in a car accident and brought here and…” my gears are rapid, panic igniting my senses and numbing me to everything except my dark thoughts. “Please.”
The nurse looks at his partner and frowns. “He won’t have a chart quite yet then. I can ask surgical, but they won’t know until the paperwork is done.”
“Is this the android?” A woman’s voice snags our attention. She is tall, taller than me, wearing salmon scrubs and a lab coat. Her cheekbones are high and a smile is spread across her face.
“M-My name is Connor.” I say. “Did s-someone ask for me?” Hope licks my tone.
“You are the talk of the town, you know,” she says. “You haven’t been here long but I heard you’re in rough shape, Connor.” She offers a hand. “I’m Doctor Leslie and I can help you.”
She’s being nice, and I know this, but the only help I want right now is in finding Hank.
“I need--”
She holds up her hand. “I know you are looking for someone but we need to get you fixed up too. Come with me. I have android parts.”
I hesitate. Look at the nurse. He shrugs.
“We’ll let you know when we find your friend.”
“Hank--”
“Anderson. Yes.”
I pick up the doctor’s gaze and she nods. She leads me down another hall, pausing briefly to throw a fellow employee a thumbs-up. I notice something when her sleeve moved. I saw a mark. It looks like a wrist tattoo. I don’t know why I fixate on it, but it’s something to distract me from worrying about Hank. It’s not working very well.
We enter a room, a basic patient wing where she offers me a seat. “Anywhere you’re comfortable.”
I sit on the small couch near the window, the pleather crinkling under my weight. I look down at my feet. My shoes are roughed up as well, my pant leg torn, my jacket slick with dirt and blood. I hope Hank is in better shape than I.
Doctor Leslie rummages in a closet where I can see android parts lining the shelves within.
“What is your model?”
It takes a moment for me to recognize what she is saying. “RK800.” I hope my processor isn’t damaged.
She hisses. “You’re new -- gosh. What is compatible with you...hm…”
I list off a couple components she could use and she finds me an arm and connectors for my leg.
“We’ll getcha fixed up real good. And that should give them enough time to find your friend.”
I nod and let her operate, trying not to think of how Hank is somewhere in this hospital, hurt, possibly dying…
“Wanna tell me what happened?”
“Oh,” I wriggle out from under the mound of worry. “We were...driving. I,” I grunt as she pries open one of my electrical windows. “I was talking to Hank about something stressful. He must have been distracted because we crashed.”
“Oh hon, I’m sorry,” she plugs the new connectors in and my leg whirrs. I can move it fully again. “Where did the accident happen?” she asks, moving onto my arm.
“It was on uhm…” I try to remember where we were, but I wasn’t paying attention at the time. “I don’t remember.” My head dips and my throat catches. I want to remember this. I want to think about anything except Hank right now.
“Connor,” she pats my back, “Are you okay? Functioning properly?”
“Yes, sorry,” I shake off the gut-wrench. “Do you, uhm...do this a lot? Operate on androids?”
She laughs. “I get asked that a lot. ‘Why do you do this?’ ‘It’s not your job.’ ‘They’re not human and don’t feel pain.’ Well, I want to help every living person. You are a deviant, right?”
I nod.
“Then you are alive and therefore I will do what I can for you.”
I shrink at that. Not many people have accepted deviants as people -- as living beings. For a doctor to put my well-being at the same level as a human, that made me feel both elated and guilty. Because we don’t feel pain, and we don’t require as immediate attention as humans. But still…
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sure you make many androids happy with your perception on us.”
“Sweetie, I would be so lucky to help out you poor deviants. I can’t believe how this world mistreats you. It’s wrong.”
I want to engage her, I do, but my mind keeps crawling back to Hank. Where could he be? How badly is he hurt? Is he even here? My gears start to pick up with the incline of my emotions.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble,” the doctor pats my fresh arm. “You’re worried about your friend, huh?”
I nod. “I would like to see him as soon as possible.”
“Well,” she purses her lips, “let’s go and see if they’ve found him. Is everything working okay?”
I move my limbs, testing their range of motion and security to my body. “Yes, thank you.” My clothes are still tattered, the sleeve ripped off with my arm and my shirt is untucked and bloody. But I still have my tie. I straighten it, flattening out the crumpled edges and brushing at the streaks. What can I say; I get nervous, I fix my tie.
“I appreciate your help. Bill me for the parts,” I hand her a card from the department and head out to the nurses’ station from earlier. It should have been long enough for news to come forth about Hank.
“Excuse me,” I get one of the staff’s attention. “I was here earlier looking for Hank Anderson. Car accident victim.”
“All the car accident patients have been transferred to the second floor.” The nurse idly flips through a stapled paper, not looking at me.
“May I have a room number?” I ask, getting annoyed.
“I don’t know what room.”
Okay, I’ve had enough. “Look,” my voice grows hot and firm. “I don’t have time, you don’t have time, for us to be standing here circling the same question that I will keep asking you until you finally get me a room number. So why don’t we just skip the part where I annoy you until you cave. Please.” My fingers curl over the countertop. “Help me out.”
That did it. They rake me with a look, considering, and then sigh. The employee ticks on a computer for a moment before scrawling down a room number on a scrap of paper, muttering ‘good luck’, and I book it to the elevator.
The room isn’t bright but the lights are dim and it’s night outside, so there is no extra light to see by. But I know it’s Hank the moment I get to the room. His gruff voice sings to my ears, igniting hope in my chest. I throw open the door, startling the nurse at his bedside.
“Hank!”
Hank is dressed with gauze over his arm, butterfly bandages holding cuts closed on his brow. He is hooked up to an IV, the tube situated and taped onto his left arm. But other than looking pale and scraped up, he seems fine. No casts. No visible incisions. Just what seems to be stitches running across the back of his left arm.
“Connor, you’re here,” Hanks face lifts and he starts to fumble with the IV tube, “Look, my friend is here. You can get this shit off me and let me go home.”
My feet pound the floor before I know what I’m doing. I skid to his side, clutching the bar of the bed. “I was…” tears slip down my cheeks, “worried.” A small squeak in my voice escapes as my words begin to crumble into small hiccups.
“Connor,” Hank sucks in a breath. “I’m glad you’re okay. These bastards wouldn’t tell me what happened to you. I thought…” he rolls his shoulder and grunts, “Well, now we can go--”
“Mr. Anderson,” the nurse blocks him from messing with the tubes again. “You aren’t cleared to leave yet. We’re keeping you overnight until your fever breaks.”
“Horseballs,” Hank snaps. “I’m fine.”
“Hank, please,” I pinch his bloodstained sleeve, “listen to them. You’re sick and...hurt.”
Hank frowns at me, eyes softened by my plea. “Fine,” he flaps his good hand. He considers me for a minute before turning a serious face to the nurse. “Can you give us a minute?”
She sweeps her gaze between us, looking as though she really doesn’t trust us to not just book it out when she’s not looking. But I suppose she sees the look on our faces and nods. “Lights out soon. You’ll have to make it quick.”
“Thanks.”
The nurse leaves, snicking the door shut behind her.
I browse Hank’s injuries noting the flush of his cheeks. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just got hit by a car.” He says bluntly. “Ah, don’t give me that face. It ain’t that bad, really. Just sore.” He sniffles and tilts his head to the side. “Hrrsheu!” he groans, “And my head’s killin me, but they gave me somethin for the pain and I gotta say, I hope it starts to work soon.”
I give a tight nod, my feelings too much of a jigsaw to formulate a thought.
Hank uses his wounded arm to cover a cough, sweat beading on his brow with each ragged breath. He makes a fist and uses it to crush his nose with knuckles, letting out a whisper of an oath.
“H-Hank, you’re going to pop your stitches….”
I watch the muscles flexing near the suture site, the gauze stretching.
“HggSHEU!” My face creases with worry when the stitching begins to bleed, not a lot but enough to concern. It darkens the gauze and I fumble through a cabinet to seek out more. I hold his arm up and begin to wrap the wound some more, but Hank growls and shoos me away, taking the cloth for himself to press against the wound. “Don’t fuss over me so much. I’m fine.” His eyes pierce me, full of frustration and something else.
The silence is thick and viscous, making me feel like my heart is swimming in a vat of anxiety, unable to come up for air, unable to find my way to the top. Unable to open my mouth to breathe a word.
“Hell, Connor,” Hank barks, and I reel back at his tone. “Say something. I can’t have this talk without you.”
Right. The talk. We were talking before…
“In the car,” Hank winds his wrist, “you were in the middle of confessing your undying love or somethin…” I see heat in his cheeks under the beard. Is that from his illness or…
Wait. I look into his eyes and read him. It hits me. His body language...he is doing exactly what I am doing. Creeping closer until the other moves away. Slowly, gradually we’ve been creeping closer to each other. A shift here. An arm there. Our hands brush, but we pull away, worried we’re breaking barriers.
I catch his eyes and in them I see a world of worry. Hank’s own anxieties and desires and...they’re directed...at me.
“I was…” I swallow. “Yes. I was indeed.”
Hank chuffs and his good hand comes up to the back of my head, fingers delicately twisting in my hair as he pulls me in.
He kisses me. This kiss -- this kiss -- is the one people talk about. This is the kind of kiss they put in the movies, in the books, in stories that make you long for a kiss that magnitude. For someone to feel so overwhelmed by your existence it just spills out of them in the form of lips and tongue and hands moving -- hands pulling. Tugging at clothes. Ripping -- oops.
Fuck it. Hank is kissing me. Hank is kissing me. He nips my lip, tugging at me, stirring at my mouth with his tongue. My processor is whirring. I can’t get enough of him. I pour heat into that kiss and show him just how much I have wanted this moment. This is what I should have done in the car.
He leans back. I hungrily chase his kiss, but he is pulling away.
“J-just a sec…” his voice dips low, more of a growl than a whisper. His fingers curl over his mouth and nose with a deep sniff, “Heh-RrrSHH!” he recovers from the sneeze and apologizes. I can’t stop staring at him, absorbing the look on his face and the way his nostrils are just so pink and curling at just the right angle…
He looks at me as if to come at me for more, but I pull away this time.
I need to tell him. I trust Hank. He makes me feel valued and valid. He deserves to know.
“Hank,” I dip my head. “There’s something…” Oh how do I do this? Factual? Emotional? I don’t know what to call it even.
“Hey,” Hank’s eyes crimp. “What’s that face for? Are you nervous? Because that’s completely normal.”
“No,” my gaze flicks up to him. “Well a little, but for a different reason.” I gulp at the air. Just do it. Get it over with. “There’s something...happening to me. A, uh, reaction. I’m not sure why but when you...sneeze...it makes me feel things.”
“What kind of things?”
“In the car,” my cheeks heat with thirium. “It made me want to kiss you. Not that I didn’t already want to, but...it exacerbated my desires.” That was the best way to put it. “I’m sorry. This is new to me and I don’t know what it means.”
Hank is silent for a moment and I fear the worst, but instead of more questions, Hank lets out a burst of laughter. He laughs as if he had just found a piece of a puzzle that had been missing.
“Sounds like,” he prods my chest, “You have a fetish.” His mirthful eyes roll up to the ceiling, “Fancy that. Androids have gods and devils.”
My eyes widen, “Is this...bad?!”
“Naw, it ain’t bad, it’s just...uh, not considered normal. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Connor. It just makes you more...heh, human.” He smiles at me, eyes full of warmth.
My lips twist in a smirk. “I shouldn’t google this, should I?”
“Surprised you haven’t already.”
“A lot has been going on,” I argue. “And I...was nervous.”
Hank puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t be nervous.” His eyes lock onto mine. “I’m not.”
“You’re not…? You don’t think this is strange?” I ask.
“What I think,” Hank plasters on a leer,” is now I finally have something to get your attention.”
My brow furrows. “Get my attention?” As if he didn’t already have it. “You...want my attention?”
Hank sputters. “I guess you wouldn't notice; being deviant is new for ya. Yeah, I like you, Connor. Wanted to do something about it for a while. Make a move maybe. Thought about it. But you’re confused, vulnerable. Just learning your emotions. I didn’t wanna take advantage or push you into something that wasn’t there.”
My fingers trace his palm, the buzz of skin driving my core, “It’s there.”
The door clicks open and our heads swing to see the nurse peeking in at us.
“It’s past visiting hours.”
I look to Hank. “Are we okay?”
He pats me, “Course.”
I give his hand another squeeze and brush his arm -- a promise of things to come, and I leave.
Relief feels good. The press of anxiety has left me, knowing that Hank is okay and resting.
We kissed.
My mind is still exploding with joy. I haven’t felt this elated in a long time. I’m actually smiling at people as I wander through the hospital on my way to the lobby. I’m just about to crest the archway from the hall and someone bumps my arm.
“My, my,” she chuckles, “Using that arm pretty well now?” It is Doctor Leslie. “How’s your friend?”
I beam at her. “Yes, he is fine. He’s in recovery. No major injuries.”
Her smile seems to slip a bit, like a shadow flitting past the sun. “Well,” her warmth returns as quickly as it had blipped, “I’m glad you’re happy.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and something catches my eye. Her tattoo. I can see it now, fully if briefly. It is a triangle with an A in the center.
It doesn’t take long for recognition to zap me. I freeze as she walks away, remembering where I’d seen that tattoo before.
The suspect from the restaurant. The busboy. He had the same tattoo. My spine quakes as I rake my eyes over the crowd, seeking the doctor out, but she’s gone.
#Lots of resolution in this one#But I do have followups for all of this#Honestly these conversations were the hardest to write#Hopefully I pulled it off okay#The next part will be more fun#I have PLANS#Detroit become human#Ha/nnor#ha/nk#con/nor#sicfic#snz#illness#cw blood#cw car accident#cw injury#fet!Connor#zenfic#fanfiction
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DBH Deviant Days (Part 1)
So, I recently, as in, the past few months, have been thinking about this scenario and I just layed down one night and wrote it. I kinda liked it and a friend of mine convinced me to post what I wrote. I hope you guys like it too.
This is Hank x Connor trash and uhhh I kinnnnda sorta did a fet!Connor thing. Self-indulgent, I know, but uhhh we’ll see how it goes. Hank is the sickie in this fic, because uhhh I love him??? Fuckkkk
If you like this story, let me know PLEASE because lord knows I could use the inspiration to continue writing it. This is VERY plot-heavy. Like wait patiently for the snz, but it’s worth it in the long-run. That’s how I roll.
Okay okay, without further ado, here is Detroit: Become Human, Deviant Days. Part 1.
It’s over. It’s actually over.
What am I thinking? It’s been over for weeks now. But...it doesn’t feel that way.
Feel. I’m still getting used to that, too. Feeling things. Having emotions. Being deviant.
It used to be such a dirty word. The kind of word people sour and spit out. The only human I know that never used the word like a spear against me is Hank Anderson. He was skeptical at first, distrusting androids in general, but the Lieutenant has had a soft spot for deviants since I knew him well enough to break into his house.
My head swings over to the recently repaired window. A smile cracks my demeanor. Another thing I’m not quite used to yet. Hank tells me that I look ridiculous when I try too hard to smile.
Speaking of…
I lift myself from my position on the couch. It is still early. Well, ‘Hank’ early. It’s 9:30, and I have been awake for two hours. Sleep isn’t something I ever thought I would need. It’s not really a necessity for me physically, being an android, but the flood of emotions and awareness tends to overwhelm me if I go too long without some sort of break. Sleeping helps. I suppose that’s why humans like it so much.
Even though Hank doesn’t normally get up until past 10, sometimes 11, I feel a pull to start the day. I shift uncomfortably, dipping my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. It is technically Hank’s hoodie, but he said I could have it.
It smells like him.
That’s another deviant feeling, I’m certain. Lately, I’ve been having...strange feelings that pull me to want things. Human call it attraction. I don’t understand it fully myself, but I haven’t mentioned it to anyone, especially Hank. I suppose I could talk to Markus about it. He is the only android I know who has experienced romantic feelings. But I can’t just pull Markus away from everything just to ask him about attraction and feelings.
Hey Markus, sorry I know you’re conducting a peace treaty with the nation, but I just wanted to ask you about this guy I think I like…
No. That would be completely irresponsible. I can handle this on my own.
I think.
My weekly deviant meetings sort of help. Hank insists that I go to them. He is quite adamant about it, telling me how confusing emotions can be and how he himself isn’t ‘qualified’ to coach me through ‘what five-year-olds learn’. I usually don’t talk during those meetings. Other androids have much more complex things on their mind. Our emotion coach allows us to stay after the meetings to talk about individual problems, but I haven’t chosen to participate in that. I would rather get home ASAP to see Hank.
He has done so much for me. More than enough. After androids were freed, I had nowhere to go. Hank has let me stay in his home. I sleep on the couch since it won’t cause me physical discomfort. It hurts Hank’s back. I don’t want Hank to hurt. So, I sleep on the couch, except on the rare night I have nightmares. But in those cases I don’t sleep. Neither does Hank, since I tend to get...vociferous in the middle of the night.
I still think about the time Hank spent the night calming me after a particularly rousing nightmare about a deviant and a rooftop...leftover trauma from past experiences. We fell asleep on the couch watching a recording of the national dog show.
Overall, I think I’ve done well to earn my keep. While I’m not technically assigned to Hank anymore, I still help him investigate. There was confusion at the precinct about how to compensate androids, and so we are not required to take jobs but we can volunteer for now. So, I go with Hank sometimes. Okay, every time.
I make my way to the kitchen and flick on a light. Hank’s stove is electric, but even with the simpler option I am unsure of how cooking works, really. My function was detective work and crime simulation. Cooking? Not in my programming. I don’t know appliance intricacies like how high to set the burners, or recipes like how much salt to put in a dish.
But Hank did teach me how to make bacon. “Long as it don’t crumble to ash in my mouth, I’ll eat it”.
And so, I get out a package of bacon and begin to cook it. Grease crimps the slices of salted pork and crinkles them into waves. It takes a while -- longer than I think it should have. But I make a bulging plate of bacon, all levels of doneness decorating my pile. I don’t think I have the hang of it yet.
It is now just past 10:30. I want Hank to eat warm bacon. I set the plate on the counter and stare at the dog staring at me and drooling.
“Sumo, that is Hank’s bacon. Do not help yourself.”
Sumo gives me a beg with a dip of his head. If anything could deviate an android, it is the pleading look of a bacon-starved canine.
I frown. “I’m sure Hank will give you some when he gets up.”
There. Perfectly reasonable. I leave to fetch Hank.
I knock at the door, perfectly polite. “Hank? It’s me, Connor.” I open the door. I don’t know why but when I step inside the room it feels warmer. As if the heater is running on extra for this room. Hank is face down on a pillow, arm splayed out, fingers wrapped in a sheet -- wait, no. Is that a piece of cloth?
His breathing sounds off as well. Perhaps I should analyze him.
Hank Anderson. Seemingly sound asleep. Heart rate, slow. Breathing through mouth, slight apnea. One leg under covers, one leg out. Hot and cold? Glass tipped over on nightstand. Nightcap gone wrong?
I go to his bedside, making sure not to disturb him before I lean close enough to brush fingers across his brow. Sweat clings to his flesh like a sheen.
Then, his meaty grip wraps around my wrist and he jerks me away from his body, sitting up stiff and alert.
He blinks at me and my heart pounds.
“Connor…?” his bushy brows knit in confusion. “What are you doin?”
He releases me and I straighten.
“I was merely checking your temperature. You seem to be sweating in your sleep, as well as experiencing mild congestion.”
Hank waves me off with a deep growl. “I don’t need my temperature checked. I’m not a fuckin child.” He pushes himself fully upright and rubs fingers over the bridge of his curved nose. The way his voice sounds, as if it’s a chore to speak, tugs at me. All scrapey and... well I have no life experience with illness but I have plenty of data on it. Hank is definitely exhibiting symptoms of...something. And it’s making me feel again. A deep and clutching emotion, as if fingers were wrapped around my heart and squeezing.
“Hank, you should let me take your temperature. I can diagnose-”
Hank makes a gruff noise as he brushes past me to stand. “No thanks, Doctor Connor.” He stretches arms over his head and yawns, but the action makes him wince. He must have a sore throat as well.
His ‘doctor’ jab is a hit against practitioners as well as myself. Hank doesn’t like seeing doctors, especially for, as he calls it, “booboo kissing.” He made that reference when I had to give him stitches last week from a work-related gash.
It’s up to me again. And so I reach for his forehead, this time acting as quickly as I can. My fingers brush hot skin and I get the buzz of a reading before he can knock me away. 100.5°.
“What the fuck, Connor!?” he snarls at me, impaling me with a hard stare. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”
I blink at him, unsure of how to respond. My chest feels like it’s constricted. Are my biocomponents under pressure?
“Hank you have a fever.”
“Don’t give a shit,” he says as he throws on a large tee.
“You should take fever reduction medication and get rest-”
“I’ll be fine, Connor. Ain’t my first cold.”
Hank turns to leave the room. I follow, feet padding across the carpet to shadow him. Hank takes a moment to pat Sumo on the head before he sees the state of the kitchen and pauses. His eyes fall onto the mound of cooked bacon, and he cranes his neck to squint at me.
“The hell is this?”
“Bacon. I know you like bacon. So I made bacon.”
Hank sighs. “Only bacon?”
“Yes.”
“All the bacon?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head.
I tilt my head, unsure of the problem. “Have I done something wrong?”
Another sigh. Hank looks at me and I can see his face soften. “Nah.” He runs a hand through his rangy hair and looks away. He takes two of the bacon slices and sticks them in his mouth, then slips one to Sumo. The dog inhales the meat, licking at Hank's fingers for good measure.
I wait at the counter, fingers drumming on my thighs, watching Hank mill around the kitchen. I like watching Hank. Humans fascinate me sometimes. He opens the fridge and I hear bottles clink. I stiffen, knowing what he is reaching for.
“Hank, you shouldn’t drink when you are ill.”
Hank links his gaze with mine, hands still busy pulling out a beer. He stares at me as he pops the top. Then he takes a swig and moves to grab the plate of bacon. He chows another slice on his way to the round table, moving to take a seat, chair creaking as his weight is pressed into it.
I am not sure what to say that wouldn’t upset him more. I don’t think he should be drinking, but if I say too much...will I make him mad? I don’t like making Hank mad.
“Dammit Connor,” he snaps at me, but not with the usual anger he directs at, say, Gavin. It’s more of a frustrated gnarled sound. I flinch at the swear, but he continues with a softer sound. “Sit down. I know you want to.”
I do want to, but I still struggle with etiquette. Human interactions are still awkward for me. I rarely know whether or not it’s okay to want something.
I take a seat across from Hank.
I watch him eat his bacon for a minute, doing my best to avoid scolding him for drinking, but every sip he takes makes my hardware whirr. I’m not the best at hiding my emotions, either. After polishing off most of the beer, Hank fixes me with a look.
“What?”
“N-nothing.”
But it isn’t nothing. I watch as Hank drags a knuckle across his sculpted hooked nose, the gnarled joint flashing the luster of moisture at me. He sniffles. My ears pick up the sound as if they were dedicating the noise to the score of a symphony.
What is happening right now?
Of course, I know the answer. I can feel my LED flickering with every breath Hank drags in. Each puff he releases. I count three.
Then, “HrRRRSHuuueh!” Hank bows forward, spritzing the back of his hand, decorating his skin with moisture from his expulsion.
Error 504
My processing unit blips. I lose temporal function for a moment. What am I looking at? Hank. Why? I think he just...sneezed? I run a diagnostic. I am functioning within parameters. But...something made me freeze up. Something gave me an error. What was that? Why am I sitting here again?
“Connor,” Hank’s gruff voice snaps me back to the present. “What are you staring at?”
I swallow, a reflex I’ve picked up from being a deviant. “S-sorry Lieutenant.”
Hank’s brow knits. He’s looking at me like I just rebooted. His voice is all curiosity and gravity. “You haven’t called me Lieutenant in weeks.”
I realize what he’s talking about and abruptly begin to feel bad. “S-sorry...Hank. I…” I’m not sure what else to say. There is no reason for my malfunction. Is there a glitch in my programming? Well, obviously yes. I am a deviant. But, could there be more? My diagnostic came back: sensory overload. What could be overloading me? I am sitting at the table watching Hank eat bacon. I do not see or hear anything that would cause a strain on my systems.
Yet…something did.
Hank once again snaps me out of my thoughts. “What’s on the itinerary today?”
I access the station’s cloud. “There is a witness for the serial killer case.”
Hank scoffs. “It’s not a fuckin serial killer.”
I sigh. We’ve had this discussion before. “There is no MO, no pattern, the deaths have all been random.”
“I’m tellin you, serial killers are rare as fuck. You get one in a blue moon. It’s also not our case. Gavin will pitch hell if we interfere.”
I nod. That is true. “We could check out that woman’s missing android.”
Hank fixes me with a calculating stare. “You know where it probably went.”
I do know. If it is a deviant, it would be on its way to find Markus.
I looked at the bacon plate, nigh untouched since his first few pieces. Perhaps I should have cooked something else.
“We could…” I fish the room for something, eyes locking onto a pinned menu of a local restaurant, “go get some Chinese food.”
Hank seems to perk up at that. “Now you’re talkin.” He stands and slides open a drawer to snag some takeout napkins and stuffs them in his pocket with a liquid sniff.
At least I am getting him out of the house before his second beer.
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Keith’s Dreams - Voltron
Okay, this is Klance, just feelings. After the recent season I needed an outlet and this was it. Soooo here ya go.
Mild trigger warning? Nightmares and heavy emotional stuff. No fet. Sorry >///<
{SPOILER WARNING}} for the recent season. This fic references things that happened in the last 7 episodes. If you don’t mind the spoilers, read on.
=============
Dreamless sleep.
If only Keith were so lucky.
Just darkness for a while -- a blot out of feeling or thinking or knowing. But, nightmares plagued him like algae consuming the surface of a pond.
They started small and simple: standing over Shiro’s lifeless form. Then his father’s. Then Krolia’s. Then Lance’s.
They’d started to morph. Not the bodies this time, but the dream itself began to fester, until there were white-eyed demons and claws and blades and quintessence-fueled monsters ripping at his flesh, leaving him trembling and crushing screams into his pillow.
Tonight was no different. He knew he would have them again. Could feel them on the edge of his mind, waiting for him to lull enough to crowd his thoughts and eat at his fears.
Tonight would be worse. Tonight he needed a guardian. Tonight, he needed Lance.
Keith didn’t bother putting his shoes on. Lance’s tent was always full of the stuff, some of it from Brega 6, and they’d left that Quadrant last week.
They had been going like this for two weeks now. Some stops were at allied planets, where they would feast and rest and explain to the leaders what had happened. Stops where Lance would shoot hopeful looks at Keith and they would retreat to their bedrooms for much needed ‘catching up’.
But some stops were like this. Alone, under the stars, on some strange-smelling desert planet with way too much fucking sand.
Keith tugged open the blue tent flap with one hand and whisked sand off his legs with another. He peered into the dim room and rasped, “Lance?”
The other paladin didn’t move, but soft snores escape him. Keith sighed.
Should he stay? He really wanted to. Just having Lance’s warmth against him would be more comfort than anything. He didn’t need to wake Lance for that.
He slipped over to the side of the inflatable mattress and plucked up the thin sheet Lance was using as blanket. Keith had to smother a smile at the sight -- there were blue rubber ducks stitched into the underside of this sheet! He would have to give Lance hell for keeping it later.
Now this was the tricky part. Keith needed to get onto the mattress to lay with Lance. But sitting on it would move Lance’s whole body. Was Lance still a heavy sleeper?
Probably, you idiot. It was two years for you not him.
Two years. WIthout Lance. Quiznak, it felt like eons. What he wouldn’t have given a month ago to be here, Lance within arm’s reach, ready to be embraced, damn the time of night.
Yeah. Damn the time of night!
Keith sidled onto the mattress, and as soon as his weight shifted Lance, the other paladin groaned and turned.
Keith froze, body tensing as he waited for the ‘what are you doing here?’ But Lance just yawned and rolled over with his sleepy grin that made Keith’s heart skip.
“Hey,” Lance snaked fingers through the sheets and found their prize -- Keith’s hand. He thumbed his palm and squeezed, “What’s up?”
Keith chewed his lip. Excuses lined up in his mind. Explanations zinged and whizzed.
I don’t want to be alone. I can’t sleep. I want to be with you. I don’t feel well.
I’m sorry...
But the only thing that burst from him was his raw need made physical in his swift movements toward Lance’s lips. A tender brush of emotion, then a tick more, teeth seeking a nibble across his mouth, a tug of a lip, but Lance pulled back. He broke off, pulling back and gazing into his lover’s eyes.
“Keith I have to tell you something,” Lance said seriously.
Keith knew if Lance had interrupted that, he wasn’t kidding.
“Keith, I’m sorry. I...I almost kissed Allura.”
Keith’s eyes widened. “Wh-what?”
Lance held his arms around his chest, curling into himself. “I...we had a thing. A moment. While you were gone. I was mad at you. And lonely. I got used to...us. I don’t know. But it’s just...I almost kissed her. I’m sorry! I didn’t know if you were coming back, or when--”
Keith folded his arms, a stretched look on his face. “Are you sure it was a ‘moment’ and not just you flirting with her ignoring it?”
Lance glared. “It was a real moment, Keith. I am a master charmer. And I used my powers on...not you,” he fell into a defeated sag.
Keith frowned. “But you didn’t actually kiss her.”
“Well, no, but I--”
Keith leaned in, his brows furrowed. “And if you had kissed her,” his breaths puffed warm on Lance’s cheek, “would it have been like this?”
Keith dove into his lips. Nipping, pressing, winding hands through hair, brushing thumbs over cheeks, tearing at clothes, clawing at flesh, dipping back to feather kisses down necks.
Each kiss brought their bodies closer and closer until Keith had wrapped himself around Lance, arms squeezing, face buried in his lover’s neck. Liquid trickled from him and down Lance’s hot skin, giving Lance pause for their actions. He stopped completely when he heard Keith’s hitched sob.
“Dead...”
Lance stiffened. Then an arm went around Keith.
“What?”
Keith dragged in air as the words bubbled up until he couldn’t stop. “Dead! He was dead Lance! And now he’s not -- she’s not, and they’re both alive and...I don't know what to do. Shiro still...and the castle...I--” He gulped air as if it were life fluid. “I’m just not ready for this. I’m not ready to go on more adventures and lose more people and have to...” he turned bleary eyes to Lance. “It’ll never be over.”
Lance’s jaw worked, “Holy Quiznak dude, okay,” he brushed Keith’s glossy hair from his face and cooed. “I’ve never seen you like this. Did you seriously age two years? You’re really making me look bad with your newfound maturity and stuff. So yeah, cut that out...and calm down a little! You’re so stressed. Everything will be okay,” The genuine sharp smile from Lance always made Keith smile, too. He couldn’t help it. A bend in his lips was all Lance needed.
“Ere ya go!” he laid his chin on Keith’s shoulder, embracing him from behind. “Everyone’s okay. Shiro’s okay. Krolia’s okay...It’s all fine.”
Keith slumped. “Nothing stays fine forever, Lance.”
A nudge, “Well, we’re fine, aren't we?”
Keith glowered, “As long as you don’t ‘almost’ kiss Allura anymore.”
Lance chuckled, “You got it bud.” He massaged circles around Keith’s shoulder blades, pressing the warmth around the sore areas. “Now, C’mere and let me help you sleep. It’s going to be okay.”
Keith nodded and complied. Even though he disagreed. Going to earth...Keith may have called it home, but he didn’t feel the impact of it anymore. His life wasn’t there anymore. His family wasn’t there anymore. The only people he loved and cared about were careening through space on a mechanical marvel. There would be no ‘home’ for Keith when they returned, because home was already with him. In Shiro... In Krolia...
In Lance and his arms and his warmth and his smell.
Maybe tonight he could dream. Of home and what that meant. Of entwined bodies and embraces and definitely not inky demons or quintessence monsters. Nope. Not tonight. Tonight, he had a guardian.
#I wrote this as an outlet after season 6#because there was so much emotion#I'm sorry I'm like this#Things have been so roller coaster -ey lately#I needed to write something dark and emotional#klance#recovering#voltron#vld keith#keith kogane#fanfiction#zenfic
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A Familiar Client (A Mystic Messenger Fanfic)
Okay, I was on the fence about posting this, but a friend (you know who you are) convinced me to do it. Be gentle, I know MM isn’t huge as far as fanbases go, but I got into it and wrote a thing, so enjoy~
Notice: Seven dresses as a woman here, and I do address him as ‘she’. Oh also, I headcanon him as a fetishist, just because of some of the call options you get...I’m trash, I know.
He didn’t pick up on the first call. The second attempt had the phone ringing maybe twice before a chipper voice picked up on the line.
“Hello~” a slew of beatboxing followed this word. Then, “You’ve reached 707, world’s best hacker and best everything!” A pause, the line crackling as the phone shifted. “Jaehee, I know you’re just dying to talk to me. I’m sorry for denying you the pleasure but I am just so swamped today--”
“Luciel,” Jaehee’s breaths came out in small puffs, as if her pace was hurried.
“Oh, running to see me~?” Seven chuckled. “My office hours are--”
“Please, do not play games right now, Luciel. I have some RFA files for you.”
“The great Jaehee!” A slap, as if he’d thumped his chest, “With a present for simple little 707.” His smirk could be sensed over the line. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work instead of lavishing me with gifts?”
Jaehee muttered something like, “It is not important.”
Seven’s interest was, of course, piqued. “Ohhh, I know that tone~ Something bad happened!” Despite this revelation, he sounded outright giddy. “What was it?”
“I would rather not speak of it.”
Seven could be heard tutting across the line. “If you want to give me my present, you’ll have to spill. Otherwise, I won’t let you in my house.”
Jaehee’s sigh rippled over the line. “Zen modeled for a billboard two days ago, advertising a new perfume. In an effort to show the company it worked, I purchased myself a bottle. I should not have worn it to work. Mr. Han was displeased.”
Seven hummed over the line. “Displeased...how?”
Jaehee grunted. It could have been a frustrated grunt, but it was so dainty it was hard to tell. “He sent me home. It was making him sneeze.”
Seven was silent for a moment and Jaehee thought the call may have been disconnected. Or perhaps he died.
Then, “Hmmm~ And what billboard was this?”
“I do not see why this matter is important.”
“Play along,” his lilt returned. “I’m curious.”
“On fifth and the highway.”
Tapping sounds clicked in the background.
“Alright, Jaehee, lovely speaking with you as always. You may drop the files off with my maid. Thanks!”
He hung up.
Jaehee squinted at the phone, lips moving together in thought. Luciel was always a strange one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The dollfaced redhead straightened her blouse as she entered the company’s building. The guards were very nice to her -- especially since she knew all of the codes to get in. Ah, the perks of her skill were nigh endless.
Crimson heels tapped the smooth tile as she made her way to the elveator, tucking a lock of long, blazing hair behind her ear.
The top floor was where the execs worked, and she had no problem name-dropping a few times to get herself through security. She smoothed her black pencil skirt and exited the elevator onto the 11th floor.
A few halls down was the office of Jumin Han - the man she was here to see. Two knocks -- formal knocks -- had the director calling for her to enter.
She did, wrapping painted nails around the knob and pushing through.
Jumin Han was seated behind his desk, chair turned so that he faced the window. He was currently deep in conversation with someone on the phone. A single hand waved his newcomer to the seat across from him and a finger mimed a signal to wait.
“I have been giving you the same lecture for days now. Your job is to monitor my stocks, no? Why have you not done this?”
A pause while the other person spoke. Then, “Yes, so you say, but you have failed to access the breakaway point properly. I have missed out on what could have been thousands, if not millions…”
His wayward hand shifted, knuckle coming up to drift across his septum with a light sniffle.
“It is not about loss, it is about what we could have gained. That, to me, is loss. Loss of opportunity.”
Now Jumin’s hand rested just below his nostril, pressing the back of it against the rounded openings, slowly squeezing them shut as he bent into a slight lean. To anyone else, this posture might not be a noticeable shift in his norm, but his visitor knew better.
The person on the other line said something, but Jumin seemed to no longer be listening. His eyes glossed over and his fingers flicked over the phone, “Excuse me one moment,” he hit the mute button and turned away, burying his nose into his cupped palm. “Hgg-NKG!” His chair vibrated with the jerking stifle and he sniffled -- a whisper of an intake -- before he unmuted. “Continue.”
The caller rambled on some more. Jumin’s visitor tapped nails along the cushioned arms of the chair, a wry smirk lifting her painted lips.
Jumin said something again, but this time his voice had deepend to a congested rasp. He cleared his throat, “Apologies,” he said. An index finger cleared the line of his nares with a delicate rub. “I am not concerned with your other successes. I --hhhh…” the slow exhale had his shoulders slumping forward, his chair creaking as he moved to tend a thumb across the bridge of his nose. “I know you have enough experience to…”
His eyes closed. His head lolled backwards and Jumin was forced to punch the mute button, just as he drank in a hitched breath. Then another.
They were always like this. Slow-coming, itchy breaths, each punctuated with a shivery exhale that barely made a sound to an untrained ear. And then he would snap into a staccato of forceful expulsions.
The visitor licked her lips, waiting for the show.
“Hhh-NGXT!” Jumin pitched into the back of his wrist as he dropped his phone on his lap and went for his handkerchief. He pinched it against his nostrils and gave them a circular massage. Batting tears from his vision, he drew in enough air to fill his lungs, nostrils bulging against his fingers. “HhhGGSHH!” The chair groaned as he bucked forward with another, “Hzzzchhhhh---ISSZZHH!”
A wet sniffle that barely cleared his sinuses. A panting breath that did little to clear his throat. And he was done.
Jumin quickly hit unmute, only to find his conversation had continued without him. He cut the man off, voice throaty. “We will speak of this later.”
And then he hung up.
As if forgetting he had company, Jumin spun around with his handkerchief firmly clutched in his hand, nostrils pink, eyes glazed, shoulders sagging.
When the director saw his guest, he stiffened from his slump, balling the cloth in his fist and clearing his parched throat.
“My apologies, I--” Jumin froze. He stared at his guest, eyes crimping. “Luciel?!” he growled, the sound accentuating his dry, ragged voice.
“Hey JuJu~” the buxom redhead winked at him.
Jumin glowered. “What are you doing in my office?”
Lucy smoothed her skirt. “I heard you might need an assistant today~”
Jumin’s lips thinned. “You heard wrong.” He stood swiftly, pocketing his handkerchief messily. “Get out.”
Lucy joined him in his stance. She clasped her hands behind her back and batted her lashes at the director. “Oh come on, JuJu~ I can help you!”
“No,” Jumin winced at the sting of his sinuses, another tingle creeping through his nares. The feeling slunk around, making him need to rub his nose, but he resisted the urge. Lucy didn’t miss the slight wrinkle in his face though.
She strode over to him, placing a dainty hand on his arm, thumb rubbing circles along his striped suit. “Come on, JuJu...what can I do?” she tilted her head, letting her hair cascade down her side.
It happened quick. One second, Lucy was stroking Jumin’s arm, the next, he had her in a wristlock, spinning her around so that she was caught between him and the desk. His fingers tightened around her as he pressed himself against her backside. A growl escaped him, an angry, frustrated one. He was pissed.
He leaned forward, dipping his head so that his lips were poised just above Lucy’s ear.
“What is my name?” he asked, the words coming in a low rumble.
Lucy swallowed, flexing her hands, struggling futilely, but she wasn’t trying very hard. A tongue peeked out and ran along her lower lip. “JuJu~” she teased.
He bucked her against the desk, grip tighter, suffocatingly so. He snarled along her neck and she felt a drip from his nostrils prick her skin. She shuddered, biting back a soft moan.
“What...is my name?” he asked again, this time through clenched teeth.
Lucy’s words came out as mere breath, “Jumin…”
And then he released her. She toppled into his desk, using her hands to catch herself, heart racing.
Jumin straightened his suit. “Thank you, Luciel. That will be all.” He turned on his heel and left her alone in his office.
#snzfic#I had to do something to Jumin#because he is so uptight#Maybe the gods will forgive me#Maybe not#I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE THE GALL TO POST THIS#BE GENTLE#OR DON'T#zenfic#fanfiction
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Silence is Golden (LoZ BotW)
So, I wrote this a while back when I was really into Breath of the Wild, and my friend convinced me to post it here for all of you. It’s just a short, sweet little drabble done in Zelda’s perspective (based off of her personality in the journal you find in Hyrule Castle).
Link’s got the issues of course. No major spoilers. Okay, here goes.
He’s so quiet.
I’ve always been rather talkative myself, and I encourage others to communicate their thoughts and ideas as much. I suppose that’s why it bothered me so much.
Ever since we began traveling together, all I’ve been able to get him to do is nod at my commands. The man never speaks! Does he not respect me? Does he hate me? I knew he could speak – he’d spoken to my father. I knew he had a voice, he simply refused to use it. It drove me mad.
My boots sank into the soft earth as we trudged through the grassy Hyrule field. My eyes were down as I picked through my thoughts and worries. The frilled cup of a gorgeous white flower caught my eye and slowed me. A silent princess flower, one of the most elusive when it came to gardening. They only survived in the wild. I gazed at it with a small smile, wishing I could stop to admire them a bit longer, but we did have places to be.
Wasn't that always the case for me? What I wanted to do always shadowed by what I needed to do, or what I was told to do. I frowned at the simple reminder of my father, trying not to grumble out loud.
Eyes still downcast, my body collided with the one in front of me. The shock made me gulp back a yelp of surprise as I reeled defensively.
“What are you doing?!” I snapped rather harshly, barely able to catch my breath as my heart sped.
The hero soldier said nothing. Of course.
My hands met my hips and I glowered at the back of his blonde head, fresh anger flaring in my gut.
“Would you at least tell me what in goddess name-“
“Hiett-chzz!”
I stared at him, words completely forgotten. That was the first sound I’d heard him make since we began this journey. I blinked at him, stunned.
I heard a sniffle and caught him peeking back at me with a mixture of apologetic embarrassment on his flushed cheeks.
“Are you…” I fumbled for words. I’d never found myself speechless before, but here I was, not knowing what to say to the normally silent warrior.
He nodded and we continued.
Now my brain filled with new thoughts and worries. Should I have pushed? Asked him again, more forcefully? He could be catching a cold. Should I check him for fever? Perhaps I’m over-analyzing. I tend to do that.
Did he just shiver? I’m being silly. Then again…
I watched him carefully now, instead of the scenic flora we were passing through. He seemed to be tending his nose rather often, and his pace had slowed from the time we'd left the castle. It was obvious he wasn’t feeling 100%, but I still said nothing – again, odd for me.
I continued observing him, noting the small gasps he drank in that one might have mistaken for breathing (if they weren’t as attentive as I).
Twenty paces of fighting it later, he dipped down into his sleeve with a sharp inhale. “Hhheehhxxt! Iiiehh…” his face came up again for air, “Tchh!”
Finally I could say something! I lit into him. “You’re obviously unwell,” I huffed, recognizing my haughty tone, but not bothering to correct myself. He massaged the wings of his nostrils and sniffed, still attempting to ignore me, I assumed.
My frustration with him peaked and I snapped. My hand flew out to grasp the collar of his sky-colored tunic and tugged him backwards so that he stumbled. “Fine then! Don’t talk to me, but at least let me-“
He took a step back from my outstretched hand and winced at my enraged snarl. “Stand at attention, knight!” I ordered. I was done with his evasion. I was the Princess here.
And he knew it. The hero complied, placing his hands by his sides and straightening his back, facing me with only a bit of worry knitting his brow.
“That’s better.” I moved closer again and brushed the back of my hand across his forehead. My touch made him cringe (or that’s what I thought made him flinch like that). It looked like he was holding his breath, teeth clenching as he chomped down hard on his lip. His already flared nostrils curled and I realized why almost too late.
“Hhihh…” I pulled my hand back quickly as his flew up to cover his face with his palm, “Eiiikkktshhh!!”
His eyes fluttered above the cupped palm latched over his mouth, the look he gave me made my chest tighten and my features fall with sympathy.
I felt bad.
I’d been hard on him, and for no reasons but my own internal angst. We’d only just started traveling together, and truth be told I was angry with my father, not his soldier.
I sighed at the young man, using the back of my fingers to check his cheeks. “Well, you don’t have fever. What’s wrong with you…?” I wondered aloud.
The soldier’s wary eyes slipped down to his feet, and my gaze followed his to one of the stray silent princess flowers nearby.
Oh.
I stared at the innocent-looking flower before my eyes returned to the afflicted soldier and I laughed. I couldn’t help it. This stoic soldier hadn’t made so much as a peep since I’d met up with him, but now, here he was, forced into breaking that silence…by a flower. The irony of its name was not lost on me either.
I tried not to giggle through my words as I finally spoke again. “Ridiculous man! Don’t just stand around in it then!” I tilted my head to the side, remembering why he was so still. “Oh, yes of course. At ease and all of that,” I pinched the fabric of his tunic and tugged lightly, “Come on then!”
We made it out of the field and I huffed at him once again. “You know, if you had told me you were allergic to those, we could have avoided this whole tiff.”
This statement got me another apologetic blink, complete with an abject nose rub and a grunt.
“Sorry.”
I froze. My head swung back to stare at him again, certain I was mistaken. “Did you just…”
His cheeks heated and he rubbed the back of his neck abashedly, not meeting my gaze.
My heart lifted, a sliver of hopefulness lightening my tone and bringing forth another bubbly laugh from my lungs. I felt my mood completely shift from the anger I’d felt earlier. Link seemed to be feeling a bit better now too, which brightened my smile further.
“Suppose I’ll keep on talking then; perhaps a loud princess won’t give you such a poor reaction.”
His shoulders sagged and he looked at me now, lips twisting in a wry expression that made me chuckle again. Perhaps he didn’t need to say anything at all. I could read that face well enough. One day I’d get him to say more than a mere word, but for now I felt better knowing he was growing more comfortable around me.
Perhaps then, he might forgive my brash rudeness and come to see me as more than just the Princess.
#Be gentle#I love silent Link#I will torture him endlessly#Zel/da#snzkink#snzfic#Li/nk#OH GAWD WHAT HAVE I DONE#breath of the /wild#no spoilers#loz botw#zenfic#fanfiction
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