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fallenfurther · 4 years

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A blanket of snow

Whumptober prompt 21

Virgil is out on a rescue when he finds out that an avalanche has buried Alan and The Bear. What makes it harder is that the local rescue teams are prioritising other people. With International Rescue's resources spread thin, Virgil has to finish up where he is before he can rescue his brother, but will he get there in time?

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It had to be Alan, Virgil thought as he climbed into Thunderbird Two. It had to be the brother with little wariness of snow. Sure, he was cautious when with them, because he fed off the atmosphere they created. The rest of them didn’t like snow, it brought back too many bad memories, even for Gordon. Alan had been so young when they had lost Mum. He hadn’t understood at the time, he had wondered why she had never come home, where she had gone. The toddler had searched the house of shaky legs, looking for his mum. He would cry when she couldn’t be found. It had been Scott who had picked him up and comforted him. Scott who had rounded them all up and brushed down the black suits the day of the funeral. It was Scott that Alan got his thrill seeking streak from. That need for the adrenaline rush. Maybe that’s why Scott was wary of his friendship with The Bear, Alan’s internet idol, and why he had closed his eyes when Alan had approached him about going on a winter break with The Bear. Alan just wasn’t wary of snow.

*****

Virgil ran down the corridor of the tower block. A major gas leak had blown up a block of flats but the city's firefighting department was already attending fires in two other locations and required International Rescue’s assistance. It seemed like the arsonists were out in the droves. John had suggested the record heatwave in the area might be contributing, but the cause didn’t matter when people were trapped. The exosuit’s electronic screech accompanied his every step as he moved towards the most affected area. Gordon was handling the evacuation of the other side of the building. According to John’s scans they only had sixteen people left to rescue. Virgil slowed as he reached blockage. The jaws gasped the beam easily and he started to shift it. It was at this point that John popped up by his wrist.

“Virgil, how clos..”

“I’m kinda busy, John. Can’t it wait?”

Virgil stepped back with a grunt. The beam was heavier than he expected. Relying on the mechanics of the exosuit, Virgil lowered the beam to the ground without damaging any more of the structure. A little debris rained down muting the blue of his uniform, but nothing large enough to cause any problems. Lifting his wrist up he met the gaze of the space monitor. There was concern hidden in those eyes.

“Yes, John.”

“How close are you two finishing up there? Another rescue has come in.”

“Half an hour and we should have everyone out. What is the other rescue?”

“Avalanche.”

Virgil’s stomach sank. They all hated avalanches. They all knew how deadly they could be, and time was their enemy. Hypothermia could set in quickly. It’ll be a shock going from the heat to the cold but they would do it. It was the subtle concern in John’s face that stopped Virgil from signing off.

“Where is it, John?”

John swallowed. Those green eyes, tinted blue in the hologram, met Virgil’s.

“Chamonix, France.”

“That’s…”

“Alan’s involved. The local mountain rescue is heading out, but there are dozens of people caught up in it. I have his and Brandon’s locations, but they are much further up the mountain than anyone else trapped.”

“We’ll finish up here as quickly as we can. You hear that Gordon?”

“FAB. Finish up quickly.”

Gordon’s voice lacked its usual joviality as it echoed through the comm line. There was nothing like a younger brother in trouble to bring out the serious side of Gordon. Alan was his partner in crime and he would never leave his buddy out in the cold to die. John disappeared and Virgil pushed on with renewed haste.

******

Forty nine minutes later and they were in Thunderbird Two and preparing for launch. The last family Virgil had rescued had been in a bad way and it had taken longer to retrieve them. He was thankful that the ambulance service was onsite and at hand to whisk away all the injured, saving them a job. Gordon plonked himself down in the seat beside him, but instead of sitting back as he normally would, his back was ramrod straight. His head turned to Virgil and they nodded in unison.

“Let’s go get Alan.”

The knot in Virgil’s stomach tightened. So much time had passed already. Even in a crash bubble Alan would be feeling the cold. Fingers flipped switches automatically. Their designated flight path to France flicked up before him as Thunderbird Two thrummed beneath him. There would always be rescues that hurt, that sank deep into the soul before they had even launched. Gordon’s rescue came to mind. The vertical launch felt slower than that subdued takeoff, but Virgil held onto the hope that the end result would be the same. That Thunderbird Two would fly Alan to a hospital where he could recover, just as it had Gordon. This was a personal mission.

“Thunderbird Two launched, course set and ETA thirty one minutes. John, what’s the current situation?”

The holograms of John and Grandma popped up between the two pilots, both with the same expression of concern on their face. There was no way Grandma wouldn’t be monitoring the health of Alan right now, having lost her husband to the avalanche. Her medical knowledge was a bonus. Despite all Virgil’s training, Grandma’s intuition and experience far exceeded his and International Rescue was lucky to have her on board.

“The local mountain rescue team has started to rescue those on the lower slope where most of the casualties are located. I informed them of the location of Brandon and Alan but they don’t have the resources to spare. They want to focus their limited resources where they can do the most good.”

“Understandable. So it’s up to us to rescue our pair.”

“Exactly. From the inventory list I can see you’ve got two heat cones in the module. Considering the time since the avalanche I suggest making the most of this and slip the job.”

“I agree with this plan. I’ve been monitoring their vitals through the crash bubbles sensors. Both have severely reduced core temperatures and will be hypothermic when you reach them. Both are currently responding to my verbal communications.”

Virgil noted the data tab that popped up on his tablet. Scanning the crafts sensors already confirmed that she was at top cruising speed. Manual override could make her go faster, but there was only so much stress her engines could take and Brains was still annoyed at his various underwater manoeuvers. Was it a risk he wanted to take? Five extra minutes could make all the difference.

“What about Scott?”

“Scott’s still stuck trying to safely rescue the stranded climbers on Everest. He’ll be straight there when he’s finished, but his ETA will be after yours. I’ll send him to help the locals unless the situation changes.”

“Right. I’ll prepare the medbay ready. Gordon, fancy taking her off autopilot?”

“FAB.”

Virgil pushed up his controls and started rummaging through the supplies for the hypothermia kits. It would be best to treat them in the module, where the air would be cooler, to avoid shocking their bodies. The vibrations beneath his feet increased as Gordon coaxed Thunderbird Two to go faster. Carrying the two packs, Virgil headed into the belly of the craft to the module. He set up a stretcher on each side with the required equipment secured down but in easy grasp. He threw a thermal blanket onto the back seat of each pod. He sighed before pressing the data tab on his tablet. Brandon and Alan’s stats came up side by side. Both were suffering, but Alan, despite the high tech thermal clothes he was wearing, was smaller and his stats were slightly worse than Brandon’s. They needed to get there fast. Heading back to the cockpit, he took over control, checked the readings and pushed Thunderbird Two that little bit harder.

Virgil had managed to cut seven minutes off the flight time to France. John had already marked a suitable landing site for him and as soon as Thunderbird Two was stationary both he and Gordon were out of their chairs and racing towards the module. Gordon was straight on the mechanism, lowering the module before configuring the pods. Virgil used the time to check Alan and Brandon's vitals. Both were critical but Alan's had deteriorated further than predicted. Virgil jumped up into the pod and yanked the top closed.

"I'll get Alan, you get Brandon."

The look Virgil gave Gordon quelled any arguments. Instead Gordon revved the pod's engine as they waited for the hatch to open completely. They raced out into the snow, heading first in the same direction before Gordon veered off to the left. Brandon was further down the slope. Virgil climbed, watching the little blob that indicated his brother get closer and closer. He had to slow to get the positioning right but the moment it was all lined up he whacked on the heat cones and let the pod do its job. The sensors knew when to stop and Virgil trusted them despite the shake in his hands as he gripped the controls. The pod stopped and slowly the red of Alan's bubble came into view. Virgil activated the arms and grabbed one of the holds on the bubble. Slowly he backed out of the hole and onto the surface again.

The pod clicked back together and rolled back, moving the bubble well away from the newly made hole. Hitting the brakes, Virgil threw the hatch open and jumped out. His fingers grabbed the zip and yanked. The bubble opened to reveal Alan. Relief tried to slip in but Virgil knew better. Alan's skin was pale, his lips had a blue tinge and he wasn't shivering. All bad signs. Reaching in, he unclipped Alan, grabbing him as he fell. The bubble deflated completely but it had done its job. Carrying Alan, Virgil carefully climbed up into the pod and lowered his brother into the back seat. Slipping a hand beneath Alan, he retrieved the thermal blanket, which he unfolded and wrapped around his brother. Alan's eyes flickered, catching his for a moment.

"Virg…"

Alan's voice was weak, but at least he was just about conscious.

"It's me, Alan. I'm here." Virgil rubbed his brother's arm. "I'll get you in Two and warmed up in no time."

Alan's eyes closed but a small blue smile came to his face. Virgil twisted in his seat and grabbed the controls, turning the pod in the direction of Thunderbird Two.

*****

Virgil spent the flight to the hospital dashing between his two casualties. Brandon was more alert but wasn't doing much better than Alan. He had needed help to strip off his many layers. Although the top layers were dry, thanks to the bubble, his bottom ones would contain sweat which wouldn't help his condition. Virgil wrapped the foil blanket around the now bare man, he then piled on a couple of blankets. Once sorted he went back to Alan, who he'd already given the same treatment.

Alan's skin was still a sickly pale and those blue eyes were closed. Virgil placed a hand on Alan's head. Alan's body temperature was still dangerously low, however it had stabilized. Virgil's finger stroked the cool skin of his brother’s forehead and wished there was more he could do. He knew Scott would be beside himself with worry, and that John would be preparing to come down from space when everyone had been rescued. The whole family would be around Alan soon. His brother's eyes flickered open, the blue irises shrinking against the light before finding Virgil.

"Hey Alan."

Alan's lips shuddered as he tried to say something. Worry and fear filled those young blue eyes. Moving his free hand to Alan's arm and giving it a squeeze, Virgil fixed his gaze with Alan.

"We've got you."

The worry slipped from Alan's eyes as they started to water. Virgil wanted to wrap his arms round Alan, to pull him close, but knew he shouldn't. Instead, he squeezed Alan's arm again, letting his brother know it was okay.

******

Virgil sat in one of the seats in Brandon and Alan's room. The hospital had put them together for security reasons, but Virgil had to admit it was good for the friends to be together. They were supporting each other through their recovery. Brandon was almost back to his excitable self and already planning his next extreme adventure, much to the displeasure of Scott. Scott had coped surprisingly well, considering, though Brandon seemed intent on testing Scott's nerves. The Commander of International Rescue could only take The Bear in small doses. Virgil had a feeling he was going to have to encourage Scott to have lunch with him soon. Alan was cheerful again, though still feeling the effects of hypothermia, even if he wasn't saying it out loud. A few more days and these two would be discharged. Grandma had signed Alan off International Rescue duty for a week post discharge, subject to extension if required. Virgil was sure Alan was looking forward to the warmth of their island and the comfort of home. With John scheduled for downtime at the same time, Virgil couldn't wait to have the whole family back under one roof.

#whumptober2020 #no.21 #hypothermia #thunderbirds are go #fic #Virgil Tracy #alan tracy #Gordon Tracy #the bear #brandon berrenger #snowboarding #avalanche #brother in trouble

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 3 years

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So I've been reading your fics for a while and it recently occurred to me, how would the painful death crew handle the events of break? Would it pan out the same way or do you think it would go down slightly different?

How would the PD Crew handle Break? As in one of them is Break!Virgil or as in being around when shit goes down?

I’ve got Ram (PD!Remus but make it a fictive) here with me so...

Ram: 1,Dante is a chill bro, and I stan them. We have the same music tastes and Dante is kind of amazing, anyway. I would die for polterdante/j 2, I would have ab-fucking-ducted Break!Virgil and/or PD!Virgil from that situation if I was around it if I didn’t fucking snap and try to kill Zillah for doing it. Like how does anyone not have the biggest fucking mental breakdown of their lives when they find that shit out? Rem says ‘same’.

The thing about Vesper(PD!Virgil) is that if he was in Dante’s(Break!Virgil) situation, he might also put up with it until he found a safe way out. I mean I’ve met Zillah and the dude is kind of sneaky. He’s really nice with the kids and acts really normal other than murdering Dante on main on a fucking regular basis, giving me weird second-hand trauma? Dae says he regrets not going more into how Zillah acts in public vs. private? “At the beginning of the story they were at point of their relationship Zillah was isolating Virgil, so there wasn’t much opportunity to do so, but it would have enhanced the dismal atmosphere and shown more ways abusers isolate their victims.”

Anyway, Ves in particular would have run off, eventually. He’s not great at finding red flags but he believes takes his friend’s word for it and would be more likely to listen to Logan when he notices things weren’t right. He’d run off without asking for help and just meet up his friends later like “my name’s jared i’m 19 and i’m now fucking homeless”. Rem would have thrown a bitch fit and started a fight. He would have gotten out of it bruised but got out nonetheless. He only tolerates that shit from his dad because minors don’t have many rights (Also just Rem’s ex-dad’s job). I think I’d be the most at-risk in that situation because stress obviously fucks up my mental state and I won’t make great judgment calls. Dante only hallucinates in the sensory dep thing. I, on the other hand, hallucinate all the fucking time and trust me that it’s really easy to let the delusions suck you up if you don’t have someone who can ground you. The delusions might of left me stuck in that situation for life. Oof. Vesper could have gotten me out, though, but I’m not allowed to go into why. Damien would have called the police on Zillah or fucking leave before he got in too deep. He’s just smart and capable like that. Dorjan (Break!Janus) was only in it for a few months before he fucked right out of that abusive relationship. I don’t think Damien would let a single thing pass, he’s got a serious amount of self-respect. Also, D’s parents are very nice. Part of Dante’s shit is his upbringing with his parents giving them a bad impression of how people should treat each other. And that’s not spoilers, it touches on it in the video call chapter.

My brother is a fucking flake but it is 5 in the morning so maybe he gets a free pass for not answering on his half of the cast. Something-something crying, I guess. Roan(Ro) might also be kind of at-risk since he really needs people to like him on a kind of dangerous level sometimes. I think Kal(Pat) and Liam(Logan) wouldn’t tolerate being in that situation as long as Dante did. Kal’s parents are actually decent and he knows red flags, and Liam is basically always looking for red flags. Paranoid little dude sometimes. They’re pretty ride-or-die for each other so they’d probably fight to get each other free, too.

I agree with Break!Logan in that the only proper response to that situation is to get a spiked baseball bat and go ham. Though the security system on that house is extra and the narrative game for break kind of goes through why most of those options are a bad fucking plan. Poor Dante’s got it bad, even now.

If we were backing up Dante we’d be rolling up with fucking swords and sweet, sweet dragon magic to take Zillah’s ass down. And Maybe also take Dante down to check them into residential. Imagine that conversation, though, right? “Hey dude we’re from another universe and this guy’s been abused and tortured for two years, please assist” and then we just fuck off back to our own dimension. Wild. Dae says he refuses to write crossovers, so my answers are technically “noncanon”, but I have a pretty good fucking idea, okay? Okay. He’s letting me answer because I’m answering “as an alter”, blah blah blah. IDK like I know Ruy and Ras aren’t old enough to read Break but I’d be interested in an adult Dreaming!Roman in that situation? I mean he’s tolerated some shit but those little fucks are creative and will likely do something completely over the top to get roman out because you know Ras would be like “are you serious with me get the hell out of there”. Maybe they’d somehow get the fucking plea vampires up in there??? You know Tempest and D aren’t letting Zillah get out of that alive.

I’ve read Break and like what the fuck Dae but honestly we been knew that he’s a sick son of a bitch so that’s not news. Rebuild is wild as shit, too, have fun with that, guys. Daeram says it’s “difficult to edit because of the nuance of Dante’s situation”, but there’s a lot of chapters already.

Anyway, rephrase the question if I didn’t answer it right and maybe I can try again. Or whoever, I’m just the PD fuck that fronts the most lately because I’m supporting my bro Steve’s gay shenanigans.

Vesper wants everyone to know he will ascend to a new dimension when the Among Us update comes out and wants to play it with everyone ever. Also if anyone is willing to play the Arsonist mod with us until then, we’d love that. Hit us up on the server.

Ayri again and oh rain two ADHDers confronted and ascended to a place where time doesn’t matter but now the sun is going to fucking rise. I put in the fictive’s sources because Ram always calls them by their new names and pronouns. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh just adding that yes Daeram doesn’t believe in doing crossovers for our AU’s but the fictives interact from time to time and they certainly don’t mind answering questions about that stuff. Dae’ll stop them if spoilers. Fictives don’t front super often but like most of my asks sit in the box for months anyway because tumblr keeps not alerting me they exist. I’ll get to the other asks I found tomorrow if I remember. I think Ram kind of went overboard but he stands by what he said so whatever have fun with it?

#painful death #break #asks #anon #abuse tw #Anonymous

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kyndaris · 4 years

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Disaster Relief

2020 has not been the best of years. I know that many had hoped the start of a new decade would bring new dreams and hopes. It was a time to set new goals and to make the best of a rough few years.

Alas, in these first few months, we’ve battled pandemics, watched Britain leave the European Union and read about Trump’s impeachment trials.

In Australia, many of our states had experienced terrifying bushfires that were mostly due to climate change. And even now, rural towns and those industries reliant on trades such as hospitality are struggling. Is it any wonder that a short story emerged from these joint experiences?

Unfortunately, this isn’t a happy-go-lucky story. But I wanted to explore and not forget about the people that are still doing it tough in these times.

Here’s a brief snippet of the story. The rest can be found on my Fictionpress account: https://www.fictionpress.com/s/3345997/1/Disaster-Relief

16 September

The lilac purple of the summer was slowly beginning to fade. In their place, the leaves of the deciduous trees, painstakingly planted so many years ago, were beginning to change. It should have enticed droves of tourists into the mountains. Hundreds upon thousands. Business should have been booming. But the fires had seen to that. If they hadn’t destroyed businesses or homes, they had blanketed the entire region in a hateful smog.

What should have been a flood was but a mere trickle. Even when the rain came, people were hesitant. And only a few brave souls had cared to risk the visit up the mountains to the small town I call home.

I can’t rightly blame them. Anyone would be fearful. People’s memories are long and it was only a month ago when so many lives had been lost to the flames. I heard there was an inquest, actually, into the whole reason behind the fires: whether it was poor reduction practices or arsonists. It’s all bullshit.

How long have we been in drought? How many years has it been when it seemed like summer would never end? The answer is staring us right in the face but our politicians are refusing to call it for what it is: climate change!

Sometimes when I watch the news, I just want to throw a bottle at the smug expression on the president’s face. He has no idea what it’s like to see small local business close up shop. To see friends and neighbours move away, giving up the dream of a lifetime. Or entire family lineages uprooted.

This wasn’t just a bad year.

It was a complete and utter clusterfuck.

Sorry. I’m just trying to get my feeling down. Writing all this down is new to me. But I read somewhere online that it might help with all the anger. God. My family can’t even afford a fucking therapist.

Is it any wonder that some of the younger kids, still fresh out of high school, are going out for joyrides and lapping it up at the bar despite being underage? I heard from the local sheriff that it’s only going to get worse. Vandalism now, break-ins and property damage in just a few weeks.

My family has been lucky. Dad had been saving up a small nest egg just for emergencies. We’ll be able to live all right for a while. If business doesn’t pick up soon, though, we might just be like the others. Forgotten.

I haven’t told my family but I set up a storefront on Etsy, Ebay and Amazon. It might help keep us afloat because we deal with unique and quirky items. Yet, I can’t help feeling that it won’t be enough. It’s hard to stand out on those kinds of sites. A picture might be worth a thousand words, but it’s not the same as holding a hand carved trinket and feeling the weight in the palm of your hand.

#short story #fictionpress #disaster relief

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theincorrigiblemagpie · 6 years

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Kasautii Zindagii Kay (2018) E02- Chunari Chunari

26-9-2018

I feel like I must warn all new followers that I’m terrible about keeping up and blogging about even the first few episodes that I set out to do, on average. Already, I hear there is the advent of a rapey dude and it has made me put off watching the rest of the first week.

Anyway, let us not drown in our sorrows before they are here. We return to Prerna and Anurag’s bumbling conversation about Anurag’s love life. A friend of Anurag’s has managed to give the gig away by talking about ‘Sarika,’ Anurag’s supposed ex who is now married and has turned out to be a ‘troublesome’ woman. Ok then, friend-of-Anurag. Anurag brushes aside Prerna’s apologies for assuming anything about his sexuality and delivers a rather magnificent speech about how ‘our society’ thinks any guy who doesn’t harass women or run after them overtly is gay and ‘not normal’ and it’s not her fault at all. Very nice, I hope all of Ekta’s other shows get the memo about rape culture.

Prerna’s giggly friend Anjali takes her toward the back of the pandal to gloat about...Anurag not being gay. I am SO tired of these stray ‘friends’ already and it’s only episode 2. In the meantime, that trash fire (literal) caused by mysterious-figure-in-the-back-alley has spread to the pandal and is raging out of control. Massive chaos as everyone escapes. Mohini Basu cannot get over the fact that a special chunari that she had commissioned for Durga in Anurag’s name has been left behind. Like, she’s sitting and SOBBING over it like she’s lost a family member. If anything, I suspect she’d cry less for a family member.

OF COURSE, saintly stupid Anurag decides to retrieve the chunari to get his mom to stop crying like this. He apprehends a guy with a jeep and casually asks how much it costs and then TRANSFERS ABOUT DOUBLE THE MONEY TO HIS ACCOUNT INSTANTLY so he can take it. This is an actual scene we all watched. On the one hand, I’m really glad they have a responsible hero but also I’m DYING over this commitment to his stick-in-the-mud-ness even during high voltage action scenes. He drives the jeep straight into the front of the pandal, overturns a big decorative thing of water and leaps out of the jeep a la Rohit Shetty’s heroes, while trying not to flash the world in his dhuti. Listen, this is just one of the many reasons Bengali gents don’t engage in Hindi film hero-giri. It’s not a part of the kulchaar.

Interestingly, Anurag still doesn’t know Prerna and her twit friend are stuck there. He’s just here for the chunari which makes all of this twice as funny. Anjali is literally “look your best friend Anurag is here to rescue us” and Prerna is all “but...we’re not even close friends” and Anjali is like “DOES IT MATTER?” Sorry, Anjali, I misjudged you. You’re showing superior sense at this moment.

Anurag is staring at the chunari like it’s the only thing in the world. Pah! Some hero. Can’t even sixth-sense his obvious love interest. He’s just parkouring his ass through leaping flames and falling burning things and loose electrical wiring. He sees the two women only when he’s RIGHT in their faces and then asks what they’re doing here. They’re chilling amid all this fire, Anurag. What nonsensical questions, my god.

He kicks aside some burning barrier that was blocking their way and Prerna pushes Anjali out of there and goes back after Anurag who has ofc gone after that dratted chunari. Prerna’s face is simultaneously impressed and can’t even with this foolishness.

No, I think the predominant desire was to indulge in some hero-giri of her own. One burning deep stambha type thing is going to fall on the Durga murti so Prerna runs over to stop it. I mean...maybe she secretly lifts but I would NOT have credited it. She isn’t even breaking a sweat.

No, okay, she is sweating. I just wish I sweated as prettily as Erica.

As you may have guessed from this screencap, her hands bled somehow and Anurag rushed over to help her. If Balaji is trying to sell this couple to me, I’ve bought it already. Two people this obsessed with gods and their paraphernalia to the point of disregarding their own lives fully deserve each other.

AND THEN

RED CHUNARI RABBA VE WHILE SURROUNDED BY FIRE

(I am aware nothing I say can really match the magnificence of what happens under Balaji’s aegis and moments like this really bring that home.)

Anyway, this is the same chunari that was in Anurag’s hand two seconds ago and I have no EARTHLY idea how it flew from behind the murti and landed on these two.

NO WAIT. THIS IS YET ANOTHER RED CHUNARI. THE ONE HE RISKED HIS LIFE FOR IS STILL FOLDED IN HIS HAND.

Me: please....stop...I get it...no more red chunaris

Balaji: did you mean ‘four more red chunaris?’

Durga is running this show personally, is what I gather from all the jumpy shots that pan to her whenever anything happens. And now that she’s had her fill of romance, she makes it rain and this RAGING fire goes out in a poof like silsila yeh chahat ka’s ill-fated diya. Durga is a #fangirl.

The priests have done absolutely NOTHING useful (like calling the fire department) and have PRAYED to Durga and now they’re claiming the rain as victory and all kinds of premonition of something “pure” and “auspicious” etc etc. Anyway, I just want to show you Nivedita’s face when Anurag is reunited with his family, with that dratted chunari.

Yeah, Nivi, I feel you.

Predictably, Mohini blames this fire and the fact that there was no contingency plan on Prerna’s dad Rajesh. I’m...kinda with her on this. There really should’ve been better fire safety standards and a disaster management plan. Moloy says it’s unfair to blame this on Rajesh, they should blame the event management company. Ok, hold up. There is an event management company?? Then why the fuck does Rajesh and co look after everything? The event management company is paid to sit around, or what? Mohini and Moloy are concerned about how they’ll hold Dashami celebrations at the venue the next day, and Rajesh reassures them ki he’ll make it happen, come what may. Mohini tries to not let him but Rajesh is all “haan, I’m sure tum sambhal loge.” And in typical rich dude fashion, he walks off with Mohini, without a thought to how it’ll actually happen. Man, I really hate Moloy.

Oho we have an identity for the arsonist. It is Naveen, Mohini’s muh-bola-bhai.

The rest of the episode is just Prerna and Anurag’s respective friends ragging on them about the romance of the situation. Anurag’s friend insists ki “kuch kuch hota hai, Anurag, why do you deny it?” and Anjali is mad that Prerna ne chance maar liya by risking her life. Both insist that there’s nothing going on until Shah Rukh Khan appears to reassure us at the end. Is this going to be a daily thing? How many snippets of SRK mouthing sentimental claptrap have they recorded?

Red dupatta count- just 1 but a big one.

#kasautii zindagii kay 2 #kzk2 #kasauti zindagi ki #balaji telefilms

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1358456 · 6 years

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Short Story - Practice Battle

A “practice battle” in a literal sense, as I’m using this as practice for future battle scenes in my stories. … Also it’s a practice battle between two Dex Holders with overhauled teams.

With commentary for the sake of humor!

Prof Birch’s Lab, Littleroot Town, Hoenn, 11 am…

“Hey, Platinum,” Emerald said as he approached his junior.

Platinum looked up from the map of Hoenn she had been studying, and White, Y, and Moon looked up as well. “Yes, senior?”

“Can I have a practice battle with you?” Emerald asked. “I recently changed my team and I want to test it out against someone strong.”

“Oh? Of course, senior. I will gladly help out.”

Y let out a short groan. “… I knew I should’ve brought a thick coat…”

…

“Okay, here goes,” Emerald said as he held a Pokéball in his hand.

Platinum nodded and held out a Pokéball in her hand as well. White, Y, and Moon watched from a few meters away from the battlefield so they wouldn’t interfere or get caught up in the battle, all armed with winter coats they borrowed from Prof. Birch.

Emerald sent out his first Pokémon, which was a Volcarona. Platinum’s Pokéball opened up and her Ninetales popped out. And immediately, a strong snowstorm began to hit the battlefield.

“And the battle begins,” White said, using an obvious e-sports commentator tone. “It’s going to be a practice battle between The Short One and The Cold One. GLHF to both sides! TSO is leading with Volcarona, and TCO is leading as usual with the Alolan Ninetales. Looks like TSO is going to have the advantage early on. What do you think, Flyer?”

Y momentarily hesitated as she didn’t immediately realize that White was referring to her. “Well, Dreamer, while on paper, TSO might have an advantage, I don’t know if Volcarona’s Fire type moves will be able to go off so easily in the midst of a heavy snowstorm. Ever tried starting a fire in the midst of a blizzard, doc?”

White and Y both looked over at Moon, who simply sighed. “… Not doing it,” she said, inching away from the commentators.

“… Well, looks like the doctor is not in,” Y said, looking back at White. “But the point is, in cold, strong wind conditions, it’s very difficult for any Fire type attack to power up.”

Emerald’s Volcarona immediately used Flamethrower against Platinum’s Ninetales, but a shield-like mystic light barrier blocked the weakened attack.

“I think you’re right, Flyer,” White said. “The Aurora Veil blocked the Flamethrower with ease. How would TSO respond, now that a Fire type frontal attack won’t accomplish much?”

“I think the best course of action is to switch into something that won’t be negatively affected by the snowstorm,” Y said. “But how will he do that safely?”

Platinum’s Ninetales leapt forward while shooting an Ice Beam straight towards Volcarona. The Ice Beam was met by another Flamethrower, which was still strong enough to repel the attack at closer range.

Emerald ordered his Volcarona to use Flamethrower on the ground, this time, as the Ninetales hopped backwards.

“Ooh, there goes the lawn,” White said with a wince. “The neatly trimmed lawn is no more. And the flower garden too! Oh, the humanity! A tragedy has befallen here today. I just hope we don’t get mauled for this.”

“But look! The Flamethrower has created a wall of fire, thanks to the grass on the ground!” Y exclaimed. “And with the snowstorm, there’s a lot of snow and now water on the ground, which is creating a thick dark smoke! … I hope no one thinks we’re arsonists. … And I hope the smoke alarm doesn’t go off in the lab.”

Platinum narrowed her eyes as the thick smoke billowed from the wall of fire, making it impossible to see what was happening on the other side. But since that would work the other way around as well, she returned her Ninetales and sent out her Glaceon. The Glaceon immediately began shooting Ice Beam around itself, creating a specific environment that would benefit it.

Once it was satisfied, the Glaceon used Blizzard against the wall of fire to push it back. Platinum took a deep breath as the ice cold wind blew from behind her blowing away the smoke and allowing her to breathe fresh frigid air. Her hair was swaying in the wind, occasionally obstructing her field of vision. She brushed her hair back and calmly stared at the wall of fire to see what was going to happen next. The wall of fire dissipated under the Blizzard and something burst out of the smoke.

“Oh! TSO has sent out his answer!” White exclaimed. “A shiny Metagross!”

The Metagross immediately located its target and smashed the Glaceon with Meteor Mash, shattering it and sending it flying. Emerald momentarily stood stunned before realizing that the shattered Glaceon was merely a frozen clone. Under the snowstorm, an ice sculpture made in the shape of Glaceon looked exactly like the real one under its Snow Cloak.

Emerald glanced around and saw dozens of the frozen clones of Glaceon all around the battlefield. Figuring that one of them had to be the real one, he got his Metagross to smash each one.

“Looks like TSO is playing whack-a-mole,” Y noted. “Must be real frustrating with all those frozen clones. And TCO is just watching in amusement. Have you been on the receiving end of this ploy, Dreamer?”

“No, I have not,” White answered. “And I hope not too.”

“Well, you feel like a real idiot, smashing ice figures helplessly while your opponent laughs at you and prepares to turn you into a popsicle. If you’re spending all your time smashing ice figures, you’re not doing a shred of damage to the opponent who’s probably going to whack you from behind over and over.”

The Metagross staggered a bit as it took a Shadow Ball from somewhere. It slammed its claws into the ground and began to use Earthquake, making all the immobile frozen clones topple over, and revealing the real Glaceon, as it was the only one that did not fall over.

Emerald pressed the Key Stone on his Mega Bracelet, making his Metagross Mega Evolve just before it charged towards the real Glaceon, utilizing the sudden increase in mobility to catch the small Pokémon off guard, and allowing the Meteor Mash to hit before Platinum could react.

The Glaceon narrowly withstood the attack and quickly hopped backwards. The Mega Metagross charged forward once again. The Glaceon suddenly vanished as Platinum recalled it and another Pokémon popped out. Platinum immediately pressed the Key Stone on her Mega Ring.

The Mega Lopunny immediately struck the Mega Metagross with Fake Out before following up with a series of Fire Punch. The Mega Metagross tried to catch its opponent but it wasn’t nearly fast enough.

Emerald recalled the Mega Metagross and sent out Volcarona. The Mega Lopunny was about to charge towards it but Platinum ordered it back.

“Oh, smart,” White said. “TCO is not going to risk her Mega Lopunny being affected by Flame Body. … Though right about now, being close to something with Flame Body is probably going to be very nice.”

“Indeed, Dreamer,” Y agreed. “We’re freezing our butts off here.”

“Commentating is a harsh job. One of the most dangerous jobs in the business.”

“Oh look! Volcarona with the Quiver Dance,” Y noted. “Looks like TSO is hoping that his Volcarona will start snowballing out of control, just not literally.”

Platinum narrowed her eyes a bit and recalled her Mega Lopunny just as the Volcarona prepared a Flamethrower. The moment the attack was launched, Platinum sent out her Rapidash, which immediately soaked up the Fire type attack with its Flash Fire.

“Oh, a Flash Fire boost!” White exclaimed. “How very clever! And I’m not just saying that because TCO is right there and can hear our every word. … Speaking of which, we may die shortly for that TSO comment.”

“I see what you did there, Dreamer,” Y said. “And I hear you. We better run like hell the moment the battle ends. But absorbing the attack with Flash Fire is indeed ingenious. Volcarona won’t have much offensive capability against another Fire type, and now TSO is in a bit of trouble. He can’t risk sending out something that’s weak to Fire. He has to send out something that resists, but a Water or Dragon type is out of the question, thanks to the existence of Freeze-Dry and other Ice type moves that TCO’s other Pokémon use regularly.”

“But what can Rapidash do in return? Thanks to Quiver Dance, the Volcarona is getting more and more specially defensive, to the point where a Flash Fire boosted Flamethrower won’t really do anything. To counter that, the Rapidash will have to attempt physical attacks. But against something that’s flying in the air, trying to get close for a Flare Blitz won’t really work. And I think TSO has that in mind as well, as the Volcarona is ascending pretty high into the air.”

“That works the other way around as well,” Y said. “The Volcarona is too high up now. Its ranged attacks won’t really be effective in this weather. And TCO is more than happy to switch out to another Ice type and barrage the Volcarona with waves of Blizzard and let the snowstorm do the work for her.”

Platinum returned her Rapidash and sent out her Empoleon, which immediately shot a burst of Hydro Pump straight into the air. The burst of water reached high into the air before dispersing and raining down onto the battlefield.

“Is she simulating a Rain Dance?” White asked.

“I don’t think so. The snowstorm is still going on strong,” Y replied. “Oh wait, look! She’s not simulating rain. She’s simulating freezing rain! If the weather is cold enough, as a raindrop hits a surface and flattens out, it’ll flash-freeze into a layer of ice. TCO is effectively encasing everything in a layer of ice, including us.”

The Volcarona slowly began to descend, as its wings have begun to freeze over. Platinum swept her freezing hair to the side and took a brief moment to brush away the thin layer of ice that had been forming over her skin and clothes.

“Now both participants are in effective range with one another. This battle is becoming more and more interesting,” White said.

“Yes indeed.”

“All right, STOP!” Emerald yelled abruptly, before his Volcarona and Platinum’s Empoleon could engage.

Platinum glanced past the two Pokémon at her senior, wondering why he stopped the battle. But upon seeing his predicament, she immediately realized why. For the whole battle, he had been facing the oncoming snowstorm. And as the battle went on, he had been getting more and more covered in ice and snow. And mixed with the simulated freezing rain, he was now partly buried in snow and then encased in ice.

“This battle’s not really going anywhere any time soon, and it sure looks like I’ll freeze to death long before the battle finishes,” Emerald grumbled out, trying to break apart the layer of ice that had encased his lower half. “So let’s call it a draw. Good practice battle, Platinum.”

“Yes, senior.” Platinum quickly sent out her Ninetales again so that it could stop the snowstorm. And with her Rapidash, she ran towards her senior and assisted his Volcarona in thawing him out.

“And there you have it,” White announced. “The battle between TSO and TCO ends in a draw! GGWP, to both! Now let’s get out of here!”

Y looked down at what was left of the backyard of Prof. Birch’s lab. “We absolutely murdered this backyard, by the way. … I just hope we don’t get into trouble for this…”

…

Later…

…

Sapphire let go of the vine to land in front of her father’s lab. She was about to enter when she noticed a small stream flowing from the backyard, and quickly ran over to see what had happened. Her mouth fell open immediately.

There was a mountain of snow piled up on the side of the backyard, which had melted in the late-summer Hoenn weather, creating the stream. And curiously, the center of the backyard had evidence of fire damage.

She spotted her father rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the backyard.

“Papa! What… what happened?”

Prof. Birch chuckled. “Ah, Emerald and Platinum had a practice battle earlier today. They just may have gotten carried away a bit. At least they shoveled all the snow to the side. Odd feeling, seeing all this snow at this time of year.”

“But we spent so much time on the backyard,” Sapphire said, looking down at what was left of the flower garden.

“Yeah. We’ll need to rebuild. You remember which flowers we had, right? Be a dear and replant those flowers, please. I’ll be doing what I can here.”

#short story #legacy #trainer emerald #trainer platinum #trainer white #trainer y #pokespe

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dragonroilz · 5 months

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Arsonist 2.0.0 is Out!

Available on r2modman and Thunderstore!

#risk of rain 2 #ror2 #ror2 arsonist #yeah she looks like a streetcleaner #best of luck unlocking her #my art

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alanide-art · 3 months

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youtube

A Clergyman of the moon finds solace.

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freenewstoday · 3 years

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New Post has been published on https://freenews.today/2020/12/22/four-charged-over-blaze-that-devastated-australias-fraser-island/

Four Charged Over Blaze That Devastated Australia’s Fraser Island

MELBOURNE, Australia — Four people have been charged with unlawfully lighting a campfire that the authorities said sparked huge blazes on Fraser Island off the northeastern coast of Australia in October, ultimately razing more than 210,000 acres of the popular vacation spot.

A joint investigation between the local police and park rangers found that the men, aged between 21 and 24, lit an illegal fire at a campsite on Oct. 14. The authorities said that the fire then spread in a northwesterly direction, ravaging native vegetation and blackening more than half of the island, much of which is a national park known as K’gari that is renowned for its beaches, rainforest, and immense biodiversity.

The conflagration was ultimately controlled earlier this month after heavy rains helped firefighters contain the blaze. Residents said they were traumatized by the smoke and rapid evacuations, but no injuries or deaths were reported.

Local authorities said that the men were cooperating with authorities and felt deeply remorseful. A fifth male, 17, was also present, but as a minor, has not been charged.

“They’re shocked and devastated,” David Harbison, a police official at Maryborough Station, near the island, said at a news conference on Tuesday.

“They were careless, but they never intended this to happen,” he added. “They didn’t deliberately set a fire to set fire to the island.”

The blaze was the first significant bushfire so far in Australia’s annual fire season, the ferocity of which scientists say is becoming increasingly difficult to predict.

Last year, bushfires across Australia’s southeast coast killed 33 people, destroyed thousands of homes and more than a billion native animals. The world’s attention was captured by scenes of holidaymakers trapped on beaches, where the morning sky turned pitch black and birds fell dead from the sky.

At the time, conservative Australian politicians and media outlets promulgated the myth that arsonists were largely to blame for the ferocity of the flames, in what critics said was an attempt to shift attention away from climate change, which they said was the true culprit. Authorities said lightning strikes were likely responsible for a majority of the fires during that season.

Though the Fraser Island fires were sparked by people, scientists said it was crucial to remember that hotter and drier conditions are ultimately to blame for the speed with which the fires spread and the scale of their destruction.

“Climate change is making landscapes a lot more receptive to fire, because of longer fire seasons and drier fuel,” said David Bowman, a professor of pyrogeography and fire science at the University of Tasmania. “The risk of accidental fires is escalating,” he added.

But, Professor Bowman said, the environment remains susceptible to fire even with tighter controls over human activity.

“We can’t prosecute nature, but we can regulate humans,” he said.

Many national and state parks in Australia, where summer temperatures frequently exceed 100 degrees Fahrenheit, have seasonal or total bans on lighting campfires because of the risk they pose to the environment.

Campfires are largely banned year-round on Fraser Island, which is the world’s largest sand island, and is listed by the United Nations as a heritage site because of its unique ecosystem.

Local rangers said that witnesses had filmed the men and made note of their vehicles, which helped the authorities bring the charges. The rangers went to the men’s campsite, according to investigators, but by that point flames had already been sparked in nearby vegetation.

A nine-week struggle to extinguish the flames ensued. Firefighters, battling sandy terrain, waterbombed the region extensively. In the meantime, the staff and guests of one of the resorts on the western side of the island were evacuated. The nearby community of Happy Valley, with a population of about 770, narrowly escaped destruction.

The four men — a 21-year-old, a 23-year-old and two 24-year olds from south of Brisbane, Queensland’s capital — will appear at the local magistrates court in Hervey Bay on Jan. 21. The 17-year-old male will be dealt with separately under Australia’s Youth Justice Act. Under Australian law, their names have not been released.

Professor Bowman, the fire expert, said that for the majority of Australians, who live in urban areas, it might be difficult to understand just how out of hand a small fire could become.

“It’s a bit unimaginable for them that a fire could escalate,” he said, “and burn half a world heritage area.”

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one-deranged-son · 4 years

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In The Meantime, I’m Just Dreaming of Tearing You Apart

Written by Gossamere as John and Froggy as Ian Nashton.

Warning:

This plot is rated explicit for language, description of violence, and torture. Read at your own risk.

Honestly, I don’t really care about the grammar anymore because it’s been months since I write this so whatever.

Original story was posted in Twitter but due to it’s obtuse cleaning policy, some parts are unable to be saved.

Ian Nashton

Since the Revelator's attack, the 'memorial wall' has gotten so much more crowded. Ian was just his name or his friends' name didn't end up there.

Speaking of, he hadn't seen or hear about the arsonist at all. Aside from a certain phone call, Chicago has slowly gone back to its usual hustle and bustle.

Smart man, he was laying low. Ian's efforts has made it difficult for him to get around, probably.

It does make him uneasy, though. To know that man was still out there, somewhere. To know that it won't be long before he hurts someone else.

Ian let out a frustrated sigh. He wasn't used to working in the new station. He knew that it was only temporary, but he still preferred the old station, which was still being rebuilt.

"See you tomorrow, Ian!" A familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts. When he looked up, his dark eyes met a pair of blues. The detective let a smile form on his face.

"You too, Sam. Goodnight."

Ian couldn't help from sighing as he watched his partner leave the station. His leg hadn't healed completely, but he no longer needed a wheelchair to get around. The doctor had permitted him to switch to a cane through the healing process.

About an hour later, Ian decided to leave his shift as well. It has been a long day, after all. He and his partner were in the middle of a murder case involving an ice pick. It wasn't a particularly baffling or challenging case, all they needed to do was figure out where their suspect was living and arrest them.

Ian put his jacket on and headed outside. This station was a little further away from Hyde Park, but he still refused to take the car. He's always preferred public transport, anyway.

The night sky looked a little cloudy, but Ian could still see the full moon peeking from behind the clouds. It looked eerily beautiful against Chicago's skyscrapers.

ㅤㅤ

John

The night sky looked a little cloudy, and John hoped to God that it won’t rain.

Yesterday the fucking ceiling was leaking due to the heavy thunderstorm and everything, every fucking thing, was soaking wet.

John is so done.

He can't wait to move out. More importantly, he has to move out. After the ‘getting jailed and suddenly forming a cult’ incident, which made his cover as the goddamn Revelator blew out, John has no choice but to leave his shitty apartment into somewhere else.

Not that he minds, heck, he hated the place so damn much, but the thing he thinks about more is the goddamn kids. They’re young and John had forced ‘em to move out every three months and this is actually the longest place they ever had. Moving out again means taking what it seems to be called home for ‘em.

Did they ever think of it as home? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t want to think about it any further. It’s a flaw already, a flaw in his goddamn personality to think about something—someone else—other than his own safety. John heaves a heavy sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s fucking doomed and he knows that one day this will be the death of him, but he can’t stop.

He has to make sure his kids are alright. At least, until they move out from this shitty hellhole into somewhere decent.

And that is why he’s now standing at the top of a building. A black mask covering half of his face and shut almost all smell from the outside air. He eyes his target attentively, just like a panther stalking their prey; jumping from buildings to the nearest roof with precise agility and just enough willpower to keep him steady.

Luckily, Ian Nashton, the fucking detective, was oblivious enough not to notice his presence. John is creeped enough by the fact this goddamn man knows he has someone living with him. He knows that John was living a double life. He fucking knows that just by fucking observing his goddamn living room and John knows he and his kids won’t ever, ever, ever be safe if the goddamn man is still around. Living. Breathing. And using his goddamn brain to poke his nose all over the goddamn place.

The Revelator has to fucking make sure his kids are alright, no matter the cost. So he hits Ian fucking Nashton in his goddamn head. Not strong enough to kill him, but strong enough to make him pass the fuck out. Because John doesn’t care.

No matter the goddamn cost.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Although Chicago's nickname of 'Windy City' was meant to refer to the city's elite who are often called 'windbags', the fact is, the weather can be true to nickname.

On his walk to the bus station, the detective was whistling a song that had lately gotten stuck in his mind. High Hopes.

He had his hands shoved in his pockets to warm them up a little. It was so cold that Ian was able to see his own breath as if it was smoke.

As he walked, he couldn't help himself but to observe the people that walked past him. This was a skill he developed since he was very young. The tall gentleman that walked past him had loose soles and scuff marks on the ankle area. His shoes probably ended up that way because he's always in a hurry to remove them.

That lady dressed in all pink had a slight stumble as she walked. She wasn't used to wearing heels, but it wasn't part of a uniform, no. She was trying to impress someone or perhaps she had just came back from a date.

It all takes a glance. One glance can reveal so much about an individual if you're observant enough.

And apparently one hit to the back of the head was all that it took to bring the detective down.

His merry whistling suddenly stopped as he fell on the concrete.

Surely... someone would see this, right?

ㅤㅤ

John

Someone did not see that.

Nobody did.

John wasn't really a man of plan, he tends to improvise here and there 'cause nothing really ever works in his favor. However, he hopes that this one work. He really hopes for that. Thus why he was planning this out meticulously. There's a plan B for every plan A, then there's plan C, then D, then E, then it goes all the way until people need to start making up new alphabets. Ain't nothing screwing this bitch up.

The barn he chooses was remote, and it obviously had seen better days. Years of getting fucked up by thunderstorms, blizzards, and baking summer heat had taken its toll. The once steady structure which once had sheltered animals and probably some horny teenagers back then had a bigger chance on killing 'em rather than doing it's actual job.

Walls of rotting wooden planks; mice scurrying underfoot amidst the loose straw that covers the concrete floor; it all seems like hell but it's the fucking smell that hits you first. The goddamn smell of shit and rotting bodies of dead mouse all around the place.

John sits still, aimlessly sharpening his blades with whatever shit he could find.

After a while he had given up on trying to wake the man's up, perhaps he hit him too hard to the point the man was in coma already. "Goddamit."

In an instant there was water splashing over his target's face. Detective Ian Nashton was tied up to a chair which can barely hold any shit. The rope he made ain't hurting anyone's wrist, but it was strong enough to leave a mark.

Heck, perhaps that hurts? Who knows.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

The sudden cold sensation on his face olted the detective awake with a sharp gasp. For a good couple of seconds, the man was confused. His glasses nearly slipped down his nose and was barely on his face.

Dark. Smelly. Quiet.

Wherever this is, it must be abandoned.

"You have got to be kidding." Ian hissed.

So they met again, but did it have to be this way? Or at least, did it have to be this soon? The detective tried to struggle against his bonds, but his efforts were useless. John seemed to be pretty handy with knots.

Well, at the very least, Ian didn't have his own handcuffs used against him. That would be a massive blow to one's ego.

Ian's eyes struggled to properly see the other man; mainly because his glasses were barely on its place, but also because of the dim lighting. Observing would be harder like this, surely. Maybe that's why John chose a place like this.

"What, a phone call not enough for you?"

Ian was a clever man. He knew what was to come. He saw the glint of the blade in the darkness. It was inevitable, but he knew if he came out alive, he'd probably have new scars on his body.

If not... well, maybe his badge would go up on the wall after all.

Despite the confusion and fear, Ian knew that the best way he can start planning possible escape plans was to stay calm. Which is precisely what the bespectacled man did. He focused on his own breaths as his eyes darted around, from one corner to another. And despite knowing deep down that struggling was virtually useless, Nashton did it anyway. To hell if it'll hurt or leave a mark.

He was a fighter, after all.

Suddenly, a dull ache plagued the back of his head, he figured that must have been where John had hit him. He couldn't stop himself from grimacing.

"Damn you."

ㅤㅤ

John

"Does it hurt, detective? Did I hurt you too much?"

John chimed as he drags his chair closer towards the man. The blade was cast aside somewhere along the way, but John couldn't care less. There are a bunch of ways to make this work and he knows he doesn't need to be very specific on the method.

Whatever, as long as it works.

"Your clothes are all wet. Do you want me to change it for you?" he asked quietly; his voice was barely above the whisper. John's expression change a little too slowly. The once subtle smirk spreads into a wide and open grin. In the crinkles of his eyes there were no laughter lines, and his eyes, the cold gray eyes, remained hollow despite everything.

His eyes lingered longer on the other's face. John was absolutely ecstatic! The rage fueled across the detective's face was just enough to proof that his plans are working.

And John ain't having anything or anyone ruining his plan. So upon noticing the quiet glances, John instantly reached for the other's glasses and wear it himself.

He cringed, and said, "God, this makes my head dizzy." Then he crushed it with his bare hands, tossing it away towards the corner of the room without caring too much.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"What do you think, you bastard?! You try having your head hit." Ian spat out. The detective's stomach turned when he heard John's offer. He tried to lean away from the other man, but he knew if he did that too much, he'd topple backwards and hit his head again.

"Fuck off, John."

Ian doesn't believe in demons, but that expression John had made him think of one. But in situations like this, all he has is his wits and silver tongue. He doesn't want to show his anxiousness, especially not now.

Not to John.

The detective let out a startled gasp when his glasses were snatched off his face. Now the world seemed all blurry. Yet he was able to tell that John had put them on himself.

"Have some damn decency and give them back—" The detective's words were cut off when he heard the faint sound of his glasses snapping and breaking. How the hell was John able to do that? With his bare hands, too.

Ian couldn't stop the look of despair from forming on his face. That was his best pair, and now it has quickly turned into a heap of junk. The detective clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he narrowed his eyes at John.

"I get it. You blind me so that I won't be able to make anymore deductions, huh? Oh, I must have shaken you to the core. The great, infamous Revelator, shaken by a four-eyed detective from Chicago."

He may have had his sight impaired, but he still had four other senses.

"You want to send a message again, don't you? Why else would you take me here? You don't care about money. You wan't me out of your hair. Well played." Despite the unassuming nature of his words, they were laced with venom and hatred, and Ian ended his sentence with a scoff.

ㅤㅤ

John

"Hush... detective, please."

Catching the frantic movement of his subjected target, John brings his fingers to his lips. Gesturing the man to keep his mouth shut as he shook his head.

The Cheshire grins flatten out, and the expression he bore was nothing but pure agony.

"Hold still, you will only hurt yourself even more if you do that." The Revelator brought his hands towards his capture's head, pressing gentle fingers at the back of his head before he starts trailing down to the end of his hair. He smiled softly, oh so sweet, oh so full of adoration while he strokes the damp strands away from the detective's eyesight.

"Does it still hurt? I could bring you some meds if that’s what you want."

He didn't even bother to wait for the other's response. John quickly got up to his feet and started to walk towards the corner of the room, where the moss grows uncontrollably and the stench reeks out the worst. There was a table and a single dimly lit lamp on top of it.

Scattered on it, a scalpel and combat taggers. Rope tied neatly besides a handcuff, then rusty chains with splatters of blood. Talk about hygiene.

"Want a drink, detective?" he asked, his lips stretched into a smile but didn't quite reach his eyes.

John reached for a bottle of vodka before returning to his checkpoint; the seat in front of Ian Nashton.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"Hm, yeah, how about no? You chose to keep me captive, you deal with me, my observation and my mouth. Any regrets, yet?"

Ian flinched slightly when he felt the other man's touch. Just like at the hospital, it was uncharacteristically gentle, and that's precisely what made it feel so unsettling. Ian tried to avoid the touch but he was unable to. He averted his gaze from the other and scoffed.

"What I want is what the rich need, the poor have, and if you eat it, you die."

Nothing. The answer was nothing. Of course, he wants to be let go, but he knew his captor wouldn't do that so easily.

His wrists began to feel sore, thus he stopped struggling for now. The uncertainty of what the Revelator was going to do next was quite unnerving, even for Ian himself.

"You seem to have some familiarity with this place. Tell me, how many people have met their end here?"

At this rate, he may just be another.

Ian squinted at the bottle in John's hand, then he shook his head. "I'll pass."

ㅤㅤ

John

The Revelator wasn't the type to have such a short fuse, but well, that's the Revelator.

John? John is a little bit impatient.

Perhaps, desperate, but who knows?

"Listen here," John whispered, the smile across his face didn't even falter away as he gripped the other's man throat in a harsh squeeze. His pupils shrunk to the point his eyes look like nothing but gray irises.

He took a shot straight from the bottle. Anger boiled deep within his system. Smoldering like a fire churned within, hungry for any goddamn release. John doesn't even understand why the simple word could make him feel so annoyed, but hell, man.

The fucking detective is an asshole, yes.

"I know you hate me, detective," he said, his lips tugged upwards yet his voice was as flat as ever.

The fingers on Nashton's throat squeezes even harder, slowly at first, yet surely it goes.

"I killed your motherfucking comrade, sir, I blow your fucking station up, but I ain't the type to drag some random asshole to a fucking outskirts just to kill 'em. Oh, boy, oh, no. You're the first one over here. You're my first."

"And I ain't killing you, sweetheart, I ain't doing that."

He leaned his face closer, the grip on the other's throat did not for one second ease away.

"I'm here for a simple talk, and I want this shit to work, detective, if you ain't cooperating then maybe I should try and destroy your pretty face."

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

The detective let out a strangled gasp and his arms instinctively tugged at his bonds in an attempt to grab at John's wrists, but of course, they were tied securely in place, and all it did was cause more pain as the rough material dug into his skin.

At first, he tried to match the intensity of the other's gaze, but as seconds went on, his eyes became wider, more frantic. His mind wanted to be strong and fearless but at that moment his body couldn't lie. John could simply crush his windpipes at any moment and there was no Sam to save him this time.

When John's hand squeezed harder, Ian tried to take in a desperate breath.

"Huh... you think——you think... I'm pretty?" His words were barely above a whisper, and he struggled to say them. You'd think he'd try to save his breath, but of course, of course he always has something witty to say. If he wasn't having his throat squeezed, maybe he'd even laugh.

"Then talk."

ㅤㅤ

John

John lets go. Slightly amused by the man's answer, but more by the tinge of desperation across his eyes. Peals of laughter burst from his throat, 'cause John was amused, fuck. He was fucking amused and everything is going so well. He kept his fingertips still at the detective's throat with a sinister glint of eyes, rubbing it gently to ease the pain in yet another surprising gentle manner.

"I just want you to fuck off, detective," he said, smile completely enveloping his face, "I want you to fuck off for real."

But if one might think he will keep his weak ass façade, then they might as well drop dead. 'Cause soon as he said that, John's smile disappears. "You've been super great at doing your job," John continued, his hand trailing back towards the detective nape, "but I can't have you going around looking for me and stop me from doing whatever I'm about to do, fuckstain. You think you're so good with your fucking observation skill, eh?"

John gripped the man's hair and yanked it back, his gaze was intense as it was locked towards the dark irises. The shortage of breath was the first sign, then it all continues as the Revelator's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His skin flushed red as the anger began to take over his rationality.

In an instant his hands were gripping a dagger. The metal glints under the poorly lighted room, and the cold sharp surface pressed iddly against the other's thigh. It begins with a slow pace, at first. Not even enough to be considered as a tickle but as time went by, John pressed the blades even deeper, even stronger. Letting it rips through the trousers in the most torturing pace before it even reaches his muscle as John says, "I'm saying this as a friendly warning, detective."

"I just want you to stay the fuck away from my goddamn life or face the fucking dread. 'Cause let me tell you what, detective, I can be the fucking thing you dream about when you wake up screaming and can't remember why. I'm saying I'm that I'm the monster inside your closet you fear so much when you're a kid, I'm the fucking whispers you heard in the woods, and if you ever, ever, dare to fuck with me or my fucking kids then I will fucking drink your name, detective. I will grind up your brains and your bones and your blood, I will unmake you, and for sure, detective, I will make the earth forget you ever existed."

Then he presses the blade into the other's thigh with a harder intensity in a swift motion. When the knife met the thick muscles and made a satisfying sound, John pushes the tip even deeper. Twisting the grip on his hand as it sunk through layers of tissues and tissues.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Ian immediately took in as deep a breath as he could once his throat was let go, he coughed and shuddered. The detective could feel his heart thumping against his rib cage, and his breath was still ragged. Yes, he was afraid. He knew John was a dangerous man, and he had the upper hand here.

A gentle touch is supposed to bring comfort, but John's touch made the detective uncomfortable. He had his hands clenched so hard until he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms.

His heart felt like it skipped a beat when John's expression suddenly changed. Those pair of eyes had an icy colour to them, yet they felt like they were boring holes into his own. Detective Nashton had never seen that kind of expression on the other man's face before. Frankly, it's terrifying. As if coming face to face with the devil himself.

The detective yelped when his har was yanked roughly, he wont be surprised if some strands of his hair had fallen because of it. When his hair was let go, the detective groaned at the strain he felt on his neck.

So, this is John's 'bad guy speech'. Ian had his manners, he was going to let John finish his little speech before giving a rebuttal. His dark eyes darted from his captor's face to the blade and they watched helplessly as it glided across his dark trousers. He watched as the blade ripped through the fabric, slightly exposing the skin underneath.

At first, he felt the cold sensation, and it only made him shudder, granted, his thighs were sensitive. But then came a sharp, sudden pain. Like accidentally pricking yourself with a sewing needle, but a thousand times worse.

The detective screamed in agony, and he tried to jerk his leg away in a panic, but they too were tied securely to the chair. John kept going deeper, and deeper, without any mercy. It wasn't that he had never been stabbed before, but this was different. Perhaps the anticipation only made it feel worse, it didn't help that it was his thigh being stabbed.

The detective shuts his eyes as he tried to stop his whimpers from leaving his mouth.

Then they opened again, the detective tried his best to shoot John a determined look. Even through the pain and even through the tears that had formed on his face from said pain.

He didn't care that his voice came out shaky. He didn't care if John could hear the fear behind it.

"Maybe—the earth w-won't. But someone... s-someone will—" a sharp hiss cut him off mid-sentence, but he continued, "you can get rid of me. But then you'd—you'd have to deal with someone else. Someone who'd work even harder than I do."

Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or perhaps he was just outright stupid (for a man oh so clever), but the detective spat in the other's face.

"I never really believed that t-there were monsters living in my closets——never did. Someone will always try to stop people like you. John."

ㅤㅤ

John

John eyes were wide open, his jaw clenched and his teeth gritted while he was trying so hard not to lose his composure. He ain't gonna lie, shit's hard since the son of a bitch still staring at him with those goddamn eyes ‘filled with determination’ and won't even try to just keep his fucking mouth shut for once.

John ain't having it today.

It all started with a open slap full across the face, but then again, such light ‘intimacy’ doesn't even give the Revelator a single hint of satisfaction. So John stood up from his chair, pushing it away with his feet while his gray irises remained unfazed from the stammering man.

He took a deep breath and give the detective a taste of his own medicine, a sharp round punch to the chin and another one on the other side. And if someone thinks he's satisfied with it, they should take a look of the fact that he blows it repeatedly. Each punch is harder than the other to the point the chair falls sideways, leaving a sound of something snapping, and shit, John hoped it was his goddamn nose.

It feels like his lunge was filled with water, as if there has been just less space in them for the air. John helped the man to sit again, maneuvering the chair into its original position with his right hand on the chair, and the other one wrapped around his neck, fingernails digging into his flesh.

"I know someone will always try to stop me, detective," said John, his voice was quiet as it was filled with rage. "But if you think I would ever stop on destroying each one of 'em, you're wrong."

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Ian was always one to speak his mind, and he knows this trait of his can be troublesome.

The slap stung. His face felt like it was burning. He knew that wasn't the end of it. With each blow, he could only wince and grunt in response. The detective tugged at his bonds again, instinctively trying to cushion the fall. He heard the sound, too, but he wasn't sure what that is. He was still able to breathe through his nose, so that's not it. At least, not yet.

His shoulder was the first to hit the ground. It may have gotten dislocated, considering the weight of his body and the chair wasn't properly distributed.

John had his hand around his throat again, but this time it felt tighter than ever before, he could feel those fingernails digging into his skin, perhaps enough to draw blood or at least leave some unsightly mark. In the back of his head, he could hear a little voice telling him to stand down, otherwise it'll be much worse.

Once again, however, Detective Nashton was always one to speak his mind. Even if he knew it will bring him all sorts of trouble.

"S-someday—someday they will g-get to you, John. If not f-from Chicago, then——then New York." The detective gasped for air, he refused to quit.

His voice was barely above a whisper, too. The sentence came out broken, with every few words, the detective tried to take in more desperate breaths. "FBI, CIA. S-someone will. And I can't say—if they'd be as nice as I am."

He was starting to feel a little lightheaded from the pressure around his throat, but his eyes were still often. A mix of fear and determination were apparent in his dark irises. Fear was only natural in a situation like this, it couldn't be helped. But despite the threat on his life, it only made the detective more determined to stop The Revelator.

If he made it out alive.

But he knew, even if he didn't, his friends would find out what had happened to him. If they weren't the ones continuing the work, they'd tell people about what had happened. Someone would surely act.

ㅤㅤ

John

John paused. His nose flares. He felt so high with rage or anxiety, he ain't sure which one is.

Detective Ian fucking Nashton was right. Someone, sooner or later, will eventually found him. Just like when the ‘previous’ Revelator got ambushed in the middle of nowhere by the goddamn CIA. He could even still hear the gunshots, the explosives, and the burning streets.

God-fucking-dammit. He shouldn't be remembering about it.

But he remembered it already, and it doesn't help any shit 'cause it only makes John clenched his jaw so hard, he thought it could snap it in half. The man feels his lungs and eyes burn, unsure what it means, but his breath come out sharp and ragged. He made a strangled noise as he saw the glare filled with hatred at the man's orbs, and he could feel himself mimicking the same fucking gesture.

'Cause John is now frustrated. He is. And he's not good with stress.

So he groaned, and punched again. This time there ain't any pleasure or satisfaction coming along with each blow 'cause John feels like he was being strangled himself. There are bruises on his knuckles and the pain keeps blazing every time his jaw connected to the man's jaw.

He couldn't hear his mind thinks as the only thing filled his ears are the sound of his ragged breath, the loud crunching sound, the curses spilled from his mouth which sound rather desperate than angry.

"Fucking hell!" His muscle tensed, then he landed the last blow, as hard as he could until the chair fell down sideways again, yet this time, John didn't even bother to fix the position up.

John heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes; taking a moment to ward the piercing headache away. He could feel the drip of blood at his knuckles, although he wasn't sure if it was his or the detective's.

He's fucked and he's fucked.

Both of them are.

"Listen here, you son of a bitch," John squatted, then leaned his face inches closer towards the man. He could still feel the stress burning through his blood vessel as he gripped the man's jaw.

"You did it to yourself."

John let go of the man jaw and proceeds to walk to the other way. He took another shot of his overly expensive vodka and settled the bottle roughly at the wooden table. The only good thing of not having to wear a mask in front of the detective was the fact he could actually smoke. As he place the cigarette between his lips and lit it up, John's eyes trailed gently towards the bottle of vodka again.

"Detective, are you thirsty?" he asked. Then John walked back towards the helpless man and, again, squatted so he could grip the man’s jaw again, aligning his face so it could face the Revelator directly. "You should drink."

Then he forces the bottle into the other's mouth, his expression runs flat until the very last drop.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Jackpot. He may not have his glasses. But they were close. So close, and he could see. He could see the slight change of expression. Perhaps it was anger, but there was something else even the detective couldn't put his finger on. If he wasn't in so much pain right now, maybe he'd laugh.

John should have blindfolded him, really.

But this time, Ian made no mention of it. He stayed silent and stored the information in the back of his mind. He knew that if he were to make it out alive, he would make use of it. The only question was, which one triggered John's response? CIA or FBI?

Ian figured that getting to the answer is as simple as a phone call. He knew he just scored himself another leverage, but he wasn't quite sure what it was.

Even as he was beaten down again and fell on that same shoulder, the detective forced out a chuckle. It was a singular chuckle of amusement.

"You think... I don't know that? I know. I know I should've——stayed quiet." The detective spat out the blood that had gathered in his mouth—no broken teeth, he hoped. But he hadn't felt anything... loose, yet.

"I just... chose not to." For the first time that night, Ian smiled. Genuinely, even. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as a sign.

This must be what it means to 'laugh in the face of danger'. It hurts too much to laugh, so he'd settle for a smile. Most people would have cowered and begged for mercy by now, but not him.

John may be a puzzle Ian can't yet solve. But Ian himself has been described as an 'enigma' by his friends.

The bottle being rammed into his mouth was uncalled for, and he had an expression of shock. Some of the liquid poured down his throat, but most of it just spilled out of his mouth. It's not exactly easy to drink in that position. The liquid burned his tongue and throat, but it also brought with it a temporary sense of relief in his head.

Judging by the taste (and ignoring the coppery 'notes' from his blood), it must be high quality vodka.

Such a waste.

ㅤㅤ

John

"Feels better, ain't it?" he asked, tossing the bottle away before coming up to his full height again.

John walks back towards the table, dragging his cigarette occasionally before blowing the smoke in a rather slow pace. His eyes skimmed through his tools cautiously, picking up some knives and another as he took a mental note to sharpen it again, but later.

The Revelator eventually settled with a Gerber Mark II, with double serrated, black oxide coated blade. Flipping it from one hand towards another as if he was a child playing tricks with it. Then he glances back towards the detective's face, defendless, vulnerable, and so open.

John really has the upper hand here, he wonders how come this man wouldn't just shatter already.

"Sometimes when we don't have any anesthetic or morphine, we'll try to get ourselves drunk so we won't remember about the pain afterwards. It's a tough world we are living, eh?"

He walked back towards the man, but instead of squatting, John decided to sit in front of Nashton's immobile figure. This time, with a smile on his face.

"Let's see how it would work for you, yeah?"

Then in an instant his dagger was pressed to the man's right arm and John doesn't even bother on ripping his shirt off 'cause he thinks that was not very nice and he knows that his blade is sharp enough to slice through it.

He works his way through it, it wasn't even that deep, but blood has come rushing through it just after he starts to press even deeper. Carving his way through the muscles, destroying tissues, cells, and blood vessels around it.

He started to laugh, out of frustration and desperation. John just really wants this to be over with now that Ian Nashton had completely ruined the mood for him.

"Hey, guess the word," John asked as he begins to carve his own name to the detective's skin. The latter's clothes were already stained with blood.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"I-I can't believe you got some expensive stuff just for..." The detective trailed off when he saw the glint of the knife. It was a different one, it was clean.

And that is one mean looking knife.

"Oh shit." He whispered to himself.

When John started to come closer, the detective tried to roll away, but unfortunately that damn chair was in the way. He probably wouldn't be able to stand up considering he has a still bleeding stab wound on his thigh.

How the hell hasn't he passed out yet?

His agonized scream broke the silence of thebarn, he knew no one would hear him, but there was still a little bit of hope in the detective's heart.

He couldn't see it, but he could feel his own blood seeping out from the wound, he could feel how his shirt was slowly becoming damp as the blood kept flowing.

The detective shuts his eyes tight once again and cried out in pain, he didn't even hear what John had said, all that he heard was his own screams.

He was starting to feel lightheaded. From the pain, and from the blood loss. If John doesn't kill him, the blood loss will. Ian Nashton opened those dark irises of his and looked John straight in the eyes. To hell with it. He was in pain and he was in a vulnerable position, but if he was to die, he wanted John to know that he's not someone who'd back down easily. All that pain and fear, Ian converted into anger and hatred.

But the gaze only lasted so long, as his eyes fluttered shut with a soft little whimper as the detective lost consciousness.

ㅤㅤ

John

Second passes and the screams faded away. With each new split of his skin, crimson liquid pops and made its run down, soaking the once clean shirt in a beautiful red.

When John finished with writing his name, he glanced towards his captive's ashen face. Warm blood gushes out from the exposed wounds, flowing like a lazy river in thick beads down towards the hard concrete. Some had dried and caked his nose, lips, and the spreading purple blotches just made his face looking even more... fucked.

He just did this.

Looking back towards the engraved skin, John was somehow pleased that he managed to write all of it clearly.

Monsoon.

Not John, not the Revelator, but Monsoon. The name he had hidden for so long and would still be until someone actually found out about it. He thought it wouldn't ever happen, hell, he doesn't have any registered data anywhere.

He's either not real or that he is a living ghost.

Still, it was foolish to leave a clue, he knows. It wasn't obvious, but it was indeed, peculiar. Detective Ian Nashton wasn't a fool. Fucking hell, no. He's a straight up genius, although a complete clown to even try and stand up against the goddamn Revelator. John doesn't even know how someone could make an observation so accurate, and if there was someone that could crack all the code and questions about the Revelator, it would be him.

And John can't have that.

He can't.

So John stood up again. Moving towards the other end of the room to retrieve a medical kit, 'cause even though he wished he could just end the man's life, it's against his main objective.

John let the tie fall loose and immediately cover the open wounds in any clean fabric he could fine. Some came from ripping the other's man shirt or from taking his fancy tie.

Then he checks for other wounds or bruises, or anything, actually. Tending it carefully before eventually setting the man into the chair again. Of course he would still tie him, he ain't gonna let the man go so easily.

John lets the man recover for a moment as he takes another drag from his fourth cigarette. Then, in another swift motion, he threw a bucket of cold water towards his face.

"Rise and shine, detective."

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Ian jolted awake, again with a gasp. The first thing he noticed was that his tie was now wrapped around his thigh, where that first stab wound was. And he could feel that some fabric from his shirt has been ripped away. Presumably to be used as a makeshift bandage elsewhere.

It was a rare occasion for him to be confused, yet there he was. He glanced at his thigh, then at John.

"I.. I don't understand. You—?" The detective gestured at the now wrapped wound with his head. Of course, he was grateful for it, which was why he held off from spitting out curses right now. But he was, still, confused.

"Great. So—so you've dressed my wounds, now you're going to stab me again, right? Rinse——rinse and repeat, as they say?"

Ian groaned and kept his head low, he let out a small sigh and forced out a chuckle. The words coming out of Ian's mouth were barely above a hoarse whisper. But the short moment he was unconscious was like a little reset button for him and his mind. That powerhouse stored in his head began getting to work.

"I could only make out some of the letters you were carving out before I... passed out. M-O-N-S-O. But——by process of elimination, you spelled out 'monsoon'. Hm?"

A seasonal prevailing wind from South and Southeast Asia, but what significance did that word have to the Revelator? As far as Ian was concerned, John was the type of man that does everything for a reason.

But that reason has to wait, because he just felt a throb on the back of his head which made the detective let out an reluctant whimper.

ㅤㅤ

John

John expected a snarky comeback, so it was a relief to see the man stutters and get all confused by his antics. It made him feel much better, powerful. 'Cause battling with Ian Nashton was never about strength or muscle, it's more like a game of chess. You need to try and outsmart your rival in every move, you need to make them confused and unable to predict anything.

John was about to say something when suddenly a loud sound echoes around the room. It's a guitar, then someone is singing. Billie Joe Armstrong, to be exact. So he walked over to the source of the sound; the detective's phone he had stored away from the moment he drags him over to the shitty barn. Then he saw it.

Sam?

Oh, Sam.

John smiled, he picked it up then set it on loud speaker.

"Hey, did you sleep in or something? I can't believe I came to the station before you did!" John was chuckling, low and quiet. He didn't care if at this point if the detective will actually scream his way for help, he ain't giving a shit about it no more. Not that he has Sam on his grasp.

He said, "Hey, this is Ian's friend, Ian is kind of sick today so he can't make it to work. Maybe you want to come over and check him out? He's burning, officer. Literally."

John hung up, then he tossed the phone hard enough until it crash. The smile across his face grow wider as another idea flashed through his head. John giggles like a high school girl who just had their virginity stolen by the hottest jock at school, then he made his way towards where he keeps his bottle of vodka and also, gasoline.

John smiled even wider at the very thought.

The floor is filled with it without even taking too long, John had used to work swiftly when it comes to shit like this. His heart beating frantically against his chest, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He's going to burn, he's going to burn!

He smiled so wide, his cheeks strained. Then the Revelator wears his mask back and stared at his captive for the last time.

"You should fear a Day when no soul will suffice for another soul at all, detective. And nocompensation will be accepted from it, nor will any intercession benefit it, nor will they be aided."

The flickering spark of a single match dropped to the ground. Then everything burns.

The Revelator made grand out of the barn.

ㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Well, he WAS going to give that snarky remark. But from the first beat of the song, he knew exactly who was calling him.

No, no. Not now.

Sam's voice was so cheery. That same voice usually brought comfort and joy to Ian's heart, but hearing it now made his stomach drop and his blood run cold. If it was even possible, Ian was sure that he had become even paler by now. Has John really kept him here all night? He wasn't sure what time it was, but he figured the day had changed. He was supposed to come in for a morning shift today.

"SAM! SAM! IT'S HIM! PLEASE—LOOK FOR A BARN——"

John suddenly hung up. Ian wasn't sure how much of that his partner managed to hear, or if he heard at all. The detective flinched when the phone was thrown to the ground. He was sure that in just a split second, the device had become cracked and unusable.

How cruel. Hope was dangled in front of the detective like a carrot, and now it's gone.

Back at the station, Sam's cheery, warm expression soon changed as soon as the call ended. His hands began to tremble as he sets his phone down.

"What's the matter?" An officer had noticed how the colour had drained from Sam's face.

"I-it's... it's Ian Nashton. H-he's—I think he's in trouble."

Ian started to struggle against his restraints again, but he felt as if they were even tighter now. Those giggles from John sent a terrible chill down his back. It was the kind of sound that would haunt someone for years to come.

"You bastard, if I make it out alive I swear I will—"

Oh, hell.

OH. SHIT.

Even if he couldn't see what it was, even if he was blindfolded; the smell of gasoline was unmistakable.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out where this was going. He was going to end up like Dick Foster.

"John, John! Listen to me, you don't want to do this! Y-you—you don't——" Ian suddenly yelled in despair and frustration. He didn't bother finishing his sentence because he knows John wouldn't stop now. The other man's compulsion to burn things could not be stopped now.

For all his courage, when faced with the threat of certain death like this—especially being burned to death—he can still be afraid.

And he WAS afraid. Not of John, but of dying.

He was afraid to leave his friends and family behind. He was afraid of leaving his cat; if he died, who would take care of Monty?

He doesn't want to imagine the faces of his friends and family when they hold a funeral for him. Ian was certain that both his mother and younger brother would be in tears with his mother becoming inconsolable. His father, on the other hand, would cry softly without making much noise at all.

Sam would most likely blame himself for not arriving fast enough.

As a detective, he knew dying was one of the risks on the job. But he didn't think it'd end like this.

He doesn't want to die like this.

The thought of his own funeral (and the smell of gasoline) was what made the detective spill his tears in the end. He doesn't sob, or whimper. They just flowed down his cheeks.

"JUST SHUT UP, JOHN." The detective yelled again, his voice trembled and towards the end it cracked just a little, but he didn't give a single damn about it. "He'll find me. He always does."

Ian gritted his teeth, and in one last act of defiance, he looked John straight in those icy blue eyes.

"I should. But I don't want to. Even if my body and mind betrays me. I DON'T want to fear you."

The grounds around him immediately caught ablaze, and before his captor was out of sight, Ian yelled out one last time. He yelled out something that might as well be his famous last words.

"Someone will come to you eventually, you goddamned psychopath! YOU HEAR ME?!"

When John had finally left, Ian allowed himself to whimper desperately as the fire began to grow and grow. He couldn't even use his legs and hop around to escape.

At this rate, he's as good as dead.

"I want every men and women check out all possible known barns within Chicago, now. We could still save him if we hurry up." Margaret barked her orders and all present officers and detectives scrambled on to their feet to get inside a car.

Sam had actually gone on his own as soon as the call ended. He may not be as observant as Ian was, but he knew the Revelator would pick a spot somewhere isolated. And through common sense, he knew that he wouldn't find an isolated barn in the heart of Chicago's concrete jungle. So he decided to drive around the outskirts of the city.

Still, though... Sam may have an encyclopedic knowledge of the city's streets, but if he doesn't have a specific location, that knowledge would be useless.

And he was having a race against time.

He was able to see smoke billowing in the distance, whether or not this was from a burning barn or a factory, he wasn't sure. Still, he stepped on the gas and turned the sirens on.

As he got closer, it became apparent that... yes, it was in fact a burning barn.

"I think I found him. Just off of Avondale. Send an ambulance!" Sam hastily jumped out of his car and decided that he'd run in through the flames. Even if it meant getting burnt and hurting his leg again.

"IAN!" Sam called out in desperation. He hoped to whatever deity is up there that his partner would still be alive.

And... there he was. On the ground. Ian somehow had managed to knock himself down. It seemed that he had panicked and started to thrash around in an effort to free himself. Sam wasted no more time and freed his partner from his bonds.

Detective Nashton was unconscious again, but he still had a pulse. If Sam had waited for the fire department or an ambulance, there was no doubt that Ian would have ended up dead.

With some difficulty, Sam managed to get his unconscious partner up from the ground. There were no explosives in sight, but Sam didn't want to hang around and double check. He slowly approached the exit and he fought back a wince with every step as his leg was starting to hurt again.

But he can't fall now. If he falls, that means both of them would die.

Fortunately for both detectives, they made it outside. Once they were a safe distance from the barn, Sam set Ian down on the ground, gentle as ever; and he himself dropped onto his knees.

The blonde man cradled Ian's body and he gently ran a hand through his partner's dark locks. He noticed how the other's once crisp, white shirt had become tattered and ripped and stained a dark crimson. His partner's once handsome face now was covered in an assortment blood and bruises.

Most disheartening was that the strong and stern expression was no longer there. Ian looked frail and vulnerable. It was as if Sam was looking at someone else.

"My goodness... what has he done to you?" Sam's voice came out barely above a whisper, it was evident that tears threatened to fall from his eyes, too.

It wasn't long before Ian regained his consciousness, but both detectives knew this wouldn't last long. Ian had lost a lot of blood, and not to mention, he had probably inhaled some smoke again. And possibly carbon monoxide, too.

Ian breathed a sigh of relief when the blue eyes that he saw belonged to none other than Sam Hooper. His partner and his best friend. Ian weakly gripped his partner's jacket and pulled himself even closer.

"Home——Sam. Let's—let's——go—"

"Shh, shh. Save your strength, Ian. It's okay now. I'm here and you're safe. The paramedics are on their way."

Sam had actually never seen Ian this shaken before, but he knew that even the bravest of men would be shaken to a degree if they were in a situation like that.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Ian had lost his consciousness again, and Sam swore his partner's pulse had gotten fainter. The paramedics began to hook Ian to all sorts of machines once he was put in the ambulance. Sam had no idea what any of those did except for the heart monitor.

Detective Hooper approached one of the paramedics. Daniel, was his name.

"I-is... is my friend going to be alright?"

Daniel smiled politely and nodded once, "we will do the best that we can. He's detective Nashton, right? He's a fighter, that one."

Sam couldn't agree more. If it was him in Ian's position, Sam was sure his spirits would have been broken within the first hour. He was allowed to go to the hospital via the ambulance. As for his car, Sam had trusted officer Cole with the keys.

Before the ambulance door closed, Sam could see how the old barn had began to crumble. Looks like he got to Ian just on time.

Sam was glad that he decided to gloat about coming in early. It might have just saved his partner's life.

#deus det nobis suam pacem #8

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okimargarvez · 6 years

Text

METEOROLOGY- Wind

Original title: Meteorology.

Prompt: climatic metaphors, phases of love.

Warning: none.

Genre: drama, romantic, comedy, angst, family, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team, Phil (Luke’s partner), Phil’s wife, Roxy, Derek Morgan.

Pairing: Garvez, Phil x Lucille.

Note: Multichapter.

Legend: 💏😘😈👓🔦🐶❗👨‍👩‍👧‍👦💍🎈.

Song mentioned: Via con me, Paolo Conte.

Meteorology- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

WIND

Distance makes to the love what the wind does to the fire: turns off the little, unleash the big. (Roger de Bussy-Rabutin)

Not this time. You don't pretend it does not hurt. On the bedside you find her ring, engraved with your name to ' internal. A pause is an understatement, this sounds a lot more like a farewell. It's not the first time that you are in crisis, indeed. But it is the first since you are married. It's similar, but it's very different. It's terribly serious. And you haven’t even had a fight: she did everything. She misinterpreted your words and then made the suitcases.

Every day you contemplate her absence. Even Roxy is disappointed. For a week she refused to touch food. You take her to the vet, but when you explain to have been break up, he recommends you may want to wait a little longer, because your dog looks great, she's not sick. She feels only the lack of her mistress.

Each object reminds you of her and you do nothing to prevent the feelings overwhelm you in full. You consume least two handkerchiefs a day. You cry like you haven't done since you were a child and gradually you realize that these tears aren't only spilled for your wife, but also for your mother and your father. And for Phil, for what happened and for the children than ever you'll have. When you're at home you spend hours in front of the bookcase, fingering the covers of her favorite novels. Many of these you bought them for her.; perhaps exactly for this reason she has brought them with her. In fact, most of the personal effects of Penelope is still here: this would be consistent with her version that this is just a pause, a time to pull the plug. But the fear of losing her is really too big. And then you step one by one the ornaments, recalling for each one the story linked to it. This little airplane, for example, it relates to a case in Wisconsin, an arsonist who didn't want to set fire to people, but only buildings; unfortunately, he couldn't always avoid that there was collateral damage. He had made you sorry and he wasn't the only one. That duckie with its head going up and down, instead, it's a gift by your brother.

Also at work it was impossible not to notice that something was wrong. The next day I that she asked you the break you were gone, almost by inertia by moving towards your desk. But Prentiss had called you in her office. -Luke, I received a request from Penelope. She wants to use all the vacation months that has accumulated since she works in the BAU. You know something about?- you were not able to say anything, so she changed demand. -Did something happened? - you were forced to nod.

-She left me.- you said barely in a whisper, but the boss had heard.

-What? - the cry had probably been heard until to the upstairs. -She left you?- she had shaken her head, confused.

-In fact no, she asked me a break. There is any difference?- you just wanted to throw you on the job and then throw in the bed, which still retained her scent; It was the only way to be able to get some sleep. Even during sleep the nightmares still didn't let you in peace.

Shortly after, thankfully, a case had come. And you had discovered that Garcia would be replaced temporarily by his old ex, Kevin Lynch. The first day you had look at him indifferent; now you both had one thing in common. You both had let her go. But you still hope.

Now no one asks you anything. Emily gave up after she offered you a rest, to give you the way to find Penelope and convince her to come to her senses. But you had refused, telling her that if you would follow that plan, you would always live with the doubt that it could happen again. Unfortunately, it's the choice of your wife, your wife has to decide to turn back because she realized that love was the only thing that mattered.

But in the end you were forced to talk about it with someone and the choice should have been obvious, almost banal; but it was not like that because of the subject you should have talked about. Penelope is gone because she thinks you want children with her just to please the wish of her late mother-in-law. But it's not so, dammit!

-Before, no, I don't want it. And I know say this to you is equivalent to request, almost demand to kick me, but it's true. I never thought about it, the possibility of becoming a father. Let's say that I was also missing raw matter first.- Phil nods, inviting you to go on. -But when I met Penelope, when I realized that I was in love with her, things like marriage and having a family have become my biggest dream.- you realize that you're crying only when a hefty drop flowing down your face end up inside your sweater.

-So instead of sitting here whining you should get up and go to her. It's at her that you have to say these things, not at me. Don't tell me you're scared.- you shake your head, this not the point.

-If I do the first move I'll never know if she would choose me again.- Phil doesn't understand your reasons. For him are just excuses. And so, you isolates yourself more and more. You write hundreds of emails that not sent to her. The same goes for the text. And some paper letters. For an IT. This makes you barrel of laughs and sometimes you risk to get a heart attack, because once you started laughing just can't stop. It ends up that turns into a harrowing cry and luckily there Roxy, the only real girl that never left, who never hurt you, perhaps because she's not a human being, but an animal. You spend virtually all your free time with your face buried in her fur, like you used to before you met Penelope, when you were alone and the world seem a bad place, sad and when you loved the rain because you felt purified although now they say it's acid, which fret that more harm than good, but you're not a scientist of that kind, and even if you have very extensive knowledge, you dismiss it all and live it as would have done yours prehistoric ancestor.

And even now you still like rain, you remained fond of it. You never denied, even when you were with her, even when you were forced to realize that existed some other climates, that sometimes the sun comes out and there's always a rainbow after the storm. Now you're bound to learn something new, a breeze that penetrates in every free space, the cold air that caresses your skin and seems to imitate her touch and then you decide that even the wind isn't so bad and maybe can carry your message to her, like it's in the movies.

Escape is cowardly decision. It's the easiest choice. And in your life, you've never taken this kind of decisions; you have always opted for the path more complicated, the most abstruse, trying to get away with your own strength. Also, because after losing mom and dad you didn't have much choice. Yes, you love your adoptive parents and you'll be forever grateful to them for taking care of you, when you needed, but ... It's never been the same and maybe you feel guilty for that too. But you're not strong enough, you had to dump all the blame on Luke, on your husband, you've abandoned him as soon as when he offered you a good excuse. How long were you waiting for such an occasion?

You know perfectly well that he doesn't want to have a child with you just to make a gift to his mother. But it's not fair, it's not really fair that you can't have your perfect idyll, you can't give birth to a beautiful creature with skin of his amber color and your blonde hair or otherwise his brown hair and your pale skin as a Norwegian. It's not correct on the part of destiny because you feel you have done everything according to the rules, you're a good person, compassionate, kind, you think of others and you try to force yourself to the maximum to make the world a better place. Why don't you deserve a prize?

But the first time that such thoughts have crossed your mind, did you feel so selfish as to scare you. You had defined a child an equivalent a premium. It's not up to you to judge your worked, rather whose it's much higher up as you. You must not do the good to receive in return something. But you couldn't stop to feel betrayed in some way.

You always wanted to have a family. And you've always believed that if you would find a man capable of love seriously, the rest would come by itself. Why can't you even contemplate the idea of adoption? Yet earlier, when many cases involving children, the option has touched you, and more than once. Especially when you had had to take care of Ellie, the little girl who Morgan had taken particularly to heart. But in the end always some living relative is jump out who carried them away; you should try only joy for them. But it was not so easy.

You should think of Luke, about what he's doing, but if you just let his name touches you, you know that it's over, there's not will be more hope to stay away from him, and if you went back with him, he would only suffer more, because you don't know when or if you'll ever stop looking for a scapegoat on which to lay the blame that you feel. And you don't want is him to bring this burden. You have seen him change, you've seen him smile more, when you are together. You should be his ray of sunshine, a blanket that envelops and protects him from evil, you should give him all the reasons in the world to want to live. And for a while you did it, you did manage to sweep away the clouds, although had to rampage a real storm, first. But now you don't feel more able to fulfill this task.

A son is all you want, everything you can think of. You can't settle for the rest, of the good fortune to have so many people who love you. You just can't. You don't think of Roxy, from the top of your animalism, the fact that you're not only hurting your husband but also your dog, your team and your friends. Yet you can't care about it enough.

You just need to put more kilometers as possible between your real life and yourself, then you come back to San Francisco, get a room for rent and leave ring the cell phone unladen, messages accumulate up to clog up memory. But you notice, however, a detail. No one it's from Luke.

He's not going to force you to do what he wants, or go back with him. He's willing to be sick in silence, without being a burden on you, probably hoping that at least you are happy.

But it's not. And gradually these revelations come to the surface and you can't kid yourself again. Love is selflessness and selfishness and it’s not always easy to distinguish clearly between these two. Not being with him means to make him feel bad, but come back when you couldn't give him only the best of yourself means end up anyway to hurt him. In neither case you win something.

So enough, you do the suitcase throwing in the few stuffs you brought with you; you, the one who has always risked of brought down the jet, because also for go on the field has to take with she an exceptional number of luggage.

You who love the objects and encompass yourself of them. But it's impossible to find a single thing in your possession to help take your mind off him, even stuff that belong to your past, before you knew him, now are tied with him anyway. So, in a moment everything is ready, you go to pay and don't waiting even the rest. You run to the airport, hoping to catch the first flight back home, in other words go back to him, for start again and you want to see where things go between you two, without any certainty that everything can be fixed, but in the end, it's worth to suffer to feel at least a little bit fine.

And you're in luck, because you can make the ticket and pass the checks in advance. But you should never believe that you make it through, until you actually haven't achieved what you hope. Italians have a saying about this and Rossi once did cite it: Don't say cat if you don't have it in the sack; the means it's similar a Until you catch the chicken, you don't have the chicken. You should apply this philosophy, not to automatically assume that you succeeded it.

Strong winds prevent the planes leaving and also arrivals are transferred to other areas. It was not expected anything like this, or maybe yes, but you didn't know because you haven't looked almost never the television, let alone a newscast. And so, you can't do anything but wait, lie in wait and pray it's not too late. Because Luke might get tired of you and your crazy exits, your ups and downs and he could decide that maybe going away you did him a favor.

Then finally the plane takes off and then lands. Throughout the flight you can just count how long missing at the moment X and repeat what you have to say to him, imagining his reactions. But all this only serves to pass the time, because like when you simulated exams with your colleagues, when you're sitting in front of the professor any hypothesis proves futile.

You just look for a taxi, find it, you shout at the driver the address and he understand that you have hurry. Get down, leaving a big tip to him. You don't care about the money. Only outside the front of the door of your home, you realize that it's late-night. You close your eyes. Stick your hand into the pocket; fingers huddle around a small metal object. You extract it and its surface reflects the moonlight.

This is the litmus test. If he would have change the lock, then you would know that there is nothing salvageable and then you would run to looking for a divorce lawyer, to make it less painful and prolonged the situation.

You take a breath and put your key into the lock.

#garvez #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #meteorology #criminal minds #cm

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