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#maybe ill just finish up the back panel and use whatevers left for the front
milkweedman · 1 year
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Not sure how i am supposed to get anything done under these conditions (sleepy cat under a blanket, very awake and disgruntled cat on my knitting refusing to move)....
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quicksilversquared · 3 years
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Traps and Sneaks: Chapter 2 (of 2)
As the Guardian, it’s Marinette’s job to protect the Miracle Box and all of the Miraculous inside of it from evil. Obviously just sticking it away somewhere hidden isn’t going to cut it, so Marinette makes a box to hide it in. A booby-trapped box. A very dangerous booby-trapped box.
And if a certain someone gets their thieving little fingers caught in it, so be it.
links in the reblog
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Lila sniggered to herself as she snuck up the stairs in the Dupain-Cheng bakery, unnoticed and unhindered.
Really, it had been way too easy to get in. All it had taken was feeding Alya a lie about how she had lent Marinette something to help her finish with their most recent Literature project but hadn't gotten it back, and she was worried about approaching Marinette to ask for it because, well, Marinette had been so busy recently that she probably thought that she had returned it. Lila was worried about appearing like she was accusing Marinette of stealing it if she asked about it, and they were only just starting to fix their relationship after getting off on the wrong foot. Alya had swallowed the lie like it was the most believable thing in the world, clearly thrilled that Lila and Marinette might be on the road to reconciliation, and from there all Lila had needed to do was suggest that maybe it would be easier for her to just fetch her things herself than it would be to ask Marinette.
Alya had been too eager to help, going into the bakery herself and getting permission from Mrs. Cheng to go in. Then she had let Lila in the side door- "I can't possibly go through the bakery myself, what if they recognize me and blame me for the time when Marinette got expelled and don't let me in!" Lila had exclaimed when Alya suggested that she just go in through the front herself- and made sure that she knew the way up before leaving. There had been a dicey moment when Alya moved to come up with Lila and help look, but Lila had waved her off with another excuse, insisting that she didn't want to eat up more of Alya's free time, especially when she knew that Alya and Nino had been thinking of going out for ice cream.
Alya had left, Marinette's parents would be busy in the bakery for hours, and Marinette herself was across the city at some sewing techniques workshop that she had won a full-ride scholarship for and hadn't shut up about all week. There would be no one to catch Lila and plenty of time for her to investigate Marinette's room and find- well, anything she could use against her.
A diary with embarrassing secrets, perfect for blackmail. Money, perfect for- well, money was always a good thing, and so was jewelry that she could pawn. Photos, also for blackmail. Sketches of designs for any other contests Marinette might have her eyes on, to copy and claim that Marinette had taken Lila's ideas. Maybe in-progress commissions that Lila could mess up, all the better to put a dent in Marinette's reputation if the damage wasn't found before she sent the pieces off to whoever had bought them.
One last flight of stairs, and Lila pushed open the door to the Dupain-Cheng apartment. Another set of stairs led up to a trapdoor that Lila could recognize as Marinette's (thanks to Alya's instructions), and she scampered up the steps and into the obnoxiously pink room at the top of the stairs.
The first thing she noticed: it was neat, unlike what Alya had warned her. There wasn't fabric draped all over the place or notebooks left out. On one hand, that would make things more difficult because she would have to search to find anything interesting, and unless Lila wanted to raise suspicion right away, she would have to put away anything she took out. On the other hand, well, it would probably be easier to find some things if she didn't have to dig through piles of fabric scraps or whatever it was that Marinette apparently usually had scattered around her room.
"Okay, first impressions," Lila said out loud as she glanced around. Marinette's school bag was by her desk- maybe she could tear out a couple pages of notes, so Marinette wouldn't have them to study from on the next exam. Next to the desk was a mannequin with what looked like a fairly complete outfit on it, leather pants with a lot of detail work and a matching jacket. Lila fingered the material, glancing at the seams on it. Since the piece was complete- or at least it looked complete- Marinette probably wouldn't look at it too closely before sending it off to its recipient. The recipient who, if the size of the pieces and the look of them was any indication, was probably Jagged Stone.
If she could mess with Jagged Stone's perception of Marinette and maybe mess up their working relationship, that would be perfect. Then he wouldn't feel inclined to do Marinette any favors like, say, coming in to call Lila out on her stories.
Lila decided that she would look for a seam ripper later, when she was poking around the desk. There was no point in stopping her assessment of Marinette's room now for that. After all, she had plenty of time.
The desk was otherwise pretty clear of anything interesting, though Lila was sure that she would dig through it later if she had time. The boxes on it probably just had sewing stuff anyway, and that- well, mixing it up or taking things might annoy Marinette, but she probably wouldn't think that much of it.
Across the room, though- well, there was a storage chest doubling as a bench, and Lila would be very surprised if there wasn't anything interesting in there. There might be a lock to deal with, but she had expected that and brought along her lock picking kit along. A few pokes and she would be in, ready to find out any secrets that Marinette might prefer stay hidden.
"Why couldn't she leave her diary on her desk like a normal person," Lila grumbled anyway, because it was also very possible that she would unlock the chest and find...nothing. Maybe Marinette didn't have any juicy secrets for Lila to exploit, and this whole trip would be- well, not for nothing, because she was still fully intending on causing ill-intentioned chaos, but not nearly as productive as she had hoped.
And considering that Lila was running quite a large risk with her lies to Alya about the thing she had 'loaned' to Marinette, a large payoff would be really preferred.
After a few more minutes of poking around- Marinette didn't keep a diary up near her bed, either, or any jewelry of any value, not that that stopped Lila from pocketing a few exotic-looking necklaces that she could always claim were gifts from people that she met around the globe- Lila turned her attention back to the large storage chest. The lock gave after a minute of working on it, and she flipped the lid eagerly, hoping that- well, hoping that there would be something interesting inside. Instead, she came face-to-face with...presents.
Boring. Knowing Marinette, they were probably all homemade and not worth anything.
Lila scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the pile of gifts. There was nothing interesting about Marinette being so disgustingly organized that she had gifts for her friends prepared well ahead of the holidays and their birthdays. She shoved a couple of the presents to the side, her nose wrinkling further at the next row of equally neatly-wrapped presents underneath.
Except... they were all labeled as being for Adrien.
Lila's eyebrows raised as she glanced at the top row of presents and- yep, all for Adrien. On closer inspection, all of them had little post-its on them with what event- and what year- they were meant to be for.
She sniggered. Marinette was a little obsessed, wasn't she? But as interesting as this was, it wasn't exactly something that she could easily use as blackmail. A bit disappointed, Lila kept digging, shifting packages aside. One more layer, and her fingers brushed against a dark wooden box, one that looked like perhaps Marinette had put it together herself.
It was exactly the sort of thing that a girl like Marinette- someone annoyingly craftsy- would store her diary in. Jackpot.
Smirking, Lila pulled the box out and considered it, her smile dropping as she did. Really, upon second glance, it was surprisingly sloppy, with uneven, dripping varnish and wonky nails. It was ridiculously heavy, even for its size, and especially considering that it was clearly made out of some cheap plywood. And oddly enough, it had two locks on it.
Frankly, the locks were the only reason why she didn't immediately lose interest. If they hadn't been there, Lila probably would have assumed that it was actually a failed project that Marinette was trying to hide.
"Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out which lock to try," Lila scoffed, setting the box on the floor in front of her and settling down more comfortably to work on it. "That second keyhole isn't even in the right spot!"
Really, had badly had Marinette messed up that she had managed to insert a keyhole in middle of one of the side panels, nowhere close to where the box and the lid had come together? It wasn't even straight- in fact, it was upside down. Shoddy craftsmanship, all around.
(The fact that Lila had never made anything like the box and had no idea how to even approach putting a lock like that on a box or even make any sort of box herself was, of course, completely irrelevant.)
Unlike the lock on the storage bench, the lock on the box wasn't very straightforward. There were more pins in this lock, and each one had to be individually maneuvered into place. Lila worked on it, scowling in concentration as she slowly picked it open.
Either Marinette had just happened to have a lock sitting around that she used, or there was something good inside of the box. No collège student was going to spend the amount of extra money it would take for a fancier lock like this for no reason at all.
With one last careful nudge, the lock gave. Lila grinned in triumph, flipping the box open. The lid seemed a bit heavy- for some reason it seemed to be lined with a strange metal band, but who cared- and there were a few stray papers and a thin journal sitting in the top compartment, on top of a wooden shelf with- you have GOT to be kidding me- another lock, just barely visible. Lila reached in to move them, and suddenly metal flashed, quick as a blink. Lila shrieked in surprise, automatically yanking her hand back, but she was far too late. Pointed metal teeth had snapped shut around her arm, keeping it in place, and- oh god.
They hadn't just closed around her arm. No, they had gone straight through the skin and- oh god the pain-
Lila fainted.
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  Marinette had been having a lovely time at her sewing techniques workshop. Their instructor had walked the small class through all sorts of different ways of handling material, and next week they would be covering more tricky materials. They had gotten an entire binder with step-by-step photo reminders of what they had learned, and Marinette's already had notes scribbled up and down the margins.
She was so glad that she had won the scholarship to the class. It wasn't that she couldn't afford it herself- after all, with the commissions that she had done lately for Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale, she wasn't left wanting for money- but considering that she often had to miss things because of akuma attacks, Marinette wouldn't have wanted to spend the money on something that she might not even be able to attend. With the scholarship...
Well, if an akuma showed up, that would still suck. She was learning so much from the class and it would definitely up her design skills. Having to duck out on the class because someone got upset and Hawkmoth had to akumatize them would be a huge disappointment, because she would miss out on so much valuable instruction. But at least she wouldn't be spending her own money on it.
She still felt a bit guilty that she was doing the class and not spending the spare time working on learning more Guardian stuff, but the Order and Master Norbu had assured her that she should make sure to balance her superhero duties and her civilian life. After all, they didn't want her coming to resent her duty as Guardian because of everything that it made her miss out on.
The last section came to an end, and everyone turned off their machines and started packing up. Marinette tucked her sewn samples into her bag with her binder- at some point, she wanted to actually file the fabric pieces in next to their respective instructions, but that was a project for another day- and pulled out her phone, opening it up to check for messages. She had put it on silent for the class- silent with the sole exception of akuma alerts, thank you Max for that setting modification- so that no one would accidentally distract her. Sometimes the class chat blew up over the weekend, and having that pinging constantly throughout the class...
Well, it wouldn't give anyone a very good impression of her, that was for sure.
-and oh boy that was a lot of messages.
"My parents tried to call me ten times, Tikki!" Marinette hissed, all of the relaxation and good feelings from the day gone in a heartbeat as she tried and failed not to catastrophize. "Oh my god, what if one of them had a heart attack or a machine broke and sent pieces everywhere and they're at the hospital and it's really bad and I should have been there and-"
"Call them back!" Tikki urged, sticking her head out of Marinette's jacket as soon as they were clear of the rest of the group. "And- look, it was both of your parents calling, not just one or the other. So that means that they're probably fine, right?"
"Oh!" Marinette considered that for a minute, then dove straight back into her worrying. "Then maybe the bakery caught on fire and burned down and we're homeless and-"
"Just call them back, Marinette!" Tikki exclaimed, though she was looking worried, too. "Then they can tell you what actually happened."
Marinette wavered, then pressed Call. Her mom's phone rang once, twice, and then she picked up.
"Marinette! Ah, is your class over?"
"Yeah, we- we just finished," Marinette responded, her heart rate slowly dropping back towards normal. Her mom didn't sound overly upset, so- maybe it wasn't super-serious? "I- I saw you called? And papa?"
"Yes, I hated to call during your class, but- well, there was an incident," her mom told her, sounding a bit hesitant. "Right away- your dad and I are fine, the bakery is fine, the house is fine. But your classmate- Lila Rossi- she broke into the house and into your room. She got into your storage bench and- anyway, long story short, there was a box in there that was, ah, quite severely booby-trapped?"
Marinette's heart skipped several beats, jumping straight into her throat. The- that was the box where she hid the Miracle Box. It was very well hidden- after all, it had been in a locked storage bench, hidden under Adrien's presents, and then locked (several time over) itself- and she had assumed that that would be enough to keep it undiscovered. If Lila had gotten into it- even just into the first layer- that could be enough to put the Miracle Box in danger. The police might want to know what was in the box, or they might have broken it open to get Lila's hand out- because presumably Lila had gotten her hand caught when she tried to get the box open, and getting the trap open wasn't exactly straightforward- or maybe Lila hadn't been caught too badly and had somehow persuaded someone to open the box for her. "It- yes?"
"Whatever the box is hiding- well, it's still hidden," her mom assured her, and Marinette couldn't stop herself from letting out a sigh of relief. "The second level is still locked. And the doctors did manage to get it off of Lila's arm- well, after a bit of puzzling, at least, they said that set-up was very clever. That was why we called you, actually. We didn't want to bother you, but it was just taking the hospital and the police so long to figure out that lock mechanism and they had been hoping for a clue."
...well, at least her mom didn't sound upset with her. Yet, anyway.
"We've gotten the box back now," her mom continued. "And we've already dealt with the police, so you don't need to worry there. They understand that Lila wasn't meant to be in our house, much less your room, and that the box was securely hidden and locked up. The only reason they might want to talk to you is to learn more about why Lila might have broken in."
"To make me look bad, I bet," Marinette said dryly. "To steal things, or plant evidence, or try to find something to blackmail me. Why else?"
"Lovely girl." Her mom said something to someone else on the other end of the line, muffled and indecipherable, before she came back. "That's all, really. Will you be coming back soon?"
"Yeah, I'm heading for the bus stop."
"All right. See you soon!"
With that, the call disconnected. Marinette stared at her phone for a minute, then glanced down at Tikki. Her kwami looked just as worried.
"I thought that you had hidden the Miracle Box really well!" Tikki exclaimed. "That was a really nice place, and no one ever goes digging in there! Add in the fact that you had it locked, and it should have been fine."
"Yeah, but clearly Lila was digging around with the intention of finding anything that I had hidden," Marinette told her. She let out a sigh, the stress starting to inch back in on her, taking all of the relaxation from her sewing class away. Maybe the Miracle Box hadn't been found today, but- well, this was hardly going to be the end of this whole fiasco. If (when) Lila got akumatized again, she would probably go after the box again to see if she could break it. She might tell people at school about it- changing, of course, the reason why she had been in Marinette's room in the first place and making up completely different circumstances as to how she had ended up with her hands on the box. While Marinette really had no choice but to return the box to its previous spot for the moment- after making sure that it was re-set, of course- it wouldn't be completely safe for the long term.
At least summer break was coming up soon and she had already been doing research on how to DIY hidden compartments. Clearly she would need to use that knowledge earlier than intended.
"Maybe she'll actually get in trouble this time," Tikki offered hopefully. "I mean, breaking and entering, trying to steal- you could try to press charges."
"Maybe, but considering how injured Lila probably is, she'd probably pull the sympathy card." Marinette groaned. "I don't understand how she even got in! We've been keeping the side door locked, and mom knows better than to let Lila into the house."
"If she got through the locks on the bench and the box, Lila probably knows how to pick locks," Tikki reminded her. "She might have just picked her way through the door downstairs."
That was a terrifying thought, honestly. That someone like Lila could just pick her way past a door lock and get in her house...
"If that's what happened, I'm definitely going to petition my parents to get better locks." Marinette checked her room again, then headed back down the stairs. Tikki flew after her, phasing into her purse. "I don't think they would agree to put in booby traps, too, but- ugh, I'm going to be worrying about people getting into the house now."
"Maybe it's just a matter of the lock being old and needing to be replaced," Tikki suggested. "Hopefully your mom knows more."
"I hope so!"
It felt like it took forever for the bus to come, and then it trundled along the streets far too slowly for Marinette's taste. She spent the entire trip worrying over different scenarios where Lila could twist things around to make Marinette look like the bad guy and trying to figure out where she could add a hidden compartment to her room, somewhere where no one would notice the addition.
This far, she was coming up blank. Maybe she could put something on her balcony- but that just didn't seem secure enough. It would be far too easy for a passing akuma (or, perish the thought, a passing supervillain) to accidentally knock into and destroy a hidden compartment. No, it would be better to get creative inside her room.
Once she hopped off of the bus, Marinette wasted no time in hurrying home. The bakery was still open- hopefully business hadn't been interrupted too much by Lila's injury- and she headed in, sparing a quick smile for a few regular customers that she recognized. Her parents had one of their normal bakers working the counter in her mom's place, clearly finishing up the day so that the Dupain-Chengs would be able to deal with the mess going on in their home.
Hopefully it wasn't messing production up too much. If both of her parents were upstairs and they had one of the normal back kitchen bakers at the counter, that meant fewer hands on deck to start preparing things for the next day. And since the staff wouldn't stay overtime, that meant that her parents would end up working long hours.
Freaking Lila. Of course she just had to make life difficult for everyone else simply because she was spiteful and fixated on revenge.
Not wasting any time, Marinette headed upstairs. Her mom was in their kitchen and on the phone, her back to the door, but her dad wasn't anywhere in sight. That meant he was probably downstairs, which suggested that she actually wasn't in trouble because she had the trap. If she had been, her dad would be there too, his arms folded and a frown on his face.
Her mom, though, was more than making up for the frowning as she argued with whoever was on the other end of the line.
"No, I am not arguing the definition of 'breaking and entering' or 'trespassing' with you," Mrs. Cheng snapped into the phone, mere seconds after Marinette entered the room. Marinette paused, blinking over at her mom in confusion. Normally her mom didn't raise her voice over the phone. "You are not a resident here, you do not get to let people in who we don't want inside. That is outright irresponsible behavior- no, I do not care what your interpretation of the situation was, I already told you that. And I will be contacting your mom about this. Perhaps she can get it through your head how unacceptable your actions were. Good-bye."
With that, Mrs. Cheng hit the end call button with a flourish, scowling at the phone for a moment before noticing Marinette. Her scowl was promptly replaced with a smile. "Marinette! How was your class?"
"It went well," Marinette told her, biting back the urge to gush. That could wait until dinner, after the more pressing issue of Lila's break-in had been dealt with. "Who was on the phone?"
"That was Alya," Mrs. Cheng told Marinette with a sigh. She pocketed her phone and washed off her hands before returning to her dinner prep. "I was calling to ask her if- well, she stopped by earlier to get something, so I wanted to know if she saw or heard anything out of place while she was here. I just wanted to try to get a better idea of when Lila might have broken in so we wouldn't have to go through as much security footage-"
"Wait, why did Alya come over?" Marinette interrupted, frowning in confusion. She hadn't borrowed anything from Alya recently, and normally Alya at least texted her to let her know if she was borrowing anything from Marinette for some reason while she wasn't home.
"I was getting to that, don't interrupt," Mrs. Cheng gently chided her. "Anyway, Alya seemed pretty surprised about us having a break-in... until I mentioned that it was Lila."
Marinette groaned. She was getting a sinking suspicion that she knew where this was going. "Please don't tell me that Alya let Lila in."
"...Alya let Lila in," Mrs. Cheng confirmed, sighing. "...on the plus side, at least she didn't pick her way in through our doors. I would be looking into swapping out our locks if that were the case."
"Why on earth would she think that that would be a good idea in any way?" Marinette exclaimed. "And- well, presumably she let Lila in and then just ran off instead of supervising her, which- even if Lila somehow made up some reason for having to stop by my room, why wouldn't Alya at least have the common sense to stay with her?"
"Well, from what Alya said, Lila said that she had loaned you something and you had forgotten to give it back, and she was worried about bringing it up and making you upset... because you might think that you had already returned it and think that she was trying to frame you. Or something." Mrs. Cheng pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. "It sounded like Lila was making it sound like you two were starting to mend bridges. And I told Alya that Lila was found with a lock picking kit and some jewelry from your Nonna Gina in her pockets, but she's still insisting that it was all a misunderstanding. "
"How- how much did you tell Alya?" Marinette asked suddenly, brain all of a sudden dancing with pictures of Alya hearing about the trap and trying to dig into what, exactly, Marinette was trying to hide. She presumably had enough sense to not go digging through Marinette's things in hopes of an interesting discovery, especially considering how hurt Lila had gotten, but that didn't mean that Alya wouldn't incessantly ask her questions, and within hearing distance of other people, too.
Not that Lila probably wouldn't bring up the trap on her own- or would she? Why would she? There would be no way to talk about it without making herself look bad. But if Lila's reputation was tanking anyway, maybe she would bring it up just to make Marinette look bad, too.
"Not much," Mrs. Cheng assured her. "I didn't have to. I implied that Lila got into a locked box of sewing things and cut herself that way, which is very believable. Your fabric scissors are sharp, as are your rotary cutters, and it's not hard to believe that someone who wasn't familiar with that box might get themselves injured. I'm not going to tell your most inquisitive friend about your very mysterious and heavily-guarded trap box."
Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief.
"On a related note, I suspect that Alya might not be very keen on coming over here for a while," Mrs. Cheng added. "I was not subtle about how irritated I was with her. And she just kept on digging her heels in more whenever I pointed out things that she wasn't considering or just flat-out missed." She paused, looking slightly sheepish. "And I may, before you got back, have insulted her investigative and observational skills. Just a little bit. I just got too mad about the fact that she fell for such an obvious lie and didn't even try to check with you about it before she went ahead and let Lila in."
Honestly, Marinette couldn't blame her mom for exploding. She couldn't believe that Alya would have done that- and apparently still thought that she was completely justified in doing it. If Lila hadn't gotten herself injured and had gotten away without being caught, who knew what sort of damage she could have caused or what information she might have gotten her hands on?
Frankly, if things had gotten to that point, once she realized what had happened, Marinette probably wouldn't have been able to resist the urge to pull out the Horse and Portal Lila to somewhere dangerous. The arctic, maybe, or the surface of the Moon. She wouldn't be able to cause trouble there.
After a pause, Mrs. Cheng nodded towards the couch. "Your box is there. I think the police said that it's currently disarmed, but be careful with it."
Marinette nodded, scooting around the table to grab the box off of the couch. She was planning on being super careful. After working so hard on the trap- well, she had once gotten a cut on her finger while she was assembling the booby trap, and that had been without any force behind it. She had no intention of becoming acquainted with those same blades with force behind them.
Besides, the box was completely safe when it was disarmed, and Marinette really didn't think that she was likely to ever just forget to disarm it, not with all of the safety measures she had deliberately built in. All that took was unlocking the second lock first- the crooked one that looked like it had been a mistake, or just a practice run on a spare piece of wood that ended up not being a spare piece- and then she could unlock the lid itself. There was a visible latch on the inside that would give away- to her- if the trap was set or not, and she always checked it just in case before sticking her hand in.
"I know how to open it safely and make sure that it's disarmed before I put my hand in," Marinette assured her mom. "After all, I designed it. I won't forget how to do it."
"Honestly, I figured that much. It wasn't a reassurance when I looked at the box at first because honestly, it doesn't look like an expertly engineered box." Mrs. Cheng smiled over at Marinette. "But that's deliberate, isn't it? No one would suspect that there's anything inside when it looks like a beginner's project."
"It was either make it look like that or try to make some sort of ornate box with a hidden key hole so that no one could figure out where the lock was, but- well, I don't have the time or skill to do that sort of carving." Marinette ran one hand over the box, remembering how much effort it had taken to make the box really solid and then go back and make it look like a beginner's project, ramshackle and not at all sturdy. If the person looking at the box knew anything about construction, the presence of the lock would probably give away the fact that she knew what she was doing, but Marinette was willing to bet that most people wouldn't know that. "It would have been cool, though. I've seen some locks online where people would never figure out how to open it unless they had been shown how, and that would have been nice."
Hawkmoth would probably just try to slice the box open then, but- well, if he did, he was in for a surprise. The wood might crack, but the enchanted metal underneath wouldn't budge.
"You've done quite a bit of research about this, then." Mrs. Cheng considered Marinette for a long moment, and she resisted the urge to squirm. "Honestly, there's a part of me that really wants to question the box and say no to you having it, because it's clearly dangerous- I mean, I saw the damage that it did to Lila- and even though I know you'll be careful, it's hard to be comfortable with the idea of that being in your room. But clearly you've been responsible with storing it, and I trust that you wouldn't have gone so far out of your way to get the materials and do the modifications to that trap if you didn't think it was important to protect whatever is in there." She took a deep breath, and Marinette could tell that her mom was severely torn about whatever she was about to say. "So your dad and I are going to allow it, and we won't ask about what you have in the box. Heaven knows you deserve some privacy."
Marinette let out a sigh of relief. "I- thank you."
"And- I didn't want to say anything over the phone, but the police had originally wanted to talk with you about why you had that trap on the box," Mrs. Cheng continued, and Marinette's heart dropped right back into her feet, the moment of relief gone. "Because- well, normally kids your age don't have stuff like that. But- oh, you should have seen it. Your dad got very puffed-up and huffy with them about how this was the second time in less than two years that a classmate of yours had been caught breaking into your room with ill intentions and were you not allowed to protect your things? And one of the police was Officer Raincomprix, so of course he was in a pretty big hurry to drop that line of questioning. Particularly when he was reminded that his daughter was the other classmate that had snuck in."
Marinette hastily muffled a laugh. She would have loved to see that, honestly. "And they didn't say that they would, like, come back later or anything?"
"Only to get a statement from you that Lila wasn't meant to be at our house at all. Your father and I discussed it, and- if it's all right with you- we'd like to pursue pressing charges. We've heard enough about Lila that we want to make sure that she won't be bothering you in the future. Breaking and entering is just- she's taken it too far. She's been taking it too far, and I apologize for both your dad and I that we haven't taken it seriously. No disorder is going to compel someone to target you to the degree that she has been, much less plot to break into your room." Mrs. Cheng shook her head, clearly disgusted at herself for having fallen for the lie. "At the very least, we want to look into getting a restraining order. That should keep her away from you."
"What if Lila spins some tale or tries to get sympathy and we can't get the order?" Marinette asked. Even with their evidence- well, from the sounds of it, Lila's hand was probably pretty mangled, and she didn't have the magical healing potion that Marinette kept on hand just in case to put it back to normal. "What if they decide that her hand is punishment enough?"
"Then we'll argue that." Mrs. Cheng's voice was firm. "If you testify about what Lila has been like, then the courts will know that she's likely to just go back to school and cry about her wrist to get sympathy. And they've seen people like her before, I'm sure. They're not going to be as easily fooled as your teachers and classmates and- well, and your dad and I."
Marinette swallowed and nodded. That would be nice. That would be really nice.
"And if they do- well, and even if they don't- I will be talking to Lila's mother. There's no way she knows what her daughter has been up to, if she still was letting her run around." Mrs. Cheng nodded once, sharp, and Marinette knew that there would be no stopping her mom now. She was determined to keep Lila away from Marinette and force her to see the consequences of her actions, and so it would happen.
Honestly, Marinette had the best parents ever.
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  Marinette let out a sigh of relief as she tucked the box back in its spot, piling the presents for Adrien back on top of it and shutting the lid of her storage bench. It locked with a thud and a sharp click, sounding sturdy and secure.
It was too bad that that was a lie. Marinette ran her fingers over the lock, wondering if she should try switching out the lock for a different style, something that would be harder- or, even better, impossible- to pick. It might be hard to do that without attracting attention, though, and if she messed it up?
It would be better to not have signs of tampering on her bench, just in case. Maybe she should practice with putting in and taking out locks on a bit of scrap wood first.
A blanket went over the bench, set at a jaunty angle, just casual enough that it didn't look arranged. Marinette's backpack went next to it, the perfect picture of nothing here to see.
And still Marinette worried her lip.
"It'll be fine, Marinette!" Tikki told her, zipping up next to her shoulder. "Downstairs is all locked up, the box is hidden, and the bench is locked. No one is going to be breaking in- and Lila is in the hospital anyway."
"I know, but..." Marinette trailed off, glancing around her room. Whenever someone entered her room without her consent- when Sabrina broke in, after Jagged Stone's camera wandered in while broadcasting live to all of Paris, and then now with Lila- she always felt thrown off kilter and uncomfortable, out of place and not as secure as normal in her own room. It wasn't ever a nice feeling.
She couldn't even safely leave her diary out in her room. Not her diary, not anything that might be the least bit valuable, not any signs of her crush or anything that might even hint at her double life. Maybe it would be a good idea to tuck those things away anyway, but there was a difference between having to simply put things away instead of leaving them out in the open and having to lock everything away under several layers of protection.
Marinette was starting to get the feeling that once she was older and had her own place, there would be a lot of personalization with false walls and hidden compartments where she could hide away- well, everything, really. All of the parts of her life that she might be at all leery of anyone finding out about.
It was always going to be a good idea to hide the Miraculous stuff, especially while Hawkmoth was active, but Marinette should be able to expect some measure of privacy in her own room. The fact that she apparently couldn't...
Maybe it was a better idea to not dwell on that too much. And, with any luck, they wouldn't have any trouble going forward. She and her parents had talked over dinner and come up with a new rule for letting in friends and classmates: all visits had to be approved by Marinette before they set foot through the door. If she let them in herself it was fine, of course, but if they came in through the bakery and wanted to be let up then Sabine had to have a text on her phone from Marinette approving it. There would be no more surprise visits from her friends- or at least no truly surprise visits, since she would at least get a couple minutes' warning from her mom's inquiry text- and no more people going up to her room when she wasn't there 'just to grab something really quickly, honest'. If someone tried to come over as a surprise and Marinette didn't see her mom's text right away- either because she was just busy or because she was out as Ladybug- then that was just too bad. They didn't just get to saunter up and poke around in her room unattended until she got back.
That- well, security reasons aside, it was a really good change. There had been multiple times lately when Marinette had been in the middle of trying to catch up on homework and one (or more) of her friends burst in and interrupted her, and that had both thrown her completely off and eaten up time that she really didn't have to spare because she felt bad about sending them away when they had come over to see her. There hadn't been any times yet where Marinette had been out as Ladybug and came back to find someone in her room, but, well, she couldn't get lucky forever. If they hadn't made the change, then it would probably only be a matter of time before Ladybug slipped into her room after a long fight and found Alya waiting there.
(That would be a disaster.)
"At least I hadn't gotten around to painting the trap with the poison that the Order sent me," Marinette commented after a pause, pushing away thoughts of her new visiting arrangements and how she really should have implemented them earlier for the time being. The poison was a new suggestion from the Order, something to completely ensure that Hawkmoth wouldn't be able to steal the Miraculous, and it was a suggestion that made her really, really nervous. She fiddled with one of the tassels on the blanket, then resolutely turned and headed up to bed. "The police might have been fine with the bear trap- if only barely- but a bear trap coated in poison? I would have gotten in so much trouble."
"I still think it would be a good idea to put it on," Tikki told her. "I know it ups the scary factor even more, but in case Hawkmoth finds the box and he doesn't pass out from the trap- or if it doesn't catch him as much as it sounds like it got Lila, since he might be expecting a trap!- then it should still keep him from getting away scot-free. You have the antidote and the healing potions, so you should still be safe!"
"In theory, at least." Sure, the Order had assured her that it would take some time for the poison to kick in, enough time for her to get to her remedies- a delay of sorts, followed by it absolutely flooring the unfortunate person affected- but that still depended entirely on her keeping her head long enough to actually get to them.
Maybe she needed to consider a rearranging of where things were so that there would be less distance between the box and the antidotes, just in case that very dangerous and (hopefully) very unlikely scenario of the box snapping shut on her ever happened.
Ugh. More things to do, as though she didn't already have enough on her plate. But Tikki was right- Hawkmoth was too much of a threat to keep putting off the secondary level of protection. She would just have to be super careful around the box- even more than she had been before- and prioritize getting her remedies located closer to the hidden Miracle Box.
That, and she definitely had to make sure that she kept her remedy up-to-date, no slacking and letting it come close to expiration. And, well, she had to make sure that she didn't use up the healing potion- the potion that would immediately reverse the damage from the trap in case something went wrong- with injuries that she got while sewing or tripping over her own feet.
At least she knew how to make the healing potion. As long as Marinette kept an eye on how much she had- and her (poorly) hidden supply of potion ingredients, those had to be next on her list of things to build hiding spots for after a new spot for the box and a close but not too close location for the remedies- and made sure to top it back up whenever she got low, using it for other injuries shouldn't be a problem.
"I'll tell Mom no babysitting next weekend, and do the poison then," Marinette said, realizing that she hadn't said anything for a minute. "If I do it right away and the police end up wanting to see it again, then that'll be an issue. If I give it a little time, then I won't end up putting the poison on and then having to take it right off again. And I need to get some more supplies- a dedicated paintbrush, and some gloves so that my skin doesn't come in contact with it at all."
Tikki nodded, approving. "I didn't think of that! That's a good thought. I think that should be fast enough. And it'll give you time to think about ways you can shake up your set-up so that no one else will know about it again!"
"The biggest changes there might have to wait to summer, honestly," Marinette admitted. The amount of work it would take to make a hidden cubby- and to make it fast enough that no one would notice it- would be absolutely insane, her biggest project yet. "But I'm sure that I can make some changes to up my security before then, and dream up improvements that I can make so that I'm ready to hit the ground running as soon as I have enough free time."
Her mind was whirring with more ideas already, actually. She would have to ask the Order to enchant more metal so to be Miraculous-resistant, pieces that she could put inside of the storage bench and keep it from being destroyed. If Hawkmoth (or his akumas) couldn't pick locks, that should be enough to stop him. And then if she practiced with taking out and putting locks in, then she could put in a lock like one she had seen online most recently, the one that had a hidden keyhole. Both improvements wouldn't affect her ability to get in- which was a good thing, since speed was super important during akuma fights- but should make things for difficult for anyone with nefarious intentions.
It would be a lot of work, of course, and might mean skipping out on a few outings with her friends to get things done quickly just in case, but she could make the Miracle Box safe and secure again. It might even end up helping her in the long run, since now she knew where the weak points in her security were and could fix them before they were put to the test by an akuma or Hawkmoth. Sure, it wasn't ideal that people knew about the box at all, but- well, it wasn't worth crying over spilled milk.
Marinette would come back from this, and she would come back stronger.
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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years
Text
Too Far
Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy
So I was rewatching some episodes, minding my own business, when this muse blindsided me out of nowhere.  It’s a lot of Virgil, specifically delving into Virgil’s head and motivations, and this is a playground that is normally locked and barred to me so I have no idea at this point how well it’s ended up from a characterisation standpoint.  Who knows, maybe one day I’ll understand this boy.
It’s not normally Virgil that Scott has to pull up for misconduct.  Episode tag for 3.06 Life Signs.
“Virgil, can you come to the den, please?”
Scott’s voice emerged from his comm with no warning, not even a greeting, and he looked down at his wrist in surprise.
“Is it a rescue?” he asked, eyeing the task he was halfway through and already starting to calculate the fastest way to finish it.  “I’m doing some maintenance on Two, so it’ll take me a couple of minutes to get her ready for launch.”
“There’s no rescue.” Scott sounded… off, but not in any of the ways Virgil was used to hearing.  It was, at least, partially familiar, but he couldn’t place it.  That was concerning, but he couldn’t just leave Thunderbird Two with her dashboard strewn across the cockpit.  Rescues had a habit of cropping up at the most inconvenient times, and that certainly qualified.
“Then… can it wait until I’ve put the panels back?”
The weighty pause on the line gave him the answer even before Scott spoke.  Whatever Scott needed, it was urgent.
“Five minutes, Virgil.”
But not so urgent it couldn’t wait?  Thoroughly mystified and more than a little worried, Virgil hurried through putting his girl back together as quickly as he could whilst still being sure he wasn’t messing anything up.  It was lucky he could do it in his sleep, because his mind was firmly fixed on Scott’s odd request.
Except it wasn’t a request, was it?  As he screwed the last panel back in place, he realised where he knew that tone of voice from.  It was the tone Scott used on Gordon and Alan when they’d done something big brother didn’t approve of.  He hadn’t instantly recognised it because Scott hadn’t directed it at him in…
Virgil couldn’t actually remember.  Normally when Scott was preparing to lecture him, he was laid up in the medbay with an injury Scott thought could have been avoided and there was a strong undercurrent of thinly veiled worry.  That undercurrent was missing, this time, and despite himself Virgil hesitated.
What had he done to get Scott on his back like that?
Reluctantly, he left his girl to answer Scott’s summons – and that was what it was, just like Dad used to summon them if they were in trouble; after Mars and the high of Captain Taylor saying Dad would have been proud of them, the reminder of Dad’s stricter side nestled unpleasantly in his chest.  Scott had even gone so far as to wait for him in the den, rather than seeking him out.
Just like Dad.
Virgil wasn’t scared of his brother, but the little brother in him was scared at the idea of disappointing Scott, and it was that part that dragged his feet along the ground, reluctant to face whatever was waiting for him in the den.
Scott was sat at Dad’s desk, glowering intently at a hologram in front of him.  Virgil couldn’t see what was on it, barring a lot of text, but that wasn’t important.  What was important was the strong, imposing figure at the desk, distinct from his memories of Dad only because Scott was leaning forwards, elbows on the table.
Dad had never sat like that. Sometimes, it seemed like that was the only difference between Dad and his big brother.  Today, with a heavy atmosphere and otherwise empty den – no doubt cleared on purpose for this talk – was one of those times.
But for all that they reminded Virgil of each other and memories threatened to overlap reality, it was still Scott at that desk.  Virgil trusted Scott with every fibre of his being, and it was that trust that shoved his reluctant feet into the den to face whatever Scott wanted to talk about.
“You called?”
Muscle memory – old, old muscle memory that hadn’t been exercised in eight years – led him to stand in front of the desk.  With Scott sat in the chair and him still on his feet, he was taller.  He didn’t feel taller.
The desk did funny things to perception, skewed them away from reality.
The blue eyes that suddenly pinned him in place left him feeling a foot tall, and he didn’t even know what this was about, yet.  There was love in them, because it was Scott and there was always love in his eyes, even after Gordon had poured itching powder in his bed when he was ten and the sheer amount had him reacting so badly he’d had to see a doctor, but it was overshadowed by other, darker, things.
Anger. Frustration.  Disappointment.
Disappointment had a way of affecting the colour that no other emotion could quite replicate.  It was the only shade of blue that made Virgil feel ill to look at.
Scott didn’t say anything, making solid eye contact that Virgil wanted to break but couldn’t.
If the disappointment was heart-breaking, the silence was nerve-wracking.  Virgil didn’t like silence at the best of times, and took to filling it with whatever he could, whether it was music, the sounds that accompanied engineering, or simply lingering in earshot of whichever brother was the liveliest at that moment.
But Scott knew that, and no matter how upset or disappointed he was, he wasn’t cruel.  The silence lingered for barely a few seconds before he jabbed at something on his tablet.
An awful choking sound emitted from the desk’s built-in speakers, as though someone was trying to breathe but just couldn’t.  It was one Virgil had heard many times before – too many times before – but this one was different.
A wave of cold – icy, Antarctica-cold – swallowed him up with the creeping inevitability of realisation, dousing him until his organs felt like they’d all stopped working and the blood had drained from his body.
He didn’t need the sound of Alan’s panicked “Virgil!?” to identify it, and his entire body cringed as he heard his own voice, too full of adrenaline-packed amusement, reply.
The finger that jabbed the pause button was full of judgement.
“I-” he started, trying to find words – an explanation, an apology…
Those blue eyes gave him a look and he quailed into silence.  An excuse.  That’s what he’d been leaping to, but there were no excuses.  Not for that.
“Our communications lines are supposed to be used for mission-relevant information only,” Scott finally said.  The disappointment Virgil had identified in the initial summons had nothing on what was dripping from his big brother’s words now.  “Strictly speaking, there should be no jokes or banter while we’re on a mission, but for the sake of boosting morale, I let that slide.”
He did more than let it slide – Scott was almost as bad as Gordon and Alan for it sometimes, but Virgil knew better than to pedantically correct his eldest brother when he was like this.  Hell, even John tended to let Scott say his piece without interrupting if he got this bad.
“Still,” Scott continued, “there are some jokes that go too far, Virgil, and quite honestly I can’t believe I’m having to remind you, of all people.”
He winced involuntarily. “I know, Scott, I’m sorry.  That was out of line.”  It hadn’t seemed it at the time, not with the adrenaline rushing and a sudden desire to lighten the mood in the collapsed tunnel, but in hindsight, Virgil could see exactly how stupid a prank that had been.
And to do it to Alan, of all people.  His youngest brother who had just admitted to him that he was forgetting Dad and worried about them dying on a mission.  For them to have one of their closest calls to date was bad enough, where it had been a very real possibility that not all of them were going to make it out alive, but then he’d gone and compounded it…
“Virgil.”  Scott pulled him back to the present, and Virgil never wanted to hear his big brother say his name like that ever again.  His admittance had done nothing to dilute the disappointment.  “I’m not the one you need to apologise to.”  Scott at least had enough mercy not mention Alan by name, even if it hung unspoken and heavy between them.  “But we need to talk about this.”
Need to talk?  Virgil knew he was in the wrong, and normally when Scott knew he knew he was in the wrong, he let it rest after pointing it out. Actually having to talk about it – worse, having to stand there and face the disappointed shade of blue – filled Virgil with something not too dissimilar to shame and apprehension.
The thought crossed his mind that he was going to be grounded.  Punished.
“Virgil, why did you do that?”
“I-” he started, but broke off.  Why did he do it?  Adrenaline wasn’t the reason, even if it had played a part in him actually doing it. Fear, too.  Fear that he really was going to die; that he’d just killed himself and abandoned Alan to dig out his dead body.  But that still wasn’t the reason, was it?  Not really.
Scott didn’t push him. For all he was disappointed, and other displeased emotions swirled around behind the disappointment, he gave him time to answer.  But then, perhaps Scott knew he didn’t know and was waiting for him to work it out.  His eldest brother could be a mind reader at times.
Virgil swallowed.  “I…  I wanted to be like Dad.”
The words surprised him as much as they did Scott.  Blue eyes widened, and finally Virgil saw something else, something he was used to, flicker in there as well.
Worry.
“Like Dad?  But, Virg-”
“Captain Taylor’s always going on about Dad, and how Dad never let fear get in the way,” he interrupted his brother, words tumbling out with no conscious thought behind them.  “How Dad always had a plan, and the scrapes they’d get into.  How they always got out of them by the skin of their teeth – writing the book on lunar survival and the asteroid belt’s buckle and landing on Mars in the first place.” He took a deep breath, considered looking away but Scott’s wide, rapidly changing eyes locked his gaze in place.  “And Alan was talking about Dad on the way, all the little things he used to do.”  He didn’t mention what Alan had told him – that had been said in confidence, and there were some things he couldn’t break, not even for Scott.
Instead, he paused to get his rushing thoughts under control.  Scott’s disappointment had faded into astonished disbelief, and that hurt in its own way.
He also still looked like Dad.
“Captain Taylor was talking about Dad, and everyone knows you’re Dad’s son.  And John, and Alan.  Hell, even Gordon.  I just wanted Captain Taylor to see I am, too.”
He knew everyone looked at him and saw Mom.  Even if they didn’t look alike, he’d inherited her temperament and love of music.  They never looked at him and saw Dad.
“I just wanted to be Dad’s son,” he admitted.  “I wanted to do what Dad always did in the stories and lighten the mood, keep the morale up. It was stupid; I know that now.  I terrified Alan.  It was unprofessional and Dad would never have done that at anyone’s expense.”
His cheeks felt cramped, and his vision blurred.
“Virgil…”  There was movement in front of him and then a weight on his shoulder.  He knew that weight – he’d felt it time and time again.
“It was stupid,” he repeated, the words thick in his throat.  “I shouldn’t have done it.  But… Captain Taylor said he’d be proud of me.”
The hand on his shoulder shifted, and then there was a firm warmth around him.
“Of course Dad would be proud of you,” Scott said, mouth a little way above his ear.  Virgil let his head fall forwards until it was resting on his brother’s shoulder.  “Don’t ever think that he wouldn’t be.  You don’t have to be like him, Virgil.  You just have to be like you.”
On another day, in another conversation, Virgil would turn that back around at Scott, who had spent the last eight years trying to emulate Dad.
But Scott had him in a warm, comfortable embrace and the little brother who had been terrified of those disappointed blues lapped up the reassurance that was being offered in their place.  This wasn’t about Scott; this was about him and his stupid spur-of-the-moment idiocy.
And the brother he had no doubt terrified more than he’d realised.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the blue shirt.  “I messed up.”
“You’re only human,” Scott reminded him.  “We mess up, and we learn from it.”
Slowly, Virgil nodded. That was certainly a mistake he was never, ever going to make again.
Scott’s embrace was still comforting, but with the little brother no longer terrified, it was the big brother’s turn to make an appearance.  He couldn’t put this behind him, lesson fully learnt and absorbed so intently it was imprinted on his brain for all eternity, until he soothed it over with Alan, too. Reluctantly, he pulled back, out of his brother’s hold, and Scott let him.  Hands lingered on his shoulders just a touch longer, before they fell back to Scott’s sides.
Now that Scott was standing, not sat at the desk projecting Dad, he was actually taller than Virgil, and yet Virgil didn’t feel quite so small anymore.
“I need to talk to Alan,” he said, hoping Scott didn’t notice his voice cracking on their youngest brother’s name.  Blue eyes – no longer disappointment-blue, but back to their default love-and-concern shade – looked him over, before Scott gave him what could almost be classified as an approving smile.
It was definitely approving, even if the twitch of his dimples wasn’t quite enough to qualify it as a smile, and that alone lifted a weight from Virgil’s shoulders.
“You should,” he agreed. “But you should probably clean up a bit, or you’ll scare him.”  It was light-hearted, almost back to the teasing banter of a big brother rather than the Dad-mirage, and Virgil took it for the olive branch it was.
Nodding, he turned to leave the den.
“And Virgil?”  There was something slightly melancholy about that tone, and he turned half back around again.  Scott was looking at him, with a small smile on his face that wasn’t really happy, even if it wasn’t sad.  Just honest. “Even Dad was only human.”
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frostcorpsclub · 3 years
Text
Khione
Jack Frost x OC and Fankid 
Body Horror, Long, Familial Love, Romantic Love
Story Under Cut 
James and his father could have escaped from their cold medical cells quite a while ago.
The government had a sizable gap in its knowledge of snowpeople, that's why they were here, so finding an opening was just a matter of biding their time.
However, there was one thing missing.
Suzette.
Neither knew where she was being kept or what was being done to her.
Not to mention the anti-supernatural barriers the facility possessed made it so James didn't have that extra...sway like usual.
Jack tried his hand too but the head scientist wasn't exactly giving away that information.
It wasn't like he and Suzy had ever done anything to 'Doctor Richard Stone', right?
Every so often though he would slip in a piece to the puzzle.
Almost like he was hoping the Frost men would put their heads together and figure it out.
This is not what happened.
When the fateful day came Jack simply brute forced his way past the teeth of his evening researcher.
The poor man turned shades of powder blue and white as Jack suffocated him with snow from the inside. He stumbled out into the hall using the dead mans body as a vessel, the cold shell shambling through the hall and leaning against the wall as Jack struggled to maintain balance.
It was a pretty obvious facade but luck was on his side.
He made it just far enough to slam his keycard into the slot and release James before the alarms began ringing.
He didn't wait very long before bursting out of the scientist, thick blood dripping and clumps of viscera slowly slopping down the walls; skin now and then hitting the marbled floors with a splat.
Jack elbowed James in the side, the scared husbands and responsible fathers tone clearly pointed as he took the time to tease him.
"Don't look too hungry son, we get mom first. There'll be plenty of hot bloody game on the outside."
James simply grunted and rolled his eyes, shooting off ahead instead of entertaining his fathers annoying coping mechanism.
Normally Jack would have pushed further but this was one of the rare times the pair were on somewhat of the same page.
So they took a path each and wreaked havoc across the facility.
Nothing was going to stand in their way until they found her, they were sending in support of course but by the time they were through bodies coated every corner they had crossed.
In all honesty a future autopsy would report back that they both got a little cocky, realizing they had some time to spare. Jack wasn't one to listen to his own advice anyways.
Many of the bodies had bite marks taken out of them, limbs torn clean off, or oddly shaped chunks ripped out by claws.
Excessive or not, there was a good enough supply to nurse Suzy back from whatever condition they might find her in.
Their path led down a series of overlapping ramps, each one darker and dingier than the last.
All signs were saying 'do not come down here' but...well Jack and James kind of had to. Some of the most powerful members of the winterbeing species found themselves holding onto each other for protection.
They finally stopped in a narrow hallway, the end and the beginning obscured by shadow so black the space beyond them seemed nonexistent.
One wall acted as a brace for both men to back up against, the other wall featuring a large panel of glass and a metal door.
The other side of the glass held a single scientist and what appeared to be another room inside.
The single personnel stationed here seemed to be ill-prepared for his task, only breaking away from the snowmens watchful eyes to frantically look around the room for something to defend himself with.
Neither Jack nor James could make out what was in that further room but neither cared, Jack wasn't going to spend one second watching this bumbling idiot.
He first attempted to brute force it. His fists dawned in ice gauntlets repeatedly slammed into the big metal door, barely making a dent.
The keycard was taken from his pocket and he was pushed aside, soon being met with a barrage of curses from his son.
"Goddamn it dad! Look what you fucking did!"
James shrieked. The keycard worked but the mangled door stuck out at an angle from its mechanical socket.
There was sufficient space for either to melt through easily but the tension got them bickering just long enough for more alarms to go off.
These alarms were a lot different, more like a clock, a timer.
Silence came from the pair as they watched on in curiosity, a look of absolute terror painted across the mans face telling them that...maybe they shouldn't go in just yet.
A bright light went on above the secondary door behind the glass, buzzing blue for a few seconds before delivering a bright red omen.
It was uncertain what plans he had to live but the man held back the door nevertheless.
The mysteries he was holding at bay filled the room behind him with icy fog, swirling in a hypnotic spiral until there was nothing but deathly cotton.
In an instant the door burst open, flinging the the poor soul across the room, followed almost immediately by a lanky figure and a flash of fiery orange.
The young snowman who possessed that same orange flame turned to his father with a hopeful glint in his coals, Jack holding him close in an uncharacteristic show of support.
They had found her. She was safe.
At least her energetic show of predation led them to think she was safe.
Soon enough the fog cleared up enough for them to see her.
Suzette stood over the man a frail skeleton of her former self, her eyes sunken in and black, two ice blue eyes barely noticeable in their haze. Her normally wild mane of curls laid slick at her sides.
Her body was just as stiff, a ball-jointed doll that cracked each time she moved; her skin taught against her form, white waves of bone ebbing and flowing.
Nobody who laid eyes on her had ever seen her like this before, the quick glance she made to Jack and James seemed blank. All the while the man under her had laid as still as a statue, hoping and praying that if he didn't move she wouldn't spot him.
Her eyes locked with her husband for the first time in what seemed like forever.
And she looked right through him.
This display of life in her was finally what woke her prey up, a scream boiling over from his lips so loud he could almost feel his vocal chords snap.
All he wanted was to learn, learn and make the world a better place.
Science was a cruel mistress, stringing him along with her veiled waves around corners, only to leave him rotting.
Rotting and alone with these unregulated abominations of the genetic code he once read like gospel.
This was all he could seem to think about as Suzy grabbed him, proving once and for all that she was fully capable of handling herself.
She brute forced him into the air, pinning him against the nearby window pane.
The boys flinched and held onto each other tight as the impact was so hard they thought the glass might shatter.
Her family had a front row seat to the carnage and to the full shape of her form, no one watching could keep their eyes on just one thing.
It was almost like a nightmare they were all trapped in.
Suzette let go for a second, allowing gravity to kick in and the man to fall down slightly, only to be picked back up as her sharp bone fingers slid under his flesh like a silicone prosthetic.
The skin peeled up to give her a deep dive into his muscles, tendons and flesh; the tight grip it still had on his body allowed her to hold him up like this.
Jack even found himself grimacing and looking away at this point.
James let out a nervous chuckle as Suzette locked eyes with the man, her smile slowly unfurling to show off her cave of stalagmite like fangs.
"We're never gonna forget to do our share of chores again, right dad?"
He nudged his father with his elbow as he said this, watching his mothers mouth extend so far it almost wrapped around her head.
It seemed to be carved into her cheeks except for the connective tissue keeping her unhinged jaw attached to her face.
This was all her.
All members of Suzys species had naturally wide mouths but it was never any less unsettling to see. They expected the next thing to be the loud crunching of bones and tearing of flesh but instead...
Suzy began to scream.
Frozen winds whipped around and once again filled the room with cotton air, Suzys ginger locks swinging like tentacles behind her.
Her grip visibly tightened against the mans skull as his screams were completed overshadowed by her own.
James and Jack had some blind spots because of the positioning so neither could pinpoint what was going on at first as the mans screaming slowly turned into grueling groans.
His body was beginning to go limp and he seemed, skinnier.
Suzette hadn't just grabbed him by the face for convenience, the moisture that made up 70 percent of his body was travelling from his cells and into her own. As the mans dried up body went tight and smooth like tanned leather her body began to fill out in return, she was feeding off of him in a way she never had to before.
All the while her screaming did not stop.
Soon enough there wasn't enough water left inside of him and Suzy discarded him like garbage, his thin corpse practically looked like a human suit as it fell to the floor; Suzy dropping down with it.
This was when she finally turned her attention to her husband and son, she had gone radio silent and kept steady eye contact with them both. It was almost like she was guarding them.
"Is...Is she done? What now?"
James broke the silence by mumbling.
Jack honestly didn't have an answer...but he had a theory.
So without a word he got behind James and pushed the snowboy, forcing his malleable body to melt through the crack in the door and putting him the room with his mother.
James body did what it had to but he still looked back at his father with a look of frustration and shock.
"Dad you dick! I-"
Before he could finish his sentence Suzy had pounced on him, grabbing at his curls and moving his hair from his face so she could get a good look at him.
He struggled against her hands, grunting as this pulled his hair and shot pain from his scalp. He was still holding onto the top of his head when she got off of him.
Some part of her feral brain pieced together that this was her offspring and she had caused him pain. Her face in a primitively sad expression, like a dog who got scolded for peeing on the carpet.
James breathed heavily as he sat up, his face relaxing out of its twisted scowl as he saw her up close.
She crawled only a few inches back as she wanted to give him his boundaries, but they could see each other very well. As they sat there Jack decided it was the right time for him to squeeze through.
He was going to make a snide comment as he got closer but then he saw her too. Jack got down on what could be considered his knees and wrapped an arm around his son.
Suzy looked between them and began to shiver, slowly but surely retreating into a corner.
She was like a caged animal but deep in those black suken pits Jack recognized her beautiful blue eyes.
The eyes that tried to hide from him the day they met, the eyes that cried as she held their child. The eyes that looked at him like he was normal, like he was the love of her life, when she saw him as a snowman for the first time.
He wasn't going to give up on her.
"Suzy doll? Snowflake, it's us, your family."
He spoke to her in the calmest voice he could muster, James soon joining him and outstretching his hand.
"Please don't be scared. Everything's okay Mom!"
As soon as he got closer Suzy began to scream again, but not out of a warning to attack. Water began to pour out from her eyesockets, soon followed by her ears, mouth, nose and....everywhere else.
It shot out of her like she was a fountain and the boys took a side each In order to hold her down.
She convulsed and kicked around in their arms, the blizzard in the room kicking up again from the stress they were all going through.
By the time they were done there was a puddle emanating from right below her that almost flooded the room.
When she finally went limp in their arms the water began to creep back inside of her, taking back in the nutrients that it needed.
Jack waved James off to go and pry open the door, which was no doubt going to take a bit so Jack turned his attention to his wife.
He brushed her curls from her face and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. There would never come a day where he found her ugly.
After all this was the mother of his children.
Jack wasn't exactly one for nurturing but he knew he had to return the favor.
She was going to be alright.
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singeramg · 4 years
Text
Midnight: Chapter 17
Pairing: Clark Kent-Superman/ Metahuman! Black! OFC
Rating: M
A/n: Hey everyone!!! Since I am on lock down and get to spend more time getting these ideas out my head you guys get another chapter! Let me know what you think!
Warnings: Language, Non-con sexual situations, angst. I tag more and it ruins the chapter but just an FYI this serves as your potential trigger warning.
Catch up HERE!
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Midnight: Chapter 17
Only the sky saw Superman race across it to Bruce’s house. The team with the exception of Arthur who they hadn’t been able to get in touch with, had been working around the clock to try and find Gia.
  “Tell me what you’ve got?”
Clark’s voice held a tone of superiority that commanded respect even when he wasn’t going for that. Victor speaks up first.
  “I’ve been tracking the dark web chatter trying to find anything that would lead us to who took Gia or where she is. I haven’t had a hit on who took her, but there has been talk about a big Russian politician who doubles as a mob leader coming into town. He is supposed to be meeting with our very own Harvey Dent at a club downtown.”
  “That doesn’t bode well for anyone if he starts making allies.”
Bruce comments
 “What does that mean for Gia?” Barry asks 
  “I say if there is some meet up going down, then it could mean whoever took Gia is involved in this too. Harvey Dent could definitely pull this off, especially if he viewed her as a threat.”
Bruce answers and finds himself leaning against the control panel Victor was currently sitting at.
  “More than any of us?” Clark was still not sure but willing to hear them out.
 “Yes if her power was a direct threat to their plans then why not get her out the way?”
Diana offers and looks over the screen.
  “So what did we do?”
Barry asks, not having a plan himself.
 “I think we should go undercover. At least a couple of us.”
  “Who exactly?”
Clark asks skeptically
Diana smiles and Clark knows he is in trouble..
*Later*
Clark, Diana and Bruce all went undercover to the club where this meet up between Dent and the Boss was supposed to happen. Clark walked in separately from Bruce and Diana who made themselves look like the VIP’s they were and together, although they didn’t have to try very hard to appear that they were on some sort of date.
Clark however came in looking like a more....disheveled version of himself. He hadn’t been shaving all week and Diana did something with his hair that defined his curls but didn’t look as wild as they normally looked. She tossed a charcoal grey button and jeans at him. Left him with a “meet us at the club”.
So here he was in a loud club packed with people, he honestly could have listened to whatever conversation he wanted from outside, but he wanted to have a good look at this Dent character he would be knocking the lights out of later. He leaned against the bar, taking a sip of a drink he ordered, listening for signs of trouble, sitting it down on the bar top, honing in on Dent and the boss chatting it up about two tables down from Bruce and Diana.
  “Well what’s a hunk like you doing in here all alone?”
A petite olive toned girl that almost looks too young to be in the club, thrusts herself onto him bodily. Her breasts practically falling out of the top of her ill fitting red dress he perfume almost fascinatingly  thick, her heart is racing although it doesn’t show on her face. He gives her a nervous smile and politely pulls her manicured hand off his arm and chest. 
  “Sorry I am not alone... I was just waiting on my girlfriend...”
He puts up the drink and takes another sip, hopefully to imply to her that he is not interested. 
  “Are you sure you don’t want to be alone? I am alone tonight but I don’t want to leave that way.”
She flips her hair over her shoulder, and he backs away again, only now he begins to feel odd. His head begins to swirl, he clears his throat, takes another drink but it doesn't help.
  “I appreciate your obvious interest but I cannot join you. I..I’m just going to go.”
Clark pulls away and stumbles off to the bathroom, unawares to Diana and Bruce.
He stands at the sink as the last man exits the restroom. He throws water in his face, but his head begins to ring. He feels weaker by the second as he is holding on to the sick tightly but it doesn’t break under his hands which it should under normal circumstances. 
The lights in the bathroom flicker and shut off for a moment. When they come back on the blonde woman is standing behind him, jibbing his neck with a syringe and it’s lights out for Clark Kent...
*1 hours later*
  “I told you the plan would work!”
Clark was slowly coming to, but still felt weak. The voices he was hearing sounded familiar, but it couldn’t be.
  “See look he’s even waking up now. Goody!”
There was an excited clap and then an annoyed grunt.
  “Oh please Tanya don’t act like you aren’t excited. I mean wait until we tell the boss man we caught fucking Superman. He's going to lose his shit!”
  “When will he get here?”
The second voice is also familiar but not as much as the first. The first had kept him up many nights looking for it. Clark’s eyes pop open to find not only the dark haired girl from the club looking at him but his Gia as well. 
Only something was off about her. Her eyes held no warmth looking at him. Her smile is wide, but manic. It was if she had become unhinged in the week she had been missing. Clark quickly realizes he’s chained down. Heavy duty chains it seems because they won’t budge as he tugs so he can grab Gia and get out of wherever they were. To his confusion she only laughs.
  “Aww sweetheart you think we used chains YOU could get out of?”
She is wearing a version of her Midnight uniform but it’s not the same. The top is cut way lower and they are short-shorts at the bottom rather than the skin tight catsuit type with the gray detailing she always wore. This version had red in its place. She had foregone the mask and everything about her makeup was dramatic with red and black tinted shadow and bright red lips, her hair straightened. She saunters over to him slowly, also opting for heels rather than the flat boots she normally fought in. Her lips curl upward into another smile as she walks around him slowly. Her hands fold into his thick hair, playing with it.
  “Your mind is interesting Mr. Kent.”
She finishes her circle, stopping in front of him.
  “Gia what is going on? Let me out of here?”
  “Clark sweetheart, they said you were smart. Why would I let you out? I am not this Gia person you speak of, but I mean if she IS the chick you are fucking then maybe we can make an exception and I’ll be her.”
He was confused; she was speaking as if she had no clue who he was or who she even is. The Tanya girl looks at Gia with a smirk.
  “Should I call boss man?”
Gia looks as if she is concentrating really hard, then comes back to the moment in front of her.
  “He’s a bit busy. Still has... company...in his penthouse.”
She says ‘company’ in a tone that implies whoever their boss was, was engaging in sexual activity. Clark could care less, he had to get himself and more importantly Gia out of this mess. He looks her over again up and down, to his chagrin he does appreciate how she looks standing that close to him in something that short, her long legs on display, his mind flashes to those wrapped around him. Gia looks at him, they lock eyes and she raises an eyebrow at him in amusement.
  “I think I should be allowed to have a little fun. I’ve been cooped up here, you got to go out and get him. He said catch him, never said I couldn’t have a little fun with him while we wait.”
 “You think that’s a good idea?” The Tanya girl asks but she knows it’s not. 
  “Yes. Besides if you are so worried go stand watch for the boss and once he’s...done...let me know.”
Clark watches as Gia’s iris light up glowing green and Tanya’s eyes light up the same color to match. Tanya suddenly says as her eyes return back to normal and no indication that her eyes had been glowing.
 “Okay I’ll go stand watch.”
The girl leaves them alone, and Gia giggles that insane laugh again.
  “It’s going to be fun playing with that power. You won’t tell anyone I have it will you? You seem like the trust worthy type with all those goody two shoes and morals you are trying to spin on us humans.”
Clark pulls at his bonds again, but he knows it pointless.
 “Gia let me out of here. We can fight like normal people when our lives aren’t at risk.”
She only plops down on his lap, straddling him, he can feel her body weight as opposed to  normal where he only feels light pressure.
 “I should start off by introducing myself since you keep calling me the wrong name. I would tell you my real name, but you don’t need to know that. A good villain never gives it all away in the first round. Around these parts everyone calls me Synergy.”
Thoughts fly through his mind as it clicks that Gia truly has no clue who she is and that does not bode well for him. In fact his mind is still a bit swirly from however they got him here. She runs her finger down the side of his face tenderly.
 *-“How did they get him here?”*
   “Now you are asking the right questions. Although gosh you look just like a goddamn puppy when you are confused. It’s quite endearing. Makes me want to keep you Clark Kent of Smallville, A.K.A Superman of Krypton. Hey sweetheart... Did you know Kryptonite still works even in powdered form. I wondered why anyone would think Superman would be in a club, without glasses, and furthermore that nobody would figure it out, but one would guess that you would turn up trying to find Harvey Dents meeting, just like boss said he would. Pft like Dent is bright enough to manufacture this.”
He thinks and tries to remember how they were able to get the Kryptonite into him, he can’t pinpoint it.
 “A little dabble in Tanya’s perfume, a dose in that pesky little drink, chain links made with the power blended in... all bring us to this very moment. With me sitting on your lap, and you sitting here confused and rampant thoughts about my legs being wrapped around your waist.”
Clark was now nervous because how in the hell did she know he had thought that. She only smiles a coy smile and leans closer to him, her lips next to his ear.
  “I will chalk you being a little slow on the uptake to your Kryptonite exposure. If you haven’t guessed I have the ability to read minds and well as control them. I have been able to read you since you woke up. I’ll mark you down as nervous and horny. How about that?”
 “I wouldn’t go that far as to say horny.”
He tried to deflect, a collected smirk on his face. She only pulls herself closer to his chest, pushing them pelvis to pelvis. He can feel the heat of her center through the shorts she is wearing, and the body was still Gia’s even if the mind wasn’t. He feels terrible as he could feel himself start to harden against her. She hisses as she grinds against him, eyes closed, as he gets harder and harder. 
  “Oh really Superman, so what do you call being on hard between my legs on your home planet? Because here that means you want to fuck me. You know seeing as we will be unbothered for a while due to my little party trick. I say we get to know each other a little better, Superman.”
She runs her hands down his clothed chest, and avoids eye contact. Clark tries not to linger too hard on one thought for fear of compromising anyone else. He pulls on the chain again and Gia / Synergy just starts kissing his neck, trying very hard to will the quickly forming erection away. He couldn’t sleep with Gia. Now while she was like this it was immoral, unjust, and he knew that the true her didn’t want him this way. He didn’t really want her this way. If he were to be with Gia again he wanted her aware and the full understanding about what he was doing to her body, he wanted her mind fully on what they were sharing. This puppet couldn’t give him truly desired from her.
  “Awe now baby don’t be like that. I think we could be good together. The amount of Energy pouring from you. Even weakened is addictive. The sex would be amazing, and trust I know just what to do with this.”
She reaches down cupping him on the outside of his jeans. He groans as she peppers kisses on his jawline again, he can feel himself giving in as she moves her hands to the button on his jeans. He is dreading how her hand moved downwards all while simultaneously anticipating it. The moral war wages in his mind, as her breath fans across his neck and she reaches his cock.
She whispers in his ear again
  “Clark baby,  think about it … we could have it all. Be the two most powerful beings in the universe, it starts right here with nobody being the wiser, join me in the darkness.”
The lights flicker in the room and just as she grasps his length in her hand, gliding up and down, he almost short-circuits as pleasure begins to override all other thoughts but her last words ring some sort of bell in his head despite feeling he was about to say damn it all. Her words that sparked him to think
“...join me in the darkness.”
*Flashback*
Her heart rate was ticking up. The thin walls between her room and his made it impossible for him not to hear her. She had started moving around on her bed. He could smell the sweat that had formed on her skin. The whimpering began and that was his queue to get up from his bed.
He normally spent most of his time at Lois apartment, but with bringing Gia home, he had taken responsibility for her. He could just leave her on his mother's doorstep for her to take care of. Clark could have and his mother would have been okay with doting on her, but the truth was he liked being around Gia. When she was not having any episodes she actually has the most calming energy coming from her. Clark doubted that she even recognized that she did but he enjoyed that beyond all the hurt and healing she was a very cool, level headed person. He also knew she would be able to really take flight, fly on her own once she healed. However, he was still nervous that she wouldn’t be able to heal. Worried... worried that maybe she would lose control and he couldn’t get to her in time. She was more powerful than she realized and he feared that if he couldn’t help her, she would be the next villain he had to fight. The potential that she had in her power was phenomenal and he would much rather have her as an ally rather than an enemy. 
Beyond the obvious threat of her, he felt himself being drawn to her. He didn’t want to watch her suffer. This was one of the reasons he was getting up in the middle of the night to check on her. She was having a nightmare again.
He steps into her room slowly and quietly, as her head tosses to the side and her chest heaves in her tank top, she is no longer under the blanket, having tossed it to her knees. He doesn’t pull the sheets back up, afraid of her reaction if she felt constricted. Instead he sits next to her, saying her name and trying to wake her with light shaking. She gasps and bolts upright, and he barely has enough time to move his head out the away before she would have run into it. Gia looks around frantically, looking for an exit. She barely registers Clark sitting next to her.
   “Hey, hey, hey. It’s alright. You are okay, You are safe.”
She looks at him tears in her eyes and bright red energy swirling on her fingertips, and fear radiating off of her. As realization sets in that she is safe she lets her head fall onto his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. This had become the habit that had formed between the two of them. 
  “These have got to stop.” She whispers and tries to let the scent of him relax her, though she never admits that out loud.
  “Feel like sharing what this one was about?”
She huffs and pulls away from his arms. Her head falling back on the pillow she had been laying on. Clark makes himself more comfortable, sitting with his torso against the headboard in the space next to her.
 “It's just more of the same. The same bullshit I’ve been dreaming about since I got here.”
 “Have you tried the breathing techniques that the therapist recommended?”
 “Yes. I have tried it all. It’s no use, I am broken Clark.”
  “No, I don’t think you are broken. You are definitely out of sorts but not broken.”
 “If you saw the sick shit in my head you wouldn’t say that.”
 “I don’t need to see anything in your head to know that what I said is true Gia.”
She has turned so she is in a ball facing away from him. He can’t hear it in her voice but he can smell her tears. He brushes a hand down her arm, she shies away, he doesn’t admit out loud that it hurts his feelings slightly. It hurts him more to see how small she tries to make herself in the ball. He wanted to pull her into his lap, but  he doesn’t want to violate her space. He could only imagine how much that had happened before he got to her. 
  “I was relishing in their screams, watching as I tortured people. I was HAPPY that they were dying by my hands.”
Clark says nothing as she begins crying again,  her strained voice continues talking.
 “What if they’ve turned me down the wrong path? What if I am only delaying the inevitable and I am going to be dark and evil?”
 “To use your colorful language. That’s bullshit. You make the choice to be good or bad.”
 “That’s easy for you to say. Your moral compass is so straight, it’s a fence.”
 “Sometimes but I hate to bust your bubble, but I’ve got my demons too. Nobody, not even me is perfect. I have had those same dreams, lived with the fears that one day power consumes me and I become exactly what people feared I would be from the beginning and that is a threat to all humans.”
She finally turns to him, surprised that he would admit something like that out loud to her. 
 “How do you handle all of that? Knowing what you are capable of and still remain good?”
 “I remember what and who I am fighting for. I remember those that love me. What would it happen if I went dark? I let them be my guide, pull me out so to speak.”
She looks up at Clark who is staring down at her.
“That’s just it Clark, I don’t have that support system like you do. What if I do get dragged into the dark? What if I lose myself and become the big bad you have to end? ”
He sighs and he can still hear her crying, his head dropping back to the headboard with a small thunk. He didn’t like thinking about that. He opens his arms and lets her make the choice like he always did, she does as she always does  pulls herself upwards into the hug. Feeling evermore a small child, in a big world. He made the world smaller for her, even in her tears she now felt safe right in his arms. 
  “You’ve got to promise to put me down if I ever go there. Don’t let me become the monster they tried to make me.”
He just hugs her tighter and she tries to burrow down further into his chest, tears on his shirt.
  “Yes you do have support. I will do everything in my power to pull you out of the darkness. I won’t ever just leave you there.”
  “Scouts honor?”
She says jokingly but still sad. Clark just slightly tightens his arms and responds.
  “I promise you Gia, I will be your support system, I will always pull you out of the Darkness.”
*End Flashback*
Gia/Synergy is moving her hand up and down the length of him and Clark forced himself to focus. He starts letting moments and images fly by in his head of all the good moments they shared together. He starts with her rescue and how she felt in his arms. He can tell that she is reading his mind because her hands falter as do her lips on his jaw. He continues on, thinking of how they trained together, how he feels watching her, the joy she has at mastering a new part of her talent. He focuses on the love he has for her and pushes it to the forefront of his mind. By now she jumps up, off of his lap, holding the sides of her head.
  “Whatever you are doing Superman, knock it off!”
  “I don’t think I will.”
He felt bad that his love for her was causing her pain, but he needed her to understand that he wasn’t giving up on her. 
Gia /Synergy tosses herself into a wall, slamming harshly as her breathing turns ragged, she is in a panic because she doesn’t understand why she has all of these feelings and thoughts. Why did she have all of these memories with Superman? Her brain felt like it was being torn in two as repressed memories and feelings came up, clashing with the things she has been told. Was he lying to her? We’re these false memories?
 He couldn’t be lying because the counterpart to these memories were coming up for her in her mind.  
Fuck it hurts her. Her face feels wet but she can’t wipe them. Why was she crying? She feels paralyzed as memories of her mother and his mother and Lois run through her head. She felt all the hurt and pain again, just as fresh as if they had just happened. The battle rages in front of Clark and he knows he has to use the one thing that he didn’t want to but it was clear she was breaking down and all she needed to do was remember.
He thought about all of the memories he had with their son. Lingering on how she and Kalen bonded and her holding him in her arms. How he felt to see her hold their son, how he wanted their family back. 
  “Come on Gia, Kalen needs you back. I need you back.”
This triggers almost every moment good or bad she has had with Kalen since he was born. 
Clark worries as Gia sobs painfully, but then breathes a sigh of relief when her head finally pops back up with watery red eyes.
“Clark?!” 
A/N: What did y'all think? If its not obvious I included the tag because Clark, while he is clearly more than attracted to Gia here, for some this can be triggering because he is tied to a chair and if you squint because he was there against his will, her touching him is non-con...
I felt I owed a brief explanation so here you go. I hope nobody was too offended and if you were let me know privately, please don’t troll the story.
I LOVE feedback and it makes my day so thank you to everyone who shows me and my story love, because it is truly appreciated.
KEY: *Means inner-thoughts* 
TAGLIST IS OPEN! Let me know if you want to be on it!
@romyr4​ @bloodyinspiredfuck​ @thethirstyarchive​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @kmcmpmd​
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inkribbon796 · 4 years
Text
Invisible Blue
Summary: Ethan finds something a bit bigger while he’s spying on Damien. Much bigger than he planned on finding.
A/N: This is a hell of a long post, but I didn’t know how to cut it so here it is. This also contains two different asks from some anons. Hope you guys enjoy.
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Ethan was honestly getting a little fatigued. Normally day to day, it was alright, he exchanged with Chase to keep an eye on Damien so that Ethan could get a break. He did simple patrol routes for the simple reason that Ethan had to make sure he was seen in costume so no one would think he was spying on the Mayor.
Marvin and Chase didn’t report that Damien was acting different or suspicious.
Ethan was really ready to stop watching Damien today because the mayor just worked, took a lunch break, and worked way too much, leaving often with his work with him when he went home.
If he was guilty of anything it was being a workaholic with barely a social life.
Today, Ethan considered leaving early, just because it was a slow day and he was already having a bad day. So while Damien was out to lunch, Ethan rushed out to grab a sandwich and was sitting in his chair in the corner just eating it and occasionally glancing at his phone. He had his brain halfway into whatever reddit post he was reading, and half concentrating on not choking to death on the burger in his mouth when he heard the doorknob being angrily turned as Damien stormed in.
Ethan’s reflexes were the only thing stopping him from being instantly found out, as he threw his own power over him and his stuff to make him invisible.
Damien was angry, he was clearly pissed and screaming into his phone, “What is wrong with you?”
Ethan was carefully taking his burger out of mouth and trying to keep his movements slow and eventually as still as possible so he could save the energy to keep the invisibility up as long as possible.
“Well, why did you call me now, are you somehow dying? You know I’m at work!” Damien shouted into the phone.
Whatever response he got, he clearly didn’t like it, because he still looked pissed and Ethan didn’t think he had ever seen Damien even close to this level of anger.
Damien glared at his phone, and Ethan could hear what he thought was a phone ringing somewhere in the distance. But Damien pulled the phone away from his ear to take a breath. “You have the five seconds it takes for me to walk up and close my door, to get Illy.”
The Mayor took an audibly deep breath, “If I see you in my office, I will put an axe through your chest and carve your heart out, am I understood?”
He didn’t even wait for the answer, almost dropping his black phone on the desk and stomping over to the door, muttering under his breath. Ethan only caught part of as Damien stomped past, “Dammit, William, I can’t leave you alone for five minutes.”
Damien paused at the door, looking a bit pained, he took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face, taking his time to close the door and walk back to his desk. After settling back into his seat, he picked up the phone, “Yes.”
Relief seemed to flood over his body, “Finally, how bad is it?
As Damien was talking as Ethan slowly started to clean up, trying to be as slow as possible to avoid making noise.
“How much damage are we talking? His usual amount?” Damien asked as Ethan was finishing up his burger and pocketing the trash from it.
“I’m supposed to going to a benefit gala tonight in my tux, I can drop by briefly and calm him down, but I need you to take care of Bim and make sure he doesn’t break anything either.”
At Bim’s name, the name of the lead suspect in a series of suspicious disappearances of co-eds and transients, just stunned and terrified Ethan. The invisible hero had been trying to quietly fold up the wrapper his burger had come with, and after years of working quietly to where Jackie had to concentrate to pick him up he was more than confident that he was quiet. But heard that name made his hand reflexively clench and a loud and clear crinkling sound quietly punctuated Damien’s sentence.
Damien froze, eyes darting around, he looked in the corner Ethan was in several times, and one of those times he seemed to be staring directly into Ethan’s eyes two seconds too long to be comfortable.
Finally Damien said, “I’ll have to call you back, there’s something in my office.”
Damien hung up the instant he finished the last word and looked around the room, standing up. He didn’t call out and Ethan felt unnerved and wondered if he should just come out of hiding and try and pass his nervous shock off.
After about a minute Damien straightened up his desk a bit, and then left the room. Ethan was quick to try and follow him to the parking lot but only got to the parking lot before in record time he lost Damien, rounding the corner and someone else almost slammed into Ethan and he had to duck out of the way and he heard the door front open and close and Ethan could see him after that.
Ethan made a quick call to Logan but he didn’t pick up so he had to step out and call Jackie who promised to get someone to the gala. They made sure to have a set of ear pieces they could use to communicate with each other.
Then he quickly finished cleaning up and just didn’t come back, not wanting to tip Damien off again.
Ethan and Roman arrived at the museum where they were hosting the gala in costume, early to help with the security detail.
“Be still my heart, what wonders of Apollo and the Muses above!” Roman gasped at one of the paintings.
The museum director walked out of his office, smiling but looking a bit nervous, “Always so great to have our city’s finest here for the gala. I take it you both are patrons of the arts?”
“Of course, Prince Creativity at your service,” Roman gestured to himself, then gestured to Ethan, “This is my esteemed colleague: Blank.”
“We would have come without the masks but no one would have recognized us,” Ethan tried to joke.
The man let out a little fake laugh, “Pardon me, I have one of the museum backers in a meeting, I’ll have to talk with the two of you after the event starts.”
“Oh, don’t let us keep you,” Roman insisted, “we’re just here to admire the artwork, I may walk off with something if my friends don’t stop me.”
“Thought that was Logic’s job?” Ethan smiled even though it couldn’t be seen very well under his mask. “Well don’t let us keep you, we’ll just walk around until the gala starts.”
He smiled and left and nothing too important happened, the gala began and they soon found Damien amongst the crowd. Their evening up until that point had been filled with talking with people and Roman geeking out with other artists over their sculptures, paintings; and Roman was quite excited about a woman who had sculptured what looked like a handbag out of clay that looked so realistic Ethan thought someone had just left on a pedestal. During the conversation, Roman noticed Damien. The mayor was standing talking to another woman but during the conversation he noticed Roman and Ethan standing there.
She walked off, and Ethan thought he might be imagining it, but Damien seemed to be watching them a little more closely. He smiled as they walked over, “Well, what a pleasant surprise.”
“As if I would miss such a fantastic venue,” Roman smiled. “I was made for this scene.”
“I suppose I should have expected to see you then,” Damien apologized.
Ethan was looking around the room, mostly out of habit, Mark and Jack had drilled it into Ethan’s head to survey the room to see if a villain was sneaking in or if there was anyone causing trouble, and after what had happened to Robbie it was insisted that he find a way out to get out of a dangerous situation.
So he was looking around and watched the direction heading towards the stairwell. Ethan wouldn’t have paid any extra attention but the direction was frequently talking to a person following close behind and the man looked scared, nervously glancing back at the man following him.
Quickly turning to Roman, Ethan signaled to him, acting like he was itching his ear. “Be back, guys.”
“If you fight ninjas, call for backup,” Roman told him. “I don’t want to be left out of the fun.”
Ethan headed off in the direction of the bathrooms, and the instant he was out of sight, he turned invisible and headed back to the direction he’d seen the director sped walked off into. By luck or just because of how fast he’d reacted, Ethan was able to catch up to the director and his guest, and something about the person, and after watching this strangely familiar person for a while he was following the two down into the first basement of the museum.
“I do hope this will be a short walk,” the familiar stranger said.
“The service elevator will take you all the way down to the service elevator,” the man promised, turning the key into a slot on the elevator panel. “No stops, no interruptions.
Ethan watched the situation for a bit, it was all kinds of shifty and he didn’t like it, but Ethan and Roman were here to spy on Damien. But something didn’t sit right with him about this. And either way he was going to get chewed out. He could almost see Amy’s face when he would have to give his report of this mission. Maybe he could give it to J.J or Patton, they usually weren’t so tight fisted on what he did.
Quietly Ethan weighed his options, lamenting that regardless of the fact he’d more than earned his right as an official hero, most of the team tended to baby him. Hell it seemed like the whole city wanted to baby him.
While he thought about what to do, the elevator finally arrived and opened. The director said, “Give Dark my regards.”
Ethan moved without thinking, slipping into the large service elevator, once he was inside he crammed himself to the back and whispered into his earpiece, “Hey, Princey, keep your eyes on the Mayor, I’m following a network member.”
“Ill advised,” the enforcer dismissed coldly, looking down at his watch, getting into the elevator. He was getting more and more familiar to Ethan, his sharp and angular features and dark black square glasses. “It would be a waste of his time and mine. Remember your payment, I’d like to be able to have this month’s ledgers done on time.”
“What?” Roman’s voice crackled over the earpiece and Ethan huddled further away from the enforcer. “On your own? You’re not supposed to do that.”
The elevator closed and slowly began to descend.
“I’m not an apprentice anymore, I know what I’m doing,” Ethan whispered and his eyes seemed to focus in and see through whatever illusion was around him and finally caught why the enforcer looked so familiar.
“Logan?” Ethan asked in surprise, much louder than he should have. Ethan covered his mouth and froze as Logan snapped his head to look at Ethan’s direction and the invisible hero kept absolutely still, making sure he stayed invisible.
Logan was looking around, suspicious, and clearly not believing he’d just hallucinated his own name being called out in an almost empty elevator.
He was slowly lifting his hands up to his lapel of his immaculate suit coat when the elevator grinded to a sudden halt and the lights began to flash, all the buttons lighting up as laughter began echo off the metal walls.
“Hello Four Eyes,” a scratchy voice echoed off the walls.
Ethan’s invisibility almost flickered a bit in surprise but braced himself for a fight. Logan seemed to calm down significantly. He just watched as a mass of tentacles and spikes shot out at him. Logan had been standing almost a foot-and-a-half from the elevator door and didn’t even flinch as he was attacked.
The invisible hero almost jumped in to save him but realized that Logan wasn’t being touched and he was just staring at the creature as if it was throwing feathers at him.
“Ah, greetings Anti, how has your day been?” Logan adjusted his glasses.
“Oh, cone on, I had yeh!” Anti materialized out of the button panels, coming out of the tentacles.
Logan was scanning over his suit again, “I do have to admit, I was a little perturbed when you called my name, I was not aware Dark had confided it to you.”
“That horsearse don’t tell me shite,” Anti spat. “It was probably Wil fishing in waters he’s not welcome. I thought he knew yer Aro ass was off the market.”
“No, I would recognize his voice,” Logan answered, looking away as he murmured to himself, finger resting against his lips and his brow furrowed in concentration. “It was probably Dark, he is the only person I can think of who would know my name. I must talk to him about using it in public, it’s quite dangerous and risky. He must be in a good mood today.”
Then Logan looked at Anti again and nonchalantly asked, “Do you mind removing yourself from the panel, I have a meeting to get to and Dark will not continue to be in a good mood if I am late.”
Anti had just been staring at Logan and at his request the glitch demon just started laughing. He did, however, pull himself out of the elevator and punched it before it continued its descent. He laughed as if Logan was the funniest thing in the world. “Do yeh think if I bugged Dark enough he’d let me pick yah apart and watch yeh break. I bet even yeh have a point where yah fookin’ fall apart.”
Logan only blinked, as if the glitch demon wasn’t threatening him. He adjusted his glasses in the Logan-like way Ethan had always seen him do. There was something in Logan’s eyes that looked inhuman. As if the person Ethan had known for years wasn’t there and Logan’s body was being piloted around by some demon.
Which wasn’t completely unlikely given the crazy, messed up world Ethan lived in.
“While highly improbable,” Logan answered while Ethan was having a crisis, “the likelihood is not 0.”
Anti was quiet for a second before cackling again, still floating in midair. “Wonder if I could clone you and get the same person.”
“Impossible,” Logan answered, reaching a wooden door, “you cannot perfectly duplicate another person.”
“Shame,” Anti commented, still smiling and the elevator door opened, Ethan followed them out into a room with a couple boxes all with serial numbers and labels. There was what looked like a large office on the other side of the room.
“Hey if you wanted to get a guy you like to annoy a birthday gift, what would it be?” Anti asked.
“I don’t think I am the one you should outsource gift ideas to,” Logan cautioned.
Anti kicked open the door the instant Logan had it open enough not to destroy the frame. “We’re home.”
Inside Ed Edgar had been napping in a chair leaned up against the wall and grunting in panic when the door was kicked open, pulling his gun out and almost shooting Anti before recognizing who it was and lowering it.
“Hey Eddy boy,” Anti grinned. “Guess who got an invite.”
“Hey dipshit,” Ed Edgar spat out at Anti before tipping his hat at Logan. “Howdy, Sanders, I see yah haven’t died yet?”
Their argument and the fact Anti had kicked the door open when Logan probably would have closed it behind him, made it easy for Ethan to sneak in.
Logan walked off to the side of the room, three ledgers stacked up on a small desk.“If you were commenting on my state of existence, I don’t know how I could have given you the impression my life was at stake.”
Ed stared at him, pointing at him, “Yer smart mouth is gonna get yer teeth kicked in, an’ that’s what worries me.”
“Your concern is noted,” Logan not even looking up from the books. “Hopefully Dark will be in a better mood than he has been in the past few weeks, otherwise this will only be more bad news.”
“The only news is good news,” Wil patted Logan’s shoulder, suddenly appearing at his side.
“Statistically untrue,” Logan corrected, pointedly staring at Wilford’s hand and when he was slow to move it, Logan brushed it off.
“Someone seems to be in a sour-dour mood of their own,” Wilford gave a full, toothy smile.
“I merely do not appreciate you putting your hand on my person,” Logan reminded. “You historically have very promiscuous behavior and rarely understand someone turning you down. I am not interested in earning my employer’s ire because of a misunderstanding.”
Wilford laughed, “I knew you’d be fun.”
To Logan’s mounting ire, Wil roughly patted him on the back, “I’m glad Darky hasn’t run you off.”
“I am paid far too much, and leaving now would end in a rather painful and drawn out death,” Logan huffed out, looking Wilford dead in the eye.
The madman let out a booming laugh, “What a card that Dark.”
Wilford’s smile got wider as he sat on the desk, ignoring Logan’s glare. “Why there was this time down in Florence where there was this lovely Parisian magician I was seeing and Dark threatened to cut his fingers off.”
“That was because I caught you two having sex on my desk.”
The voice that spoke wasn’t Dark’s usual scratchy, deep tenor. It was higher pitched and sounded feminine. The echoey ringing was the same though.
Logan almost jumped out of his chair, and Ethan saw someone in short black hair, Dark’s red echo around her and in an immaculate suit.
“Celine,” Wil uttered, saying her name like it enchanted and enraptured him.
She sighed and sat down in the chair. Ethan got his first good look at Celine. He was surprised at how much she looked like Damien . . . and even scarier how much she looked like Dark.
“Ma’am,” Edgar stood up and took off his hat, bowing his head slightly. “Nice of you to join us.”
“Great,” Anti rolled his eyes. “The fun police is here.”
“Nice to see you too Anti,” she replied in an equally barbed tone. “Are you going to be useful here or just a waste of my time?”
“Ugh,” Anti groaned. “I’ll see myself out a’fore ye get even less fun. Tell yer other half he’s a dipshit.”
“Tell him yourself,” the woman replied. “As you can see, I’m a bit busy.”
“Yeah, making Wil suck ye off,” Anti muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” She barked.
“Ye heard me!” Anti tore a hole into the Void and vanished, he flipped her off as he left.
“Now you can’t talk to a lady like that,” Wilford snapped at Anti as he left, even leaning into the Void to finish berating him.
“Leave it Wil,” Celine told him and Wil pouted as he watched the Void close.
She snapped her fingers and a chair appeared from the Void, jolting into place beside her, a bright pink and yellow wood chair with a large mustache carved at the top of the backboard.
Then the door closed and Ethan distinctively claustrophobic while he was trying to keep his mind clear of thoughts Wil could read.
Wil flopped down in the chair. Celine patted him on the arm, saying, “Don’t worry he’s just upset I don’t let him walk all over me like he does with my brother.”
“How is the old bean?” Wil asked, “haven’t seen him in ages.”
“He’s fine dear, he’s just keeping a couple stiff shirts upstairs,” Celine dismissed. Then she turned to Logan and she smiled. “Well, well, you have turned into quite the useful little bookworm. So do you know who I am?”
It was Logan’s turn to smile, “Yes, I would recognize you anywhere. Do you have a specific name you wish to go by, Ma’am?”
She hummed, ignoring Wil who was inching towards her and clearly salty about not being the center of attention, but she gave that sticky sweet smile reminding Ethan of Dark when he was being especially sadistic. “I think for you, Madam Celine will work just fine, you rarely see the outside of your office and I am planning a new debut of sorts.”
Logan nodded, “Very well, Madam, I took the liberty of checking over the books again, and regrettably there is bad news.”
“When is there very good news these days?” She groaned, she leaned her hand over to trace around Wil’s face. “Sweetie, if you can’t be patient and behave, I’m going to kick you out of the room.”
Wil smiled, “Oh I can behave.”
“After,” She pushed him away, “Ed, Logan, reports, I don’t have all night to play charades.”
“Well the feds have been doing a lot more snooping about the old Downwich orphanage for one, and they’re getting nosy,” Ed began, “it’s just taken them a couple months to make any progress.”
Celine thought for a bit, Wil just shrugged and commented, “None of the kids are minors anyways.”
She glared at Wil, grabbing him by the collar, “Did you forget the heroes have someone who can control time on their side?”
“They do?” Wil smiled. “That’s a neat trick.”
Celine’s eye began to twitch and the fierce ringing that usually accompanied Dark pitched up. “Wil, if I lose them because you chose to play games instead of taking this seriously, I will carve out your heart and feed it to you.”
Wil kept quiet at that.
“Ma’am, if you would allow me to make a suggestion,” Logan spoke up and Celine looked over at him.
“We should cut all ties with these sites,” Logan proposed. “They are becoming too dangerous to manage.”
“That’d cut mah supply at the ankles,” Ed snapped,
“If it puts the whole network at risk then your supply should be disallowed,” Logan commented in a dry but firm tone.
“What do you know about risk?” Edgar threatened, “you stay in an office all day.”
“Edgar, you strike him, and I’ll start removing fingers,” Celine threatened. “Logan has a point, distance has to be put between us and the sites, immediately. I want all their records destroyed. They never existed.”
“We can do that,” Ed promised, “how do you want me to handle Yanc’s paperwork, he’s already in a hot mess.”
“I don’t care,” she spat angry, “take care of it.”
“I can run a cost analysis for how to handle the situation without creating too much suspicion,” Logan offered, adjusting his glasses again. “It wouldn’t do to act without an informed decision.”
“That would be best,” Celine agreed.
“I can have those reports on your desk by the end of the week,” Logan promised. “The sooner we can make a decision, the better we can prepare for the consequences.”
“Another thing,” Celine added. “I don’t think I was clear to you in our last conversation. I want Brody moved up. He has top priority.”
Ethan got an uncomfortable tightening in his chest at hearing Chase’s name so casually thrown around.
Logan let out a frustrated sigh, “Might I ask why?”
“His unpredictable bravery mixed with his gift has the ability to turn the tide of a fight,” Celine corrected firmly. “Even if he is more than a little dim.”
Logan was quiet for a little bit, straightening his glasses, “If you are this certain about the threat he poses, then I will make him a priority target.”
“Oh no,” Celine smiled. “Not that list, the other one. The same one I put the others onto.”
Logan paused, sounding confused, “Very well.”
The office door opened and Illinois in a nice tweed suit and glasses walked in, he was carrying his hat, under his arm was a package. Celine smiled at him and Ethan took his change to escape, slowly heading for the door. He made it to the other side and hid behind the wall.
“Hello sweetie, how’s the gala?” Celine to him.
“Oh it’s going great,” Illinois announced as Ethan began to make his way slowly and carefully back to the elevator, Logan seemed to be in more than friendly company and anything else he learned wasn’t important if he was dead. Once he was at the elevator, he sighed in relief when he saw it had a button to go back up and didn’t need a key.
“Charming,” Ethan whispered into his ear piece.
“Sweet Aunt Jemima,” Roman sounded panicked. “I have been trying to find you everywhere.”
“Coming back up,” Ethan promised, and hit the button.
“Back up,” Roman repeated in confusion, “where are you?”
The elevator dinged as it opened and Ethan froze, looking back at the room as he backed up into the elevator and hit the third floor to avoid being on the same floor as the elevator had first come down from. When it closed without investigation, Ethan made a sigh of relief but didn’t turn visible yet, he was tired but not out of trouble yet.
“Do you still have eyes on the Mayor?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah, he’s been fine, talking, laughing,” Roman answered.
The elevator opened and Ethan stepped out, ducking into a room that didn’t have people inside, so he turned tangible. “Coming down from the third floor, where are you right now because we need to leave and fast.”
“Wait a second, what about Logan?” Roman asked as Ethan began to head for the first exit he could find. “You said his name and then went radio dark. Shoot, I lost him.”
“The Mayor?” Ethan stopped on the stairs. “Leave Logic, he’ll fine.”
“Just get out, we’ll talk, late—” Ethan kept going, and stopped when he rounded a corner in the twisting staircase and saw Damien at the bottom of the staircase, hands resting on the pommel of his cane and a smile on his face. Ethan immediately pressed a button on his wrist watch and sent a silent alarm for back up to his location. “Mr. Mayor, how are you?”
Damien smiled. “Oh, I’m doing well, I just was a little worried, you walked off and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for the last half-hour.”
“Has it been that long?” Ethan let out a nervous chuckle. “Lost track of time, I guess.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a smile that reminded Ethan of Celine. “You were in my office.”
“Depends on the day, I’ve been to your office before loads of times,” Ethan said.
The Mayor took one step up the stairs and Ethan took a matching one back up, “Then let me clarify: this afternoon you were spying on me in my office, I caught you around lunch time and you didn’t come back when I tore the room apart later.”
Another step up, another retreating one from Ethan.
“Why?” Damien asked, his smile growing into something else as they took another step. “Am I under investigation for something?”
“Uh,” Ethan stalled, forced to take another step.
“Crank!” Roman yelled and Ethan felt relief as Roman stood at the bottom of the stairs. Damien looked back at Roman.
“Stay out of my office or bring smarter back up,” Damien threatened and headed up the stairs, moving past Ethan without laying a finger on him.
“Are you—” Roman began but Ethan thudded down the stairs and ran for the exit.
“No, come on,” Ethan didn’t let up until he was outside and saw Jackie heading towards the door.
“Anyone hurt?” Jackie demanded.
“No, we need to get back to base, we’re being watched,” Ethan told him.
Despite Ethan’s warning, they weren’t attacked and there was no sign of being followed. Mark and Iplier were waiting for them, Mark looking relieved when Ethan came in looking unharmed.
“What happened?” Mark demanded.
“The Mayor and his sister are working with Dark,” Ethan accused, “they might even be his hosts. I saw Celine acting like she was Dark and no one even seemed to blink at that.”
“At the museum?” Mark demanded.
“No it was in some underground office underneath the museum, it looked like it was a place they shipped stuff out from,” Ethan explained. “Worse of all Logan was there talking to him and Wilford, he wasn’t in a mask and he was in this really nice suit.”
“Why would Logan be working with those shifty shadlings?” Roman huffed, insulted. “Maybe it was an illusion?”
“We’ll deal with the Logan problem when he comes into the base tomorrow,” Mark sidelined. “You said you two saw Dark possessing Celine? How? Dark’s never taken a Host before.”
“That’d make him no longer the exception ta the rule,” Jackie cut in. “Every other demon we’ve fought with has either worked with a host before or is using one.”
“It’s only two demons,” Mark reminded.
“No, remember that time Marv got possessed by an undead witch, she was technically a demon,” Jack corrected.
“In any definition, the heroes have it wrong,” the host announced himself, walking into the room.
“Really?” Mark asked. “Which part, the fact we have to replace another mayor or the fact Dark is taking hosts?”
“The Host doesn’t see the city’s current mayor leaving his post for the foreseeable future,” the Host denied, whispering into his cupped hand as a lack piece of paper folded itself into existence and it looked like a spindly paper person. “As for the Entity, he is not what he or she seems.”
“Who cares what he is?” Mark reminded sharply. “Dark has the keys to the city.”
Jackie drew his hand over his face, “Shit, how many identities does that asshole know?”
“Chase’s, Celine, or Dark, she mentioned him as “a priority target” or something,” Ethan said. “I’ve never told him mine.”
“Chase goes over ta talk wit’ the mayor e’ery week,” Jack groaned. “I’ll talk wit’ him. Mark let’s see if that asshole is anymore arrestable if he looks human.”
Jackie ran off and Mark turned to Ethan, “You are never to go off like that alone again.”
Ethan glared at Mark, “I am twenty-three, I’m not a baby. You go up against Dark and a group of his goons alone all the time.”
“I can be slammed against a wall at sixty miles an hour and not get hurt,” Mark reminded. “I don’t want to attend another funeral, especially if it’s for someone else who went into Dark’s territory with no back up and then got themselves thrown into a blender.”
“My powers are perfect for spying and you’re not letting me use it,” Ethan felt frustrated, taking his mask off. “Come on, I’m not an apprentice anymore.”
Mark took a deep breath, clearly not liking the situation, but he turned to the Host, “Hey Host.”
“Yes,” Host answered prematurely. “It would be the Host’s honor.”
Mark pointed at Ethan, “I want you to get so good I can’t find you when you start pulling pranks.”
“Oh don’t worry,” Ethan smiled, excited, he started to slink out, turning invisible halfway through his sentence. “I’ll be so stealthy that no one will see me.”
Mark rolled his eyes, “You can’t be a good spy if you keep running your mouth.”
“I was never here,” Ethan said to him, next to Mark’s shoulder.
“You’re not making me feel good about this,” Mark told him.
“Where am I?” Ethan asked, making his voice sound ghostly.
“A mistake was made,” Mark just shook his head smiling, “clearly.”
Ethan joked around for a bit before he and Mark eventually went home, Roman already off trying to track Logan down.
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anubislover · 4 years
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Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya chapter 11: Dinner with Dr. Heart Stealer
As the clock struck seven, Nami critiqued her outfit in the mirror; a strapless little black dress that hugged her curves like a glove, gold stiletto heels, black thigh-high stockings, and the tourmaline jewelry she’d bought from the seller in Tokken. She even used the hairpins Law had gotten her to clip back the left side of her hair. She finished off the look with some dark red lipstick and gold smokey eyeshadow, giving herself an elegant but sensual look.
“Getting all dressed up for the captain?” Ikkaku teased from her bed. The engineer was thumbing through the romance novel she’d caught Nami with, and though it wasn’t her usual thing, had decided to give it a shot. After all, it had managed to entrance the usually energetic navigator for hours, and she had some time to kill before Ladies Night.
Brushing some gold highlighter over her cheekbones, Nami scoffed. “Please, I’m getting dressed up for you. Law’s just a lucky bastard who benefits due to scheduling.”
“I’m flattered,” she said with a wink. “Though I’ll understand if you ditch me to take him back to the nearest inn so he can rock your world. I mean, I won’t be happy, but I’ll understand.”
“Ok, I gotta ask—have you ever slept with Law? Because you’re always vouching for his sexual prowess…”
Ikkaku immediately made fake gagging sounds. “Oh, hell no! That’d be like fucking one of my brothers! But I have talked to some of his past lovers, and they all seemed pretty damn satisfied. Something a girl like you deserves to be.”
Hip jutting out and eyebrow raised in challenge, Nami replied, “How do you know they aren’t lying? Maybe he’s terrible in bed but they’re all too scared to speak ill of the Surgeon of Death, especially to one of his fearsome subordinates.”
The grin said subordinate graced her with was nothing short of salacious. “Because if he were bad, Drake wouldn’t keep coming back for more, even though Law pisses him off so much.”
Nami bit her lip to hide her grin. “Ok, fair point. Also, I want the inside scoop on that relationship.”
“If Law doesn’t give you the dirty details himself, I’ll happily fill you in,” she replied, sniggering. “Bet they’ll give you better fantasies than whatever’s in your books!”
Pink rose to the redhead’s cheeks as her eyes briefly darted to the space under her bed. Nami had shoved Ikkaku’s scandalous box to the very back corner to hopefully never see the light of day again. She dared not throw them out; she doubted Ikkaku would take kindly to it, and knowing her, would probably present her with something even more embarrassing in retaliation. “By the way, as much as I hate your stupid ‘gift’, thanks for not spilling that to everyone. At least, not directly.”
“I thought about it but figured the sex toys would be just as funny without the guys prying into your hobbies. Most of them have enough tact to keep them from teasing you about a dildo, but I doubt they’d show the same restraint if they found out you were into erotic novels.”
“You just want to lord my guilty pleasure over me, don’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“I have a sister, remember?”
“Ha! Good point. I’m guessing she teases you about this stuff?” she asked, pointing to the book.
Chocolate eyes rolled in exasperated fondness as she played with her bracelet. “All the time. It was annoying, but I guess I appreciated it, in a way. It was one of the more normal things we could talk about, given how screwed up our situation was.”
“Because of the pirates holding your town hostage?”
“Yeah,” she replied, debating on whether she should elaborate. Finally, she added, “I was kind of an outcast among the townsfolk because I made sea charts for the captain. My sister was the only one who knew it was against my will, and that I had made a deal to raise money to buy the village back. Or at least, they all pretended not to know so if I ever decided to give up and run away, I wouldn’t feel guilty.”
“You know, I’m beginning to understand why you have so many trust issues,” Ikkaku quipped, though her eyes were sympathetic.
“Believe me, it was way worse before Luffy came into my life. If we’d met a year ago, I would have already betrayed you and stolen the ship and all the treasure on board.”
“You could try, but the Boss would kill you. He loves this ship and he does not take threats to his crew lightly.”
“I’ve noticed,” Nami deadpanned, adjusting her bodice. It was a sweetheart neckline, which nicely accented her generous bust, had enough support to keep her from spilling out. Such a thing was extremely necessary, given the low back of the dress. Not long ago, she would have been nervous wearing something so daring around Law, but she was still leaning on the theory that he had a weird fetish for modest clothing. If she was right, showing this much skin would act as a repellant.
“He wasn’t too rough with you, was he?” Ikkaku asked, genuinely concerned. “I mean, he can get intense—”
“Oh, he was absolutely terrifying, and I’m pretty sure he was ready to start removing body parts if I hadn’t been having a panic attack, but honestly? I’d still choose him over Arlong.”
Before Ikkaku could ask any questions, there was a firm knock on the door. Grabbing her new purse and slipping into a leopard print, fur-trimmed coat, Nami nodded at her roommate. “Promise me a 9pm rescue?”
“Hmmm, only if I don’t get too caught up in this book,” she teased, cracking it open. “I mean, you did say there was some pretty intense eye contact to look forward to.”
Blushing, she shot back, “You laugh, but chemistry like that can be more intense than any make-out scene.”
“Says the virgin.”
Choosing to ignore the jab, Nami yanked open the door and was met by Law’s cocky smirk. To her surprise, he wore a tailored white suit with a black dress shirt, which brought out that extra little bit of olive in his skin tone. His polished black dress shoes gleamed as brightly as his earrings and the thick, gold chain around his neck. A heady, musky scent tempted Nami’s nose, and she realized Law’d chosen to wear some kind of cologne. Oddly enough, his white fur hat and tattoos didn’t seem as out of place as when he’d dressed up on Tokken Island; perhaps it was because this wasn’t a disguise, or the color was just far more complimentary to his trademark accessories. He looked slick and dangerous, but also at ease—a criminal on a night off.
Damn it, he looked even better than he had at the gala.
Leaning against the doorframe, Law’s grin widened at her perusal. “Do I pass inspection, Nami-ya?” he purred, giving her his own approving once-over.
Gold eyes locked with hazelnut as Nami cocked her hip. “Considering how you haven’t told me where we’re going, it’s a bit hard to judge. For all I know, you’re underdressed.”
“We’re going to a jazz club I frequent, so even if I showed up in jeans, they’d let me in—especially if I have a beautiful woman on my arm.”
“Flatter all you like, Law—you’re not getting out of footing the bill.”
Never breaking eye contact, he gave a little mock bow. “Of course not. A gentleman always treats on the first date.”
“I don’t know you’re more wrong about; that you think this is a date, that there’ll be more than one, or that you’re anything even close to a gentleman.”
“I think I proved myself at the gala. I was on my best behavior, wasn’t I?”
“Maybe in public, but the second we were alone, you went right back to being a bastard.”
A low whistle interrupted their banter, and Nami turned to see Ikkaku wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as she meaningfully glanced between them. “You know what, Nami? You may have a point with that ‘intense eye contact’ thing.”
Cheeks inflamed, Nami grabbed Law by the arm and dragged him down the hallway before Ikkaku could say anything else. As she felt the captain’s intense gaze burning into the back of her head, she silently wondered if a free dinner was worth it.
XXX
The outside of the jazz club was far from impressive—in fact, the entrance was a nondescript wooden door against a plain brick wall, its only ornamentation a faded bronze knocker and a number “8” nailed at the top. Nami was positive she would have walked straight past if Law hadn’t led her to it, pausing to quickly rap three times with his knuckles, then four with the knocker.
After a moment, the door opened, and they were greeted by a young woman dressed in a short skirt and tailored red vest. “Captain Trafalgar. So glad you could join us tonight.”
Law gave a lazy, familiar grin as he wrapped his arm around Nami’s waist. “Always a pleasure, Akari. Is my usual booth ready?”
“Of course, sir,” she replied, ushering them inside and leading them down a narrow, winding staircase.
As they stepped into the lounge, Nami’s eyes widened in surprise. The bland building façade hid a much more elaborate interior; everything from the bar to the floor to the wall panels were made of mahogany or cherry wood, with ruby red cushions, upholstery, and carpets. Red and gold lamps provided just enough light to see by while giving the place a sensual, mysterious ambiance.
At the far end of the room, low couches formed a semi-circle around the small dance floor in front of the stage, where various instruments and music stands awaited performers. Currently, the stage’s sole occupant was an older gentleman playing a soothing tune on the piano. There were a few larger tables scattered about, but most of the seating appeared to be small booths in the walls, their openings framed by red velvet curtains. Several were occupied by canoodling couples, and it didn’t escape Nami’s notice that a few even had the curtains drawn.
Akrai led them to an empty booth, and Law graciously helped Nami out of her coat, handing it to their hostess to hang up before sliding comfortably into his seat.
“Wow,” Nami said, taking it all in. Their seating arrangement was cozy but not claustrophobic, the velvet cushions that padded the crescent bench wonderfully plush. A gold lamp hung above the round table, allowing her to more easily peruse the embossed menu. Appetizers ranged from shrimp cocktail to deviled quail eggs, while entrees featured grilled seafood, roast duck, and steak. The drink list was extensive with an assortment of sparkling wines, cocktails, hard liquor, and even absinthe.
“I figured you’d approve,” Law replied smugly, lounging back in his seat. “And I told you I wasn’t underdressed.”
“I guess not. How’d you hear about this place?”
“It’s an establishment that first started in the North Blue—Prohibition Island decided it wanted to outlaw alcohol, among other ‘sinful’ things. The club’s owner was an entrepreneur from the West Blue, so she knew a thing or two about setting up businesses under the government’s nose. The original club became successful enough to branch out to other islands, and eventually made its way down the Grand Line.”
“I wouldn’t expect Grimm to ban alcohol,” Nami replied, brow furrowing in confusion. An archipelago that catered to pirates and other scum, which had a thriving black market and a brothel on every corner, but outlawed alcohol? The very idea was baffling.
Head shaking, Law chuckled, “Oh, it doesn’t, but Haiko-ya felt the atmosphere suited the clandestine aesthetic. This just happens to be a place where you can get quality booze and not worry about someone spiking your drink. She’s a criminal, but she has standards far higher than most of the island’s establishments.”
“You sound like you know her personally.”
He shrugged but gave a mysterious smile. “She’s Kimo-ya’s wife, actually. Considering all the business I do with her husband, she was happy to give me a lifetime VIP membership.”
A wave of paranoia sent a shiver down Nami’s spine. “What if she sells us out to Jinzo?”
“She won’t. She hates the man’s guts to an impressive extent. Hell, if she’s here tonight, she’ll probably give you special perks for ending up on his shit list.”
By that point, a young man in a red satin waistcoat appeared, smiling at the pair pleasantly. “Welcome back to Ruby 8, Captain Trafalgar. My name is Hansuke, and it’s my pleasure to serve you tonight. What can I get you to drink?” he asked, flipping open his notepad.
“I’ll have a neat whiskey,” Law said easily.
“A Sour Sunrise for me, please,” Nami said, pleased to find an orange juice-based cocktail. She flashed Law a catlike grin as she added, “And a bottle of your best champagne.”
“One glass or two?” the waiter asked, glancing at Law for confirmation.
“Two,” Law replied, smirking at Nami. “In fact, make sure there’s another bottle ready for when we finish the first one. We’re celebrating, after all, and I intend on giving my woman an unforgettable evening.”
“I’m not your woman,” she growled, but was ignored by both men.
“Of course, Captain Trafalgar,” Hansuke said with an eager nod. Men looking to impress were men who spent a lot of money, and if he did well, he might just earn himself a hefty tip. “Are you ready to order your meals as well, or do you need more time?”
“I know what I want,” said Law, barely glancing at the menu. “I’ll take the grilled salmon with the house salad.”
“I’ll have the orange duck, and can we also get a basket of rolls for the table, please?” Nami asked the waiter sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes for extra measure.
The young man nervously glanced between her and the scowling Supernova, clearly debating which one was better to please.
“I…let me check with the chef—I think he said something about running out,” he squeaked out before sprinting off.
“That was cruel of you, Nami-ya,” Law rumbled, fixing her with an annoyed glare, though sadistic humor twinkled in his eyes. “I told you, I’m a regular here. They know I despise bread and will decapitate anyone stupid enough to bring it to my table.”
With a huff, she crossed her long legs and flipped her hair haughtily. “Killing a waiter isn’t a great way to impress a girl and will definitely get you banned from any self-respecting restaurant—VIP or not.”
“I wouldn’t kill him—you forget, my powers allow me to cut a man to pieces and still keep him alive.”
“You should seriously still be banned.”
“They’ve served far worse patrons than me, and they know I’ll be on my best behavior and fill their pockets with plenty of belli so long as they don’t intentionally piss me off.” Lips turning up in an amused grin, he continued, “I’d say it’s a lesson you could stand to learn, sweetheart, but half the time I find your petty acts of defiance charming.”
“Does that include the sunburn I gave you?”
“No, though I did enjoy everything you did to distract me from it.”
The waiter returned to their booth with their drinks and a small tray of assorted meat and cheeses, smiling at Nami apologetically even as a drop of sweat trickled down his face. “I’m so sorry, miss, but it seems we’re out of bread this evening. Not so much as a crumb can be found. Please accept this complimentary charcuterie board with the house’s sincerest apologies.”
Annoying as it was that Law had the staff wrapped around his finger, she took pity on the poor man and gave an understanding smile. If the Surgeon of Death really was a regular at this place, she couldn’t blame him for not going along with her game. “Oh, this is just lovely! Thank you so much!”
Hansuke’s relief was palatable as he set down the tray and their drinks before running off to fetch the champagne.
“See? It’s things like this that keep me from getting too mad at you,” Law chuckled, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. “I haven’t gotten a free appetizer since that time a new waiter insisted I’d ordered breadcrumbs on my salmon.”
“So, you tolerate me so long as I get you free stuff?” Nami quipped, taking a dainty bite of a slice of ham. It had a surprising fruity note and practically melted in her mouth. She’d have to tell Sanji about it. Hell, even Luffy might appreciate it, assuming he took the time to chew.
She swallowed a bit more harshly than she’d intended when Law leaned across the table, long fingers lightly stroking her elbow as he murmured, “I put up with your antics so long as you make it worth my while, Nami-ya. Keep that in mind next time you’re tempted to pull one of your little pranks.”
Despite pulling his hand away to pick up his drink, Nami could still feel tingling sparks dance across her skin. It really was ridiculous how a brush of his hand invoked that reaction. She was supposed to be more composed than that—a wily thief that didn’t mix business with pleasure—but while his overt come-ons could be annoying, his subtle touches and inviting glances still managed to tempt her. “Fine, but the fact that you’re willing to literally take someone’s head off over bread is way more childish than my ‘little pranks’,” she grumbled into her cocktail.
Whether Law heard her snarky comment or not, their conversation was briefly interrupted as the waiter appeared with the champagne, popping the cork and carefully pouring the bubbly liquid into a pair of elegant crystal flutes. “The sous chef has received your order and will of course be making it himself, Captain Trafalgar,” he said. “If you need anything else in the meantime, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks,” he said breezily, sipping his whiskey. “What time is the band scheduled to start up?”
“In less than a half-hour, sir. They’re currently on their dinner break, but I can ask—”
He waved him off. “I’m in no rush, and I’d rather they be at peak condition while performing. I don’t need my evening ruined because one of them fainted onstage from hunger.”
“Of course, sir. Regardless, I’ll inform them you’re in the audience. Anything else?”
“Time alone with my date would be ideal,” he replied in a clipped tone, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.
Nami could see the way the young man shivered at Law’s glare, and he skittered like a mouse back to the kitchen, wisely leaving the bottle behind.
“And you call me cruel,” she stated blandly as she savored another piece of ham.
“I’m all for attentive servers, but the constant sucking up was getting old.” Trying some of the meat for himself, he glanced at her appraisingly. “But enough about him. You’re a far more interesting subject.”
She frowned, brow furrowing suspiciously. “Am I?”
Linking his fingers and leaning his elbows on the table, he smirked. “Of course. Despite being on my ship for nearly three months, you’re still a mystery. A puzzle with so many missing pieces that I can’t yet visualize the total picture.”
“I could say the same about you,” she said, remembering the confusion she felt as he ran off the day before. “We’re both complex people who play their cards close to the chest.”
“That we are, but yesterday proved that a lack of communication between us can be detrimental to our working relationship, not to mention your health. I promise not to pry too much, and you don’t need to give me all the details, but I expect honest answers.”
Much as she wanted to argue, Penguin’s advice stopped her. The first mate was right; everyone had baggage, but how were people supposed to know her bugbears if she didn’t tell them? As worried as she was that a man like Law would be willing to exploit her weaknesses, he also had a point regarding how their communication issues had nearly gotten her killed. Even if it drudged up unpleasant memories, this was a necessary talk for the sake of side-stepping further unpleasantness. “Fine. I’ll open up—just a little—if you will.”
Resting his chin on his knuckles, Law took a minute to mull over his first question. “Tell me, Nami-ya, how’d you get the name ‘Cat Thief’, anyway? Rumor has it it’s been your moniker since well before the World Government issued your bounty.”
Taking a deep breath and a steadying swallow of her Sour Sunrise, she replied, “My…first captain was always comparing me to a kitten. Guess it was his way of praising me despite my species, since he saw humans as the lowest of the low.”
“Odd opinion.”
“Not for a Fishman.”
Leaning back against the plush velvet cushions, Law unlinked his fingers and munched on another piece of cheese. “Ah. A backhanded compliment. Better than a human, but still little more than a pet.”
“That about sums it up,” she said, pushing down the image of Arlong’s patronizing smile. God, some days she’d hated his condescending approval more than his disgusting hatred for her species. It made her feel dirty, being someone that a monster like him could admire.
Law rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “No wonder you had such an extreme reaction to me calling you ‘kitten’. I’ll try to avoid it in the future. Still odd you’d adopt a feline signature, though.”
Shaking off her former captor’s vindictive smile, Nami shrugged, buying time before replying by nibbling on some cheese, even though she barely tasted it. “Guess it was a little out of spite; I wanted to take the word back and feel like I had just a shred of power. Didn’t really work, but it was still a good nickname for a thief.”
Perhaps he sensed her discomfort, but Law gently nudged the topic towards safer waters. “Fair. Shachi was the one who came up with ‘The Surgeon of Death’. Bit over-the-top, but I like it. Iconic, and definitely strikes fear into the hearts of my enemies.”
“Sounds like something from a comic book,” she scoffed as she finished her cocktail, moving on to the champagne. She knew she wouldn’t get drunk, but the bubbles tickling her palette would be a pleasant way to keep her mind from slipping into the past. Even without the meds in her system driving her towards panic attacks, she knew nothing good could come from dwelling too long on what Arlong had put her through.
“Like I said, it was Shachi’s idea. He was worried the Marines would give me something lame, so he and the crew went out of their way to mention it in every port we stopped in until they had no choice but to put it on my wanted poster.”
“I’m sure Drake had his own suggestions on what to call you.”
Law chuckled smugly, looking far too proud of himself. “Oh, I’m sure he did, but those posters are seen by the general public, so anything he’d propose would have to be censored. It’s probably why Eustass’ moniker is just ‘Captain’; either that or it’s a lame form of overcompensation.” His grin grew even more devious as he added, “First time we met, I deliberately acted like Killer was the captain, just to piss him off.”
Despite herself, Nami had to giggle. She’d only met Eustass Kid briefly, but he’d seemed the type to not take an insult lightly. With the highest bounty of the rookies, he was certainly someone she wouldn’t want to mess with. “You’re an asshole with a death wish, aren’t you?”
Law shrugged, knocking back the rest of his whiskey. The humor in his eyes dimmed. “Perhaps I do, just a little bit. I didn’t expect to live past the age of thirteen.”
“Why?” she asked curiously before she could catch herself. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Face cast in shadow by the brim of his hat, he tersely replied, “I was a sickly child. My father was the best doctor in the providence, but even he couldn’t come up with a cure. Didn’t help that the world believed it was a contagious disease, so we had no outside help. I only survived because of the Ope Ope no Mi.”
“Your father must have been happy about that, at least.”
“He was killed years before I got my hands on it.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Her heart clenched at the thought. A dead parent before the age of thirteen. Wasn’t that a painfully familiar story? “Well, I’m sure he’d still be happy you survived.”
He shrugged again, watching the bubbles in his champagne flute pop to avoid meeting her sympathetic gaze. “He’d be disappointed that I became a pirate instead of following in his footsteps.”
“Maybe, but I think he’d accept it so long as you’re alive and happy. Bellemere was a Marine, but while she wouldn’t approve of her daughter becoming a pirate, she’d support my decision because I’m free and working towards my dream of drawing a map of the world.”
As he finally looked at her, Nami caught Law’s lips briefly twitch upwards. “I suppose we’ll never know, but it’s a pleasant fantasy, at least.” He gave a mock toast. “To the parents who wanted better for us.”
With a wry smile, Nami clinked her glass to his, the pair gulping down the sparkling wine just as their food arrived. Digging into her meal, she appreciated both the delicious flavor of the duck and the blessed break in the heavy conversation eating allowed.
Talking to Law about her past was far different from Luffy. Nojiko had informed her before they left Cocoyashi that her stubborn captain had opted out of hearing her backstory when she’d offered to reveal it. At first, Nami’d been offended—what, had he thought her reasons for betraying the crew and faking Usopp’s death didn’t matter? But then she realized that, even without knowing who Arlong was or what he’d done to her and the villagers, Luffy had still gone after him.
All because that bastard had made his navigator cry.
As they’d sailed for Loguetown afterwards, Nami had pulled Luffy aside one night, sat him down, and told him everything. Not because he needed to know, but because a man like that was someone who deserved to know. Deserved to know the awful things she’d endured and done to survive. Why he’d found her mutilating her shoulder, cutting off that awful tattoo. Why she was so grateful he’d destroyed that room and all of the charts she’d toiled over for eight years. Why his refusal to give up on her had meant the world to the distrustful thief.
For his part, Luffy had listened quietly, occasionally nodding his head to show he was paying attention, an unusually patient and serious expression on his face. When she was finished, he’d clapped her shoulder, gave her that carefree, goofy grin, and simply said, “Now I’m really glad I punched that jerk!”
Law wasn’t like that. While he didn’t pry, he did ask questions, clearly seeking those missing puzzle pieces he spoke of and not taking her answers at face-value. Admittedly, they had been pretty bare-boned, but it highlighted the difference between the two captains—Law sought to understand because he didn’t fully trust her. Luffy didn’t need to understand, because he trusted her from the moment she’d refused to fire a cannonball at him.
Looking at Law’s nearly-finished plate, she had to suppress a giggle as another difference between him and Luffy hit her—his chewing habits might have left something to be desired, but at least he knew not to eat the fish’s skeleton.
Noticing his companion’s attention had returned to him, Law took a sip of champagne as he considered her. “You mentioned your ‘first captain’. I’m assuming this wasn’t Mugiwara?”
Nami sighed, setting down her fork to drink from her own glass, hoping the sharp beverage would wash away the foul taste talking more about Arlong would inevitably bring. “No. Before Luffy, I served as the cartographer for another pirate crew for eight years.” She deliberately didn’t mention she was an officer—it was easier for people to accept she was a prisoner when it didn’t sound like she was in a position of authority. Perhaps that was why Arlong had “promoted” her, even though she had no real power among the Fishmen. “He…his crew invaded my village when I was ten and made everyone pay for the right to live. Bellemere only had enough money to save her own life, or mine and Nojiko’s.”
“And, of course, she sacrificed herself to protect her children.” Law shook his head, and for a moment, Nami swore she saw a wince of pain, but the amber light made it hard to tell. “Eight years…I know captains who recruit kids so they can brainwash them into loyal subordinates, but he killed your mother. I doubt you joined him willingly, after something like that?”
“Believe me, I didn’t,” she growled. Hands shaking slightly, she instinctively grabbed her knife, holding it like the dagger she’d used to fake Usopp’s death and destroy her tattoo. “Working for my mother’s murderer was nothing short of torture. Day and night I drew maps for him until my hands bled, barely allowed to sleep or eat. And all the while he acted like he was doing me a favor, since cartography was what I loved most in the world.”
The word DEATH entered her field of vision as Law covered her trembling hand with his own. The warmth was comfortingly familiar at this point, and she felt her white-knuckled grip on the cutlery slacken. “Don’t worry; I do believe you,” he said softly, catching her gaze with his own. His expression was soft and concerned—similar to the way he’d looked at her last night in the infirmary. “You’ve shown yourself to be loyal to those you care about, and we’ve all done awful, painful things for the sake of survival. And I have to say, you may actually have a stronger will than me—I doubt I would have lasted a week serving the captain who murdered someone I held dear.”
“Yeah,” she said, breathing deeply, willing herself to calm down. Law’s thumb rubbing little circles across her knuckles was surprisingly helpful with that. It gave her something to focus on; to ground herself instead of letting the memories take over. Rough as the callouses from his swordsmanship and hard life at sea were, they were still so much smoother than the sandpaper-like skin of a shark Fishman. So blessedly human. “I guess…I guess you were right, though; if you’re not strong enough to protect yourself, you’re the property of someone who was strong enough to claim you.”
“I know I’m right, but I wish I weren’t. I’m assuming this first captain of yours has something to do with your dislike of my uniform?”
“You could say that.” She sighed, jerking her chin towards her left shoulder, the faint scars beneath her swirling tattoo barely visible in the dim light, but neither had to see them to know they were there. “One of the first things he did was have me branded with his Jolly Roger to make sure I couldn’t run off. So the whole world would know I was his property.”
Much like Penguin, Nami could see the dots connecting in Law’s mind. He’d recognized right away that the scars were self-inflicted, but now that he knew what had once been in their place, he could deduct why she’d caused herself such grievous harm. She felt his fingers tighten around her own, first in anger, before easing into a comforting squeeze. With forced calm, he said, “Considering how often Fishmen and Mermaids are sold as slaves, it was probably just as much a petty form of revenge. Still, I guess that explains your objection.” Frowning, he rubbed his forehead beneath his hat with his free hand. “Look, I can’t promise you’ll never have to wear the uniform again. Like it or not, it really is the easiest way to keep you safe.”
Deep down, she appreciated his apology and understanding, even as she inwardly groaned at the thought of wearing the beige jumpsuit. “It also made me a target,” she argued. “Drake wouldn’t have looked twice at me if I’d been in my normal clothes.”
“Please, Drake-ya reads the news and would have gone after you regardless of what you were wearing. He’s smart enough to recognize a dangerous alliance when he sees one, or at least an opportunity to get a leg up. Pitiful as your bounty is, getting his hands on a lone Straw Hat, especially one who was able to rob a former Marine Intelligence officer’s mansion, would be quite tempting.” A wide, predatory grin stretched across his face as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist as he leered at her. “Though, personally, I think he was jealous that I’d found a new redhead to play with.”
Nami snorted, the tension in her back loosening. Creepy as he was, Law was smart, steering the conversation away from the past and the world’s speculation on their partnership to something they could casually fight about. “Are you kidding? I think he was relieved; with me around, he doesn’t have to deal with you bothering him anymore.”
“If that were the case, he wouldn’t have tried to abduct you.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, he was trying to ‘rescue’ me; Drake’s a real gentleman, unlike you,” she quipped, taking a condescending sip of her drink.
“Oh, yes, a real gentleman who kidnaps and threatens to sell off unwilling women,” Law replied sarcastically.
“Better than a pervert who makes a girl wear an ugly uniform to indulge his weird sexual fetish.”
“…my what now?”
Confident that she’d just played a winning hand, she leaned forward, bending her chest slightly over the table. “Please, I see right through your little act. Sure, you flirt and tease, but only if I’m fully dressed.” The tip of a manicured finger teasingly traced along the swell of her cleavage. “When I’m wearing next to nothing, you show no interest in my incredibly sexy body. Given your proclivities, I’m surprised you even helped me out of my coat.”
Blinking owlishly, Law replied, “I’m sorry, you think I’m attracted to you…when you’re wearing more clothes?”
“Yeah!” she insisted, not caring for his disbelieving tone.
He covered his face with one large, tattooed hand, but through his splayed fingers Nami could still see yellow eyes light up with amusement. As she glared, they only shone brighter, and his shoulders slowly began to shake. Gradually, low chuckles slipped from his lips, finally morphing into full-on laughter, his palm failing to muffle the sound.
An irritated vein throbbed in Nami’s forehead as Law continued to cackle. “Don’t think you can fool me by treating this like a joke! You have a clothing kink! During my initial check-up, you didn’t give a damn that I was strutting around in my underwear. At the mansion, you were all over me when I was in that gown, but once it’s off, woosh, I’m as attractive as a lamp! Even after the mission, you barely even acknowledged what a hot piece of ass I am. Then you insist I wear that freaking jumpsuit…”
“Nami-ya,” he chortled as his hand dropped back to the table, managing to calm down enough during her rant to formulate a reply, “I don’t have a clothing kink—I’m just good at compartmentalizing and know there’s a time and place. When we were in the infirmary, not only was I acting as your doctor, but it was clear you were too nervous to be receptive to any blatant advances. As for the mansion, yes you looked absolutely delicious in that bodysuit, but we were there to do a job; there was simply no time to indulge myself. And when I treated your wounds,” his smile fell a bit, “you’d just been through a potentially traumatizing event. You were flinching just from me touching your calf. I know I can be an asshole, but did you really expect me to come onto you when you were acting like I was Harpin?”
For a moment, Nami just sat there, jaw hanging uselessly as she realized just how far off her theory had been, and most importantly, just how badly she’d managed to embarrass herself. Her own vanity had blinded her to the obvious answer. She could justify it with the fact that most of the guys she knew were either perverts or barely acknowledged that she was a woman, so she wasn’t used to a man who could both flirt and control himself, but she wouldn’t lie to herself.
“So…the uniform isn’t some weird sexual thing?” she asked, trying to cover her humiliation by finishing her glass of champagne. Times like these made her really wish she could get drunk; it would be the perfect excuse for her ridiculous accusation.
“I mean, I won’t lie and say I don’t like you in it, but it really is just for your own protection.” Law’s returning grin was smoldering and devilish as he purred, “I’m curious, though, about what bothered you more; that I might have a strange fetish for fully-clothed women, or that I wasn’t giving your incredibly sexy body the attention you felt it deserved?”
“I…”
He shuffled closer, sliding across the booth to close the distance between them, resting his right arm across the back of her seat and teasingly trailing the fingers of his left land along the soft skin of her jaw to cup her chin. “Because if it’s the latter, I’m happy to show you just how much I appreciate it when you run around my ship in crop tops and booty shorts.”
Nami blushed, realizing she’d played directly into his hands.
“You know, one of the reasons I like redheads so much is how vibrantly they blush,” he chuckled, leaning down so his breath danced across her sensitive neck and ear. The way she’d pinned her hair meant she had no shield from it, and she shivered at the sensation. “It’s so cute, watching the capillaries that carry your blood widen as adrenaline rushes through you. No matter how good a person’s poker face is, the body doesn’t lie. Lets me know my target’s receptive to my flirting, even when they stubbornly refuse to admit it.”
“You base it all on a blush?” she countered, defiantly poking him in the chest. “People blush in anger and embarrassment. You can’t assume someone wants you just because their face gets a little red.”
Like a leopard sizing up his prey, Law loomed above her, gaze analytical and hungry as he studied her. “No, you’re right; good thing, as a doctor, I know all the other physical indicators of arousal.” Tilting her head up, he stated, “Dilated pupils.”
His hand dropped from her chin to carefully brush along the flesh of her arm. “Goosebumps.”
Long fingers encircled her wrist, thumb resting over her pulse. “Increased heartrate.”
Honey eyes dropped to Nami’s mouth as the tip of her pink tongue peeked out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. “Unconsciously licking one’s lips.”
Releasing her wrist, Law’s touch traveled back up her arm to gently stroke the ends of her mikan hair. “And the fact that you haven’t even tried to move or push me away. In fact, I’d say you’re leaning into my touch.”
Nami’s face warmed further as she realized he was right. Mentally she berated herself, but deep down, she was beginning to accept that, even if she refused to act on it for pride and professionalism’s sake, she was slightly addicted to his attentions. She was never short on male admirers, but Law challenged her, the push-and-pull giving her a thrill the way heart-eyed fools like Sanji failed to. There was something about Law that drew her in like a moth to a flame—she knew it was fatal to get too close, but damn it, she couldn’t help but dance with danger.
Winding a short, orange lock of hair around a long finger, Law declared confidently, “All this says you find me sexually attractive.”
Before she could confirm or deny this claim, an excited voice bellowed, “As I live and breathe, Trafalgar Law graces us with his exalted presence once again!”
Said captain’s seductive grin shifted into his trademark smirk as he turned to greet the newcomer. “Are you living and breathing, Hiroshi-ya?”
The man chuckled, grabbing Law’s hand in a firm shake. Beneath a silver fedora his graying hair was cut close to his scalp. His skin was dark but sported prominent laugh-lines, a pair of oval sunglasses rested on the end of his large nose, and his brilliant grin could have replaced one of the stage’s spotlights. “If I’m not, you’d probably know before I did, doc.”
“Because I’m that good, or because you’d be too focused on performing to realize you’d dropped dead?”
The two shared a laugh before the man turned to introduce himself to Nami. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting a moment, here, darlin’, but I simply had to come over and say hello. The name’s ‘Devil’s Fingers’ Hiroshi, and your boy Law here is one of my favorite patrons. Tips well, and he saved my life.”
“I only fixed your hands.”
“Considerin’ how they’d been crushed beyond recognition and I need those to make a living, I think that counts.”
Nami gaped in shock as Hiroshi held up his hands, showing that while they were clearly in working order, they were littered with tiny surgical scars.
Law shrugged, though he seemed pleased with the praise. “It was a fun operation—not every day you get to remove someone’s finger bones one-by one to rebuild your favorite musician’s hands.”
“You put someone else’s bones into him?” Nami asked the surgeon, astounded.
“Of course,” Law said casually. “His own were absolutely pulverized, so a transplant was necessary if he ever wanted to play the saxophone again.”
Part of her was horrified at the mental image, but beneath that, something niggled at her. This was the second time she’d heard someone sing Law’s praises as a legitimate doctor, and unlike Reginald, Hiroshi seemed perfectly aware of the Surgeon of Death’s criminal activities and sadistic reputation. What reason did Law have for helping this man? Was it just because he liked his music?
“Well, I’d best get ready for the show, and I’m sure you want some more alone time with your girl, eh, Law?” Hiroshi teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“I’d certainly appreciate a little mood music,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few large bills.
“You got it,” the sax player sniggered, winking at Nami. “Hope you don’t mind, but we’ll be stroking your boy’s ego a bit. After the surgery, I wrote a little ditty about him as thanks, and it’s become pretty popular with the crowd. Plus, it’s the only time Oscar lets me take over as the lead singer.”
“Law strokes his own ego plenty,” Nami groused, eyes rolling heavenward. “And if you want to write about him, go for his flaws; there’s enough of those to fill an opera.”
“Oooo, she’s feisty! Have fun with that, doc!” he chuckled as he strolled off towards the stage.
“I plan to,” Law purred, turning back towards the woman beside him. “I just can’t resist a fiery ginger.”
“Speaking of,” Nami deflected, hoping to keep the conversation from returning to their original topic, “you and Drake, huh?”
He chuckled at her obvious ploy but proceeded to go along with it. “Ah, one of my favorite playmates. What do you want to know?”
“I mean, let’s start with how the hell that happened?”
“You mean, how did the golden boy of the Navy find himself thoroughly seduced by the North Blue’s most notorious rookie pirate?”
“Yeah. Mainly because Drake seems smart enough not to fall for your sleazy tricks. Or at the very least, composed enough to ignore them until you lose interest.”
Refreshing their glasses of champagne, he gave a wolfish smile. “So you’d think, but Drake-ya’s got an instinctual, animalistic side that’s just so much fun to rile up. Besides that, I observed his physical reactions whenever we crossed paths, and wouldn’t you know it? They were damningly similar to yours.”
Picking at the remains of the charcuterie board, she munched on a piece of cheese to keep her body’s natural responses under control. Keep it together, she thought stubbornly. Even if I did mix business with pleasure, there’s no way I’m letting him win. “Pretty sure the heat of battle elicits similar responses. I think you were just looking for clues that weren’t there in a desperate attempt justify a hopeless crush.”
Her sass received a sharp laugh in reply. Handing Nami her glass, Law brushed the tips of his fingers over hers as he stated, “Maybe, but my theory was undeniably proven when Penguin, Ikkaku and I snuck onto his ship and found him moaning my name while jerking off in the shower.”
Nami nearly choked on her drink, the bubbly wine burning as it tried to make its way up her nose. No wonder Penguin wanted to repress that, she thought, mortified for the poor first mate. She’d probably feel the same way if she’d overheard someone masturbating to the thought of Luffy. “Oh my god.”
“You should have heard the things he was saying—fuck, harder Law! Put that dirty mouth to good use, you bastard!” Law moaned in her ear, mimicking his rival’s deep, guttural growl.
“M-maybe he had a hard-on for justice. You know, the actual law,” she argued weakly. She didn’t even really know why she bothered—it was clear he’d been right, considering how he and Drake had fucked at least once, but she just felt a need to try to knock him down a few pegs and keep his ego in check.
“Mmm, do you really believe that?” he hummed, honey eyes regarding her with amusement as he took a sip of his drink. “I think you’re just looking for clues that aren’t there in a desperate attempt to justify your need to be contrary.”
“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, downing her drink and pouring the last of the bottle into her glass. “Fine, so Drake was utterly repressed from his time in the Navy and you were able to use that to get him into bed.” A thought came to her, and she raised her eyebrow curiously. “Wait, he didn’t leave the Marines because he fell in love with you or something, right?” That…would be kind of tragic, actually. Despite the sexual tension, the two Supernova hadn’t seemed to be on the friendliest of terms, so if Drake had defected for Law only for their relationship to sour…
“God, no,” he laughed, finishing off his own glass of champagne. “Drake-ya was dishonorably discharged not long after he massacred a village rumored to be sheltering pirates. He may seem honorable and composed, and I’ll admit he usually tried to avoid senseless cruelty, but when situations called for violence, he was cold-blooded and bloodthirsty. I think his family history also played a role; his father had defected and turned pirate, so I imagine there was a bit of a glass ceiling Drake-ya knew he’d never overcome.”
“And you know this how?”
“Pillow talk.”
Nami mulled his words over carefully. “Was Drake close to his father?”
“From what he told me while completely shitfaced, Diez Barrels had once been a Marine Drake-ya wanted to emulate, but when he switched sides, he was nothing short of an abusive monster.”
Pity welled up in Nami’s heart at the implications. “Poor guy.”
“You do remember this is the same man who tried to kidnap you, right?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it must not have sucked for him; looking up to someone, wanting to be just like them, only to be let down in spectacular fashion.”
For a brief moment, Law tilted his head, the brim of his hat casting a shadow across his face, but his voice was tight as he replied, “Enough about Drake-ya.” Clearing his throat, he turned to catch their waiter’s eye, pointing to the empty bottle of champagne. When his gaze returned to Nami, his tone was back to normal. “I’m getting a little jealous with all this talk about another man.”
She frowned. Nami could tell she’d hit a bit close to home there. Had Law once looked up to someone? Part of her wanted to pry; the man was uncharted waters, and the cartographer in her itched to discover his secrets and map them out.
But more than anyone, she respected wanting to keep a painful history private. “Then what do you want to talk about? Because if you want any more of my past, you’re going to need to buy me more than another bottle of champagne,” she replied before knocking back the final sip.
He raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You drank quite a bit of that, Nami-ya, and yet I’m not noticing any signs of inebriation. It seems Mugiwara wasn’t exaggerating when he bragged about your tolerance.”
“Please, this is nothing—Zoro and I could drink whole taverns dry and still walk a straight line. Hell, it was one of my favorite ways to swindle pirates; get in good with the crew, outdrink them, then swipe their treasure while they were all passed out.”
“Interesting. You may be physically weak, but your liver sounds formidable.”
The lights, dimmed, and Nami glanced around curiously. Law chuckled, drawing her closer and pointing towards the stage. “Looks like the show’s about to start,” he murmured in her ear as he settled in, the arm around her waist telling her that she wasn’t moving for at least the duration of the song.
The band played a low, steady beat as a handsome man in a white silk blazer escorted a curvaceous woman with bold red hair wearing a silver dress onto the stage, the spotlights hitting the sequins in a way that nearly distracted from the daring slit and sexy black garters underneath. Turning her back to the crowd, she swayed her hips to the rhythm as the man took the microphone.
“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he drawled, tossing the crowd a smirk that could give Law’s a run for its money. “We’ve got a great night in store for you. I see a lot of new faces out there—as well as some familiar ones—so I’m not gonna yammer on too long. I want you to sit back, enjoy the service, the scenery, but most of all, enjoy the show.”
As he finished, he signaled to the band, who immediately transitioned into a smooth but lively tune, Hiroshi’s saxophone front-and-center, and the red-haired woman turned around, sensually dancing with the emcee as he began to sing.
It ain’t no big thing to wait for the bell to ring It ain’t no big thing The toll of the bell
Aggravated, spare for days I troll downtown the red-light place
Jump up bubble up - what’s in store? Love is the drug and I need to score
Enthralled, Nami watched as the pair performed, the song turning into a duet as they moved, the woman’s low, husky voice sending a thrill down her back. Or perhaps it was Law’s fingers stroking idly along her side—far from his groping in the alley, but the light touch was just as hot. Thighs clenched as the male singer bent the woman over suggestively, and she hoped Law was too focused on the show to notice her aroused blush. She didn’t want to imagine herself and the Supernova next to her in their place, but with the woman’s red hair and the man’s cocky smirk, it was really difficult not to picture the sensual scene the song suggested—her and Law stumbling around a dark room, locked in a passionate embrace, until finally they made it to the bed…
God, she joked about Drake being repressed to give in to an asshole like Law, but clearly, she was just as pent-up.
When the song ended, Nami let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, quickly going for her refilled champagne, gulping it down to wet her suddenly dry mouth. She hadn’t even realized Hansuke had refreshed their drinks as she hadn’t been able to pry her eyes from the stage, too lost in the song and her fantasy.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Law smirking in an all-too-knowing manner, but before he could comment, they were once more interrupted, only this time by the gorgeous singer who had left the stage to visit their table.
“Captain Trafalgar,” the red-haired woman purred, voice husky with an edge of a rough accent that somehow made her even more glamourous, “I heard you were back in town.”
“Excellent opening act, Haiko-ya, as usual,” Law replied, standing up to gallantly kiss her hand. “Oscar may be your prized vocalist, but everyone knows you’re the real star up there.”
“You charmer. Still sure you don’t want to quit piracy and come work for me?” she asked with an inviting smile. “I could use a man of your talents.”
“I’m sure you could, but as much as I like this club, staying in one place just doesn’t appeal to me. I like to wander, you know.”
“Pity, but you can’t blame a woman for trying. After all, who wouldn’t want a skilled doctor and enforcer on her payroll? Especially with my husband’s…accident,” she replied, tone suddenly going sour.
“I assume Jinzo’s challenging your claim to Kimo-ya’s share of the business?”
“Oh, he’s doing more than that—he’s trying to compete against my business. Opening his own club and even a few brothels so he can steal my clientele—rumor has it that’s why he’s being so stingy with his black market clients. His recent investments have put him in the red, and he he’s going to have to do something drastic to recoup the cost.”
For a brief moment Law frowned, though his lips soon turned back up into his calculating, sadistic grin. “Until then, his broken promises could earn him quite a few enemies.”
“Oh yes. I hear X Drake in particular was extremely pissed that Jinzo didn’t have his money today.”
“He was even more so when I told him that there’s no way he’d planned on paying his asking price.”
Haiko tsked. “Oh dear. It would be such a shame if some frustrated client were to cross Jinzo’s path before his latest business venture can properly take off.”
Behind them, Nami swallowed audibly, catching onto their intentions. Law glanced at her over his shoulder before returning his attention to Haiko. “Now’s not a great time to talk business, but perhaps we could continue our chat after the show. Jinzo’s trying to screw over a lot of treacherous people, myself included, and while I’m not interested in your job offer, I’d be happy to negotiate a deal that could benefit us both greatly.”
Her blood red lips curled upwards, eyes alight with interest. “Meet me in my office at nine-thirty sharp—it would be a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Before you go, I want to introduce you to my date,” he drawled, gently tugging Nami out of her seat. “Haiko-ya, this is Cat Thief Nami.”
“Ah, the woman who swindled Jinzo out of a lot of money,” the businesswoman replied, pleased smile fixated on the younger woman as she shook her hand.
“Does everybody know about that?” Nami squeaked.
“Oh, darling, it was the best piece of news I’ve heard all day. And not everyone knows—yet. I just happen to have a few eyes and ears stationed close to him so he doesn’t try to do to me what he did to my darling Kimo. I may not be able to prove he was involved, but it never hurts to be ready for anything.”
“Very true,” Law agreed. “So, I’ll see you at nine-thirty?”
Haiko blew him a kiss as she sauntered off. “Absolutely. And as thanks for embarrassing that piece of shit, your drinks are on me tonight. Keep it up, Miss Cat Thief, and you might just earn a VIP membership here, too.”
Nami couldn’t keep herself from staring as the woman left. Beautiful and glamourous though she was, she totally believed Haiko was the sort who would slit a man’s throat with a smile. She had a dangerous aura about her, and given how casually she and Law spoke, Nami was certain an ill wind was blowing.
“You two are going to do something to Jinzo, aren’t you?” she asked, sweat prickling at the back of her neck. She had no sympathy for the man, but she hoped whatever Law was planning didn’t involve her; the last thing she wanted was to get caught in the middle of an underworld power struggle.
“Mmmm, don’t worry your pretty little head over that, sweetheart,” Law purred as he tugged her towards the stage. His eyes were half-lidded and inviting, and Nami’s breath caught in her throat as her heart stuttered. Maybe it was just the aftereffects of Haiko’s performance, but the heat between her legs begged her not to resist him. “Ikkaku’s due to steal you away from me soon, so I’m not wasting another second.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
One hand clasped hers as the other wrapped around her lower back. “It dawned on me that, with how busy you were pick-pocketing rich assholes at the gala, I never got a dance with you. We’re going to remedy that. And wouldn’t you know it?” he rasped, leaning in so close his lips ever-so-slightly brushed her ear. “They’re about to play my song.”
Though initially thrown by his sudden change of tone and forwardness, Nami quickly realized from the feeling of hard wood beneath their feet that he’d led them onto the dancefloor. Before she could protest or break away, Hiroshi noticed them, tossing a wink and pointing them out to the male singer from earlier. Oscar quietly chuckled as he handed over the microphone, even giving a playful bow before stepping over to a xylophone.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are graced with the presence of the man who inspired this next song, the one and only Dr. Heart Stealer!”
As the music began, Law swept her into a dance, easily leading her in time to the lively beat.
Why is everyone so impatient? Recklessly jumping into things Crushing backstabbing
To achieve your goal Sometimes you just need to dive deep, hide yourself Scan the situation, that’s all
Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Look into the mirror and see Are you who you really are? Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Shall I steal what’s most precious to you?
Dr. Heart Stealer
Once you’re addicted, you can never escape…
As Hiroshi crooned the lyrics, Nami forced herself to focus on keeping pace with Law, and not on the surprising suggestiveness of the lyrics or the heat of the doctor’s palm on her exposed back. There were mere inches between them—enough space to properly move, but still so close that their breaths and body heat mingled. He was a surprisingly good dancer, too, gently guiding her across the polished floor in time to the beat, giving the occasional spin and dip, all while those golden, hungry eyes never left hers.
If something’s important, hide it away Once you shout about it out loud It’s just too naive, so sickening
Waiting is not a futile thing With enough clinical data You won’t make a mistake, there’ll be no trouble
Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM It’ll be over once your space’s safety is breached Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Because I know what’s most precious to you
Dr. Heart Stealer
Once I set my target, I’ll definitely get it
Don’t run away, come join me Show me how you dance
Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Look into the mirror and see Are you who you really are? Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Shall I steal what’s most precious to you?
Dr. Heart Stealer
Once you’re addicted, you can never escape…
At last the song came to an end, and while Nami wanted to blame her breathlessness on the dancing, she knew at least a little of it had to do with the way Law was looking at her. His intense stare sizzled her skin pleasantly, and she had no choice but to admit that, as much as she wanted to fight it, the song was right.
If she let herself get addicted to him, she’d never escape.
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slowlymadeart · 5 years
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After a month of making adjustments to the script and editing things out I’ve kind of lost perspective on how this can been seen from a stranger’s point of view.
(And may have over explained in areas just to make sure communication was clear).
All images are cropped to instagram size. (except the first one with the “critique” message).
Tried my best to jam everything into 10 panels.
Oh, and what’s happening in that last panel is me being arrested for spoon debt. 
Annnd to answer your question, yes. I do imagine a world in which “spoon court” and a “spoon bank”  is being run by utensils.
I know it’s weird. It’s the whole “Goofy is a dog with a dog (Pluto) as a pet!
but.. I think it’s kinda funny….or could be if I ever draw more. Just doing research on obscure and various utensil to make into characters? I don’t think I could pass on that.
Anyhow, here’s some thoughts and explanations you are free to ignore. Seriously. They might cloud whatever you thought of the comic before reading a backlog of thoughts…But if you wanna follow the thought train, hop aboard. 
1. Is “Well, You could just google it” too condescending or will the internet be okay with this? When it’s written in a post it’s fine, but in a comic? I just don’t want to push people away. Especially first thing. (After a month of rewrites and redraws is when I changed up that speech bubble and put that line in there, lol).
2. “Spoonie” comes with many associations with chronically ill/disabled communities. I tried to acknowledge as many points of view as simply as I could. Hinting at a bunch of perspectives from both the people who love it and reasons why people hate it. 
3. Also nodding towards the idea that “Spoonie” is easier to say than “Disabled”, and for some, the internalized “Disabled is a dirty word” has them opting to say “spoonie” instead. Often unintentionally. So I then tried to blur the distinction between the two a bit. Out of a desire to mae “Disabled” a more approachable word.
4. Alright, so the idea ”Spoonies are just one part of the disabled community.” I feel like I may have been able to communicate this, but when I drew the group image of various spoonies connecting from their beds, it might feel too “Any person with a disability can be a spoonie to some degree.” …..which makes me worried healthy people may eventually start projecting it onto people they meet with disabilities. Sort of a “I can help you somehow, here’s this info a about spoons! Did you know it exist yet? it could change your life!!” all while still disregarding the person their talking to.
5. The facial expression on my character for “My body is disabled and day to day living sometimes breaks my brain” -I could not figure it. For me, there’s a mixture of “slight embarrassment but I gotta say it” and “LET’S PRETEND YOUR ELSA IN “LET IT GO” AND YOU HAVE NO MORE FUCKS TO GIVE!”
or “calm. with no more fucks to give. A ‘deal with it’ sunglasses or vacant eyes and a slight smile situation”
then I’d go back to “Embarrassment, both crying and laughing from brain breaking, wants to have no more fucks to give but that’s just not true”
and I was worried that gave the wrong impression about being disabled. Yes, there’s absolutely truth to it. but after reading articles by some extremely well educated disabled advocate types, and a critique on the show “Special.” I wanted to try and set a good example- pretending I’m further along with coming to terms with what my life is than how I can be at times.
We’re allowed to feel like this is a mindfuck. It absolutely can be. But I don’t want to be seen as too whiny…
…. and I need to clean up my language so my 11 and 12 year old sisters can read. (Will be changing a couple words for the finished version that goes on instagram and webtoons).
6. Christina Miserandino seems to use to be very into tanning. When collecting photos, her shade of skin changed all the time. But it’s not “arianna grande” type stuff, just more so her genetic predisposition and past beauty habits conflicting with going through a lot in recent years and hasn’t been getting out as much, or caring about looks. I tried to capture a sense of her advocacy prime, with the purple, when she put a lot of work into her hair, her love of girlishness but with a slight edge to show maturity. Just going with a skin tone she’s had consistently in the past couple years- just because going darker would have been a lot more strange to those who looked into her now. (This one’s less of a concern and more of a…disclosure? Just felt weird to deal with).
7. I don’t know if any of you have ever looked through spoonie selfies, or disabled selfies. but we seem to LOVE DYING OUR HAIR. (It’s one thing we can change). Hair dye is having a moment in the world. So I hope the change of hair colors here and in the future is not taken the wrong way. It’s just really fun to use unique hair colors on characters. I will say, the reason the woman on the left side of the “Today a spoonie is” has blue hair, is because she’s Trans, it’s a wig. her hair isn’t where she wants it to be yet, she uses the hat because she couldn’t afford a lace-front wig. Yes, it’s hot on her head. but it’s easier than using energy to secure everything and make the top look nice. and it feels too fake looking when the top is not covered up……. And…yes, I realize this is all in my head and not conveyed or relevant at all- but that’s the backstory, lol. I gave her shirt the trans flag colors, but she didn’t seem like a pastel person and so I kept them darker, feeling like that’s what this character would like.
8. I included cutting scars on two characters because a few years back I had a friend who pointed out to me I always omitted drawing her scars. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, I just kept forgetting. But I felt bad. It seemed like including the scars was more empowering to her at that point in her life. That’s why they were included here. 
9.  I know some think “Spoonie” is just for those with Chronic illness. It can feel that way- it’s a large majority of Spoonies. But Christine herself said in an interview Spoon Theory can be used those with disabilities and Mental health conditions. Basically, whoever has a condition that causes fatigue. 
When put that way- well, the panel that reads “Perhaps detached enough for misguided normies to think” -could happen.
(All the more reason to blur distinction between “disability” and “spoonie”?…maybe. but, that could alienate neurodivergents. And the blurred distinction between “Neurodivergence” and “disability” is…exploding as a topic currently. And I don’t want to contribute to more people thinking neurodivergence means “disabled” and therefore “broken”- that’s the opposite of what I want to do).
((Thus why there’s info supporting the idea throughout the rest of the comic “Don’t fix it. work with it. My situation’s just different.”))
Maybe the panel isn’t needed, but that’s how/why it came to be.
10. If there’s unhealthy mentalities portrayed in the comic that don’t serve a greater purpose, let me know. Unhealthy mentalities are great for humor, and getting to let someone else who’s going through the same type of thinking at times have comfort- but what I’m worried about is anything that is problematic. 
11. If any of the terms I used are incorrect- such as places I use “conditions” to sum up- everyone who can be a spoonie. Let me know! It get’s really tricky at times when you have to make the statement as simple as possible to refer to a very diverse group with very diverse bodies.
12. I’m starting to put “mean stranger” type characters in colors without skin tones so that they can be applicable to more people, as being sick/disabled/neurodivergent is somehow in open invitation for the opinions of jerks. Drawing them all as Donkeys or “Asses” would be cool and clever, but too much work. 
13. Because of Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia sitting with my legs down in a wheelchair is extremely draining, so I want to stop drawing that.
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dancingkirby · 5 years
Text
In which Bolin plays with toys and Eska fails at flirting
I’m going to have to think up a title for this story soon.  I was thinking maybe “Into Open Waters.”
“How dare she? How dare she?”
Eska paced around the room, trying her hardest to keep her voice low so as not to disturb Kinalik.  The stress of the previous sleepless night, their escape in the wee hours, the sheer physical effort required to waterbend all the way to Republic City with a toddler and luggage in tow, the energy required to interact with people in a strange place…all of it was consuming her.
She collapsed in a chair, her body shaking and angry tears streaming down her face, which made her feel all the worse; like she was no more mature than her daughter.
Did their courtiers think that the twins did not hear the snickers and whispers of “half breed?” And yesterday…they had all looked at Kinalik like she was a monster. They felt that their only option was to get her out of there.
“I was trying to explain, but she wouldn’t listen!” she moaned to her brother.  
“Perhaps she felt the same about you,” Desna offered cautiously.
“Perhaps,” Eska muttered, making an enormous effort to control her crying.  “I have no harsh feelings towards our cousin’s significant other; she is not nearly as uncouth as the others.  I was just…trying so hard not to cry in front of them that I forgot to thank her.   People only seem to care about what I do incorrectly; not what I do the appropriate way.  Yes, I know you are an exception, brother,” she hastily added to ward off his protests.  She furiously scrubbed the tears away.  
“I recommend that we go to sleep right now and ponder the matter further in the morning,” Desna said.
“Yes…that would probably be wise.”
Eska was worried that she’d have problems falling asleep like she often did in locations that weren’t home.  However, the rhythm of Kinalik’s breathing soothed her, and the trio was soon huddled together in a deep slumber.
When Eska woke up who-knows-how-late in the morning, her back was throbbing in pain.  She supposed it was to be expected with all the exercise and lifting that she did yesterday. Even attempting to roll over caused her to moan. Thankfully, Desna had already awoken, and was ready with the bowl of water. He and Eska silently healed each other, then Eska also healed Kinalik, who was uninjured but wanted to do what the grownups were doing.  It didn’t get rid of all the pain, but reduced it enough to allow her to perform the usual morning functions and help Kinalik with hers.
When they got downstairs to the breakfast room, Korra was sitting there alone.  She had finished her own meal, but there was still a pot of tea and a plate of steamed buns filled with bean paste on the table. Eska was impressed to see that they’d remembered about Kinalik’s noodles, and that the child’s chair had a pile of cushions on it in lieu of a booster seat.
“Asami’s in the shower,” Korra said in response to their unspoken query.  “She likes to fiddle around in her workshop first thing in the morning when she’s feeling upset.”
Even Eska could tell that the last few words were pointed.  “Hm,” was all she could trust herself to say in response as she grabbed a bun.
“Does she eat anything else?” Korra asked, referring to Kinalik.  That was a somewhat safer topic, at least.
“Rice. Eggs.  Apples peeled and cut to slices exactly ¼ inch thick.  Arctic hen.  Some types of fish; she seems to change her mind about exactly which types by the day,” Eska answered.  She stopped to think.  What else was there?
“We have been having modest success in getting her to eat kelp,” Desna reminded.
“Oh yes.  The first time she ate that was a triumphant occasion indeed.  And before you ask, cousin, we do give her a daily multivitamin.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Korra said quickly.  She took a sip of her tea and said, “I wonder if she’d like Narook’s?  They have a kid’s menu.”
“Is it noisy?”
“Dinner can be…lunch is usually quieter.”
“We will consider it.”
They were spared from doing further chatting for the moment by Asami entering the room, fully dressed but with a towel wrapped around her head.  Korra looked at Eska expectantly.
Eska supposed that this was her cue to apologize.   Damn it.  She’d never cared about the feelings of anyone outside of her family before.
“I’msorry,” she mumbled while looking down at her hands.  This seemed to satisfy the requirements for now.
“It’s okay,” Asami said.  “I know you must have been under a lot of stress.  Now, is this enough food for you?  We could have the cook make something hot…”
“This is sufficient,” Desna assured her.
Asami sat down as well and got her own breakfast, and apparently decided that it would be best to get right to the point.
“So…Korra said that you were concerned about Kinalik’s safety…”
“That is one way to phrase it.”
“So exactly how deep into hiding did you want to go?”
Good question.
“We hadn’t thought things through that far yet,” Desna admitted.  “All we were hoping for was to buy a few days of time to strategize. That was why we chose not to stay at a hotel.”
“Simply arriving at this destination was the main objective.  They will discover our location sooner or later, but I doubt that they would take our lives here.  Nevertheless, we should take precautions,” Eska added.
Korra and Asami stopped to think, and then Korra said, “Well, you do have one thing going for you.  You’re fairly obscure.  Probably all that most people in Republic City know about you is that you’re those creepy twins.”
Eska clenched her jaw, and willed the angry words ready to spring from her back down her throat. She didn’t want another argument to start so quickly.  Desna appeared to be having a similar struggle, but was able to state in an even tone, “We do like our privacy.”
While they had been talking, Kinalik had finished her noodles and was getting bored.
“Down!” she commanded.  Eska rose to help her off the cushions, and sat back down with her daughter in her lap.
“And that’s another thing,” Asami said.  “I didn’t even know of Kinalik’s existence until yesterday, and I don’t think Korra did either.”
“They may have mailed something,” Korra said.  “But I was kind of distracted at the time.”
“We did air a birth announcement on the radio,” Eska remarked.  Granted, it had run only once.  At 6 AM.  Neither the twins nor their advisors had wanted to call much attention to it.
“Well, anyway, if all that the general public knows about you is that you’re twins, we’d want to make you look as unalike as possible.  Plus, the weather’s much too warm right now for your regular wardrobes. We’ll need to shop for new clothes, and one of you might have to cut your hair.”
Asami looked over at Desna, but Eska quickly said, “I’ll do it.”  Desna had done so much for her; it was only fair that she should be the one to make this sacrifice.
“I have to go get the rest of my stuff this morning, but…hold on, let me write this down,” Korra said.”  She retrieved a notebook and pencil from a side table.
“Asami, could you take them downtown this afternoon?  I’ll probably want to rest, and you’re the one with the style sense. And um…I still can’t drive that well.”
“Sure, but maybe one at a time?  Whoever is after them would be looking for twins.”
“No prob. Desna, you okay with waiting until tomorrow?”
“Whatever you think is best,” Desna answered, albeit apparently with some unease about them being separated.  The twins squeezed hands under the table.
“Bolin might want to join us,” Asami remarked.  “You know how he is about makeovers.”
“Oh, yeah, whoops, I forgot about Bolin.  And we were going to do a proper introduction today.”
“I wonder…” Asami trailed off as Korra scribbled away.  
“Hm?”
“I was just thinking about how to make all this more pleasant for Kinalik.  I think I have an idea.  You go over to Air Temple Island.  I can take care of arranging things.”
“’Kay, love you.”
They kissed.  Eska was relieved.  All of the talking had been making her dizzy.
After Korra had finally departed, Asami got Eska, Desna, and Kinalik situated in the living room. Unlike the more formal parlor they’d seen on the tour yesterday, this room was stocked with comfortable furniture, which was a blessing for Eska’s back.  It was decorated with plush carpeting, wooden paneling, several paintings, and a tall bookcase in the corner.  Eska made a beeline for the latter and thumbed through the selection.
While Eska was busy with her browsing, Asami used one of the mansion’s many phones to call Bolin.
“So what do you think about coming over here shortly?  Makeovers may be involved.”
Eska could hear Bolin’s shriek of joy from clear across the room.  Asami had to hold the receiver at arm’s length until he calmed down.
“I take it that’s a yes?  Okay, what time?  Yeah, I think we can do that.  So see you…oh?  What is it?”
She listened for a few seconds, then said, “Well, I’ll ask them,” and covered the receiver with her hand.
“Eska, Desna, Bolin says that Opal wants to come meet you.  Is that okay?”
Eska was intrigued in spite of herself.  She wanted to see just what sort of powerful woman had managed to ensnare her ex’s heart.
“It is all right with me.  Desna?”
“Me as well.”
“Great!” exclaimed Asami.  She turned back to the receiver and said, “That’s a yes from both of them.  See you in a few, then?  All right.  No, Pabu had better stay at your apartment this time. Bye.”
She hung up the phone, then left the room, saying vaguely that she had to “get things ready.”
Eska, in the meantime, had found several recent issues of Republic City Style.  She had first encountered this publication in the storage room of the library back home, and knew that it was trash, but had been unable to stop reading these chronicles of uncivilized famous people and their clothing.  And it definitely wasn’t because she was jealous of them and their hedonistic lives!  No, if ever asked, she would claim that it was simply anthropological studies.
“All right, let’s see who Ginger is dating now,” she murmured as she sat down to look at the pictures with Kinalik.
“May I have one?” Desna asked.
“You may.”
They were deeply engrossed in their reading material, with occasional snorts of incredulity from the twins and squeals of “Pretty!” from Kinalik, when they heard something being hauled down the stairs and dragged into the living room.
“I found that box of t-o-y-s that I was telling you about yesterday!” Asami said as she beamed. She had removed her towel, and looked no worse for wear from the exertion.  Eska wished that she could look that put-together.
“So I was thinking that Bolin could help Kinalik look through these, and that maybe she would warm up to him more if she associated him with a positive thing like that.”
Kinalik perked up at the mention of her name.  Eska thought that this was actually a clever idea, and wished that she could have thought of that herself.
“Shall we see what is contained in here?” Eska asked Kinalik. Her daughter didn’t answer verbally, but appeared happy for the first time since they’d left the palace.
As Asami left to get some scissors with which to open the box, the doorbell rang.  The door was opened shortly thereafter, presumably by the butler…what was his name again?
“We have arrived!” Bolin announced as he bounded into the living room, followed closely behind by Opal.  “And…hey neat, what’s that?”  He gestured at the box.
Asami explained her idea to him as Kinalik removed the first item from the box: a stuffed animal in the form of a cat-owl.
“Great, sounds great!” Bolin enthused as made to sit down right next to Kinalik, then caught himself in time and picked a spot a respectful couple of feet away.
Asami had certainly never been lacking in any amusement as a child; Eska felt a twinge when she remembered how her own toys had been taken away when she wasn’t too much older than Kinalik.  There were stuffed animals of all sorts (yes, including a turtleduck and a koala otter), dolls, and Satomobile models.  Thankfully, nothing was in that box that would pose a choking hazard; Eska presumed that Kinalik was smart enough not to put toys in her mouth, but one never knew for sure.
Kinalik was insistent on doing the unpacking herself, and kept most of the toys to herself, but every so often she would shyly offer one to Bolin.
“Thank you!” he exclaimed at her latest offering of a stuffed animal that was so worn that Eska couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be.  “Do you wanna know something, Kinalik?  I don’t remember what toys I had when I was your age.  I wish I did.  So this is really as exciting for me as it is for you!”
Kinalik scrunched her nose, and either because she didn’t know how to respond or didn’t have the words, settled for “Okay.”  But she did hand over a toy truck to him.
“Oh, she’s just adorable!” said Opal, which slightly startled Eska because she’d been so focused on the scene across the room.  She was seated at the opposite end of the couch from the twins.
“Yes,” Eska answered.  She and Desna switched places so that there would be no one between Eska and Opal. Then she remembered.
“I have on my possession a copy of Kinalik’s birth certificate,” Eska stated as she took the piece of paper out of her pocket.  “It contains proof that Bolin was not being unfaithful to you.  Not with me, at least.”
Opal didn’t move to take it.
“It’s okay, I believe you.  Really,” she said.
It was just that easy?  Eska had been anticipating a more frosty reception.
“So what do you think?  Can we be friends?” Opal asked as she smiled gently.  She extended her hand, and Eska forced herself to make eye contact while tentatively reaching her arm out as well.  But she only had the nerve to brush Opal’s fingers with her own.
Just then, there was much excitement from the duo on the floor.  Having removed all of the toys from the box, they had reached the best part…the packing paper.  Kinalik reached for a particularly large piece and gleefully ripped it in half.
“That makes a cool sound, doesn’t it?” Bolin observed.
Kinalik studied the two halves in her hand, and then crumpled one up, walked over, and reached up to place it on Bolin’s head.
“Oh wow!  A hat!  Just what I always wanted!” Bolin said with all evidence of sincerity.  He tossed his head ever so slightly, and the paper fell to the floor.
“OOPS!  It fell off!  How clumsy of me!”
Kinalik looked at him, then at the paper, then back at him.  And she laughed.
This was something that even Eska herself rarely elicited from her daughter.  She wished that she could telepathically transmit to Bolin the significance of this event.  But as he glanced over it her, it seemed that he already knew to some extent.
Shortly thereafter, Korra returned, and while the servants transferred her things, Asami herded them all into the main dining room for lunch.  Evidently, Korra had informed her partner of Kinalik’s preferences, because the meal was omelets…plain for Kinalik and with vegetables for everyone else.  Kinalik actually ate most of hers, and even sampled a piece of mushroom from Eska’s plate without spitting it back out.
When that was concluded, Desna put Kinalik down for a nap while Eska ventured out into the great unknown.
For what felt like the millionth time, Eska felt the ends of her now shoulder-length hair.  It felt exceedingly strange to not have it hanging halfway down her back.
Also, the hairdresser had insisted on using hair clips to pin her bangs back.
“You have such a perfectly-proportioned forehead!” the older woman had gushed.  “And such delicate eyebrows.  Why would you ever want to cover that up?”
At least it might work as a disguise.  And Asami and Opal had wholeheartedly agreed with the stylist.  They had tried to get Bolin’s opinion as well, but he held up his pointer finger for silence.
“Please don’t disturb me.  I have attained manicure Nirvana,” he stated in an exaggerated whisper.
When Bolin had finally descended back down to Earth, they went clothes-shopping.  First they got some everyday items.  Eska was rather embarrassed that she had to wear clothing from the Juniors section due to her petite frame, but she managed to tolerate the shopping long enough to attain several new outfits.  The store had a changing room in case one wanted to wear an outfit out of the store, so Eska had changed her regular tunic and leggings for a sky-blue shirt with cap sleeves, white pants that fell just below the knee, and white sandals.  It was odd to have so much of her skin exposed in public, but it was amusing to imagine how the dreaded councilors back home would react.
She was taken aback when she realized that she would have to help carry her own belongings for the first time in her life, but decided not to argue.
Then Asami had remembered about Korra’s party, to which Eska hadn’t realized that she was invited, so they went to a more upscale boutique that specialized in Water Tribe inspired designs to find a dress.  Of course, the one that caught Eska’s eye was too large for her, so she would have to come back later for fitting.
By the time that was over, all of them were loaded with shopping bags and getting tired, and Eska’s back was acting up again.  She still didn’t understand why some girls and women did this for fun.
“There’s a bubble tea shop just down the street.  Let’s stop there,” Asami suggested.
Eska was about to inquire what bubble tea was, but her thoughts slammed on the brakes as a horrific sound rose from the corner next to the tea shop.
“What. Is.  That?” she demanded as she jammed her fingers inside her ears.
“That’s a trombone,” Opal answered.  She and Asami rolled their eyes at Bolin, who was edging nervously closer toward the tea shop door.
Even leading such a sheltered life, Eska had heard of street musicians.  But she had been under the impression that most did it for money.  There was no tip box beside this man’s feet, so either he was just doing it for fun or wanted to cause all pedestrians an agonizing death.  Probably the latter, she thought.
“I am going to ambulate over there right now and inform that man that he must cease and desist immediately,” she declared.
“Maybe…just going inside would be a better idea?” Bolin offered.  “Come on quick, before he sees us!”
Bolin dashed inside, and the three women had no choice but to follow, Opal and Asami both making noises of disapproval.
They got their orders and sat down.  Eska had assumed that the bubbles would be some form of carbonation, but they were actually solid spheres.  She guessed that it was not called “sphere tea” because it didn’t roll off the tongue as easily.  In any case, the spheres had a pleasantly chewy texture.
Meanwhile, Asami was still scolding Bolin.
“He’s a much better person now and you know it!” she said.
“He still scares me!”
“Well, I invited him to the party, so get used to him.”
“You what?  Oh frick…here he comes.”
The door abruptly swung open as if accompanied by a musical cue, and Trombone Man walked in like he owned the place.  To Eska’s relief, he had put away that torture device for the present.  Wait…why was he making a beeline to their table?
“Hi, Tahno!” Asami said cheerfully as Opal waved.  The latter elbowed Bolin, who squeaked out a “Hi!”
The name rang a bell.  Eska tried to recall where she’d encountered it.
“Now who is this lady here?” Tahno the Trombone Man asked.  “I don’t believe that I’ve seen you here with the Uh-vatar’s crowd before.”
Eska assumed that he was referring to Opal.  But after several seconds, she realized that he was looking at her.  Just in time, she remembered how she knew of him.
“I saw you in the magazines,” she said.  “Except then you weren’t there anymore.  And then you were, but not quite as often.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Was he flirting, or just making fun of her?
Eska rose from her seat and affixed her best glare.
“Your subpar pronounciation irritates my auditory receptacles.  As does your so-called musical talent.”
The look she was giving him would have sent a whole room full of courtiers fleeing.  But Trombone Man just laughed.
“Oh, did I offend you, Ice Queen?”
Did he know?  At any rate, Eska realized that he towered over her by at least a foot, despite her drawing herself up to as full a height as her back would allow.  This would not do.
“If I am the Ice Queen, then you are my subject.  I demand that you swear fealty to me by kneeling.”
She heard three sharp intakes of breath.  But kneel Tahno did, after only a brief pause.  He kept his eyes and his smirk on Eska.  Eska remained outwardly composed (at least she hoped so), but her heart was starting to pound…from anxiety or from something else?
“Of course…you do know what this means, Ice Queen?  Now I must kiss your hand.”
Eska barely had time to process the words before Bolin leapt in between them.
“O-kaaaayyy!” he exclaimed louder than he had to.  “I know we’re all having a wonderful time here, and it was great seeing you again, but look at the clock!  We really have to be going now, so bye and see you at the party, I guess!”
He herded the trio of women out the door, drinks, bags, and all.  Eska didn’t know whether she wanted to thank him or throttle him.
“That was interesting,” Eska mused as they walked back to the Satomobile.  “However, I doubt he would show the submission required to be my husband.”
Bolin choked on his last sip of tea.
“Mental images, Eska!  Mental! Images!” he gasped out.
At least he was starting to show his true self around her.
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ao3porcelainstorm · 3 years
Text
poison ivy & stinging nettles 7
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On Ao3
Pairing: Sherlock/OFC
Rated: M
Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)
Chapter 6 - Chapter 8
Chapter 7- Azalea
~~~
They say doctors are the worst patients, and now I'm going to include pharmacists under that criteria as well.
~~~
“I’m not going to the hospital,” Amelia sputtered, her skin flushing while she heaved what little contents she had left in her stomach.
“Your heart rate is out of control,” John threw his stethoscope around his neck, irritation clear while he repeated his argument again. “You need IV fluids, supportive care, and god forbid, a team ready to resuscitate you!”
“Stop yelling at me!” Amelia wiped at her mouth with her pajama sleeve. “Unless I am unconscious and have no choice, I don’t consent. I refuse. I don’t trust hospitals, they’re sterile and tend to attract people like my mother into their politics.”
“It’s not a for profit system,” John continued.
“Say that to your government,” she gagged again, another slurry of vomit pouring into the bucket.
“Your fever hasn’t gone down,” he added, running a hand through his hair nervously. Things weren’t ideal for Amelia, and given the state of near delirium she was in, he couldn’t convince her that the hospital was her best option.
“I’ll take an ice bath,” she murmured, her head dipping slightly. She was converted in sweat, shaking, and far too dehydrated for John’s liking.
“Here,” Sherlock slipped back into Amelia’s flat, handing him a small vial.
“What is this?” John examined the liquid to the light.
“Anti-nausea medication,” he gave Amelia a quick smile. “I’d suggest you administer it quickly.”
Amelia readily held out her arm, and John gave her the injection. It took a few minutes, but before she could ask when it’s going into affect, she dropped forward, asleep.
“Problem solved,” Sherlock plucked the bucket out of Amelia’s lap and scooped her up bridal style. “An ambulance is on its way.”
“What did you do?” John checked her pulse, still thrumming at a rapid rate.
“A very mild sedative,” Sherlock explained. “She was close to collapsing anyway, this just gave her an extra incentive.”
“And if she doesn’t wake up?”
“Then you’re not a very good doctor then, are you?” The detective shot back. “There are socks in the top drawer, could you help me get them on her feet?”
“Christ Sherlock,” John huffed, fishing out a pair of solid orange socks. “I thought she’d died.”
“She’ll be fine, it’s not stronger than a lid of cold medicine,” he rolled his eyes. “She’s just too damned stubborn to realize how stupid she’s being.”
John didn’t have an argument against that. He just sighed and slipped the socks off her dangling feet.
“Medics are here,” he looked over through the small window at the flashing lights.
“Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Hudson fretted in the hall, holding the door open for Sherlock. “I’ll be up as soon as I can! I’ll make sure to let her family know.”
“Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” John replied when Sherlock didn’t bother answering.
~~~
After Amelia had been admitted to a private unit, hooked up to fluids, and John was satisfied, the men settled into the two visitors chairs set up in her room.
“Don’t you think it’s strange?” Sherlock hopped up, unable to sit still for very long. He paced the room, stopping in front of the large window over looking the neighborhood. “She’s fine all day, a little nervous, and then as soon as we reach Baker Street, she’s ill?”
“She could have picked something up when you two went on your outing,” John was watching the monitor tracking her vitals with unease. Her heart rate had gone down minutely, but he reasoned that had to do with her sleeping.
“Not a sneeze, John,” Sherlock frowned, his hands tucked behind his back. “We see the same man who burned down her shop, and she comes home severely ill.”
“I don’t know Sherlock, maybe someone poisoned her when we weren’t looking,” John threw a hand up, trying to focus on the more serious situation at hand.
Sherlock frowned, watching Amelia fuss around on the hospital bed, rolling on her side facing John, before her eyes opened.
“Hospital?” She asked groggily.
“We didn’t have much of a choice,” John reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Get some sleep. We’re not going anywhere.”
She hummed in contentment at the promise, closing her eyes, and sinking back into the covers.
“Think John,” Sherlock returned to the seat, his fingers tapping on one another, steepled in front of him. He closed his eyes, walking through every aspect of that day. He was convinced this was some kind of sabotage, even if John was skeptical.
Monty’s house?
A brief hug, and she only touched the bag, and he and John would have been exposed as he had taken the bag after returning to Baker Street.
No food or drink consumed.
The return to the train station, she never left his sight until-
They’d returned after questioning the man and she was talking to someone, a man with a bundle of flowers spilled over in her lap.
The hospital room transformed into the train station, an exact replica of how Sherlock had remembered it upon returning to the bench with John.
“That’s a lot of pollen for a few flowers, isn’t it, Sherlock?” Amelia’s voice chimed from next to him. She looked healthier, a benefit of her being a figment of his imagination, but she still pulled that face she made when Sherlock was being slow on catching onto something.
He froze the memory, walking up to the memory Amelia on the bench.
“Mostly roses and Queen Anne’s lace,” he noted, glancing down at the bright orange pollen that coated Amelia’s lap. Her hand was frozen midair, about to swat the pollen off of her dark jeans. “Not heavy pollinators.”
“You have learned a few things,” Mind-Palace Amelia beamed back at him, tilting her head to the side to get a better view of the scene. “Looks like I’m about to make a big mess of it... I wonder... what does this pollen remind you of?”
He blinked, the fabric lunch bag Monty had given them appearing in his hand. He slowly opened the bag, and looked at the spores in the four syringes.
“Why are they in syringes, Sherlock?” Amelia quizzed him, the Canterbury train station shifting into the Baker Street flat.
She circled him, a knowing smile on her face while he considered her question.
“To keep the spores contained and uncontaminated, it’s a gel like substance,” he recited, recalling the books she’d forced him to read through.
“And if I were to take a fully grown mushroom-,” a toadstool mushroom appeared in her hand. She held it near Sherlock’s face and shook it. “-what happens?”
“The spores go everywhere,” he realized. “Like pollen.”
“And why couldn’t I finish the research before leaving Chemco?”
“You couldn’t figure out how to properly bind the psilocybin elements to the chemotherapy drugs without activating the psychedelic properties. They wanted the physical effects without the obvious hallucinogenics.”
“I know you can do the math in this pretty head of yours,” she turned to the desk and scribbled down the binding agents chemical equation, and a few of the equations from the mushrooms she’d researched.
“Which one works?” She asked, and he picked the proper strain. “I could never figure out how to add it to the therapies because it couldn’t be mixed in. They intend to make it airborne, Sherlock. We were looking at the wrong angles.”
“Airborne?” He ran through the calculations. “Of course...”
“They add it to supply boxes, some nurses get it on their hands, other don’t... cancer patients have very weak immune systems, so small doses would be used.”
“They wouldn’t hurt the otherwise healthy workers,” he finished the thought.
“But if I was exposed, and I’m ill?” She tried, an arched brow.
“You received a concentrated dose,” he snapped back to the hospital room, voicing the thought outlaid, nearly scaring the life out of John.
“What is it?” John folded his newspaper in his lap, pausing to get control of his heart rate at the sudden interruption after hours of silence from the detective.
“Spores,” Sherlock exclaimed, standing up. “I need to run to Baker Street. Can you call Molly and see if she can get the lab set up?”
“Sherlock, there’s really no time-,”
“John, the adverse drugs we’ve been trying to figure out this entire time,” Sherlock turned to face Amelia. “That’s what’s in her system.”
“Someone... tried to poison her?” John was a little bemused by the concept, though he knew that it did raise the urgency of their reaction considerably. “Remind me, was it guarantee death or just symptomatic?”
“It depends on the dose and patient,” Sherlock replied in a low voice. “I’ll be in touch.”
~~~
Sherlock felt so foolish for not having considered it sooner.
The spores with the biding agent would cause significant distress within the human body. The chemotherapy had nothing to do with it, aside from signifying the control group.
Most blood tests, urine panels, and also a tests wouldn’t pick up on mushrooms, as they would be metabolized too quickly. Hair samples would contain the molecule that causes the psychedelic response, but if that’s removed and the fungus is turned more malicious, there wouldn’t be a test at present that would detect an abnormality.
Unless, it tested for the specific spore she was exposed to.
“Bloody spores,” he muttered, switching slides and peering through the microscope. “It was so obvious.”
The weakened immune systems of cancer patients would more readily take the hit, whereas a healthy person, such as a nurse, would be unaffected.
That meant, unfortunately, that whatever Amelia had been dosed with was something far stronger than what Chemco would have had planned. Someone was trying to get rid of her.
He reached for a new slide, his hand nearly catching a full cup of coffee next to him.
That hadn’t been there before, he frowned, lifting a small note tape to the surface:
Hang in there! - Molly
She must have slipped in when he was focused on the microscopic spores. Shrugging, he took a large sip and continued his work, texting John updates as he eliminated a few of the samples.
“If you keep furrowing your eyebrows like that, you’re going to get wrinkles,” Amelia’s voice chided playfully. “How many times have I told you that? You’re going to look like a Klingon with all of that frowning and pouting.”
“I’m an adult, I don’t pout,” he countered, reciting back the words she’d used against him previously. He glanced up and Amelia was smiling at him from the end of the lab table, her head propped up between her hands.
“That’d be far more clever if I was actually here,” she pointed out, still smirking. “I wonder why you’re hallucinating me and not John? Is it because you’re worried?” She asked the question in a sing-song voice, moving around the table to look over his shoulder at the samples.
“I’m not hallucinating,” he countered, returning his attention to the microscope. “I must have gone into my mind palace again.”
Amelia snorted, examining the coffee cup, her hands folded behind her back.
“Did you see Molly drop this off?” she asked casually. “I mean, someone’s clearly trying to kill me. Wouldn’t you be the logical next step?”
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly John cut in.
“She isn’t wrong, Sherlock,” he sighed. “You really need to be more careful, I don’t know if I could handle both of my friends dying on me today.”
“Sherlock, goodness, we’re going to leave poor John all alone because you’re being careless,” Amelia shook her head in disappointment.
“John, I know you’re not here, I was just texting-,” his hand swatted around him, and he jolted awake, his hand hitting the device next to him. “Shit.”
“Language,” Amelia warned, reappearing next to him. “Surprise, I’m still here. I guess I’m just the personification of your consciousness currently. I wonder what that means? Regardless, you’ve definitely lost a few hours. You should probably check in on John and the real me, though be careful with those long legs- you’ve gotten a pretty hefty dose of something and you’re going to be off balance.”
Sherlock, ignoring the hallucination, jumped up and nearly toppled over when the floor seemed to move under him.
“Oh, doesn’t this remind you of a drug you took once? Was it mushrooms? Or ecstasy?” she asked, watching him struggle. She looked at a clock over his shoulder. “Geez. Three hours. I hope I’m not dead.”
~~~
John had left the hospital room, telling the nurse he was going to pick up some dinner and drag Sherlock out of the lab, leaving Amelia alone for less than an hour. It was still relatively early, and visitors were shuffling in and out of the hospital, so it wasn’t unusual when someone stopped by the American’s room to pay their respects and drop off a card with flowers.
“You’re nothing special, are you?” The man entered the room, covered by a large coat, his collar pulled up to conceal his face from cameras in the halls. He lifted the chart at the foot of her bed, scoffing at the diagnostics, and tossed it down. “All that fuss.”
He stepped closer to her, lifting a piece of sticky hair off of her sweaty forehead. Watching her struggle in her drug induced sleep, he tried to see what his colleague had described as an intelligent young woman who’d turned tail at the first sign of trouble. A coward.
Now she was an artist, living on inherited money, with Sherlock Holmes.
Her heart rate continued to thrum at an unsustainable speed. He glanced up at the machine, reading over her vitals passively.
The man hadn’t considered her a coward from what he’d read. In fact, it was quite the opposite, and almost irritatingly so.
If he hadn’t tracked down some of her early research through his planted man on the Chemo board, he would have considerably displeased with the amount of money she was going to cost him now that Brenner’s idiotic plan was falling through.
She jerked in her bed, gasping for air, before falling still, her vitals beginning to crash.
“You’re going to die,” he sighed, making a final call and fishing a small syringe out of his jacket pocket. He hooked it to the IV port in her arm just before her heart-rate stopped. “We haven’t had our play date yet, and I’d hate to miss out on that.”
He emptied the syringe, watching the dark liquid quickly get sucked up by her body. Almost immediately, her heart rate started up again, slowing from the high 190s to 150s until it steadied out in the 80s.
Satisfied, he lifted her limp hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. Spying a white flower peeking out from the grocery store bouquet he’d use to slip in, he grinned.
Perfect.
He placed a single flower of white azalea between her fingers from the bouquet, letting the hand drop back to her side.
“We’ll see each other soon, mon cherie,” he whispered before leaving the room, careful to steal one full look into the security camera in the hall.
Sherlock would know to check, he was certain of this.
~~~
“Is that John?” Fake Amelia asked, circling Sherlock while he struggled through the maze of halls leading back to her room. “I think that’s John. Is he real though?”
Sherlock approached the doctor, swatting at his hand and taking a relieved breath.
“Oh thank god, you’re real,” he murmured, holding his head. “We need to get back to the room.”
“Sherlock, Jesus, are you ok?” John tucked the bag of takeout under his arm and steadied his friend.
“Drugged,” Sherlock slurred, closing his eyes and trying to readjust his senses, but the space remained a dizzy blur, aside from Amelia smirking at him from behind John.
“Tick tock,” she hummed, shifting her weight between her heels and toes impatiently.
“Shut up,” Sherlock snapped.
“What?” John looked over is shoulder where Sherlock directed the command.
“Not you,” he corrected, shaking his head. “Amelia… Not actually Amelia…”
“Let’s get you back upstairs,” John guided the disoriented detective toward the elevator. “Do you know what happened?”
“How long have you been out of the hospital room?” Sherlock asked, spying the bag of food.
“Ah, just a few minutes or so,” he replied. “I was on my way to grab you for dinner…”
Sherlock recognized the name of the takeout restaurant and ran the mental calculations, struggling on specifics with Amelia finally chiming in.
“Based on where he is now, with no other stops, and accounting for food prep, he’s probably been gone for about 25 minutes,” she supplied, biting her bottom lip, a new nervous energy surrounding her.
“Half-hour,” Sherlock mumbled, ignoring John’s peppered questions. When the elevator re-opened, the detective charged past the nurses trying to get his attention. John, however, stopped and listened to what they were describing as a “miracle”.
Sherlock held himself up in the doorway of the hospital room, struck silent by the scene in front of him.
Amelia was sitting up in bed, twisting a flowers uneasily between her fingers while a doctor asked her some questions and double checked her vitals.
“Sherlock,” she greeted, her expression brightening up slightly. “You look terrible.”
“We don’t know what happened, Mr. Holmes,” the female doctor stated sheepishly. “One minute she’s crashing, the next she’s perfectly normal.”
“Weird,” Amelia strained a smile, her eyes falling back down on the flower in her hand.
“I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours,” the doctor decided, looking back at her chart and shaking her head in disbelief.
“Sherlock, you should sit down,” John caught Sherlock by the arm and guided him to one of the visitor seats, before pulling out a small flashlight from his pocket.
“Do you always have that?” Amelia teased softly, sitting still while John checked her over, re-checking, and checking again, until he was satisfied with what he saw. Confused, but satisfied.
“You just- woke up?” John asked, still shaken by the sudden recovery of his friend. It didn’t make any sense. There was simply no scientific explanation for what had happened.
Amelia paused, her fingers still toying with the flower.
“I did,” she answered.
“Azalea,” Sherlock grumbled, leaning back with his eyes shut.
“He really doesn’t miss a thing, does he?” she joked, a shake to her voice.
“Tell John what it means,” Sherlock ordered, his head still throbbing and the room still spinning around him.
“Is he okay?” Amelia looked to John in concern, and Sherlock groaned loudly.
“Stop stalling, I’m fine, just a minor drugging-,” he grunted. “Azalea. What does it mean?”
“They mean a lot of different things,” she quickly confessed. “I mean, now they’re usually more positive, but it wasn’t always the case. I mean, they’re in the rhododendron family, so there are malicious connotations. They were death threats in Victorian times, though a modern interpretation of a white azalea would be fragility, temperance, and restraint.”
“Restraint?” John echoed uneasily. “Fragility…”
“Don’t forget the death part,” Sherlock chimed in.
“It was in my hand when I woke up,” she continued, looking down at the white petals.
“This wasn’t a random miracle,” Sherlock concluded, sitting up shakily. “Someone needed time to slip in. They drugged me, waited until John left…”
“And cured me…?” Amelia seemed hesitant in the conclusion. “Why?”
“Why would someone poison you in the first place?” Sherlock questioned back.
“If you have an actual answer, say that,” Amelia shot back, her expression souring at the implication in his tone. “I’m not particularly interested in puzzles at the moment.”
“I’m sorry I’m a little distracted, the room has changed color three times and John keeps turning into Mycroft,” he snapped tersely.
“I’m going to get a nurse to pull a blood sample,” John announced, escaping the room as their tempers rose.
There was moment of silence before Amelia spoke up again.
“You don’t think you were exposed to the same-?” her tone was meek at the thought of him going through the hell she’d just experienced.
“No,” he sounded confident in that respect. “I think it was just regular mushrooms. Someone trying to be clever.”
Amelia just nodded, a heaviness sinking into the pit of her stomach. They were so close, and yet, another mystery.
He gave a shudder and Amelia tutted under her breath.
“Come here,” she set the flower on a nearby table, shifting to the side of the hospital bed and pulling up the covers.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled in protest.
“Oh stop being a baby,” she patted the empty space next to her. “Besides, I’m cold too.”
Sighing dramatically, he moved to the bed and crawled in next to her, letting her pulling the covers over both of them.
“There, isn’t that much better?” she asked, shifting a little to get comfortable. “Honestly, you always fight such reasonable solutions to your problems.”
“Shh,” he absently swatted at her, rolling onto his side, snuggling under the covers.
He knew she was right.
It was probably why his consciousness had developed her features when he was looking for common-sense guidance.
Of course, Sherlock never would have admitted it out loud.
By the time John had tracked down the equipment he needed, he returned to the hospital room where the pair were sleeping peacefully.
Amelia was curled around Sherlock’s waist, the detective’s arm slung over her shoulders and his head resting on hers.
While he decided not to bother him for the blood draw, John did snap a quick photograph on his phone- for sentiment’s sake.
Chapter 8
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30
HILL
A pair of slender lips greeted me, followed by a meek ‘good morning’.
Amid a plethora of pointless decorative pillows propped up against the cream tufted headboard, Tarin sat upright with her legs crossed, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Barefaced and all, her beauty never radiated more than it did at this very present moment. Much to her chagrin, she apologized for her current appearance. She reached upwards and pulled off the colorful paisley headscarf, allowing those loose ringlets of hers to fall past the nape of her neck. Amusement flickered in her eyes reminiscent of the hue of rum.
Her nose scrunched up at its narrow bridge.
“Did I wake you?”
“Mhm, but I needed to get up anyway.” she yawned and stretched. The strap to her thin camisole grooved down her skin, no hint of a bra in sight.
She fixed her mouth to speak, but sucked her teeth instead and grabbed a hold of the loose strap. “Hill, it’s way too early for you to be a fuckin’ perv.”
“It’s,” I pulled away from the phone, “Seven minutes to eight over here, which means that it’s almost eleven in New York.  I thought you’d be leaving the office for lunch at this time. Yesterday must’ve been awful.”
“You don’t even know the half. Yesterday was a day from Hell. Truly.”
“Did that nail polish launch thing go over well?” I queried.
“It went over well -- so well that the guests didn’t want to leave. Randoms started poppin’ in from off the street wanting to see what the hype was about, which conflicted with the schedule. The launch was initially scheduled from one to four o’clock p.m. That time was specifically stated in the mass email sent to all the social media influencers invited. Could you believe the party didn’t end until eight o’clock? I wouldn’t have cared about her having to pay for the allotted time if I wasn’t expected to stay there longer than I should’ve. My grandmother ended up having to pick my kid up from day camp and keep her overnight, all because that washed up reality star with bad injectables wanted me to stay there and ‘man down the entire operation’.”
“And where was Cara when all this was happening?”
“Getting her nails done. She might’ve helped put out the supply of polishes for the nail technicians, but that was it.” She huffed. “On top of that, she left halfway through the event. Like, who does that? Mind you, putting together this event was joint. We were splitting the commission percentage right down the middle!” Her anger could easily be detected through the video chat application. Her eyebrows knitted together; deep ridges emerging across her forehead. “I had to check the inventory and I had to make sure there was more than enough wine for everyone coming in, on top of that.” An aggravated sigh escaped her. “I know it doesn’t sound all that hard to handle, but when you have to deal with middle-aged trophy wives who’re under the notion that they’re always right and you’re in the wrong, then it becomes pretty difficult. Something like this wouldn’t have such a negative effect on me. I would’ve let this shit roll off my shoulders under any other circumstance. I think my lack of sleep had something to do with it. I, uh, I had this weird dream that kept me up most of the night before. I had a dream, about my daughter’s father.”
My back relaxed against the car’s plush interior after turning off the car’s engine. Beads of sweat still coated my body; my heart still racing after the routinely morning run.
“I had a feeling he was coming to see me. Most times -- whenever I dream of him, it’s never expected. But this time was different. It felt different. It was weird. I just knew he was coming.  But, it wasn’t like my other dreams. In my other dreams, we meet on Fulton street. For some odd reason, I dreamt about the night he was killed.” She murmured, her voice deadpan; Tarin’s eyes, though wearisome, harbored an ample amount of emotion that I couldn’t seem to distinguish. “It was still summer. He was wearing these baggy jean shorts. He walked me home that night wearing the same shorts. It was so hot out that night,” she reminisced, “like, unbearably hot, Hill. Blackout hot. Still sweatin’ in the shade hot --”
“I get it, Tarin.”
“ We’d spent most of the day together so it was definitely time to part ways. I wasn’t feeling all too well that day, to begin with. I’d been nauseous on and off for over a week.”
“You were pregnant by then, weren’t you?” I asked in an attempt to piece these significant occurrences in chronological order.
“Sure was. I thought my poor eating choices were to blame. You should’ve seen me that summer. I ate a bunch of shit I had no business eating. Greasy Chinese food, chopped cheeses from the deli -- you name it, I ate it, and then some!” Tarin laughed. “Um. Where were we before I got sidetracked? I forgot.”
“Your dream, baby. Your dream.” I laughed myself at her recent spell of absent-mindedness. Often she mentioned she fell victim to losing her train of thought whenever she was dwelling on something greatly significant.
She let out a timid giggle and quickly reined it in with a low ‘oh’. “It was as if it were any other night and I was sneaking back out the house. My grandmother was sleeping and my mother was probably working back to back shifts. So, I left out the back door to my grandmother’s house, hopped the fence and met Richie up the block. Our meetup spot was always in front of this beige paneled house with a rusted iron gate. He was there waiting for me. I saw him from far away and I was expecting him to get on my case about him having to wait for me, but he didn’t. He didn’t suck his teeth or groan, or anything like that.” She placed the phone on the bed; the camera capturing her bedroom ceiling. “His t-shirt was white, but there was this small dark spot that kept getting bigger the closer I go to him.” Tarin rushed out. “By the time we were face to face the spot had spread across the whole lower half.” There was a pause, followed by her taking a deep breath in an attempt to control the sudden shakiness in her voice. “He told me he loved me. In my other dreams, all his ‘love you T’s’ were rushed. He took his time, this time. And I appreciated that.”
“And?”
“And, what?”
“What happened afterward?”
“He left me standing in front of that beige house. I kept calling his name, over and over again. But he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t turn around. He just kept on walking up the street towards this bodega we frequented...without me…”
We hadn’t resumed our usual forms of communication since she cut the video call short Tuesday morning.
Whether accidentally or purposefully my calls during the dismal forty-minute plane ride were ignored and sent directly to voicemail, causing me to dread heading to Vegas altogether.
Bria, my parents, and two of my cornermen were either bracing themselves for all that awaited us in a matter of hours or busying themselves with their phones through the uneventful travel. Craig, on the other hand, decided to peruse the swank loaner the chairman of the Showtime network had given us access to so we could ‘ride in style’.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
“Impressive jet,” Craig murmured, adjusting his seat, “Do you have any idea how much this bad boy runs for? Just guess.”
“I don’t know, maybe forty mill’.”
“Close, but no cigar.” He retained an inward laugh. “Sixty-five, and that doesn’t include maintenance, kid. That Kyser fella at the network told me that yesterday. Could you believe that? Spending almost a hundred millions dollars on a goddamn private plane? These people are bat-shit crazy, I tell ya.” Craig let out a deep, raspy chuckle; the whites of his eyes disappearing when his eyes narrowed into thin slits. “So where ya flying to after this? Victoria wants me to go with her on her family vacation this year. He sounded as shocked to say it as I was to hear it. Though they’d grown closer over the years for the sake of Madison’s upbringing, Vickie and Craig were a bit estranged. There were no or ill feelings or bad blood between them, as far I knew, but unless it was a birthday or around the time of the holidays, they hardly kept in touch. “You ever been to Aruba?”
“Not yet.”
“Me neither. Apparently, that’s where her, the hubby, and little Maddie are going -- where they want me to go. That little prick she’s married to --”
“Language, Craig!” My mother blurted out, lifting the satin mask up from around her eyes.
With a push of a button, Craig sat upright in the plush leather recliner; his elbows grazing the small table between us. “That little prick she’s married to rented out this villa in the northern area of the island.”
“You going?”
“Damn right I’m going. There’s a casino not too far from there.” He guffawed. His boisterous burst of laughter settled within seconds. “What about you? Where do you plan on going once this thing is finished and over with?”
I had no intention of fleeing out of the country for a week-long vacation this time around. My sole intent was to meet back up with Tarin.
That is if she ever answered my calls.
After arriving at McCarran International Airport, the seven of us dispersed into two separate vehicles. Bria, our parents, and I packed into an SUV parked closest to the hangar while Craig and two of the cornermen rode with security personnel to locate the other service car. Once nestled inside the silent black Chevy Suburban, my mother and Bria ensued with aimless conversation as my father listened on, adding in his two cents to let them both know he was paying attention. They attempted to include me in the comical banter by questioning whether or not I was still plagued by the same pre-match jitters I had as an amateur, but I refrained from answering due to the fact that my mind was on other things.
Without putting forth much effort, my hand patted along the seat, searching for the cobalt blue encased smartphone and idly checked Tarin’s social media activity.
She may not have been acquainted with social media prior to becoming Cara Santos’ apprentice but her online following increased in the matter of a few weeks. Part of it having to do with her association to Cara Santos, but most of it having to do with her professionalism and execution. On Monday she revealed the alias of her newest client; a child actor turned crossover crooner by the name of Haneef Parker. The masses, women generally, were enthralled by him and his singing abilities for as long as I could remember. Since childhood Smith had been in the spotlight, gaining moderate success from the various TV-sitcoms he starred in. He managed to strike gold in the music industry after signing a lucrative recording contract with a major label.
He was like a teen idol a decade go, Tarin brought up during her instance of fangirling. With high regard, she mentioned the copies of his albums she had in her possession, the J-14 posters taped onto her bedroom walls and the college-ruled notebooks marked up with the playful moniker ‘Mrs. Smith’ on them. I had it bad back then. He used to perform on 106 & Park all the time but Marjani’s parents would never let her go to Harlem without any supervision. We came pretty close to sneaking off one time, but we were never successful.
Of all the women Smith was linked to -- talented songstresses with whom he collaborated with, ditzy socialites the media often linked him to, and the frequently exposed video models who threatened to expose him on Twitter -- he ended up settling down with a registered nurse from his hometown.
Him and his girl are expecting, Tarin spoke lowly into the phone as if she weren’t within the confines of her own apartment. She mentioned how fortunate the opportunity was on account of him finding out about her through Instagram’s Discover tab.
Realizing Tarin hadn’t been active on social media since our last interaction, I proceeded to stuff my phone back into my pocket.
“Trouble in paradise?” Bria queried, lifting up her massive sunglasses for dramatic effect.
“What?”
“I watched you call the same number three times while we were on the tarmac.” She mentioned, reaching inside her knapsack’s unzipped compartment, retrieving a handheld mirror. The sight of her using holding the regal-esque mirror just to slab another layer of lipstick. “And now you’re scrolling down Tarin’s Twitter page like a stalker.”
“I’m not stalking her,” I made clear, “I’m worried. There’s a difference.”
“Worried my fucking ass.”
“Bria!”
All eyes darted towards the front of the truck. Seated beside my father who happened to be entirely engrossed with finishing the final pages of Nigger: An Autobiography of Dick Gregory, my mother mussed with her bangs angrily.
“What ma?” Bria peered over at her.
Raising an eyebrow, mother raised her hand, wagging her finger as she did. “Don’t be cussin’ in front of me! You know better than that.”
“Your mother’s right. Show some respect, Bria.” My father chimed in, pushing the e-reader aside.
“Sorry,” Bria said apologetically before turning to me. “You’re still a creep.”
“How exactly does this translate into me being a creep? By all means, let me know.”
“What you should be focused on is tonight’s final weigh-in. You have a lot riding on tomorrow’s fight, son.”
“And I’m aware of that, pops”
“Act like it, then.”
For the remainder of the commute to MGM Grand located right on the Las Vegas Strip.
As if it were her very first time experiencing the wacky Elvis Presley impersonators donning differentiating versions of the infamous studded jumpsuit or the old folks peddling off the shuttle buses and hurrying for the casinos.
“Act like you’ve been somewhere, please.”
She waited until my parents were mere feet away before advising me to ‘pull the stick out of my ass’.
Courtesy of the networks close relationship with the hotel, the family, Craig, the cornermen, and I were provided complimentary rooms of our choosing for the duration of our stay. Staying throughout the entire weekend wasn’t in the cads for Bria and my parents, being that they were heading back to their home in Florida Monday morning. With the assistance of a hotel staff member, the three of them were led through the main entrance. Craig and the cornermen followed close behind as bellhops unloaded every bag from the service trucks.
By the main entrance, a lone woman stood nearby equipped with a clipboard, extending her hand to acknowledge me. “Mr. Dawson, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Valerie,” She pushed her glasses upward by the bridge as they grooved down, “and I will be making sure your stay here at MGM Grand Las Vegas will be a remarkable one. I’m aware that you frequent the hotel quite often but it’s been brought to my attention that you’ve never visited our diversions.”
“I can’t say that I have, Valerie,” I answered truthfully. Aside from the matches being based out in Nevada and a few last minute meetings held inside of a restaurant or two, sticking around in the city of sin just wasn’t my thing. After matches, I allowed my body time to decompress and checked out at dawn.
“Well, If you’d like to reserve the best table at any of our ten restaurants or acquire tickets to any show of your choosing, please do not hesitate to call the skylofts’ private lobby and ask for me personally.” She said, pressing her hand against my back. “Now, if you don’t mind, the head of hotel security would like to escort you through the VIP lounge. There, the three of us will take a private elevator to your loft where we can check you in.”
I figured the extraordinary service I was currently experiencing was due to executives at the network pulling out all the stops to make sure the networks and I were all on the same page.
I’d be a fool to believe there wasn’t a proposal of a potential partnership in some capacity impending.
In the skyloft, at the elaborate dining room table complemented by chairs draped in yellow fabric, Valerie walked me through the hotel’s preliminaries and procedures; a document that I’d signed many times before. “If you’ll just sign right here and here, Mr. Dawson.” Valerie pointed to the bottom of the document. She leaned over the table’s edge. The deep V-neckline shifted, unintentionally granting me unwarranted peaks of her lacy bra.  “Alrighty then. Here is your keycard.”
“I was never good at keeping up with keycards.”
She rested her hand on my shoulder but slowly pulled it away. “In case you happen to misplace your room’s keycard, a staff member will be happy to help you recover another one.” I nodded, indicated that I had heard her. We sat in a prolonged silence until Valerie the concierge took the hint that I wanted to be alone. Grabbing her clipboard along with the preliminary and procedures document she made a beeline for the door, muttering ‘good luck tomorrow night’ prior to closing the loft’s door.
My mind ran rampant.
Not with thoughts of tomorrow night or what I intended to do once I headed back to California.
At the forefront of my mind remained thoughts of Tarin and the longing for her to alright with whatever she was up to.
TARIN
Roberta Flack’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love” poured in through the recording studio’s powered speakers connected to a white oak turntable.
Records suited in tethered jackets remained scattered across the state of the art soundboard; audio from the likes of Teddy Pendergrass and Donny Hathaway were two of the few I’d been able to identify from their covers alone.
My time was limited, I reminded Haneef once obliging to meet at the last minute.
Considering that evening was steadily approaching and my hunger was getting the best of me, I still found time to schedule a last-minute meeting with Haneef Parker to come to a general agreement about the event, its budget, and the non-negotiable commission percentage I expected for my services.
“Could you tell me a little about -- I’m sorry. What’s the mother of your child’s name again?” I queried. The fact that she wasn’t famous was making it all the more difficult to remember her name.
“Marissa,” He answered quickly as he sorted through a crate containing hordes of records. D’Angelo’s Voodoo album had been pulled out and placed over Bilal’s 1st Born Second and Erykah Badu’s Mama’s Gun.
A boyish grin tugged at the corner of his mouth; one that instantly put me in the mind of the one he sported on the cover of Essence’s annual Men’s Issue.
He scooted back in the swivel chair, lifting the turntable’s needle carefully before swapping the Roberta Flack record for D’Angelo’s.
The opening track was slow and taking its time to build up with a succession of hand claps and layered vocals, luring me to sway along to the song infused with jazz and funk.
“You like that?” He inquired, his voice low.
“It’s easy on the ears.” A moderate screech hollowed out the song Haneef referred to as “Playa Playa”. “Drawing inspiration, by any chance?”
He twiddled his thumbs. “Every now and again I always seem to hit a dead end. It never fails.That’s when I take a breather and dig in the crates. Creatively I’m burned out. My mind’s on other things.”
“You’re about to be a father. It’s be expected that music isn’t your main focus.”
His mouth hung slightly ajar in an attempt to form some sort of rebuttal, but he paused, looking to be in deep thought as he bopped his head to the beat of “Devil’s Pie”. Rather than giving forth an audible answer, Haneef nodded his head in agreeance.
“I’ve always wondered whether men freak out over parenthood as much as women do.”
“I can’t speak for all men, but I’m a lil’ nervous. I ain’t gonna front.” Haneef admitted, running his hand down the length of the fitted, distressed jeans he donned.
“The fear will go away. Trust me.”
“How you know? You’re speakin’ like you know. Like --”
“-- I’ve been where you are. Well, not exactly where you are. You’re a multi-millionaire having his first child in his late twenties. I’m not saying I was when I had my kid, but I didn’t have a ton of cash at my disposal, either..”
“Wait. You have a kid?”
I nodded.
“You lyin’!”
“No, I’m not. I’m serious!”
“Bullshit,” His laughter came out a low, gruff roar, “you can’t be no older than --”
“-- I had her young.” I retorted without thinking much of the revelation. I turned forward, taking in the isolated room ahead equipped with bass drums, a microphone, and an electric guitar. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The same way your child will be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. And despite the fame, the money, and all your accolades, they will be your greatest accomplishment ever. Enough of all that, though. By any chance, do you have a theme in mind?”
“Nah.”
“What about a color scheme?”
“Nah.” He repeated.
“Do you know what you’re having?”
“Nah Rissa,” He called her for short, “wanted the baby’s gender to be a surprise.”
“Haneef,” I huffed, “Haneef. You’ve got to give me something to work with here. Something.” I stressed, easing my back against the chair. “Now, since the baby’s gender is unknown, it’d be best if we stick to a gender neutral color scheme. This leads me to ask you whether you’d be content with the use of yellow.”
““I’m not put off to it being used’.”
“Alright. Yellow is a possibility.” I nodded. “How about I look into some potential venues and follow up with you sometime next week? If you’re available we could schedule another meeting Monday morning.”
“Tomorrow’s my only free day.” He mentioned.
“Eh, tomorrow’s no good for me.” I spoke sheepishly, “I’m gonna be outta town.”
“After tomorrow I will be, too.” Haneef expressed with a head nod. “I’ma be in Miami until next week doing a few intimate shows. From an artist’s standpoint, I haven’t garnered enough attention leading up to the release of this album --”
“Which is why you’ve considered doing these performances.”
“See, you get it.” Haneef scooted in the chair up to the soundboard, carelessly fiddling with the buttons and knobs. “My management said those bastards at the label want me to put forth a bit more effort this go around. I’m booked all month for radio interviews and segments for morning talk shows. They even got me doing those interactive Q&A’s with the fans so I could seem more attainable.”
“You have to put in more of an effort now than you’ve probably had to before. I’m no music industry guru that knows all the ins and outs of the biz but album sales are definitely not as high as they used to be. You had it pretty easy back in the day, Haneef. You were the sangin’ pretty boy with the big hazel eyes --”
“'Was the sangin’ pretty boy’?" He scoffed. "I still am!”
I pursed my lips together, fighting the urge to tell him he’d handed over the title of reigning supreme the moment he decided to chase musical fads and cross over. A former label A&R and longtime mentor of Haneef introduced him to a duo of producers responsible for the reemergence of EDM in mainstream music. Working with two of the hottest producers of the moment earned Haneef concurrent chart-topping hits and favorable co-signs from the mediocre pop stars who conquered radio airplay day in and day out.
No longer was he the Haneef Parker record executives pitted against other rivaling act, nor was he the same Haneef Parker who critics regarded in the same class as the talented luminaries who had come before him. On the heels of his crossover success music aficionados referred to the R&B golden child as nothing more than a sellout who sacrificed true artistry for mass-notoriety; a man who disregarded his core audience.
I took a moment to ponder how I could break the silence that loomed over us, witnessing him looking at me with intent the moment my stare drifted to the True Believer tattoo cascading down his right forearm.
Either the bold marking was a new addition to the throng already coating his arms, torso, and legs or I was officially disinterested with all minor things Haneef Parker; the latter rang true the longer the singer and I occupied the same space.
“Um. So...conference call it is, then. And if I can’t get a hold you that way, I will send photos of venues within the budget directly to your email.”
“Damn. You on it, ain’t you?”
“It’s pretty much essential to be.”
Reaching for the slouchy tote bag that had been grazing my exposed ankles, I rose from the swivel chair, stopping per Haneef’s request; his rendition of the Roberta Flack record he played previously.
“Couldn’t let you leave without hearing his version.” His hand fell to the knobs again, feathery croons matching the tone of D’Angelo’s tone fluttered into the air as Haneef sung along, merging with the track’s infectious bass.
“I like this one, too.” I murmured as the studio’s door opened. I assessed the group of people; a collective of both men and women, passing through the entryway, dispersed into groups and occupied the two leather couches. A man holding a guitar case ambled towards Haneef and proceeded to give him dap before inquiring about the audio engineer scheduled to be present for the session. As they engaged in conversation, and the trio of women behind me began belting out rehearsed verses they’d read off sheets of papers, I bid my farewell to Haneef and slipped out the studio.
It was nearing six when I finally arrived home.
Silence greeted me on the way inside the darkened apartment.
Traces of Ayla were present throughout the furnished space complemented by teal or orange decorative accents. Small shoes idled the cubby space by the door. In the living room, toys that she failed to put away as well as a box of misplaced crayons and a coloring book rested atop the coffee table. Releasing a huff, I tossed my bag and keys on the bare kitchen island in passing and proceeded to gather her belongings and return them to their rightful spots.
Before peeling off the frayed denim dress and slipping out of the mahogany rose Vans I hurried to hook my phone up to the charger port plugged in beside my nightstand, dreading to reply back to the inquisitive text messages from Marjani that I’d already skimmed over or hearing the voicemails Mama Sarah had left prior to my phone dying while on the way to meet with Haneef. With the dress puddled at my feet, I shrugged out my bra and shimmied out of the matching hip-riding panties, making a beeline for the master bathroom soon after. A backpack containing a change of clothes, travel size toiletries, and an alternate satin scarf hung above a change of comfortable shoes that were lined neatly against the bathroom’s wall.
I doubled back into the bedroom simultaneous to a resounding blare emitting from my cell phone. I figured it would be Mama Sarah calling to coax me out of leaving tomorrow afternoon, but I was wrong.
For what seemed like an eternity I watched my cellphone continuously dance from left to right and back again on the nightstand, a zoomed-in picture I’d screenshot one night during a facetime call appeared before a notification stating that Hill had left a voicemail, popped up. I contemplated on calling back but decided against doing so.
As soon as the voice on the other end greeted me the plan itself would be botched.
I had to remain focus and act accordingly.
Bria and Vickie would have my ass if I didn’t.
****
I was in over my head.
I’d come to that realization thirty-thousand feet in the air.
The flight scheduled for two remained stagnant on the runway due to the pilot being a no-show.
My mind instantly resorted to the worst.
Perhaps he was at someone’s bar getting sloshed prior to risking the lives of all the passengers or cooped up in a private bathroom somewhere snorting bumps of coke off a bathroom counter. As if harping on that horrific possibility wasn’t troubling enough, I grew frantic from feeling every erratic motion the alternate pilot who’d been assigned to fly the plane at the last minute determined was turbulence.
In a matter of minutes, I’d lost feeling in my limbs. The violent churning in my stomach commenced when the short-haired Asian woman sitting beside me commanded my attention. Since accidentally bumping into each other during my frequent trips to the bathroom, she’d been itching to start up a conversation. On more than occasion, I’d caught staring at me out the corner of my eye. I couldn’t even browse through Twitter in peace without spotting her take unwarranted peeks at my phone’s screen.
Heaving a heavy sigh I shifted against the window, closing the application after retweeting photos Cheyenne had uploaded from the recent nail polish launch onto CS Event Planning & Productions’ user account.
*Nervous?” The woman sitting beside me spoke up. With the hand that wasn’t cradling the latest issue of The New Yorker, she brought it upward to toy with her blunt ends. In contrast to her pale skin, her hair was dyed blue-black which complemented the reddish brown matte color staining her round lips.
She didn’t bother waiting for an answer.
It was as if she’d picked up on my timidness.
I mean, we were sitting directly next to each other.
“Relax. Sit back, and breath. Ditching the caffeine always helps too.” She nodded in the direction of the venti ice coffee cup that was now empty.
“This is my first time flying.”
“Shocking,” the woman muttered, laughing a little.
****
Often I wondered how it would be to see him again. To share his presence. To succumb to that familiar embrace and settle against his chest as his arms enclosed around me. He’d left an impression on me long before this moment. Long before our dinner at Buddakan. Long before our heated kiss at the bar. I wanted him more than I’d led on. More than I had ever predicted if I was being honest with myself. The wracking emptiness that lingered within me due to our purposeful strain in communication, attested to my developing sentiments. That, and the fact that I’d left my obligations in New York behind to simply be alone with this man for a few hours.
With the help of Bria snagging Hill’s keycard out of his pants’ pocket when he changed into his match attire, I entered the swank loft suite moments after the third round began. A series of alarming text messages and corresponding voice notes from Victoria stating that the fight had come to an end when Hill’s gloved fist connected with his opponent’s jaw, idled my notifications.
By unanimous decision, Hill had defeated his opponent by way of knockout.
Sports journalists wasted no time rushing to various social media platforms to discuss the bout that lasted four rounds.
In an attempt to allay the nerves afflicting me throughout the excruciating wait, I passed through the beautifully decorated suite more than once, finding myself in awe of the art bedecking the walls of the sitting area. Atop a checkerboard carpet positioned by the floor to ceiling windows was low-lying furniture paired with intricate additions of red and oranges. Hues of creams and browns were used avidly throughout the bedroom and master bathroom. Per Bria’s rather rigid request, every touchscreen tablet control panels were left untouched being that Hill hadn’t yet altered the settings himself.
When perusing every inch of the suite began to bore me I retreated to the ottoman positioned against the bed’s footboard. With my phone as my sole source of entertainment, I scrolled through my Twitter feed and stumbled upon a link to the post-match press conference. Both Hill and his opponent stood at adjacent podiums with their respected trainers behind them. It took an hour and a half for them to get through every question members of the press had asked, most of which were recycled inquiries concerning their training regimens, their diets, and each side’s honest opinion of the other. Much to my disappointment, the distorted live-stream was cut short just as Hill uttered a heartfelt expression of gratitude to Craig.
With haste, I sent a series of text messages to Jani with whom I failed to respond to earlier on account of being escorted to a black Chevrolet by a driver Victoria arranged to meet me at the airport. Our conversation that consisted of her urging me to let loose while in the city of sin placated momentarily until the commotion filled the air, followed by the opening and closing of the door downstairs. Instinctively, I shot to my feet; a voice belonging to Bria Dawson approached and grew closer as footsteps padded up the stairs.
“You have your own room for a reason, Bria.”
“I’m aware of that,” she scoffed, “I wanted to use the bathroom.”
“There’s a bathroom downstairs. It’s right by the door.”
“Why do I have to use that bathroom? Am I not good enough to use the one up here?”
“Look, I’m not about to argue with you about no stupid shit. I’d appreciate it if you’d go back to your room --”
With a slight push, the bedroom door swung open, unveiling a stoic Hill standing in its entryway. His eyes drifting from me to Bria; doubt present in his expression.
Grinning, I muttered a low ‘surprise’, receiving a boyish grin I’ve had the longing to witness face to face since his previous stay in New York.
Standing before both Hill and me in a satin top and matching wide-legged pants the color of champagne, Bria’s tongue ran across her top row of teeth; a triumphant look spread across her face.
I didn’t know whether to acknowledge her efforts with a comforting embrace or with an acknowledging head nod.
Coolly she strutted to me, her oversized blazer draped over her shoulder, adding to the awe of her tantalizing gait. She oozed every bit of confidence. Everything I wished I was at nineteen. “Well, Tarin, I have to hand it to you,” her breaths jagged, “I’ll be the first to admit that when Victoria ran the plan by me I wasn’t too sure you’d be able to pull off ignoring my idiot brother until the weekend. I figured you were just as sprung over him as he is over you. But, you stuck with the plan. Good job, girl!  Mission a-damn-complished!”
“It was the easiest task.” I confessed, my eyes meeting Hill’s once again. He pressed his lips into a fine line, dropping a large Under Armour duffle on the swing-back armchair. He moseyed in more, skirting by Bria who stood just mere inches from me.
Her glossed lips parted into a goofy grin. Unrestrained laughter escaped her, settling once she took our non-verbal communication through fixed stare. “I’ll think I’ll be headin’ to the bathroom now.”
“And leaving afterward, I hope.”
“Do you see this Tarin? This the thanks I get for helping bring this plan to fruition. You’re an unappreciative ass, Hill. Where’s the gratitude? Where’s the appreciation? I’ve yet to hear a thank you!”
“Jesus Christ --”
“Thank you, Bria.” I butted in an attempt to keep the peace.
She shifted in her stance, elongating her right leg which showcased the nude strapless ankle-wrap sandals.
“I know you’re thankful,” forcefully, she nudged Hill right on his shoulder, “but I wanna hear this jackass say he is. He doesn’t seem to be!”
“Knowing you, a ‘thank you’ isn’t all you’re looking for.”
She snickered, “It it ever?” A series of pats were landed on Hill’s cheek prior to Bria making her way towards the bedroom’s door. “You owe me big for this one. We’ll talk later. Okay? Until then, have fun.”
Just as she was about to make her departure, Hill’s hand found its way to her shoulder, restricting her from moving any further. Without expressing words, he enveloped her in a hug from the side. At first, she tried shooing him away, but settled into the embrace, smiling although the moment was short-lived. Per Bria’s request, they separated, following up the endearing moment with an elaborate handshake consisting of two turns, three consecutive hi-fives, and a knuckle pound. Slips of laughter escaped me as I stood nearby witnessing the two siblings carry on lovingly as if they weren’t acting like a pair of bickering children moments ago. After she used the bathroom and Hill phoned hotel security to escort Bria to her room, he returned into the bedroom, discovering that I took a seat on the bed. He joined me; a hand rested on my thigh, putting me at ease.
“I’m usually not one for surprises.” He admitted lowly.
“I’m usually not good at keeping surprises. Anyone who knows me knows that I couldn’t keep a secret of this caliber. In the past, I tended to talk a secret right outta me.” I spoke faintly, reaching for his hand. His long, narrow fingers intertwined with mine. “I couldn’t ruin this one. I just couldn’t.”
His lips found their way to my neck, peppering my skin with kisses. I relaxed against his touch yet I desired nothing more than for his arms to surround me and for his lips to be on mine.
Fortunately for me, my earnest desire was met.
In seconds, his mouth collided with mine. His tongue slid inside, eliciting a stifled moan from me. Rather than gently running my hand up the side of his face, my left hand found its way to a spot just above his brow bone. The pads of my fingers traced over the thin, white bandage concealing a minor cut.
“How was the fight?” I asked in between fervent pecks.
“I won.” He retorted blankly, seeming somewhat disinterested in the topic.
“I know that.” I mentioned. “It doesn’t seem like you were hurt too bad.”
“You should see the other guy.” He responded, removing his lips from mine.
Impassioned kisses were left on my collarbone; the scent of sandalwood combined with another subtle manly scent wafted into my nose. My back came in contact with the sheets that felt expensive to the touch. He paused, assessing the ribbed hunter green mini dress that fit snug against my frame. At hem gathered at my thighs, Hill pushed the ribbed material up; a devilish smirk settled on his face upon realizing that I was pantiless, his grimace wholly manifesting into a look of mischief.
My dress was carelessly thrown to the floor.
The plunging triangle bra I donned was the next to be discarded after Hill’s struggled effort in unclasping the final row of hooks. Succeeding, he tossed the bra onto the armchair, basking in my naked frame and all its supposed glory. He regained footing when arising from the bed, unbuttoning each button stitched onto the mosaic-printed button-up he wore. He went on to remove his dark-wash jeans, but, I quickly shot up, wobbling on the heels I loathed wearing altogether.
“Let me.”
Somewhere in between Hill stepping out of his loafers and his belt producing an audible when his pants hit the floor, a ball of nerves flourished right in the pit of my stomach.
We stood before one another exposed. Face to face, chest to chest. “Hey. Hey,” he called out, halting me from any sudden movement, “we don’t have to --”
“But..I..want to.”
My hands aimlessly ran down his torso, patting over the deep-set grooves and contours of his abdominal muscles
We retreated to the bed, then.
I anticipated the moment our lips reunited.
For a moment I watched on with intent as he roughly parted my thighs. To his knees he sank and buried his head between my thighs, coaxing me to moan out his name. Nipping at my flesh as my thighs quivered -- tickling the smoothness of my thighs with his the minimal stubble coating his cheeks. Solace was found the moment I planted hand atop his head, raking my nails through the low heap of coarse locks he’d yet to trim off and down towards the scalp. A drawn out guttural mewl sputtered from my lips, prompting me to undulate my hips against his face.
I pushed further -- relentlessly, nearing the brink of my peak.
Goosebumps coated my fervent skin.
Shivers cascaded down my spine.
Warm tears settled at the lower rims of my eyes from the thought alone, thickening while they trickled down the sides of my face. Subsequent to removing his head that was recently situated between my legs, Hill rose from the bed and made a beeline for the slate grey sports duffle, leaving me aching for him; He searched through the two smaller compartments located on either side, retrieving a black leather wallet.
A condom or two -- perhaps maybe three rested inside the slip compartments.
“C’mere.”
Despite the sudden hoarseness detected in my voice, he happily obliged.
In quick movements he labored over me, gently caressing my cheek. With erratic haste, we eased down his boxer briefs together, only for him to rear back to rip one of the condom’s wrapping open. Our eyes locked shortly afterward. My expression was assessed for the slightest hint of hesitancy -- any inkling of uncertainty. Beats of silence pervaded the air thick of unspoken lust that became almost dire to be acted on.
“I want you.” His head lowered, granting me the opportunity to run my tongue over the fullness of his lips. “Do you want me?”
“Of course I want you.” Hill asserted firmly; the throbbing between my legs became unbearable the longer I continued to ache for him. “Of course I want you.”
The words reverberated into my skin. Within seconds, he was inside me, producing slow, marginal strokes that quickly progressed into deep thrusts. I panted his name until words were no longer comprehensible. My worrisome thoughts -- tasks that I knew had to be handled as soon as I landed back in New York, were subdued by warm breath cooing onto my skin. Repeated remarks of my beauty were made amidst struggled groans. Beneath him, I cursed and met his urgent movement with an eagerness of my own. My hips rose, prompting my thighs to anchor around his waist entirely. He reared back, supporting my trembling thigh as it started to ease down his torso; lust evident in the eyes of the man shuddering above me.
Curses bellowed from his parted lips, the very same succulent pair I latched onto and kissed tenderly, reaching the ascent to another climax. He plunged harder then, releasing a harsh, throaty groan onto my lips simultaneous to his body tensing up atop my quaking frame. I fastened my arms around him, asserting that I was unwilling to let him go.
In my grasp he stilled, his head resting on my breasts.
Still, plunged deep into my depths, his manhood pulsated.
“Don’t move. Stay right here.” I begged.
His large, taut hand ran over the tops of my breasts, kneading them softly until Hill decided to get off the bed and amble into the bathroom.
I rolled over, feeling the freest I’d felt in years.
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Text
CHAPTER 1//Let The Games Begin
Summary:
Atlas Shaye is an American exchange student joining Izuku and the others for their third and final year at UA.
She struggles to let go of her past, causing her to push away her classmates, isolating herself while battling depression and self harm. One day, her biggest fear comes true and she attempts suicide. During recovery, she realizes she must trust her newfound friends with her darkest secret in order to heal.
Things are finally looking up back at UA, that is, until a villain attack on the school. Working as a team, the students of class 3-A win the fight, but at a cost.
Unbeknownst to the heroes, the villains have a new interest in Atlas and her dangerous abilities. It's not long before the they are enacting a new plan, one that will change her life forever.
Can the people she loves rescue her before it's too late?
Or will she succumb to the darkness inside?
----------------------------------
TRIGGER WARNING:
Scenes/mentions of rape, self harm, suicide, mental illness, torture, and graphic violence.
×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
-ATLAS-
I take a shaky breath, staring up at the towering door in front of me. It's light grey with giant red letters that read 3-A.
I should go in. I should introduce myself to my new classmates. I should be excited to be enrolled in the best hero course in the world. I should be thrilled that I am the only foreign exchange student they allowed in.
But I'm not.
Instead, the icy fingers of anticipation have wrapped themselves around my stomach and are squeezing tight. I'm not worried about not being able to keep up with the heroes in training that are all waiting behind the door. I know I can hold my own against even Midoriya, Todoroki, or Bakugou. After watching them for the last two years in the sports festival and news footage of fights they have been involved in, I have all the proof I need that I could take them on. No, I'm not concerned about losing to any of them. I'm worried about hurting or killing them. I'm worried about controlling my quirk. I'm worried about having a repeat of two years ago.
I have to remind myself that I'm not here to make friends.
I'm the only exchange student that made it into the program. I have been training at the top American hero school, but nothing holds a candle to UA, so I jumped at the opportunity to complete my final year here. Besides, a fresh start where no one knows me, or what I did, is exactly what I've been craving.
I take a breath and steel myself. I grab the handle and slide the door open.
Shota Aizawa is standing at the front of the class. He is wearing his usual black shirt and pants, complete with his black and silver belt. His capture weapon and goggles are resting around his neck. He looks at me when I step into the room. Everything goes silent and I can sense twenty pairs of eyes staring at me, sizing me up. I'm sure they've all been informed of my arrival. It's uncommon for UA to accept any new student for the third year, especially an exchange student.
"Class, this is our new student." Mr. Aizawa drones. His tone is bored, but his eyes are locked onto me, not missing a thing. I guess they told him about the instability of my quirk. But in my defense, I've learned to control it now. My last major incident was two years ago. I turn my attention to the group of students before me. "Go ahead and introduce yourself." My teacher orders.
"My name is Atlas Shaye. You can call me Atlas. I'm an exchange student from America. My quirk is energy manipulation." I don't hesitate. I sweep my eyes over each of them, making eye contact with everyone individually. When I say the last sentence, I activate my quirk for only a second, allowing my usually grey eyes to flash blue at them. I try to make my face menacing. I see some of their eyes widen.
"Miss Shaye, your seat is the empty desk between Todoroki and Tokoyami. Please make your way there now. I was just going over the syllabus." Mr. Aizawa instructs. I obey, quickly sitting in the uncomfortable chair and turning my attention to the tall, dark haired man. "This year will be different than years previous. You will be broken up into groups and will be patrolling each week, making good use of your provisional hero licenses. Also, your training will be more intense than in years previous." His dark eyes land on me as he says his next sentences. "You will face the hardest challenges yet this year. Be prepared for a fight." I smirk, locking eyes with the man at the head of the class. If he's trying to scare me, it won't work. I'm ready for whatever the people around me can throw my way. They won't stand a chance. "You are all dismissed. You have lunch, then training with All Might and myself after. If you need me, I'll be taking a nap." He slings his yellow sleeping bag over his shoulder and walks out of the door, closing it behind him.
I sense all twenty pairs of eyes lock onto me again.
"Can I help you?" I stand, glancing around the room at my competition.
"Hi, I'm Midoriya!" I immediately find the boy. Of course I recognize his messy green hair and his freckles. Izuku is as friendly as I expected him to be. But I can't let them in close. The events of two years ago are still fresh in my mind. I have to keep these people at bay for their own safety.
"I don't recall asking for your name." I say, coldly. He stops in his tracks. I feel the tension around me build. I turn to address all of the others. "Let me make myself very clear: I am not here to make friends. There is nothing that any of you could offer me that I'm interested in. Save yourselves the trouble and leave me alone." I shoulder my backpack and push past the students gathered around me.
I stalk into the hallway, leaving my stunned peers behind me. I feel a heavy weight settle on my chest and my eyes start to burn, tears pricking at the corners. I roughly wipe them away.
The truth is that I want nothing more than to be friends with the students here. They're all amazing and talented heroes in training, but I would never forgive myself if I hurt any of them. I will not let them close enough to be caught in the crossfire should I lose control again.
I make my way to the cafeteria, where I sit alone at a table. My new classmates all give me a wide berth, avoiding me after my speech earlier. I feel relieved that they're heeding my advice.
×××
Lunch goes by quickly, and soon, it's time for training. I reach the classroom and take my seat before anyone else. I'm relaxed, waiting for the others to file back in. I notice that Tokoyami takes the long way back to his desk so he doesn't have to walk by me. That's fine by me. No one makes eye contact as they file in. Maybe my coldness towards Midoriya was all it took for them to know I mean business.
Everyone is seated and chatting among themselves when All Might bursts through the door. He's in his muscle form, grinning like he always does.
After his battle with All for One two years ago, everyone thought he was done being a hero. Then, his close friend David, who is the head scientist at I-Island, managed to create an implant that retained the power All Might had before the fight. It allows him to still work as a pro hero for limited amounts of time each day.
"You all look eager to train! Grab your outfits and change. Meet me at training center alpha." His deep voice booms. Everyone stands and makes their way to the wall where twenty one compartments have pushed out. All the cases are numbered. I grab mine, #21, and head to the locker rooms.
While the others are changing out in the open, I make my way to a stall. I am not ashamed of my body, but the scars lining my left arm are very obvious. Not to mention the fresh deep cuts that are only a few days old. I don't need everyone here knowing that I battle with self-harm and depression.
I step into the costume I brought from home, a paneled black bodysuit made of thick bullet resistant material. It comes with a utility belt where I keep my throwing blades that I use on occasion. It's long sleeved, but I never overheat while wearing it thanks to the high tech temperature regulating lining on the inside. The neck line stops halfway up my neck, and tucked inside is a face mask I can pull up over my mouth and nose in case of a gas attack. I complete my look with combat boots that come to rest midway up my shin. 
I leave the stall and find that the others are still changing, chatting happily with each other. Conversation ceases when they see me. I walk straight past them without a second glance and head out to where some of the guys are already milling around. I hang off to the right side, keeping to myself as the rest of the class joins us. All Might and Mr. Aizawa appear before us, scanning over our small group.
"I see that you are all here, good." All Might booms, his arms outstretched to our group. "Today's training is nothing like we've done before. You will be each going alone, playing the hero. We will allow you to pick a group of at least three of your peers that you want to face off against as your villains." He booms. An excited buzz spreads over the mass of students. I find myself smiling.
"There's a catch." Mr. Aizawa's voice is quiet, but it silences everyone almost immediately. "When you are playing the hero, you will be fitted with a quirk suppression collar. It is on a timer set for ten minutes. When the match starts, you will be left without your quirk until the timer goes off. This is to simulate the situation where you are outnumbered in a fight, but have used up all your power, or have had your quirk erased. Once the timer goes off, your quirk will be returned to you. If you are still standing by that point, then you will be allowed to finish the fight with your quirk. All Might and I will be watching each match. They will end when either the hero or the villains have been defeated, or fifteen minutes pass." He pulls eye drops out of one of his pockets as he finishes and applies them to each eye.
"Aoyama is up first. Do you know who you want to face?" All Might beams. The flamboyant blonde boy smiles, fluffing his sparkling purple cape.
"I want to face Mineta, Shouji, and Asui." He chirps as Mr. Aizawa fits the suppression collar around his neck.
"I told you," The frog girl grumbles, "To call me Tsu."
"Make your way to the city center. That's where you'll be fighting." Mr. Aizawa sounds bored again. As a group, we start towards a towering force field spanning five city blocks from one end to the other. The first group heads through the opening of the force field, while the rest of us head to a nearby building to watch the match in a room with a large screen along one wall. All the camera bots in the training center are broadcasting every possible angle and insure that we won't miss a thing.
"Alright, Aoyama. The timer starts now. You may begin!" All Might speaks into a a microphone that transmits into the arena.
We watch in varying degrees of interest as the battle begins.
Aoyama is at a severe disadvantage against his opponents. Shouji makes the first move, quickly rushing the caped boy, who is running for the nearby building. It appears that he's going to make it, when Tsu drops in his path, blocking the entrance to the building. Aoyama turns to run out of the way of the two heroes, but finds that he can't move, thanks to one of Mineta's sticky balls holding his foot in place. We watch the trapped hero struggle to no avail. Shouji attaches the handcuffs given to him by Mr. Aizawa to each of Aoyama's wrists. All Might calls the match.
A low rumble spreads through the room, the students realizing that this will not be an easy win. Aoyama didn't even last the first 10 minutes.
I can't help the smile that plays on my lips. I know I can win this even without my quirk. I feel someone staring at me and look up to find Mr. Aizawa's dark eyes studying me intensely. I drop my head, ignoring his sharp gaze.
The matches carry on like that for a while-most of the heroes don't make it until the timer goes off to get their quirks back. Some of the students, like Midoriya and Bakugou, actually win their fights. It's interesting to see where my peers' weaknesses lie. I take mental notes after each fight.
Then, it's my turn.
All eyes are on me as I size up the class. Every single student is still conscious and able to fight. I smile darkly. They are going to hate me after this. I can't wait.
"Tell me, young Atlas, have you picked your opponents?" All Might asks. Mr. Aizawa is watching me warily.
"I have, Sir." I announce. Some of the students share apprehensive glances between them. Others glare at me, almost like they're daring me to say their names.
"I think we all are looking forward to hearing your choices." He beams. I sweep my eyes over the group. I smile again.
"I have decided," I pause for effect and watch my classmates squirm. "that I want to fight every remaining student."
Silence spreads over the room. All Might is the first to recover.
"You want to fight...everyone? All twenty students? Are you sure about that?" His deep tone is surprised. I nod my head. Apprehension spreads through the room.
"Yes, I'm sure." I don't break eye contact with the giant man. His smile returns and his laugh booms through the small space.
"Very well, then. You will be fighting against all twenty of your peers." He declares. I nod again. The students I'll be facing don't waste any time and have formed a large huddle, obviously planning for the upcoming match.
Mr. Aizawa walks up behind me, suppression collar in hand. He stands behind me, fitting the device around my neck. He connects it at the base of my neck and sets the timer. His hand brushes my skin as he does so and a chill runs down my spine, though I'm not sure if it's from the collar or his touch.
"I'll be on the field for this match. Just in case." He informs me lowly. I can't decide if it's for the safety of my classmates or my own. I just nod, my mind rapidly forming a plan.
I look to the group still in a huddle before me.
"Well, are we going to fight or what?" I ask impatiently. They shift back into upright positions and stare at me. Midoriya steps forward.
"You're on."
I grin. Let the games begin.
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thebibliomancer · 6 years
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Essential Avengers: Avengers #153: “Home is the Hero!”
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November, 1976
Since I’m typing this while sick, I can’t really figure out if that title makes no sense or what. I know all the words but in that order its like whaaaaat.
There’s actually a number of things going on here that don’t really mesh well with ill loopiness.
But first, the cover.
The Avengers sure are getting their asses kicked by an elderly man with heart troubles.
Earth’s Mightiest Heroes!
Actually its kind of weird how easy it is to solo the Avengers if the plot says so. Grim Reaper managed it. The Whizzer is managing it. Orka, the man dressed as the whale that isn’t a whale managed it. Ant-Man will manage it soon. They’re kind of a paper tiger sometimes. Just crumbling before the right single individual.
But its hard to come out with a fresh new story every month, probably.
Also, Jack Kirby cover! And tiny judgemental Vision has changed his pose! It truly is a brand new day!
Anyway.
We start off with Scarlet Witch flying towards the ruins of the Brand Corporation.
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Right off the bat, something is amiss.
Scarlet Witch cannot usually fly.
Apparently, this was later retconned as Wanda using an experimental “flying belt” which I guess she was wearing under her leotard. Not a strong early showing for the new creative team, I’ll tell you that.
I think the bare minimum for writing on a comic should be knowing the characters you’re going to be writing.
Although, y’know, its weird that the Avengers didn’t invest in experimental flying belts or flight rings or whatever for their non-flying members. It would save a heap of trouble and they have Tony Stark, right there.
Wonder Man gets a flight belt of sorts later but since its rocket powered and he can only use it because he has an invincible hiney, its not really suitable for the rest of the team.
So okay, Scarlet Witch has returned to the remains of the Brand Corporation which isn’t a crime scene or cordoned off or anything. Ffs, Marvel law enforcement.
When suddenly, a laser ZAMM!s her, causing her to plummet to the ground, her flight belt that she totally has shorted out or something.
Thinking quick, she turns the ground to water to soften her fall but she still gets the wind knocked out of her.
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She also happens to land right next to the Serpent Crown, which she is apparently here for. Maybe she’s still subconsciously manipulating probabilities because that’s dang lucky.
Or perhaps darn unlucky. She landed next to the thing but someone shot her out of the sky and after that fall, she’s in no shape to fight whoever is the laser wielding person.
Unsurprise, its the Living Laser.
He’s the worst.
Anyway, he takes his time to gloat about how cool he is. Y’know, just villain things.
But he’s here to take the Serpent Crown. A gaudy hat like that will go wonders with his garish outfit.
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How the hell did the Avengers just forget the artifact of doom that they stole from another world?!
Anyway, Living Laser is not like those other villains. Instead of leaving while the hero is helpless, he’s just going to kill her now on the off chance she might become a problem.
So something has to get in the way if his own stupidity won’t.
The Brand private army charges forward to attack Scarlet Witch, recognizing her as one of the Avengers that busted up the place.
Living Laser blasts some of them and then decides to completely forget about Scarlet Witch and laser teleport away. Thanks, laser inattentiveness!
Meanwhile, the rest of the Avengers return from New Orleans in the Quinjet, raising so many questions. Did Scarlet Witch fly all the way to New York with the experimental flying belt that she somehow got between issues? Why not just catch a ride most of the way with the Avengers since they were headed the same way?
This Is Something I Have To Do Myself is a cursed trope, constantly vexing me.
Anyway. The Avengers return. And have to go into their mansion through the back door because there’s still a big mob of lookie-loos and newspeeps at the front door. Even though Jarvis kicked them off the property last issue.
You need to work on your follow-through, Jarvis.
But here’s a thing: over the past several hours, Wonder Man’s heartbeat has been getting stronger. He’s coming back to life, maybe!
Oh and Jarvis shows up and implies why he didn’t finish tossing out the nosy mob. The Avengers had a guest show up while they were out and Jarvis deposited him in the sitting room to await their return.
Its Bob Frank, the Whizzer (But not the Squadron Sinisterpreme one. The All-Winners Squad and Liberty Legion one). And he specifically wants to see Vision.
Apparently the Whizzer disappeared after Quicksilver and Crystal’s wedding and Wanda and Vision worried after him. They even thought him dead. Not enough to ever bring it up or go searching for him on panel. But they were worried, on the inside.
But Whizzer didn’t come to wallow in self-pity or explain what he’s been up to. He’s come to check on Wanda, because of that broadcast that implied she might leave the Avengers. Remember? From #151?
Vision confides that Wanda temporarily left him and the Avengers the previous night on a journey of self-understanding and wishes to be alone.
And then someone shines a laser in Bob Frank’s eye and instead of going blind, all hell breaks loose.
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The Whizzer goes wild and BOM!s Vision. He also forgot who Vision was and what they were talking about.
Wouldn’t it be terrifying for someone with superpowers to get dementia?
That’s not going on here and frankly I’ll express my doubts at the ability of the Avengers book to handle the subject with the tact and respect required. But the thought occurred to me.
Thank god for sliding time scales, I guess.
Anyway, Vision was BOM!’d unconscious and Whizzer whizzes off as if searching for something.
But finds Captain America, Beast, and Iron Man, who came to investigate that BOM!.
Cap throws his mighty shield but Whizzer, he does not yield. I’m calling into question his patriotism.
Whizzer calls Cap Isbisa, accuses him of wanting to take over the world and then WHAM!s Iron Man hard while Beast cannonballs out of the way, spouting witticisms.
Cap tries to talk Whizzer down but Whizzer spins him right round until he corkscrews up and into the ceiling. Like. INTO the ceiling. As in, its a surprise Cap has any skull left.
And then we reach a short impasse of sorts. Whizzer is moving too fast for Beast to do much to. The guy is freaked out and apparently hypnotized to boot. But Beast is acrobatic enough that Whizzer is maybe too fast to catch him? If that makes sense?
So instead he uses brains. He runs at and bounces off the wall so hard that part of the ceiling collapses, burying Beast.
Quicksilver could learn a lot from this guy, as far as purposefully running into walls goes.
And with no one left to fight, Whizzer’s head clears a little. Its not the forties at all. And then he hears a buzzing and suddenly his head feels like its splitting apart from pain.
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And then he passes out.
Because apparently Yellowjacket and the Wasp had flown inside his ear and shot his ear drums.
Clever of them to not just join the fight and instead wait until everyone else got punched.
Eighteen minutes of off-screen action and the two size-changing heroes manage to scrape together the other three. Beast is conscripted to carry Whizzer to the lab.
Beast: “Since when was I elected donkey for this troop?”
Vision: “In many ways, you are our strongest member, Hank McCoy -- and thus, you may sometimes be unduly burdened.”
I call shenanigans on that. You’re just hazing the new guy, aren’t you?
But while everyone was either getting beaten up by the Whizzer or flying inside his ears, Wonder Man vanished. And not only that, someone wrecked up the lab where they left him.
It almost feels as if the whole thing with the Whizzer was some kind of distraction?
Anyway, Wonder Man stumbles out the side exit of the mansion because its a mansion and can have more than two exists. And some of the lookie-loos spot him and recognize him as Wonder Man.
They immediately get right up in his personal space, grabbing at him and begging for souvenirs.
And Simon Williams, aka Wonder Man, is not really up to speed yet. He’s running in safe mode, as it were. Because he acts on instinct to being mobbed and smacks away the crowd and then absconds.
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And the narration notes that at this point he’s almost moving like a normal living person, with none of the stiffness of a zuvembie. Also, gone is the blank expressionless stare ALTHOUGH HOW YOU COULD TELL THAT THROUGH THE VISOR IS BEYOND ME, CREATIVE TEAM.
So, yeah. Remember how we left Scarlet Witch at Brand?
Yeah, she’s still there. And still being accosted by the Brand private army that doesn’t know that their bosses have all been arrested and they are probably unemployed.
She doesn’t even bother telling them either. Just dismisses them as frozen in blind obedience and immediately starts scarlet witching at them.
And then becomes frightened of the violence that her powers can cause, which seems like a step back for her, possibly. Not the sort of way her character was going under Englehart, is the feeling I get. Where she ripped a meteor from heaven and exulted in it. And now she gets frightened because she made the ground shake a little.
Oh, and then she gets shot.
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One of the Brand punks she knocked down was playing possum, grabbed a gun and managed to get her in the shoulder.
Scarlet Witch decides to leave this pointless fight and warn the Avengers about the Living Laser and the Serpent Crown.
Now back to Wonder Man, already in progress.
The resurrected or whatever Wonder Man has been wandering the streets of Yorktown but finds himself drawn to a bright light down a particular street.
And a figure appears in that bright light.
AHHHHHH WONDER MAN IS BEING ABDUCTED BY ALIENS!
Oh. Oh. No, its Living Laser.
Anyway, he says he mentally commanded Wonder Man to come here to become his slave. And he also shot the Whizzer to hallucinate that the Avengers were enemies by shooting him in the eye with a laser. Which presumably was a distraction so that he could mentally command Wonder Man to wreck the lab and leave the mansion.
It’s all coming together.
Living Laser now has improved laser powers (possibly even laser willpower), the Serpent Crown, and Wonder Man as muscle.
Oh and Living Laser wasn’t the one who resurrected Wonder Man either. He considers it an unimportant mystery that might amuse him to solve one day.
We getting a lot of red herrings on our way through this mystery.
So while Living Laser proceeds with another brilliant part of his master plan of awesomeness, he commands Wonder Man to seek out and destroy the Avengers!
If they’re fighting and being killed by Wonder Man, they can’t interfere. Its genius.
And Wonder Man agrees.
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“THE AVENGERS MUST BE DESTROYED!”
Geez. Think for yourself you holly jolly idiot.
We have a letters column again this time. Do people care about the letters column from decades ago? I kind of find it interesting in a pinhole snapshot kind of way.
Someone complains about the amount of reprinted material in #150, which I’m right there for. Another person complains about taking Thor out of the Avengers saying they wouldn’t be the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes without him (the Kooky Quartet weeps), instead suggesting that a character who hasn’t been in the line-up so long be removed. Which would be... probably only Beast? Everyone else has been around a long time, even during times when Thor was off the team.
Whoever answers these letters invites readers to send in their opinions for a Thor vs No Thor poll. Might be interesting, if its included in the Marvel Unlimited version.
Next time: this story concludes in a Giant-Size Avengers. Give all your money to Marvel. Consume. Obey. Obey the Serpent Crown.
Follow @essential-avengers. It exists.
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aspooookystory · 4 years
Text
Reclaimed, part 3
Burton began to see them almost immediately after breaking ground for the house. They always appeared as a group, looking like extras in a zombie movie, except of course much worse because only Burton seemed to be able to see them and it wasn’t a movie. There were about 40 of them, always standing down close to the lake, next to the treeline separating Burton and Monica’s hard-won property from the neighbor’s yard. They stood and watched, or whatever passes for watching when you don’t have eyes. Their clothes were rags. White bone glinted in the sun. Whenever they appeared, Burton could smell them. Not decomposing flesh, but dust. The inside of a long-closed box.
Always in the front of the group was the drowned woman with her baby, or what he guessed was once her baby. She clutched a cloth bundle to what was left of her chest.
Burton did not know what they wanted, or told himself he did not know. He thought of them as he thought of every obstacle in his life: something to get out of the way. In his office at the big white house he googled things like restless spirits and disturbed grave apparitions but this never led him anywhere sensible, just a jumble of old badly coded websites about haunted houses and urban legends. Burton shook his head, irritated. He either needed them to go away or to be explained. Maybe they would leave when the house was finished? Were they confused? Burton pictured himself walking out to their position near the treeline, explaining what had happened, them jostling their partially exposed skulls to show they understood before shuffling off to the outskirts of town and laying down in their new graves. 
One day, finally, it was all done. The house was remarkable, even among other castles built by other millionaires. It looked like a sea captain’s house: cedar shake, a turret, a widow’s walk along the very top, laced with wrought iron. Every detail thrilled Burton, and if Monica seemed underwhelmed, Burton didn’t think much of it. He could rest at last, having achieved this pinnacle thing, the great dream of his life, the big house with the lake view that everyone wanted and that he’d fought so hard to win.
After they moved in, though, Burton was not able to rest. The people, or what remained of them anyway, had not gone away. They still appeared to him, day and night now, and unless Burton was really losing his mind they seemed to be growing impatient. They were no longer content to huddle by the treeline near the shore. Sometimes they were as close as the deck around the pool. Burton started to feel afraid, because he recognized something in them, rolling off them like that dusty stench: they wanted something.
***
Monica succumbed almost right away. Burton hadn’t been paying much attention to her, all his time had been spent fighting with people and then dealing with the architect and the contractor and the landscapers. One night he finished up some work in his office, a heavily paneled room with a fireplace and expansive view of the lake, and went upstairs with two glasses of wine, looking for his wife. Monica was curled on the settee in their master bedroom, an open book turned face down on her lap, her hand curled over it as if she’d stopped to gaze out at the lake. He called to her, said he’d brought wine, but she continued staring straight ahead, and Burton really looked at her for the first time in months. She waved away the wine, her eyes dull, skin dry and loose.
Over the next week, Monica worsened quickly. She cried, mournfully, and seemed in the grip of a despair that she could not articulate. She didn’t want to see a doctor, didn’t want to eat or shop or read. Burton began to notice the smell. He wondered if she was sick, if something was eating her from the inside out, because some part of her, it must be said, seemed to be rotting. He felt panic, possibly for the first time in his life. Monica was frightened, too, and then purely terrified, unable even to sleep.
One morning, Burton woke up and realized that Monica was not in bed next to him. At first, he hoped this was a good sign, that she was feeling better and had gotten up for a shower or some tea, or just to read in the settee with the beautiful view, a favorite pastime of hers. He got out of bed and found her there, on the settee, sitting slumped over to one side, staring blankly at nothing and quite dead.
She looked terrible, as though she’d been dead for some time. Had she? Been dead for a while? Burton’s thoughts ran around madly inside his head. He looked again at Monica, her eyes fixed and glassy. Burton despaired at the thought of touching her, but he desperately wanted her to stop looking at him, so he reached out a trembling hand to close her eyelids as he’d seen in movies. 
What could he do? If he called an ambulance, what would he say? My wife seems to have died in the night. Well, that was putting it mildly. She had clearly been dead for days, Burton had been living with a zombie, which he absolutely could not tell anyone and be taken seriously. There would be questions. Interruptions. People would interfere, want him to answer questions he could not. He thought of waiting until night, carrying her outside, dropping her into the lake, but she’d be found. He could bury her somewhere? He did, after all, own a cemetery. But that would be noticed, him in his private cemetery late at night, digging. He wouldn’t let himself google anything. Too risky, don’t do anything that could be used as evidence, even though he hadn’t done anything, not really. 
After dark, Burton opened the extra-long sliding door on the back of the house, the one that was meant to provide the joys of indoor-outdoor living. He needed air, but instead of a fresh lake breeze, he smelled them: dust. He looked out to the tree line, could see them massed in their usual spot. Wordlessly Burton went back in the house, gathered his wife’s body up in the comforter he’d draped over her, and carried her outside. He placed her in the yard, a few feet off the patio, and backed away slowly. They stood motionless, watching. Once inside, Burton locked the door and turned off the outdoor lights, scampering upstairs and hiding in the master bathroom like a child. He stayed there until dawn, when he finally allowed himself to look out the window over the backyard. 
The dead, and his wife, were gone.
***
Burton didn’t want to go outside anymore, they were always there now, the dead people, which now included his wife among their number. This was all the more terrifying because she looked worse, more decomposed, each time, and he was embarrassed for her in some way. He stayed in the house and barely attended his income properties, offloading responsibilities to a property manager. He tried to get a hold of the man he’d hired to tend the new cemetery, but the phone always went unanswered; a few minutes of googling during a fitful night turned up his obituary. Burton found the man’s family, called them, inquired about the death. They did not seem to want to discuss it. It was a sudden illness, a woman whispered sorrowfully before a man took the phone and barked that Burton was upsetting his wife. Burton hoped the caretaker had at least been properly buried and not carried away in the night by a gaggle of persistent zombies.
Over the next several days it felt to Burton that the dead were always near. Sometimes it seemed as though they had been in the house. Had Monica told them how to get in? He was insane. He knew he should leave, he should evict a tenant from one of his prosaic Lakewood side-by-sides and move in. But this was his house, his lakefront palace, it had cost him so much. The more frightened he became, the more angry he felt. The tables were turned and these dead people were trying to take something from him.
How to get rid of them? He wondered if it was like on television, if he had to shoot them in the head or hack them apart to get them to stop, were they really zombies? Again, he was insane. One morning he woke up and immediately smelled their dusty old bones and knew they’d been in the house, in his room, while he slept. Had they all come in, watched him, standing there silent and horrible like they did at the treeline? Or was it just the drowned woman and her terrible unseen baby? The night before he’d looked outside and they were standing at the edge of the patio, and she almost seemed to gesture to the bundle, like she wanted to show it to him. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want anything to do with them, he’d bought the land fair and square. It was his. They’d been evicted.
Burton had avoided looking at himself in the mirror once he noticed how dry his skin was getting, how spotted his hands had become. He knew what was happening. Who could he call? What would he say? I’m dying. I’ve died. The dead have come to claim their land, and I’m a zombie now, please send someone. He had to laugh. He wondered how it would happen. Would he slip away in his sleep, as Monica had, and continue to decompose there in the beautiful master bedroom with the tray ceiling and the fireplace and the settee facing the lake. Would the dead move in, throw him into the lake as he’d considered doing with his wife, would they pay the property taxes, put the garbage in the bin for the man in the tiny truck to take away each week? What could they possibly want with the house? 
He felt himself getting closer to the end of whatever was happening to him, whatever process had been inflicted on him by the dead people in his yard. He was very tired, always cold, he smelled bad. He felt sadness, he cried, both for himself and for Monica, realizing what she must have gone through. He was, he’d decided – admitted, really – already dead. He lay down in bed, drew the sheets up over himself, waited, smelled old dust.
***
His lawyer had been the one to call the police. She couldn’t get a hold of Burton for days and found the house empty, the patio door slid open, the bedding on the master bedroom floor looking as if someone had been dragged off of it. Did it seem that way, or was she imagining things? Maybe Burton had been about to make the bed, it didn’t mean anything sinister necessarily, but the house didn’t give her a good feeling. It never had, being built on top of a graveyard, sorry, a former graveyard, but it still seemed a bad business to her, it had all along.
When Burton wasn’t found – no trace of him or Monica, not anywhere, for months and then a year and then two – the house went on the market. Plenty of people came and looked, mostly out of curiosity, Did you hear, the guy that dug up the graveyard, he disappeared, no one ever heard from him again. But no one made an offer. Once people got inside, the house felt all wrong.
Burton’s private cemetery, being untended and largely forgotten, became overgrown, then unrecognizable. Weeds and grasses consumed the old re-set headstones, trees deformed and swallowed the fence, the sign fell off. All around it, things came to life, a shopping plaza and a gas station and a chicken restaurant. The abandoned cemetery started to make the rest of the neighborhood look bad and few people remembered the crazy man who’d dug up dead people to build a house on the lake. 
Business owners became annoyed, it was infuriating to think that perfectly good land was just sitting there because of a bunch of dead people nobody knew or even remembered. How many graves were there? 40 or so? There were no records, it was a private cemetery. And certainly no one noticed, when the diggers and the flatbed trucks came to move the graves again, the two unmarked and more recent graves. The woman and the man had been interred without coffins or even the bare courtesy of a box, less buried than reclaimed by the earth, or by something else entirely.
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kylorengarbagedump · 7 years
Text
Unprofessional Services: Chapter 1
Read on AO3.
Summary: Getting off of the Finalizer was the only thing you wanted. Until Kylo Ren got in the way. Now you're his therapist, tasked with a strange objective--but the last thing he wants to do is cooperate.
Words: 2500
Warnings: None, yet
Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader
A/N: Hello! This is a series I've been working on for months, now--I'm just now posting it. I only have a few chapters written, but since I've been busy with life-stuff, I haven't had the time to write anything. I figured now that life-stuff is calming down (AND with the release of the new trailer!!!!!) now is a good time to post!
Let me know what you think! This is something else a bit darker, as well, but canon material is always good to slip back into! <3
One more day.
That’s all you had to make it through. Just 24 more hours until you’d step off of the Finalizer, Fent’s hand in yours, the both of you destined for a planet with an actual sun--maybe even two. 24 more hours until you’d be able to breathe, free of anxiety and stress and the excessive demands of the medbay director. 24 more hours until you’d be able to make sure every single one of his needs was met--that he’d want for nothing, that there’d be no chance of failure or relapse. 24 hours until you’d be able to ensure his recovery.
24 hours until your life could return to normal.
“Excuse me, doctor--”
“I’m not a doctor,” you groaned, rubbing your temples--but when you peeled open your eyes, you cleared your throat, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, uh, sorry. Yes, um. Can I help you?”
The Stormtrooper at your office door appeared conflicted himself--on one hand, you weren’t a doctor, but on the other hand, what other prefix suited you? He straightened his shoulders. “General Hux requests you in his office immediately, ma’am.”
“Really?” You’d arranged for a clean departure a week earlier. There shouldn’t have been anything left of him to demand of you. Today, you were just closing up stragglers. Mostly the noncompliant ones. They’d have to just deal with it. “Can it wait?”
“I don’t think so,” the Stormtrooper replied. “I believe that’s why he included immediately.”
You sighed. The sass was unnecessary. “Fine.” Nothing saying you couldn’t stay and finish up your closures. Or tidy up your office. Or plan out Fent’s next meal. “I’ll be on my way.” Eventually.
“No.” The Stormtrooper shifted, uncomfortable with exercising his authority. “The General wanted me to escort you, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He wanted me to escort you. Said that you’d avoid showing up if you could.”
“Dammit,” you muttered. He was good. “Fine.”  Blowing air out through your nose, you stood, straightening out your skirt, and marched past the trooper. “Come on, then!” You heard the shuffle of his armor behind you.
At least you could take solace in the fact that this would be your last visit to the General’s office, your last-ever interruption at work, your last 20-minute traipse through the tiled halls of the Finalizer. The shine of the floors was more soulless than when you’d first been stationed. They were like mirrors, now, mirrors that could see beyond your flesh and muscle and bone, mirrors that reflected blackness into blackness, gleaming only when an infinity of emptiness swallowed the glass.
Or, you know, they were just some black pieces of fucking tile. Whatever.
It wouldn’t be right to say that the trooper had escorted you--no, really, it was you who had escorted the trooper, leading him straight through the doors on the bridge and right up to Hux’s office yourself. Clucking your tongue, you cast a look over your shoulder, watching as the soldier caught up. The bridge was busy, yet silent, the transparisteel panels clear of any absent-minded gazers. No sound but for the quiet adherence to the anal-retentive policies of the general. You’d only been standing there for a moment when the door opened, and before you could move, the Stormtrooper stumbled to try and jump in front of you, to--
“General, I’ve brought--”
“Let’s get this over with, General,” you said, crossing to behind one of the chairs. The trooper stood at the door, shoulders slumped. “What can I help you with?”
Hux scanned you, head to toe and back again. “An awfully bold entrance, today, doctor.”
You rolled your eyes. “All due respect, sir, but how many times do I have to tell you strategy nerds that I’m not a doctor, I’m a therapist.” You pointed to your lack of medbay insignia. “No medical training required.”
Lacing his fingers together, Hux glanced at the trooper, still stationed in his doorway. “Dismissed.” The Stormtrooper scampered off, and the blast door slid shut, leaving only you and the general. “Your impudence will not go unaddressed.”
“Okay.” You shrugged. “I’m out of here tomorrow, anyway.”
A tiny smirk crept onto his face. Oh, no. Not a smirk. Why a smirk? “And that’s exactly what I wanted to address with you.”
“Really.” The sudden urge to sit sank you into a chair. Your hands and feet felt heavy. “What, um, do you mean by that, sir?”
Hux’s eyes fell to his desk, and his lip twitched, as if he were remembering something unpleasant. “Do you know Commander Ren?”
You blinked. What kind of question was what? Did he think you were so rapt by your work you couldn’t be bothered to ever learn the basic chain of command at your station? “Um. I know of him, but, no, I’ve never met him.”
“Right.” He frowned. “Then you’re familiar with his--what will I call them--abilities?”
“I mean… he uses the Force, right? And has the laser sword?”
Another twitch. “Yes. Then you’re familiar.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “The Supreme Leader wishes for Ren to channel these abilities more effectively. To use them in a way that is more… efficient than how Ren uses them now. Is what I’m to understand.”
“Okay…”
“The work done with Leader Snoke alone has not achieved a sufficient level of progress. Is what I’m also to understand.”
You raised an eyebrow. “O-kay…” The pounding of your heart was audible by now, you were certain, the dread inside of it hijacking your nerves. You were leaving. You were supposed to be leaving.
“You,” said Hux, “are the solution.”
If only you had water to choke on--you’d spray it all over his stupid ginger face. “I’m sorry?” You shook your head. “No, no, sir, I’m--”
“What the Supreme Leader has devised,” he continued, apparently unaware that you already had plans, “is a plan for Ren to deliberately access these… abilities. With you as an assistant.”
This was already completely stupid. “Sir, I absolutely respect the Supreme Leader’s will,” you said, “but uh, I mean, this just wouldn’t work. I’m a therapist, after all, the only thing I’d be able to do would be to, like, psychoanalyze him, or something.”
“And that’s precisely why someone in your occupation is fit for the position.” Hux cocked a disinterested brow. “Yet another point I am to communicate to you is that this will not be therapy. Rather--it will be an… anti-therapy, of sorts.”
You snorted. “Anti-therapy?”
His face was dull. “Yes. Rather than looking to solve Ren’s issues, Leader Snoke wishes for you to dig them up. Force Ren to use them.”
Laughter almost erupted from you. Almost. Pulling it back, you stood, waving off his suggestion like a gnat, something inconvenient and irritating, something that buzzed in your ear and tickled your nose and made the acid in your stomach bubble.
Well, maybe not that last one.
“Ha-ha, okay, General.” You held out your hand. “We’ve had a good laugh, but, really, my flight off of this ship leaves in less than twenty-four hours, and I really must get back to my quarters to prepare--”
“You are not being discharged,” Hux spat. “All preparations for you and Mr. Hawkens’ departure have been cancelled. This is your assignment, now. So I suggest you sit and listen to the only time I’ll have the patience to explain it to you.”
Your jaw stiffened, your heart shattering in silence. Your departure. Your safety. His recovery. Your normality. All of it, gone--because of some ridiculous proposition that you conduct some sort of anti-therapy with the Commander of the First Order? No. This couldn’t be. Why did it have to fall on the day of your discharge? And why you?
Trembling, you collapsed into your seat, staring at Hux from across the mile-long berth of his pristine desk. It was made of the same material of which the Finalizer floor tiles were composed. It had to be. That was the only explanation as to why you couldn’t see yourself in the reflection of the glossy black surface. Why the only image, stretching out further and further, like a pale shadow, was the ghoulish imitation of Hux’s face, twisted in a sadistic smile. It could echo only a person’s truth, this substance. And that was why when you stared into it, a void stared back.
You swallowed--not just your bile, but everything else, too. “Yes, sir,” you replied. “I understand.” Was there no other way out? “I just--well--couldn’t there be someone better suited for the job? Other than me? Maybe we could reach a… compromise?”
Hux sighed. “When I asked the medbay director which one of his therapists had produced the most impressive results, he gave me your name.” His hands--thin, reedy fingers encased in leather--swiped away a screen. “When your coworkers were asked who they considered the most competent…” He met your eyes. “Their replies were, unanimously, you.”
“Maybe that used to be true,” you said, “but the past few months, the mistakes I’ve made have been--”
“Yet your record is still more impressive than all others.”
Dammit. Dammit. You grit your teeth. “W-well,” you replied, “Fent Hawkens, sir, this means his medical discharge request is being denied, and--”
“Not denied,” he said. “Delayed.”
“Delayed?” You frowned. “How much longer can it be delayed? He is very ill, sir, and--”
“And you are his caregiver, are you not?” Hux replied. “It seems that he is your responsibility--not ours.”
“Well, then.” There wasn’t arguing with that. The details had been decided before you’d even had a chance. “Of course.”
“At the request of the Supreme Leader, I’ve already arranged your first session for tomorrow morning upon Ren’s return. After which point, it will be your responsibility.” He turned. “Additional information will be sent to your datapad. Dismissed.”
Nodding, you said nothing else. You stood, pulled your skirt down, and you left.
The rest of your shift was spent in distraction, attempting to figure out how you’d explain to Fent why you wouldn’t be leaving, why his medical discharge request--despite Hux’s insistence--had been, essentially, denied. The mere thought of breaking the news made your fingers shake, made your palms sweat. You wondered if you’d be able to deliver it in holomessage. Or maybe bribe a Stormtrooper. Or maybe just mention it over dinner, a throwaway comment, totally meaningless apart from the entire meaning.
When you entered your shared quarters, Fent was curled on his side, blankets tugged over his head, the only sign of the life the quiet shifting of the mattress underneath his steady, unconscious breath. Chewing at your lip, you released a chestful of air, tiptoeing over to the side of your bed and nudging him. He didn’t stir, and you nudged him again.
“Fent,” you whispered. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.”I’ve got some great news for you, you didn’t add.
Like a beast rattled from its winter slumber, he groaned, tearing the covers from his head to reveal his face--handsome, still, even under the eleven-day shadow beard and four-day hair grease. You’d been trying to motivate him to basic hygiene tasks for days, now. He only seemed to respond to food. His sea-green eyes blinked at you through the veil of sleep as he sat up onto his palms, and you smiled.
“Hey.”
Fent blinked again, scanning your hands. “Hey,” he said. “Did you wake me up without making me dinner?”
You looked at the floor. “Um. I’m sorry, sweetie,” you said, “but there’s something I really needed to tell you.”
He sighed, flopping back onto the bed and rolling away from you. “Okay. What is it.”
“Well…”
“Did you pack all of my things for tomorrow, yet?”
“That’s the thing, actually--”
“Don’t forget my holovid collection,” he said. “There’s some really important stuff on there. Stuff from my first missions.”
“Okay, well--”
“And don’t--”
“Fent!” You hadn’t yelled, but you hadn’t whispered, either. “We’re not going.” The anxiety tumbled off of you like a waterfall. This isn’t how you wanted this to go. “We’re not leaving, tomorrow. We’re staying.”
Fent’s body was a rubber band, stretched tight over your words, muscles poised to snap back and crack you across the mouth. But he hadn’t done that to you, before. Not yet. “Why are you yelling at me?”
“I’m not yelling,” you said, “I’m just... speaking forcefully. Because you weren’t listening.”
“Okay, sure, whatever. What is it?”
“I’m sorry,” you said, shrinking in on yourself. “Hux has given me a special assignment. I tried to argue my way out of it, but he wasn’t having it. I have to stay. We have to stay. But he said that your discharge--”
“Are you serious?” His voice cut through yours like a forged sword. When you didn’t respond, he turned, meeting your eyes from the bed with a gaze that made your blood thin. “What happened?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Your fingers were knitting together like sweaty needles. “I’ve been given a new assignment. And--”
Fent frowned. “Did you fuck something up, or something?”
You shook your head, frowning. “I didn’t fuck up anything, thanks. In fact,” you paused, using this burden as armor, “I was chosen because of my hard work.”
“This is bullshit. I want to leave.” He stared into the wall. He looked broken. You wanted to pull him into your arms forever. Keep him safe. “I’m… I’m tired.”
“I know,” you said, “but Hux promised me that it was only a delay, that--”
Fent rolled his eyes and flipped over, motioning you away. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I’m done talking about this.” He sighed, his back swelling with a wave of repressed disappointment. You wanted to fall into the floor. “Do you think you could get dinner started, please?” He was almost whining, now. “I’m hungry.”
All of the resistance you’d built melted at your feet, the steam of your anger dissipating into the air. Mold spores of surrender were thick on the walls and in your throat. This wouldn’t be forever, you assured yourself. Tomorrow you’d meet with the Commander and turn him into the quickest case closure you’d ever had. Then Fent could be the center of your universe. And he’d get better, and everything would go back to like it had been when you’d first been stationed. It had to.
You patted his shoulder and trudged into the tiny kitchen. It wouldn’t be much, dinner--but it didn’t matter. You hadn’t planned on eating, anyway.
The meal passed in silence, with Fent falling back asleep soon after you’d cleaned. You had been hoping the medication would make a difference in his demeanor, but it’d been weeks, now, and there’d been no change. It was a few hours until the beginning of the sleep cycle, but you crawled into bed, anyway, sliding next to Fent’s near-comatose body and staring into the ceiling, your pupils still adjusting to the dark.
In your dreams, you were running in space, stars passing you like windowed cities, above and below you like the sky and sea. And something was chasing you--something black, red, black, shooting like a spear for you, hunting you, its breath behind you, its body consuming you, devouring you in a mess of teeth and hair and hunger and lust--
You screamed, waking into a slime of sweat. Fent was still asleep. You were still on the Finalizer.
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