#a detroit hum ending in bones

[elisaenglish]

I am intractable. If I love, I love. Fear beats its wings as anathema to me—and I deal in heart, traverse the poetic abyss between those “many summers since I stopped even listening for bees” to this, here, “making honey of our grief” dissolved as we are to feet and arms. In dreams. Immortalised by fragments. Thus it is, we move.

[aboutbirds]

Glass above my bed trembles at the touch of bass pouring thunder-thick out of twelve-inch speakers and I almost don’t mind being jolted awake because I know this song. It’s not a favorite song, but I know it. Sometimes just knowing a pattern is plenty. Sometimes I need more rattle from the cabinet, more whir from the fan spinning in the laptop warming my twin sister’s lap— and when that’s not enough, I might take off my shirt and press my shoulders against a refrigerator— one of those beige monsters from the 80s you can really feel working for its hum.

Jamaal May, excerpt of “A Detroit Hum Ending with Bones,” from Hum

[fandom-necromancer]

The right time

This was prompted by a lovely anon! I’m sorry this took me so long and I hope you will see this! It was a blast to write and to research for. Ships are a bit of my special interest but I never cared to look into 1950s fishing boats, coast guard vessels or LGBT history in that time, so that’s likely why it wasn’t ready for yesterday XD

Fandom: Detroit become human Ship: Reed900 AU: The finest hours Warnings: time-typical homophobia (but no real attention put on it, so don’t worry), description of wounds

When the warmth of the bar welcomed him at the door, Gavin let his shoulders fall. The cold, wet November air outside had snaked its way under his heavy clothing and snaked deep into his bones. It had been a longer way than the stranger who had helped him made it seem, but halfway up the coast, Gavin was too stubborn to turn around. Too long he hadn’t seen his friend Tina. They had sent each other letters and had called each other on occasion, but it simply wasn’t the same. He hung up his coat reluctantly at the door and walked up to the counter. ‘Gavin Reed?’ He smirked at the disbelieving call. ‘The one and only, Miss Chen.’ ‘Holy shit.’ Despite never having been at sea, Tina would have fit in perfectly with that mouth of a sailor. ‘How long has it been?’ ‘Seven years.’ ‘Wow, that’s… How come you’re back here? Got shore-leave?’ ‘Something like that’, Gavin hummed. ‘Navy threw me out.’ ‘What? Why?’ Gavin looked her in the eyes. ‘What do you think?’

She stared at him, then shook her head and poured him a drink. ‘Damn it, Gavin, you need to learn to shut your mouth. Difficult times for people like us.’ ‘Yeah, and they will stay that way if we shut our mouth.’ ‘Gavin, please, give it a rest. You just lost your job. What will you do now?’ ‘Already got a new one on a fishing boat. Regular trips along fixed routes. A few months at sea, a few weeks on shore until it departs again. Doesn’t pay that well, but it’s safe and no one bothers who you take back to your cabin at the end of the day.’ ‘Sounds nice’, Tina said and smiled at him as she put down his drink. ‘Will you come over regularly then? Have a place to stay?’ ‘I have an arrangement with someone at the shore. But yeah, you’ll see my ugly face more often now.’

‘Now I wouldn’t say it’s ugly’, a new voice joined in. A tall and thin man sat down on the bar-stool next to him. ‘Quite the opposite.’ ‘And you’d be?’, Gavin asked sceptically, sipping his drink. He had just wanted to talk to Tina and dwell on some memories, not talk to some stranger. Even if the stranger was as handsome as this and held himself like he knew some manners… ‘I must apologise for barging into your conversation like this.’ He held out his hand. ‘Richard. But everyone calls me Nines.’ ‘Nines?’, Gavin lifted a brow and ignored the outstretched hand. ‘I work at the coast guard. People started joking about me having nine lives.’ ‘That’s a stupid nickname.’ ‘Well, I like it’, the man laughed, oblivious to or ignoring Gavin’s attempts of abwimmeln. ‘Do you have a better one?’ Gavin rolled his eyes. ‘Reed.’ ‘This  stuck-up idiot’s name is Gavin’, Tina chimed in, putting a glass down in front of this ‘Nines’. ‘I was right with the regular?’ ‘Yes, thank you my dear.’ Gavin sighed in defeat, accepting that this would drag on.

-

It had been a surprisingly entertaining evening in the end. Gavin had thought the man to be a little too pushy for his liking in the beginning, but he had proved himself to actually be pleasant company. Gavin had found himself staying far longer than initially planned and Tina had pointedly left them alone. She really was the perfect bartender, expertly reading the situation. Instead of talking with an old friend for a bit and then going home to slip into a cold bed, he spent the night at Nines’ place. And as he woke up the next morning and the man laid next to him, asking ‘Will I see you again’, he wasn’t so sure this had just been a one-night fling.

He had indeed seen Nines again. Mostly at Tina’s bar, at the port and a few times out on the streets as the town wasn’t that big. Every time he was met with a smile and the ridiculous charm of a man that was overly confident in himself. Initially glad to be back at sea soon after being stuck on land for so long, he now almost dreaded the day his ship would leave port. He met up with Nines in Tina’s bar the evening before, his bag over his shoulder. They drank and stayed until the regular visitors had left. Tina had agreed to keep it open a little longer just for them and as soon as they were alone, Nines pulled him from the chair and to the free space in front of the counter. ‘Dance with me?’ Well, who was he to say no? To the slow tunes of the jukebox, Nines led him, starting the rhythmic up and downs of a dance Gavin didn’t know but could follow easily. ‘Would it change something if I told you not to go?’, the man asked lowly, closing in and spinning him around. Gavin leaned his forehead against his collarbone. ‘I have to go, Nines. But it will only be a few months, then I’m back.’ ‘Only a few months’, Nines repeated. ‘Could as well be an eternity.’ ‘Come on. It’s not that bad. Wait for me?’ ‘Of course I will.’

They danced in silence, for how many songs they didn’t know. But it was getting late, Tina wanted to close, and Gavin had to get to his ship. So, they parted with heavy hearts and left the bar. They walked up to Nines’ car and Gavin pulled him down into a kiss. But before he could say goodbye and head off, Nines grabbed his wrist. Gavin looked back to him questioningly. ‘Gavin? Will you marry me?’ The words hit something that hurt, and Gavin froze. ‘Nines, you know that’s impossible.’ ‘I don’t mean officially’, Nines said. ‘Just for us. Please, will you marry me?’ Gavin swallowed, unsure what to say. He liked Nines, but this was a commitment he wasn’t prepared for and caught him in a bad spot. He wasn’t one to welcome emotions to his heart easily. Maybe he was afraid to live a lie, to know that everyone knew and still not being able to say the thing. Or maybe he was just a stuck-up asshole who was afraid of getting hurt again. He pushed Nines away. ‘No.’ ‘What?’ ‘No, Nines, I can’t marry you.’ Nines was sure he had heard the words, but their sense was lost to him. ‘Gavin. I thought you loved me. Was this… Was this just a joke to you?’ ‘No, no of course it wasn’t and I do love you, but-‘ ‘Then I don’t understand, what is this about?’ ‘I don’t know you!’, Gavin shouted. ‘I only know you for a few weeks now, okay? What do you think? Play nice and kiss me twice and get my hopes up, just to make me laughingstock? I won’t make the same mistake twice!’

‘Make you laughingstock?’, Nines asked, fury in his eyes. ‘Oh you think I’m not at the same risk? I love you. Hard enough to find someone like us in the open and then realise they are perfect! Now I also have to prove it to you in some way? No, Gavin, it’s your choice, yes or no?’ Gavin swallowed hard, and as he realised that this was it, anger turned to despair. ‘Nines, I have to catch my ship. I’m sorry.’

-

‘Hey, Nines, don’t you think that’s enough?’, Tina asked worried. The man just waved again for another drink. ‘Hey, I know Gavin is an asshole-‘ ‘Yes, he is.’ ‘He is, but I think you just overwhelmed him.’ ‘Then he wouldn’t have said no’, Nines slurred. ‘Then he would have said he needed more time to think.’ ‘He also isn’t good with words. Or emotions.’ ‘Stop apologising for his behaviour!’ Tina groaned and leaned over the counter holding the man by the lapels. ‘Listen. As if you wouldn’t do the same. If you truly thought that way, you wouldn’t come over every night heartbroken to get piss-ass drunk! You are rationalising his behaviour too and just want someone to voice your thoughts.’ Nines stayed silent and Tina grinned winningly. ‘Nines, I bet the idiot is feeling like shit too and when he comes back, he will come to you and set things right. Just please don’t give him up and wait for him.’ ‘I will’, Nines sighed. ‘I promised him after all.’

-

‘Hey, ex-navy!’ Gavin looked up at the call. ‘Quit moping about that girl left ashore, she’ll be there when you come back! Get your head in the game and help us with the cargo, will ya? There’s a storm coming!’ Gavin sighed and decided against correcting the man. There was a storm coming alright. He could have hit himself for being such an idiot. Had he said anything other than no, things would have been okay. He could have joked about it being a little fast. He could have said something to postpone it and not leave after a fight that let him doubt if he would ever see the man again. Now he could only hope to find him when he came back and talk it out. Maybe not all was lost yet.

He went down to help the others tie down the cargo. It didn’t take too long, about an hour maybe. Gavin had been through many storms and this close to land he didn’t worry too much about it. Still, he followed the others up on deck to watch the dark storm-clouds at the horizon. It had been overcast for a while now, but the pitch black in front of them could indeed instil fear easily. He did wonder though how people who had been to sea regularly still seemed so phased by it. A boat could take a lot more abuse than thought and they were built for the open sea.

‘What’s so bad about a storm?’, he whispered to the man next to him. ‘The storm’s not what I’m worried about’, he grumbled. ‘This boat, she’s not the youngest. And there are some dangerous passages between us and the land – even if the sight were good and the waves gentle. But she’ll hold.’ He patted the railing as if that was of any help. The crowd dispersed, and Gavin stood there alone soon. He brushed his own hand over the railing and whispered: ‘Please hold. I have to get back to him.’

-

After the initial chaos, the room was now awfully quiet. The storm had hit hard, it maybe even was one of the worst Nines had seen in a while. Two ships had called mayday so far and the coast guard had struggled to send out any ships on their own in these weather conditions. Sending everything they had was the best option to ensure someone made it past the shoals and streams and heavy waves. Now only a few newbies manned the stations, supervised the radar and radio. Nines felt utterly out of place, and he knew everyone was thinking the same thing: He should be out there, one of the best skippers there were. But ever since he had come to work drunk a few times, people had lost their trust in him. And even worse: The only thing he could think about was Gavin. Out there on a fishing boat amidst a raging storm that had tankers break and smaller ships swallowed. He was praying, hoping, that they had already made port in town. That they somehow had evaded it entirely. He knew how unlikely that was, but hell, even after everything he wanted nothing more than to see the man again, hold him, dance with him like they had before and never ask that question that had ended it.

He was frozen all over as a new radio-call came in: ‘Mayday. This is Trawler Gera Gera Gera.’ They continued to name call sign, number and position, but all Nines was waiting for was the actual message: ‘Ship is sinking. Require urgent assistance. Twenty persons on board. Over.’ The message repeated, before it was answered, but Nines couldn’t really compute it.

Gavin was on that ship.

He stood up so fast, his chair scooted back quite a bit. He marched straight up to his superior officer who was already talking to a few of the newcomers. Nines didn’t care. ‘I’ll go.’ ‘You? I’m sorry, as long as I don’t know I can trust you, I won’t let you go out there.’ ‘What do you mean? I’m the best!’ ‘You are more drunk than sober most of the time.’ ‘I’m not-‘ Nines cut his words off. ‘Even drunk I had a better chance at getting to that ship than these boys, and you know that.’ Nines could see how the other man had to begrudgingly agree. ‘Fuck, even if I allowed it, we don’t have any ships left.’ ‘We still have the response boat.’ The man lifted his eyebrows. ‘Damn it, Richard, even you wouldn’t survive the trip. Not in these weather conditions.’ Nines nodded. ‘I’m aware, Sir. But I have the highest chance to get these people back. We can’t sit here and do nothing. I am willing to risk it.’ ‘Good luck finding others who would do the same.’

His shoulders fell. Right. He needed at least one other person to man the search light. He turned around to look at the few that were still there. ‘I’m coming’, Miller said, one of the few that had first-hand experience out there. ‘Me too’, one of the younger ones raised their hand. Nines had only seen him a few times. ‘Then good luck’, Nines’ superior sighed. ‘Come back alive.’

-

‘She’s slippin’!’ Gavin could hear the screech of metal over stone and knew that if he survived this, he wouldn’t be able to ever forget it. ‘What’s with the engines?’ His hands were coated in oil and likely blood as they stung whenever the saltwater washed over them. It reached up to his hips and was steadily rising. The first thing they had done was cut the nets loose to try and drive through the storm as fast as possible. But the ship was old and wasn’t built for such weather. They had been fairly close to the save passage, but the rain had come for them like a blanket and seeing anything past a metre was near impossible. They were forced do drive by instruments only and even at a good day that was difficult. Their luck had to run out eventually and after breaching the first enormous wave that had to be at least fifteen metres high, they had hit ground. The hull had ruptured at impact and even though the ship was holding up, water slowly filled the engine room. They had lost the engines several times, but the chief mechanic had managed to restart them with Gavin’s help. But the more water flew in, the higher it rose and soon the engines would be submerged fully.

More water would maybe stabilise them on the ground, but that would leave them vulnerable to the raging waves out there breaking down on them. Without the engines they couldn’t hold their position, nor could they keep her afloat for long if she continued slipping from whatever she was sitting on now. It would only mean that the engines would give out in deeper waters causing her to sink and bury them all with her. There really was no good option, so they just followed a plan that would keep them alive and busy for long enough. Gavin didn’t even know if the call had been answered yet. He didn’t know if anyone would even come for them.

He hoped someone was on their way. Even worse than dying would be dying without having set things right with Nines.

-

‘Can you see anything?’ Nines stood at the wheel, holding on for dear life while the rain plastered his hair to his head and made his clothes weigh ten times more. ‘Not yet!’, Miller screamed from the bow. Nines ripped the wheel around to get them past the next wave, but despair was already sinking in. They were soaked completely, and the harsh wind chilled them to the bone so deep that Nines didn’t just hold the wheel to steer but hold himself upright too. They were close to the position the Gera had been at the time of the call, but still they couldn’t see the trawler anywhere. If he was honest to himself, they could have driven by her already and just not seen her. In this weather it was hard to see past the small boat’s bow.

The blaring horn caught them off-guard, and Nines flinched so hard he would have nearly lost the grip on the wheel. Miller pulled the search-light around and its beam brushed over the hull of a massive black mass to their side. The ship was lifted up when a wave pushed around it and sank down with a grinding noise whenever it passed. They had run her on ground, Nines realised then and had to pay respects to whoever had had the idea. That was likely why the ship was still upright and hadn’t sunk yet.

The light-beam travelled further up to the railing, where a mass of people stood and cheered. A few were already lowering a rope ladder, but Nines was still scanning the faces up there. He did so again and again, but he couldn’t find Gavin. Gavin wasn’t there. Where was he?

-

‘Gavin, fuck, get out of there!’ The engine died with a gurgled roar that promised anything but safety. The abuse it had taken to still run at all had been too much for it and now it seemed enough water had rushed in to kill it for good. Gavin stood in shoulder-high water, keeping himself grounded through the shaking waves by keeping an iron grip on the engine. He knew he had several cuts and other wounds on his hands, at least a few burns from repairing a still running engine since the chief mechanic had lost his footing and had fallen to his death. There had been so much screaming around him – mechanical or human – that he didn’t realise the call. ‘Reed! Get up here! The patch is about to blow! Gavin!’ The deafening bang of hastily bolted patches being blown off, taking furniture and blankets that had been pushed in front of it in a hope to create a seal with it, was the waking-call for Gavin. Unfortunately, as he looked up to the iron staircase that had been his escape, it was simply… gone. Compressed to an unrecognisable mess as the patch had crushed it, there was no chance to use it. The water around him started to bubble, the stream around Gavin’s trousers threatening to lift him from his feet. Shit. He would come up to the upper level of the engine room, alright. If he stayed alive in the raging current flushing in, was a whole other story.

He tried to see if whoever had called for him was still there, as a rope hit him in the face. It hurt like hell, and he was pretty sure to taste blood, but still he grabbed it blindly, feeling the immediate pull. The water still flung him against the wall, but everything happened so fast that Gavin felt the aching pain in his entire right arm only as he was pulled over the rails and fell onto the steel mesh upper gallery.

Foreign hands grabbed him and pushed him forwards on sloppy feet that somehow weren’t fast enough. His whole head felt numb, and he didn’t know if that was from his arm, a concussion or just plain exhaustion together with blood loss. He did realise as rain and cold wind hit him not quite different to the rope to the face. The water was violent, and the wind ripped through his soaked clothes like blades. ‘Gavin, hold on, they found us! They’ve come to rescue us! It will be okay!’ He didn’t know who spoke these words and he didn’t understand the meaning either. The tone seemed happy though, so his sluggish brain seemed to at least realise that he could relax.

‘Wow that’s a tiny fucking boat!’ ‘How many will fit?’ That was screamed so loud, even Gavin understood. ‘What did he say?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘I think ten people.’ ‘Wait.’ ‘Fifteen max.’ ‘Only fifteen?’ ‘Shit that-‘ ‘Stop murmuring!’ That was a voice with authority. The captain? ‘They said fifteen people can go aboard. But there is a second boat coming soon. So let’s do this like civilised people. Who will wait for a little while longer here until the second boat comes?’

Gavin huffed to himself. He knew what was being played here. If the coastguard sent a ship where only ten people officially fit, then all other ships were already deployed. This had to be the last ship. They had only said there was a second boat coming so there wasn’t any panic or violence to save one’s skin. Give a person hope if you couldn’t save them. Gavin had seen it himself far too often, had said it himself a few times in the navy. But apparently life-or-death situations weren’t that common for fishermen.

‘I’ll stay’, he slurred. He knew with how bad he felt there was no way he could hold onto anything strong enough to stay on an overcrowded boat in this storm. And even then, he wasn’t sure if they were in town fast enough. Others had better chances at survival and that was an easy calculation. Some half-hearted protest was voiced, but most were just relieved to their chance at getting on the boat being higher. Gavin was heaved over and propped up against a wall, a few ‘thank you’s were directed at him, but then the crowd at the railing was thinning until next to Gavin two more unfortunate souls had to stay behind.

‘There will be no second boat, right?’, one of them asked in defeat and Gavin nodded slowly. ‘No, there won’t.’

-

‘Is that everyone?’, Miller screamed against the wind, hoping to reach the people on the overcrowded response boat. ‘Everyone except the ones left behind, Sir’, someone answered. Miller looked to Nines, but he was still holding on, hoping to see Gavin’s face somewhere. ‘You!’, he asked the one next to him. ‘Was there a man on board with you? Gavin Reed? Ex-navy, shitty attitude?’ The stranger grew quiet, pushing off his hat. ‘Yes. He manned the engines after the chief died. Good man, man of honour. I don’t think he made it out alive. The seal broke, water filled the engine room.’ ‘Have you seen him die?’ ‘No, Sir. Just heard of it, I was already on deck before because folk spotted you before.’ ‘How many were left behind? ‘Three, Sir.’

Nines looked at Miller. ‘Oh no, don’t you do it. You know we are already overcrowded. This was all for nothing if we sink on the way back. Better to save a few than lose all.’ ‘Still better to save all.’ ‘Nines.’ ‘Bring them down, I’m not departing without them.’ ‘Richard!’ ‘That was an order, do it before it’s to late. If the Gera sinks, we’re gone with her.’ Miller shook his head but screamed the order up. Soon, the first person climbed down.

Nines was so focussed to get a look at the face of the man, that he almost lost control over the boat. Positioning himself again, the man made it safely aboard. But the ladder stayed empty. ‘What’s with the other two?’, he shouted at the man that had just landed with them. ‘One is severely wounded, Sir, I’m not sure if he’ll make it.’ Nines bit his lip and kept his eyes on the railing despite the rain and wind hitting in his face. ‘Richard, we have to go!’ ‘No! Just a little while longer.’ ‘Richard!’ It was enough. He loosened one hand from the wheel and grabbed Miller by the lapels to pull him near until their noses nearly touched. ‘The love of my life might be one of the people still up there and I won’t leave without them, so you either throw me overboard and try your luck on the way back or you realise that you need me and follow my fucking orders, is that clear?’ He let Miller go, who swallowed and nodded.

As he looked back up, he saw a large black blob at the top of the ladder. Two persons maybe? He couldn’t get a good look but that looked dangerous enough so he tried to steer and hold the boat in position directly underneath the ladder should one of them fall. The slow descend was almost painful to watch, especially as the wind caught the ladder in its grip and shook it violently. Finally, after a near endless time, the two made contact, one of them keeping up with the shake of the waves, the other one crashing to the ground.

It was so hard to recognise him that Nines had initially doubted if it really was Gavin: His eyes were swollen, his right arm a bloody mess and his clothes stuck to his frame. He seemed to have no more strength in him, and Nines had to swallow hard. ‘Bring him over here!’, he commanded and no one dared to speak up having seen his conversation with Miller earlier. As Gavin was handed over, Nines accepted him into his arms and opened his heavy coat to wrap it around the man as best as he could. Then he had both hands at the wheel again and pressed Gavin half against the wheel and himself to keep him upright, leaning back whenever he had to manoeuvre.

They turned their back to the groaning Trawler behind them and raced down the wave towards the distant shore. Nines had to carefully veer around and more often than not it was closer than he would have liked when a wave crashed down with the bang of an explosion. All the while he kept an eye on Gavin whenever he could. The man had closed his eyes, but he could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against his. ‘It will be alright, love. I got you. We are getting back. We’ll warm you up and get you to a doctor. Don’t worry.’ He wasn’t speaking quietly, but still he was sure no one but Gavin could hear him over the raging wind. He also didn’t care that Miller knew his secret now. Gavin was safe and with him and they managed to save a lot of lives, once they made it back to shore.

The lights of the town in the distance had never looked as inviting as they did now and once they reached the port, seemingly the whole town was waiting for them. Doctors rushed to them immediately and after being told what had happened by the crew, Gavin was once again taken from Nines to the hospital. He docked the boat and once realisation hit him that this was it, he had brought these people safely back to shore, and Gavin would survive, he felt his own body again. He started violently shivering and felt how weak his knees had become. He held onto the wheel and when that wasn’t possible anymore, he let himself sink against the dashboard and sat down. The world stopped existing for a while as exhaustion overcame him, but then there was a hand in his face. He looked up to see it belonged to Miller, who smiled at him and patted his shoulder. ‘Come on, Nines, let’s get you inside and warmed up.’

-

The catastrophic storm had been several days ago and now the sea were calm as ever. As if it had never happened. As if these waters had never been anything but the gentle laps at the beach it was now. Gavin stood for a while at the promenade just watching the setting sun descend to the horizon and turn the sea into liquid gold. He had no problem finding a new ship to work at after it had made rounds how he kept the Gera up and running to the very last second. But with his arm and general condition he would need at least another full month to recover. And who knew who would remember him then. But that wasn’t important at the moment. He looked down and pushed away whatever invisible dirt he imagined on his shirt.

Then he turned and walked up to the welcoming warm lights of Tina’s bar. He opened the door and walked straight up to the counter, where the tall and thin man already sat. ‘Hey there, stranger’, he said with a lopsided smile as he climbed on the barstool. ‘Hello Gavin, how are-‘ ‘Shut up.’ He looked around to make sure they were alone like Tina promised them. Then he grinned. ‘Dance with me, idiot. Ask me again.’ ‘Ask you what?’ ‘You know what.’ ‘Wha-‘

Gavin sighed and just leaned forward, grabbing Nines with the one hand that wasn’t in a cast and loop. ‘Nines. I want to marry you. I was just a huge idiot, but it only needed a near-death experience to change that.’ ‘So you aren’t an idiot anymore?’ ‘No, but I realised life is too short to wait for the right time. So what? Will you marry me?’ ‘Yes! Yes, of course.’ ‘Then phcking kiss me already.’

[pedros-mustache-main]

when your love reaches me (ii)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 8.5k+ (once again, i got carried away)

warnings: screwed up historical timeline, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), language, innuendo, slight angst; truly, this chapter is mostly fluff which is surprising coming from me and probably explains why it was so hard to write :)

a/n: thank! you! for such a lovely response to the first part of this mini-series! truly means a lot. :) also: mega shoutout to @deacyblues​ who really helped me with this one; she’s the mvp of this chapter! this one is formatted a little differently than the first and the last part (which for some reason i’m ~nervous~ about), so let me know what you think. xoxo!

part i

in this chapter: snapshots of what life is like on the road alongside the one you love.

october, 1978—new orleans

as much as it can be, life is bliss.

you’ve been on the road for days, slept on a bus more than in a proper bed, survived the flagrant display of hedonism in new orleans, argued with brian about how long he hogs the bathroom in the morning, and barely eaten anything of substance, but still you’re happy.

he makes you happy. you make him happy. that’s all that matters.

you’re on the bus, headed for the airport. the next leg of the tour is florida—two nights there—then two nights on the east coast—maryland and connecticut. it’s late, nearing midnight, and the bus hums down the highway at a consistent and comfortable speed. for the most part, it’s quiet. there’s a soft conversation somewhere at the front of the bus; you think it’s gerry, yet again going over the schedule, but you could be wrong. flashes of light stream through the windows as you pass under street lamps, and you curl a little closer into brian’s side. he shifts in his sleep, mumbling under his breath.

he’s tired. they all are. it’s only been a few days, but after the party in new orleans and with the waning energy after the initial concerts, the boys are settling—settling into tour life and the long nights and early mornings. life on the road isn’t easy, and you don’t blame them for catching whatever sleep they can when they can. 

you’re settling too. it’s been nearly two months since you left home. you’d thought you’d be more desperate than you are. sometimes, you see a trinket in a shop window or hear anna say something that reminds you of your baby sister. other times, crystal will make a joke that reminds you of your brother. in those moments, you miss home more than anything in the world. but then brian will walk by, headed for the stage, and trail his fingers across your shoulders in a silent moment of affection, and you’re happy where you are. 

so long as you’re with him, you’re happy.

brian’s eyelids flutter open when the driver skips over a pothole. he groans, rubbing at his temples. “fuck,” he breathes. 

you push yourself off his chest, enough to meet his gaze. “feeling okay?”

he peeks through his fingers. “i think i got run over by a train.”

“well, that’s what freddie’s parties will do to you.” you poke his ribs, grinning. “you’re lucky you lot have a few days off to recover.”

“trust me,” he says plainly. “it was built into the schedule.” for a moment, his eyes scan your face. one long finger comes up to brush your cheek. “how’d you manage to get out unscathed?”

you shrug and resist the urge to lean into his touch. you can’t tell him the truth. he wouldn’t understand if you explain that your grandmother once read you an article about “saturday night in sodom” and the night freddie mercury almost broke louisiana. instead you twirl a lock of his hair around your index finger and say, “i’m good at moderation.”

leaning back against the headrest, his arm circles your waist, squeezing at the flesh below your hip. “remind me to get a few tips next time.” he closes his eyes, his lips parting as he falls back asleep. you smile, snuggle against him, and pinch yourself.

nope—still not dreaming. thank heaven.

november, 1978—detroit

by the time you reach michigan, the rhythm of the tour is set. everyone has their role to play, and each part is played to perfection. your part is slightly more fluid than most, but, alongside anna and john’s wife veronica, you manage to find your way most of the time. 

it can be awkward, though. you have no musical talent, no ability to haul or set up lighting rigs. really, your role is very clear: you’re around to keep brian entertained and as relaxed as possible. whatever he needs, you do it—even if that means letting him muss your hair or mark your skin too much during a lengthy drum solo. 

at first, you can’t stand knowing everyone else knows when you’ve had a quick shag in the stairwell or showed up late to sound check because brian got too handsy in the lift on the way out of the hotel. you’ve never been so open about a relationship before, least of all the physical aspect of it. you like to keep private things private, but that doesn’t work so well when you live hotel to hotel with the same thirty people. any bit of juicy gossip can fuel the band and the roadies for days on end. they’re worse than a group of church-going busy-bodies.

but that was a week ago, and you know better than most that much can change in the span of a week. brian’s lingering kisses or the quickes in a broom closet don’t make you nervous anymore. you don’t care if you get caught because lord knows roger and anna or veronica and deaky or any number of the crew are doing the same a hallway over. it’s all a part of the thrill of being with him, loving him (you refuse acknowledge it—the love—even to yourself; it’s too soon to love him, though you know you do). 

on the first night of the two gigs in detroit, you catch brian in the hallway before he goes out on stage. you’d stepped out to grab a bottle of water and nearly missed him in the process, but when he sees you, he lights up with a smile. he pauses. roger quips for brian to make it quick as he rushes after john, drumsticks in hand. 

“go get ‘em, tiger,” you say, slugging his shoulder with your fist lightly.

he catches your arm and lifts your hand to kiss the bone of your wrist. god, he makes you melt. “you gonna come watch from the side?” he mumbles against your skin. he’s looking at you through his dark lashes, thoroughly enjoying the way you squirm from side to side.

you nod and untangle your hand from his grasp. “eventually, yeah. crystal said he wants to show me the view from up top.” 

brian rolls his eyes with a good-natured huff. “watch out for that crystal. he’s trouble.” 

“sorry—what was that, mate?” crystal, rushing down the ramp toward one of the dressing rooms, pauses behind brian. “did you say i’m trouble?”

brian glances over his shoulder. “would you deny it?”

crystal hesitates, runs a hand over his beard. “no, but i don’t think my contract includes taking slag from my boss.”

shaking his head, brian laughs and heads up the ramp toward the stage. you call after him, and he turns as he continues walking, red special over his back, eyes wide and expectant. lifting the camera that’s perpetually around your neck with one hand, you blow him a kiss with the other. the camera captures his reaction: a wide grin, flushed cheeks, legs mid-stride. he disappears around the corner, and the hallway fills with the sound of cheers and applause when queen finally takes the stage.

you meet crystal’s eyes and wait for him to say something. you don’t have to wait long.

“you two are disgusting.”  

“you know, if you had actually brought me my drink at the disco, we might not be here.”

“to think i could have been saved the horror of having to go to bed each night scrubbing my brain of all your disgusting happiness.”

reaching out, you touch crystal’s elbow and pout your lower lip. “oh, crystal, are you lonely? do i need to find you a friend?”

he scoffs and twists to shake the hand on his elbow. “please,” he drawls. “i’ve got no issue there.” 

you stick out your tongue, and he moves down the hallway, but you follow close at his heels. “so, will you really show me the view from the scaffolding?”

“aren’t you afraid of heights?”

“absolutely, but i want to see it anyway. ratty said it was the best seat in the house.”

it takes a modicum of more effort to convince him—you have to promise to buy him a bowl of ice-cream next time the group goes out—but eventually he gives in. after leading you through a maze of wires and boxes, he climbs the lighting rig suspended over roger’s drumset. you hesitate at the ladder. you are afraid of heights, but you based on the way ratty went on and on about how “fuckin’ amazing” the show is from above, you’d like to think you can put your fears aside for the experience. palms sweaty, you wipe them across your jeans then scramble up the ladder. crystal sits on the narrow walkway, laughing, legs dangling over roger’s head. he pats the spot beside him, and you shuffle closer. 

“what do you think?” he asks, spreading his arms toward the view.

once you’re settled and able to calm your racing heart, you look out over the stage. your breath catches in your throat. “ratty was right—for once,” you whisper. 

you can see everything from here. most of the time, when you’re confined to the wings, you can barely see brian or barely see deaky. you never see roger, and you can rarely see the audience. from the scaffolding, you can see it all: freddie strutting across the stage, roger pounding the drums, deaky bopping in a tight circle, brian tearing into the guitar. from this angle you catch the way they work as a well-oiled machine, perfectly in-tune with one another. you can see the audience, too, and the way their faces shine with joy. the crowd looks like the sea, the way it moves up and down and side to side with the time of the music. it gives you a whole new appreciation for the roadies, too, and the way they work tirelessly to make this happen, often without proper thanks.

crystal nudges you with his shoulder. “take a picture,” he says. “to remember.”

you don’t have to be told twice. you raise the camera, peer through the viewfinder, careful to get your feet and crystal’s in the frame, and snap a shot. when you pull back, you see brian looking up at you from below, and you hope you got him in the frame, too.

november, 1978—philadelphia

“[y/n]! get over here!”

at the sound of ratty’s frantic voice, you pause in the stairwell and look over your shoulder. he’s hunched over a smoking amp, waving toward crystal and another roadie—phil, you think. when he catches your eye, he points to the spot beside him. you’ve never seen him so alarmed and, as much as you want to get away from backstage and find a couch to nap on, you hurry to his side.

“what is it?”

“the fucking amp broke! deaky’s muted and so’s brian.” 

you cringe. “his amp’s gone bad, too?”

“no! something else. i don’t fucking know. he just needs this wire.” ratty shoves a wire in your hand. it hangs loosely in your palm, and you get the feeling you know what he’s going to ask next. “you gotta go give it to him.”

you shake your head, mouth gone suddenly dry. “ratty, you have to be joking.”

he straightens. “do i look like i’m joking, [y/n]?”

he looks, truthfully, like he’s on the verge of tears. but you don’t say that. you just grimace and mutter, “please don’t make me do it.”

“sorry, gotta be done. just make it quick!” he takes a hold of your shoulders and pushes you out of the safety of the wings before wheeling around on his heel at the sound of crystal calling his name. 

legs frozen, you stand just to the right of deaky, still partially obscured by the walls of the wings. deaky continues to play, despite the fact that no one can hear him. you can almost see the steam coming out of his ears. he looks to the left and the right, searching for someone—anyone—to come and solve the issue. when he looks to his right, he sees you and his face relaxes for the briefest of seconds. he shuffles closer.

“is that for me?” he asks, nodding to the wire in your hand.

“no, sorry! it’s for brian. he’s got issues, too.”

“fuck! this is a fucking shitshow!” he cocks his head toward the other side of the stage. “go give it to him then!”

you realize belatedly as you run across the stage that you’re not wearing shoes. your socks slide against the slick floor, but you manage to stay upright, your vision tunneled on brian. you try not to think of the hundreds of thousands of eyes watching your every move, wondering who on earth you are and why you’ve taken to the stage like an invader. 

roger and freddie are still going, riffing off one another to keep the energy high. they’ve started some sort of call-and-response game with the audience, so when you make it to brian’s side, you have to shout to be heard. 

“ratty told me to give you this!”

brian’s angry, in rare form. his jaw is clenched tight, his temples throbbing. he looks ready to burst, and you wince when he grabs the wire from your hand. “for fuck’s sake, [y/n]! what is going on tonight?” he rips a wire from his guitar and replaces it with the new one.

you can only offer him a paltry shrug. “couldn’t tell you.”

fiddling with an amp behind his back, he gives his guitar a few experimental strums. sound blasts through the amps, and you resist the urge to lift your hands and cover your ears. relief surges through your veins; you give him a thumbs up. at the same moment, deaky plucks at his bass, which fills the stadium with its deep tones. 

oh thank heaven. you did not want to be in the greenroom after the show if everything hadn’t gotten fixed.

before you can turn to leave, brian grabs the back of your neck and kisses you hard. your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, well-aware of the way the audience cheers as the touch lingers. you pull away first.

“thank you,” he whispers. he gives your rump a solid tap as you turn to make a beeline for the wings.

you think you’ll curl up and die when you rush past freddie and he says into the microphone, “ay, that’s brian’s girl!” he grabs your wrist and crushes you against his side, and you have the wherewithal to laugh even though you really want to stamp on his foot and run away. “she’s our little savior tonight, huh? a good luck charm!”

you finesse your way back to the wings, your skin hot with embarrassment, and flip ratty the bird as you make your way to the greenroom.

november, 1978—st. louis

there’s a show on thanksgiving day—sold out, much to everyone’s surprise—but after the concert, you gather around a long table in the hotel conference room. the carpet beneath your shoes is a pale purple, the table flimsy, the chairs uncomfortable plastic. someone’s laid a brilliant white tablecloth with a traditional thanksgiving meal, and the smell of roasted turkey and sweet potatoes and stuffing warms any of the cold still lingering on your body. you sit, squeezed between brian and crystal, across from anna, who winks at you as she lifts her cup to receive a helping of red wine.

“i’m fuckin’ famished.” crystal doesn’t wait for everyone to be seated or gerry to say a few words of toast. he grabs the basket of rolls and hands you one.

rolling your eyes, you take it and place it on the side of your plate. it’s the hotel’s china, a cream with mint trim. “you could wait and try to pretend like you have good table manners.”

beside you, brian snickers into his cup—a mug, really—of wine. his arm is slung over the back of your chair, his fingers circling lazily on your shoulder. you shift in your seat to lean into his touch. 

crystal pulls a face. for a moment, you think you’re staring into the face of your elder brother. that’s exactly something marcus would have done. your gut clenches, and you have to look away, reach for brian’s knee, before you begin to cry. how long’s it been? three months? you miss the sound of your mother’s voice, the way your father worries after you in your flat. you miss it all; you always will.

“excuse me, excuse me. i’d like to say a few words.” gerry stands at the head of the table, tapping his fork against his cup. lingering conversations fade as everyone turns to face gerry. “not one for speeches,” he starts.

“then sit down!” it’s john, from the end of the table, who interrupts. veronica elbows him hard, and he doubles over in a combination of a laugh and a wheeze.

gerry smiles through tight lips. “thank you, veronica. as i was saying, i’m not one for speeches, but i think tonight’s as good as any to tell you how happy i am to be a part of this. we’ve got a hell of a lot more to do, but i’m thankful for what we’ve accomplished so far. anyway, that was shite, but it’s how i feel. eat up. happy thanksgiving.”

there’s a chorus of happy thanksgiving and glass clinking against class. you sip at your wine and smile to yourself. you’d thought of what it would be like to celebrate thanksgiving before, but never imagined it would be like this. you wouldn’t have it any other way. not with roger slingshotting a green bean across the table or freddie grilling dennis about what type of butter he used for the mashed potatoes. 

you fill your plate, thankful, among other things, for the chance to eat a full meal alongside your new family. there’s a deep satisfaction in your chest. though there’s some part of you that still feels ridiculous wearing checkered trousers and dark turtlenecks, you think you feel more at home here than anywhere else.

“[y/n]?”

lifting a bite of cranberry sauce to your mouth, you turn your head to meet brian’s eyes. he’s leaned forward, his chin dipped. beneath the table, his fingers settle on your thigh, and he squeezes gently. you quirk an eyebrow as you chew, waiting for him to speak.

“i’m glad you’re here.”

you swallow, put your fork down, press the hand that’s on your thigh, smile. “i’m glad i’m here too.”

something stiff and slimy hits your forehead. you jostle in your seat with a gasp. a green bean lands in your lap, and you look up, eyes wide. across the table, anna’s laughing behind her hand, roger grinning widely.

“roger!”

he shrugs. “sorry, love, couldn’t help it. perfect target!”

“if i didn’t respect all the hard work poor dennis put into this meal, i’d shove your face in that bowl of potatoes,” you warn, pointing to the bowl of starch in question.

roger frowns, though his eyes sparkle with mischief. “brian, control your woman! she just threatened me!”

brian, wisely, lifts his hands in surrender, leaning back in his chair. “oy, she can handle herself, mate. don’t drag me into this.”

from his place beside roger, freddie slaps a hand on the table. “no fighting at my thanksgiving or i’ll kick you all out and eat by myself!”

“would you all please shut up and pass me the turkey?” crystal leans into your arm space, reaching in vain for the plate of meat just out of his grasp.

rising, you hand him the plate and cross to the front of the table. you clap your hands together to grab everyone’s attention then place your hands on gerry’s shoulders.

“i think you all know what time it is,” you say, grinning as a few of the roadies groan and duck their heads. you lift your camera. “squeeze in and look pretty.”

heart clenching as you look through the viewfinder at the collection of people you hold so dear, you snap your picture and sit down. without hesitation, brian takes your hand in his, and you sit together, hand in hand, for the rest of the meal.

december, 1978—london

you would be lying if you say you aren’t surprised when brian invites you to his parent’s home for the holidays. the tour has a month long break now that the american leg is over. once it starts up again in january, they’ll be off, gallivanting over continental europe. truthfully, you’d assumed you wouldn’t go back on the tour. you’d assumed you’d continue to crash on anna’s couch, make a few extra dollars at the diner, maybe look into enrolling in a few classes come spring.

you’d assumed the fairytale would be over.

there’s nothing official between you and brian. sure, you love him to bits. when you wake up in the morning, roll over, and see his sleepy eyes already looking at you, you know that for the rest of your life you will never feel for someone the way you feel for him. if he asked you to stay with him forever, you would. if he asked you to marry him, you would. you’ve known him for only a handful of months, but, fuck, he owns you. time doesn’t seem to matter when love’s involved. still, he’s never really put a label on what you are. not that he needs to; you’re just as fine without one. but with the break and then the touring starting up again, you’d just thought that would be it. he’d find another tagalong because lord know he’s could have his pick of the litter.

but he seems genuinely offended when he asks you to come home for christmas and you confess, “oh! i thought that you wouldn’t want me now.” the words sort of fall out of your mouth in a tumble, before you can really consider what you’re saying, and your hastiness shows because his forehead creases in a deep frown.

“why would you ever think that?” he asks it in the middle of the airport baggage claim, with the crew and band milling about, waiting for their luggage. it’s quiet, some ungodly hour in the morning, so you wince when he speaks a tad too loud for your liking.

“i just thought that...” you shrug and look away when his frown deepens. “don’t look at me like that, brian.”

“like what? pissed?” he scoffs. “i’m pissed ‘cause you know how i feel about you, [y/n]. at least i thought you did.”

you’re saved having to make a response by freddie dropping the last of your bags at your feet. he kisses your cheek, wishes you a happy christmas, and asks you take a dramatic photo of him leaving the airport, headed out for a night on the town all by his lonesome because his friends won’t join him in the fun. you oblige, though your heart isn’t in it because brian radiates frustration at your side and you’re jetlagged. you just want to go to sleep, really. it’ll be better in the morning.

after wishing well to the rest of the group, you follow brian out into the cold. it’s frigid, and a gentle snow has begun to fall, glittering in the harsh lamplight. you stamp your feet to try and generate some warmth in your legs as you wait on the curb for the cab. the tension between you grows thicker with each passing moment, but you can’t find the words to say. 

in all honesty, you figured he looks at you as nothing more than a good time. and that’s okay with you because it makes things less complicated. you aren’t sure what you will do if he actually wants you, wants you for good. because it’s always in the back of your mind—how you don’t belong here, how you don’t belong with him—and if he feels something more than a general liking for your kisses or your ass or your tits, you don’t know what that will mean for your future. it scares you. so you say nothing, and he says nothing.

the cab pulls up the side of the road, and the trunk pops open with a soft whoosh. the driver hops out, rambles something about how big of a fan he is and how brian is such an inspiration, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you lug your bag to the trunk and dump it in unceremoniously. you slide into the backseat of the car, cross your arms over your chest, and sulk. brian follows suit, sulk and all, seconds behind you. 

the driver either ignores the tension in the backseat or is oblivious because when he takes the driver’s seat and turns to ask you both where you’re headed, he’s all smiles and flushed cheeks.

brian doesn’t answer. neither do you.

the driver’s smile begins to fade as the moments pass by. 

“you really didn’t realize that i love you?”

you suck in a sharp breath at brian’s confession, eyes darting to his, which bore so deep into your soul you wonder if he can see into the very depths of your heart. you wonder if he can see the way you’re at war with yourself. there’s part of you that wants to jump his skinny bones and forget everything you left behind; that part is dangerously close to breaking through the surface. but you care for him enough to shake your head in an honest answer. he sighs.

“well, i do.”

“oh,” you whisper, turning your face to your lap. “sorry.”

there’s an edge to his voice when he speaks again, and it makes you squirm. “that’s it? just sorry?”

you force yourself to meet his eyes. it’s hard to make out exactly what he looks like in the dim lighting of the cab, but you know he’s not happy. “i didn’t want to assume anything,” you admit. “this is all terribly out of character for me.”

“what is?”

you know he won’t give the driver an address until you speak the truth, so you close your eyes and grit your teeth. “all of it—you, queen, the tour. i have absolutely no idea what i’m doing or how i’m supposed to act.”

“you’re supposed to act like yourself, [y/n]. that’s what i love: you, not what you think you’re supposed to be.”

swallowing hard, your eyes slide back to him. his shoulders have dropped from their tense hunch, and the lines in his forehead have smoothed. he looks more tired now than anything else.

“if i’m being honest,” he continues. “i think i’ve loved you since you called crystal out on the tour bus that first night.”

you smirk, remembering the way you thought he’d turned to glance back at your after your outburst. lip caught between your teeth, you shift in your place to face him better.

“if i’m being honest,” you say. “i think i’ve loved you since i stepped on your stupid clog in that disco.”

he doesn’t laugh like you thought he would. his eyes just dart back and forth between yours for a moment before his hand slides across the bench to skim your splayed fingers.

“so, christmas at mine?”

you nod, chest soaring when he scoots closer, his warmth invading your cold bubble. “christmas at yours.”

december, 1978—london

freddie throws a new year’s eve party, and you all but have to drag brian to it. all he wants to do is stay home and fiddle with the telescope his father got him for christmas, but all you want to do is go to freddie’s party with the man you love and kiss him as the clock strikes midnight. you end up cutting a deal: you’ll both go to the party but leave right after midnight so he can catch what’s left of the night sky. 

as you dress in a decidedly not-winter-appropriate outfit, you tease and tell him he’s such a grandpa. he just pushes his hips against your backside, pushing you into the bathroom counter, and you gasp at the feeling of his desire pressed against your leg. you have to brace your hands on the countertop when he leans over your shoulder and nips at your ear, muttering, “don’t think grandpas get riled up like this, love.”

now at the party, leaning against the wall with a flute of champagne in your hand, half-listening to veronica’s story about john attempting to cut his own hair, you can’t stop ogling brian from across the room.

he stands beside roger and some business executive from the record label. he’s wearing the suit jacket you like: it’s black with white pinstripes. it’s buttoned halfway up his chest, but, as is customary, the crisp white dress shirt beneath his jacket is barely buttoned at all. you can make out the outline of his sternum, a silver necklace dangling against his skin. his trousers are dark and tapered along his narrow waist and legs. he looks good enough to eat, and you still hum with the electricity he’d shot through you back in the cramped bathroom at his parent’s home.

mumbling an half-hearted apology to veronica, you set your empty champagne flute on the marble mantlepiece and cross the floor with purposeful steps. it’s rare you get like this—so worked up you might explode—but with the recent revelation of his feelings for you and the way he stands there, so nonchalantly beautiful, you think you might burst if you don’t do something.

sidling up beside brian, you curl your arm around his elbow and smile at the men with whom he’s in conversation. roger grins right back, like he can read your mind and knows what you’re up to; the business executive’s eyes falter a moment too long on your chest, but that’s fine because at least it means you look good. you can work that to your advantage.

“mind if i steal him for a moment?” you ask, already tugging at brian’s wrist, question dripping with sugar and honey. 

the business man’s eyes flick up from your cleavage to your face. “well, we weren’t exactly—”

“go ahead, love.” roger waves you off with a wink. “i can finish up with mack.”

mouthing a thank you to roger, you curl your hand around brian’s and pull him down the crowded hallway to a small coat closet. there’s heavy jackets and fur-lined coats strewn about the room, bags and purses and briefcases too. it smells slightly musty despite it being the largest coat closet you’ve ever occupied. you don’t waste a moment. with one hand, you shove the door closed and with the other you grab the lapel of his jacket and pull his mouth down for a bruising kiss.

brian laughs against your teeth, his hands skimming around your waist to settle in the small of your back. “what on earth’s gotten into you?”

you shake your head. the strap of your dress, thin as it is, falls down your shoulder as you trip over your own feet in an effort to perch yourself on the single bench in the room. “nothing,” you huff. “just want you ‘s all.”

he helps you with the stubborn zipper that runs along your spine, his mouth working on your throat, still chuckling. “i can work with that.”

january, 1979—berlin

anna studies you from across the room, one leg dangling over the other. she picks at her nails while she stares, her eyes narrowed in thought. you let her inspect you for a few moments, but her stare soon becomes too much to handle. her eyes are heavy and intense, so you slam your book shut.

“what?” there’s an edge on your voice, but she doesn’t take notice, just shrugs.

“do you think you’ll get married? you and brian?”

with a sigh, you toss your book to the coffee table and swing your legs to the carpet. “that’s a ridiculous question.”

“no it’s not!” anna’s eyes follow you as you pad across the floor to grab an apple from the buffet along the wall. “it’s obvious you love each other.”

leaning against the table, you bite into your apple. music from the stage filters through the air vents, attempting to drown out the thoughts swirling through your head. you might let it, too, but anna’s question pricks at the girlish ideas of marriage you’d buried so long ago.

“me and roger,” she continues. “i know we won’t get married. he’s an epic shag and almost too much fun, but i don’t love him. i mean, i do, but not the way you love brian. and he definitely doesn’t love me the way brian loves you.”

you arch a brow. “i didn’t realize everyone had so many opinions about my relationship.”

“sure we do. crystal’s started a pool on when brian will actually pop the question. my money’s in the spring. i think i picked april fifteenth. we’ll be in tokyo then and they’ve got gorgeous cherry blossoms. can you imagine how romantic that’d be?” 

you do imagine it for a moment—him bending down to one knee, cherry blossom trees swaying with a gentle breeze, your hand clasped in his, finger weighed down by an engagement ring. you fiddle with your ring finger, feel the emptiness there, and wonder what it would be like to actually, truly marry him. you’d say yes, if he asked, but that would also mean giving up any lingering hope of returning to your natural life, wouldn’t it? you still aren’t sure if you can do that. 

besides, you know he isn’t going to ask. there’s no reason for him to. he loves you; you love him. that’s it; that’s all it needs to be.

february, 1979—zurich 

you’re walking hand in hand along a quaint street in zurich’s city center. the air is cold, but brian’s hand is warm, and you feel impossibly safe by his side. not for the first time, you have to pinch yourself. before leaving home you’d rarely traveled and never extensively, but in the six months you’ve been away, you’ve seen more of the world than you ever dared dream you would—and it’s all because of him.

you slide your hand from his palm to the crease of his elbow and lean against his side. he glances down at you and moves his arm around your shoulders. he smells like laundry detergent and roger’s cigarette smoke. the scent makes your head dizzy with affection, so you have to ask him to repeat himself when he speaks.

“how much film have you used up? for your camera?” he asks again, drawing you out of the path of a jogger. 

you tally the sacred tubes tucked neatly in your suitcase. “four canisters so far.”

he smiles, clearly proud of himself. “i guess i did pretty well with that gift, then.”

rolling your eyes, you poke his side, but the grin on your face is secure. “don’t flatter yourself. i don’t want your ego getting too big.” looking away from his pretty face, flushed with chill and sparkling with amusement, your steps falter. “oh, that’s nice!”

you say it before you can stop yourself, but the jewelry displayed in the window of a small accessories shop truly is nice. there’s a wide array of necklaces, bracelets, and rings sparkling in the overhead light. just the sight of a diamond ring makes your heart flutter, and you think back to your conversation with anna in berlin. you pull your eyes away from the wedding bands and focus on the necklaces. 

brian steps behind you, circles his arms around your stomach, and settles his head on your chin. “do you want something?” his breath tickles your ear, and you immediately shake your head.

“no, just looking.”

he squeezes you against his body in protest. “come on. let me get you something.”

“brian, it’s too much.”

“it is not! you haven’t let me get you anything this whole time!”

you turn around in his arms and plant your hands on his lean chest. “i don’t need anything. you’re present enough as it is.”

he huffs. “that’s shite. we’re going in there and we’re not leaving till you pick out something you want.”

in the end, you choose a necklace with a pearl set against a fanned-out silver flower. it’s dainty, light against your collarbones, but it reminds you of brian. pearls are formed out of grit and determination, just like he is. it’s a silly metaphor, but when you see the necklace for the first time, that’s what springs to mind. you don’t tell him as much. you just let him pay the shop woman and hook the necklace around your neck.

later, when you’re lounged around the hotel lobby, waiting for the boys to finish changing from the show so you can go to dinner, crystal points to the necklace.

“new bling?”

you touch the pearl with your fingers and nod. “he insisted.” you level him a pointed stare. “i heard you’ve got a bet going on as to when brian will ask me to marry him.”

crystal has the decency to blush, and he swings his legs over the arm of his chair so he can sit straight. “yeah, well, we gotta do something to keep entertained.”

“i want in.”

he laughs, loud and echoey in the sparse lobby. “what?”

“you heard me: i want in.”

“you think he’s gonna ask?”

you shrug. “maybe. a girl can dream.”

shifting, crystal unearths a square notebook from his back pocket. he reaches for a discarded pen on the glass coffee table at his feet and puts the cap in his mouth while he flips through the pages of his notebook. “what day you want?”

“what day’s not taken?”

“uh... march first. we’re in paris then.”

“fine. put me down for march first.”

crystal pencils your name in and opens his palm. “it’s forty pounds to enter.”

you startle forward, sputtering, “forty pounds?!”

“you’re getting in pretty late, sweetheart! take it while you can.”

“how much do i stand to win?”

he calculates slowly, mumbling, “forty times twenty-eight... about five thousand.”

you scoff, shaking your head. “i don’t know whether i should be offended or impressed.” withdrawing your pocketbook, you slap the forty pounds in his palm. 

he curls his fist around the money and shoves it in his pocket. “thank you and good luck.” he winks as the boys round the corner from the elevators, talking quietly amongst themselves.

brian comes to stand behind your chair, his hands on your shoulders. he glances between you and crystal. “what’s going on? you look like you’re up to no good.”

rising from your seat, you grasp his wrist and kiss the back of his hand. “oh nothing. crystal was just brushing me up on my maths skills.”

buzzing with giddiness, shocked at yourself but not unpleased, you grin wider when you hear crystal whisper to freddie, “she took march first” on your way to the car and freddie says, “dammit it! i got february twenty-eighth. he likes the first of the month.”

february, 1979—madrid

you stare at the calendar tacked to the dressing room wall. it’s your birthday.

you didn’t expect to feel so sad. freddie’s planned a party for this evening, something outrageous and ostentatious, and you’ve been anticipating it all week, but now that the day is here, you don’t feel excited or thankful or even the slightest bit happy. you just feel empty.

if you were home, where nature intended you to be, you’d likely have woken up to a flurry of happy birthday text messages. your roommate rachel might’ve made you breakfast in bed, and you’d have gone to dinner with your family before returning home to open presents. it would have been simple, easy and uninspired, but just the way you like it.

this morning you’d woken to brian pressing a kiss to your temple as he rushed out of the room, already late for a day set aside for brainstorming the new album. he couldn’t help the schedule; that’s just the way it fell. so you’d gotten ready by yourself, eaten by yourself at the hotel’s cafe, read by yourself on your room’s terrace. crystal had shouted his well-wishes on his way out of the hotel by the time soundcheck rolled around; anna had brought you a muffin as you slid into the car beside her. you knew you would celebrate later as freddie had promised, but that didn’t stop the ache, the yearning, in your chest for something more familiar. now standing in brian’s dressing room, alone and in silence, it takes everything you have in you to not break down and sob.

you miss home. you miss your parents. you miss your brother and sister. you miss your phone and your keurig that takes too long to pour and your subscription to netflix. as much as you love brian, you miss where you belong, the time in which you belong.

you don’t realize you’re crying until the door opens with a click, and brian steps in. he’s halfway through a sentence about wanting to find something to eat before the show starts when he sees your tears and stops talking. rushing to your side, he takes your shoulders in his large hands and bends to catch your eyes.

“[y/n]? what is it? what’s wrong?” he sounds worried, painfully so. this must be the first time he’s seen you cry in such earnest. sure, he’s seen you shed a few tears on occasion—when you’re irritable and he’s being stubborn; when roger and crystal’s antics make you double-over in laughter; when he does something particularly endearing—but he’s never seen you like this.

you wrap your arms around your stomach and shake your head, tears flowing all the more. you wish you could unburden yourself and tell him the truth. he deserves that. but you can’t answer his questions. you don’t know what’s brought you here or why, and he’ll probably only think you’re crazy. you think you’re crazy.

he stops asking you what’s wrong and leads you to the couch. the faux-leather squeaks as he sits, drawing you to his lap, your head cradled beneath his chin. he rubs soothing circles up and down your back, humming, until you’ve settled enough to blow your nose and wipe what little makeup remains from your eyes.

you exhale, sitting upright in his lap. he has one arm draped over your hips, the other still working along your spine. you can feel his eyes searching your profile, as if he’s trying to discern the cause of your turmoil from the patterns on your skin. 

you don’t say anything. you just twist and press your mouth to his. 

god, you love him. it’s not the fact that he’s brian may and that’s he opened up a world previously unknown to you. it’s him: his height which makes you feel safe, his hands which love you so well, his intelligence which dazzles you day after day, his kindness, his vulnerability with others, his wit. you love everything about him and more.

but you don’t belong here. the thought has been plaguing you since you arrived, and you suspect it will haunt you until nature returns you home—if nature returns you home. you are meant for the days of roaming wifi and overpriced coffees on every street corner. you are meant for skinny jeans and simple eye makeup, youtube and internet shopping. 

you miss it all, but you love him so dearly—would marry him, and have his children, and die by his side if he asked—but you don’t belong here.

your mouth moves rough across his as you straddle his hips, hands clawing at the hair around his shoulders. you’re crying again. you can taste your tears, salty and warm, and you wonder if he tastes them too. he kisses you despite the tears or maybe because of them. whatever; it doesn’t matter. you just want to forget, to feel good, to feel him.

pulling back, you breathe heavy, chest brushing against his. his eyelids are heavy with lust, his throat flushed. he lifts a hands, brushes his palm down the side of your face, his thumb swiping out to wipe away a tear. 

“what do you want?” he asks.

you take the moment to memorize his face, every line, freckle, and marking. you run a finger long his lower lip and whisper, “you.”

he frowns. “you have me.”

a lump rises in your throat, and you push it back before meeting his gaze. “always?” you aren’t sure what you mean by always. your head is so muddled, so torn, it likely doesn’t matter what you really mean. just as long as he answers the way you want him to.

he does. 

“always,” he says, and you sigh in relief before kissing him again.

march, 1979—paris

march first, the day you picked in crystal’s proposal bet. 

it’s drizzling, but you insist brian accompany you to the louvre on your last afternoon in france. together, you race to the museum, hair damp and frizzy, laughing as you check your coats and grab maps of the exhibits. you wind your way from room to room, commenting on the masterpieces hanging along the walls. brian listens as you spout the wealth of useless knowledge you’ve stored in your head for a later date. he asks questions; he nods and hums in approval; his hand rests in the curve of your back.

by the time you reach liberty leading the people, you’re sure he’s as bored of hearing your voice you are. you pause, study the painting, and sigh in contentment. the room is quiet, only an older couple in the far corner, standing side by side. the man is much taller than his wife, like brian’s taller than you. the woman leans into her husband’s touch when he presses her shoulder, and you wonder absentmindedly if you will experience old age alongside brian. 

“i want to give you something.” brian breaks the silence with a voice that is on the edge of trembling. 

you look up at him, brow furrowed. “you know i don’t like when you give me things.”

“i think you’ll like this.” he gasps his right hand and twists at the ring on his pinky. as you watch his movements, shaky and unpracticed, your heart stops in your chest. 

oh my god.

oh my god.

oh my god.

the words thrum through your veins like a mantra. the air in your throat goes cold, your eyes glued to his hands. you think you might faint when he grasps your left wrist and places the ring in your palm. mouth open, you stare at it: it’s silver with a flat face, small and plain. there’s something engraved on the smooth circle and, after you blink your tears away, you see it’s a flower with three drooping bell-shaped buds.

he notices your inspection and nods to the ring. “it’s lily of the valley, supposedly may’s flower of the month, or so my mother has always believed. you saw our house. she’s obsessed.”

you swallow past the moisture gathering in your throat and look up, unable to form a sentence. he shoves his hands deep in his pockets and shrugs.

“it’s not so much of a proposal as it is a promise.”

“a promise?” is all you can manage to squeak.

“i want to marry you one day,” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it’s what he was born to do. “but you know how things are right now. we’re busy and money’s tight and—”

“okay,” you breathe. 

his brow puckers. “what?”

“i said okay. i’ll marry you—one day.”

his lips spread in the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile, and you know for a fact that you are doomed: doomed to love him forever and always, until you’re both dead and buried and the world continues to turn even though you’re gone.

“well, mr. may, are you gonna make me put it on myself?” you wiggle your hand and pass him the ring which he dutifully slides on your middle finger.

still holding your hand in his, he leans down to kiss your forehead. “i’ll put a proper ring on your finger one day,” he mumbles against your skin, clasping the back of your head to his lips. “promise.”

as you stand in the middle of the louvre, held in the arms of the man you love, you remember: you’re five thousand pounds richer now. you won the bet. the thought makes you laugh and hug him all the tighter.

april, 1979—toyko

if you had known nature would choose that day make her mistake right, you likely wouldn’t have gone back to your hotel room for your sunglasses.

but you didn’t know, and it was painfully sunny outside. 

freddie suggests the group takes a walk around toyko to enjoy the sights and the last of the cherry blossoms before the evening’s soundcheck. though you’re tired from a late flight, you aren’t going to turn down an afternoon of simplicity, not when the tour is so close to finishing and you might never experience this feeling of family again. you’re walking with crystal out of the hotel, bag slung over your shoulder, camera around your neck, arguing with him about whether or not the clouds in the distance mean rain. he says yes; you say no.  

“it’ll just pass over us,” you say, shielding your eyes from the sun. “it’s too bright to storm.”

“clearly you’ve never been to japan before.” he pauses when you stop walking, turning to look over his shoulder while you backtrack toward the entrance.

“i’m gonna pop back inside for my sunglasses anyway. i’d rather have them.” you wave your hand. “don’t wait for me. i’ll catch up. tell brian i’ll be there in a minute.”

he shrugs and pops a toothpick in his mouth. “you know freddie’s a fast walker so be quick.”

nodding, you turn fully on your heel and rush back into the building. the lift is too slow, so you take the stairs two at a time. by the time you reach the door to your room and finesse the key into the stubborn lock, it’s raining. you groan, thumbing your nose at the rain-stained window, but grab the sunglasses anyway before racing down the stairs.

your camera bangs against your chest, your bag slapping against your hip. the stairwell is cool concrete, and the sound of your shoes echoes on the stairs as you wind down the floors. 

thunder booms overheard, and you gasp, stalling on the steps. it sounds close. maybe you should have grabbed your umbrella...

reaching the bottom of the stairs, you pull the door to the lobby open and stumble into an empty concert hall, all too familiar and entirely unwelcome.

your heart plummets to your stomach.

“oh fuck.”

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay​ @grigorlee​ @teenagepeterpan​ @just-my-sickly-pride​ @perriwiinkle​ @ubernoxa​ @anunknownnebula​ @coincidence-ithinknots-blog​ @captvinswaan​ @ineloqueent​

[phcking-detective]

Happiness is a Jealous Android

The FBI are the British of the law enforcement world, Gavin thinks sourly as he glares at the new addition "consulting" on his goddamn case. Snobby fucking cunts who think their own shit doesn't stink.

He can't do anything but be mad about it either. There's a new virus making androids overheat, and they don't know shit about how it works.

They could if Nines caught an android in the middle of it, but it works so fast, they haven't been able to grab one yet. He could just use whatever program he has meant to hack in and delete another android's code—meant for eradicating deviancy—and delete the virus instead.

"Yes, but just imagine, if the code is—" the fancy FBI computer geek says.

Nines interrupts. "For the fifth time, I cannot."

"But you understand the concept!" FBI geek throws up his hands. "Just apply it to—"

Gavin rolls his eyes. The whole fucking point of Nines is that he can't! He's not ever supposed to have new ideas, and he thinks too literally for that shit anyway.

Nines already told them the most efficient method of overheating an android three days ago, but whatever the virus does, it isn't that. And Nines can't think of anything less efficient—he can barely understand the concept of thinking less efficiently.

So they've brought in a human just smart enough to be stupid for him.

If only someone would tell this asshole that's what his job is. Just be stupid enough to think of something that works through sheer idiot accident—that's human creativity, baby!

When the GJ500 assigned to act as the FBI geek's "tactical support"—glorified bodyguard/babysitter special combo—meets Gavin's eyes and jerks his head toward the back door, Gavin can't get out of the bullpen and into the back alley for a smoke break fast enough.

"Need a light?" Nate asks, already pulling out his own pack.

Gavin's not really sure why an android needs to smoke, but he's also not sure where his ADHD ass has left his own lighter this time, so he nods and leans forward.

One thing he is sure of is how Nate checks him out while sparking the end of his cigarette. He's cruised enough to know that look, android or not.

But he settles back against the opposite nod with only a grunt of thanks. Him and Nines maybe sort of have a thing and they maybe sort of haven't talked about it. Anyway, he's only made the exception about shitting where he eats—or in this case, fucking where he works—because Nines is such an uptight, private, introverted bastard, he knows not even Connor will be able to weasel any details out of him.

"Fucking geniuses, right?" Nate says after lighting his own cigarette.

He gives a surprisingly human scoff, and Gavin can't help but snort back in agreement. He's only gotten used to Nines and Connor—said fucking genius or the android version of those evil gossipy Southern ladies. And all the other androids in the precinct are still too scared of him for anything outside of short sentences, much less small talk.

So he's never really shot the shit with an android before, but hey. Brave new world and all.

"How'd you get stuck babysitting yours?" Gavin asks.

Nate groans. "I was suckered. Fucking …" He gestures with his own lit cigarette. "Bamboozled."

Gavin snickers and maybe checks him out a little too. "Like to see the guy who could bamboozle you."

Nate grins at him. "Well, I guess I have to admit your RK probably could, but outside of that …"

His grin opens wider, revealing sharp canines. Gavin swallows. Nines has them too of course, but they're like, metal sheaths that drop down from his gums to cover his "human" teeth. Very cool, but he only gets to see them on special occasions.

"But yeah." Nate drops the grin and sighs. "Honestly, I'm still kind of new. And I don't have any fucking, deep burning desire to be a free form poet or some shit. I just wanted to do what I'm good at, so the FBI called and I jumped."

Gavin raises his eyebrows. "And they stuck you with a babysitting job?"

Nate wrinkles his face up with clear disgust and disappointment. It's weird as hell. The only other android he's seen built like Nate is Nines, who wouldn't know a facial expression if someone carved a Joker smile into his chassis.

OK, well. Maybe that's not fair. Nines does have both disgust and disappointment on lock, but in a sterile sort of way. Like a scientist observing a failed experiment and Gavin's dick is the unlucky lab rat.

(Not that Gavin or his dick are complaining.)

"What about you?" Nate asks. "Got anything to complain about?"

Gavin huffs out smoke and flicks ash off the end of his cigarette. "Why do you care?"

Nate shrugs. "Maybe I'm just interested in life at the DPD. For no reason. Snow is always whiter on the other side and all."

He barks out a laugh. "It's Detroit. If you see any snow that's still white, that's just cocaine."

Nate snorts too, and the smoke is good, and maybe he could throw the guy a bone. He'd been thinking about a career change himself not too long ago—until he got partnered with Nines, and Fowler started actually noticing when he solved cases, and maybe having Nines help keep him on track meant he blew up less at his coworkers, meant that they stopped hating him so much, meant that he might have a real shot at a promotion now.

"Connor's usually the darling golden boy," he says between drags. "And Hank goes way back with Fowler, so yeah. They get all the good shit."

Nate makes a sympathetic noise.

"Our budget's shit and anytime we catch something really good, guess who swoops in and case steals?"

He gives Nate's FBI jacket a pointed look that totally doesn't involve also checking out his barrel of a chest. What the fuck do they make these military models out of anyway? His porn history?

"Sucks," Nate says. "Doesn't sound too different though. At least you actually get to work cases. The only shit I catch is all coding and hacking, and I'm not built for that any more than you could perform open heart surgery just 'cause you've got one."

"Oof," Gavin says in return.

He gets down to the filter and drops it, stubbing out the small ember with his boot. Nate's cigarette is still going strong, since he doesn't actually need to inhale and hasn't been sucking it down. Gavin's not sure what to do with his hands now, and he's still plenty stressed, so he just takes out another cigarette.

Nate takes his out of his mouth and holds it out. Gavin gratefully presses the end of his new smoke against it to light up again.

"I think they call this buttfucking," Nate says.

Gavin sputters out a surprised laugh. "Yeah, Brits call these a lot worse."

Nate shrugs. "Takes one to know one."

From the way he pulls his cigarette back and wraps his lips around it while maintaining full eye contact, he obviously knows a little something-something himself.

But then he switches to complaining about his partner's annoying little peculiarities—like how the man apparently hates cotton balls with some sort of weird fetishistic passion—and Gavin offers up how Nines refuses to ever end a sentence with a preposition, and it's just regular coworker bitching from there.

Although they do start taking smoke breaks together, at least once a day. It's nice having someone to bitch to, since Nines is so busy doing code shit Gavin can't even comprehend, and Tina's off with her android girlfriend, plus Hank and Connor, for some feel good android-human bonding news special or whatever.

And yeah, they flirt. But Gavin's a slut and Nines already knew that. The one time Nate asked him about getting a "lunch break," Gavin told him he doesn't fuck around on cases. Even if neither of them were any use right now, fucking a coworker is bad enough—Gavin strictly does not fuck at work, or even on lunch breaks if he's in the middle of a big case.

Nate drawled he had an impressive work ethic and left it at that.

And him and Nines still haven't talked about their thing, or how serious it is, or exclusive, or … at all, really. Nines is too busy. So.

It's not a big deal if he just, has a friend or whatever.

***

Gavin leans back against the wall and tries to light his smoke in the face of harsh Detroit winds. It keeps sputtering out. Maybe he should go back inside.

Hank and Connor are back, and that's stealing the spotlight from their case getting solved, but it's not like he had shit to do with that anyway.

He's not sulking about it.

Not FBI-genius-what's-his-face being all smug, or Nines still ignoring him to mind-talk to Connor even though the case is over and they could finally have some time to …

Shit. Hold hands? Gavin mentally sneers at himself. What they had going on before was probably just like, an experiment. Lots of androids trying out sex and dating right now.

Lots of times that he's handing over his heart to someone just looking for—

Tall, broad shoulders step in between him and the wind so the lighter finally sparks and catches long enough for him to light up. He takes a drag and looks up, ready to tell Nines it's about time he—

But it's Nate.

(Stupid.)

"Scene in there a little too much?" Nate asks.

Gavin tips his head back and exhales smoke without answering.

"Got a job offer," he continues. "In New York."

Gavin hums. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Lot nicer than fucking Detroit." Nate pauses. "Could use a partner though."

"What?" Gavin blinks and looks back at him. "Shit man. Like we're gonna run away together?"

Nate laughs. "Not that romantic, no. But you're being fucking wasted here—both as a cop and a, uhh …"

He stops and purposefully takes a long drag of his own cigarette. What the British call them. Like that's clever.

Gavin's the only one allowed to call himself slurs, but he does enjoy being verbally degraded, and this asshole is pushing right up against both of those lines. He's not really sure how mad he is about it, since Nate didn't actually say the word, but he settles for pissed because that's who he is as a person.

"Oh, fuck off," he sneers.

Nate smirks and it suddenly seems mean instead of sexy for the first time. "Like you're getting it any better from your RK? I bet he fucks like the machine he is."

Gavin doesn't deny it. Nines hasn't deviated and he doesn't care when people call him a machine anyway. And none of that is any of this asshole's business.

But Nate keeps going.

"Two weeks and I've never even seen him look at you," he says. "Y'know, look."

He drags his eyes over Gavin's body like he's mapping out all the places he plans to touch. Wants to touch. Nines assesses him, nags at him to eat or sleep or "hydrate" himself. Catalogues every minute detail about his appearance.

Sometimes he'll even look at Gavin like he's going to eat the human alive and analyze every single bite.

But his partner has never checked him out or anything. As far as Gavin knows, it's all mental for him when they fuck around. Just a way for him to have control over something in his life and put some of those interrogation protocols to use that aren't legal now that deviants have rights.

Nate looks like he wants to fuck him raw in this very goddamn alley.

"None of your phcking business," Gavin mutters.

Nate sighs and drops his smoke in the snow. "Oh, Gavin. Fine. We can do this your way."

He thinks that means the android is going to let it go, even though that phrasing is really weird. So he's a dumb idiot who doesn't even have his guard up when Nate passes by him to the door—only to suddenly grab him, turn him around, and shove him up against the brick alley wall.

Gavin slams an elbow back into his ribs on instinct, but that doesn't do shit against a private security android except make his whole arm go numb. He holds back the impulse to slam his head backward into the android's face, because that will hurt his human skull way worse than whatever metal Nate has under the plastic.

He tries to take stock of the situation instead, but then freezes when Nate leverages his taller, bulkier body to press against the whole of his back to keep him pinned.

And grind into his ass.

"Get off," Gavin snarls.

"Yeah, I intend to," Nate replies in casual amusement. "Don't worry, I'll let you come too."

"I'm. Not. Interested!"

Nate leans down to murmur in his ear. "Ah-ah. I've seen your porn history, Gavvy. This is damn near all you watch."

Watch! his brain screams. He watches that shit, might fool around with some forced submission, but only in scenes with his Dom. Which is NINES.

"I'm going to fuck you so good, you won't even remember his dumb little number," Nate croons.

"Well."

"Mm?"

Gavin huffs against the brick, just stalling for time. Or an idea. An idea would be really fucking nice right about now, but all he can think about is how his traitor dick really has gotten interested in this even though he's screaming inside and—

"Good is an adjective. You can't verb an adjective. You need to use the adver—"

Nate grabs a fistful of his hair and slams his face into the wall. He doesn't have any snappy comeback because yeah. That's all the response he needed.

But his hands have scrabbled against the brick wall long enough to find a loose one. Can't have shit in Detroit, much less well-constructed buildings. His skull and fist might not do shit versus the android's face, but a brick to the head should put anyone down.

Right?

"Now. Are you going to be a good b—"

The door to the alley opens, and Hank steps out. Gavin looks sideways at him and opens his mouth, but he chokes on the blood dripping down the back of his throat from his busted up nose and can't say anything.

"We're just having a little fun, Lieutenant," Nate says smoothly. "Nothing he doesn't beg for online."

Gavin's face flushes, and that really doesn't help the bleeding nose problem. Everyone in the precinct knows what he's like. Seen him come in the next morning after a night out with bruises on his throat or wrists. Hell, he'd fucking bragged about it.

"And I'll believe that when I hear him say it." Hank crosses over to them and wedges a thick arm between them. "Back off."

Nate steps back, and Gavin scrambles to get behind Hank, even as he hates himself for it.

"You really don't need to get involved in this," Nate says.

"I think I do."

Nate looks down at Hank's hand, still pushing against his chest. He smiles thinly and grabs the lieutenant's wrist.

"You really …" Nate leverages his arm down the way only a machine could. "Don't."

Hank struggles in the impromptu arm wrestling contest, staring as his hand gets mechanically pushed away. Nate glances down too with a smirk.

Then Hank throws a sudden left hook directly into the android's throat. It's a sucker punch, but there's no use fighting fair against a GJ500. He doesn't need to breathe of course, but his access port is at the back of his neck, with enough delicate little connections right behind his approximation of a windpipe—now crushed—for him to automatically take a step back and raise his hands to protect his throat.

Hank steps forward with him but grabs his hair this time, while also kicking out at his legs. After that, it's just gravity. Head yanked forward, legs knocked backward, and the android's stupid high center of gravity up in his chest and shoulder with all those muscles working against him.

He topples like a child's toy and hits the ground hard. Hank doesn't waste any time in grinding the heel of his shoe down on the back of the android's neck threateningly, and Nate goes still in surrender.

"You good?" he asks Gavin.

"I have a brick."

Gavin half-holds up the brick he'd pulled out of the wall. Oo, wow, great job. In contrast to the voice sneering inside his head though, Hank nods approvingly.

"Nines said your heartrate spiked and asked me to check on you, in case you were just … having fun," Hank explains.

"Which is what I said," Nate speaks with his cheek still pressed into dirty snow-slush.

"People having fun don't pull a goddamn brick out of the wall to beat your face in, asshole," Hank snaps back.

Nate's LED snaps from yellow to red, like maybe he really hadn't thought of that. Like he really preconstructed he was doing Gavin some sort of favor or something.

Nines steps out the back door before anyone can say anything else, Connor peeking out behind him. That's just great. Why not get the whole precinct out here? Everyone can crowd on in and witness this little moment.

Nines's LED goes red too as he looks at Nate on the ground, Hank keeping him down, and then slowly rotates his head to look over at Gavin's busted up face. Gavin drops the brick and spits out another thick wad of blood.

"I did not interfere," Nines says, his voice far more furious than any machine has a right to be. "With your flirting and your … schemes. I would never restrict Gavin's happiness."

Wait, his goddamn what?

"But you hurt him! You touched my human—"

Nines snarls out the claim, and Gavin swears he can feel some sort of shift in barometric pressure, like right before a tornado hits.

"And you. Hurt. Him."

Nate stays on the ground. He lies very still and doesn't say a goddamn word, actually.

Gavin reaches out for Nines. He's not really sure what he's going to say, but the moment he holds out his hand, Nines whirls around, his LED switching from red to yellow. He moves so fast and—and Gavin's dated a lot of shitty people. Really shitty. Nate isn't exactly an anomaly. So he automatically expects Nines to be mad at him.

Instead, Nines takes his hand so tenderly, they could be in a gay historical period piece.

"Yes, darling?" he asks.

Gavin gapes at him. He's still not … not really making a facial expression. His face was literally built differently than Connor's, even if it looks the same at first glance. The most he can manage is a completely neutral look, but with intensely focused eyes, like he's about to glare a tax return out of existence.

So no, Nines has never looked at Gavin the way Nate did.

But that doesn't mean he hasn't looked at him.

With …

… love?

Gavin finally finds his voice. "Hank. Can I go see Sumo?"

"Sure," Hank says easily. "Nines can bring you over, and you two just hang out for a bit."

Yeah, he bitches about Hank and Connor being Fowler's favorites and how Hank still doesn't get in before ten most mornings, but they're a lot better now. Good enough that he'll dog sit again sometimes, or get himself roped into a "family dinner" between Nines and Connor.

But this …

Gavin nods, throat all clenched up again.

"Yes," Nines answers for him. "I will take you to a secure location. Yes?"

All it takes is one more nod, and Nines is whisking him away out of the alley, but not through the station. They walk around the building instead so no one inside can see his face and ask questions, until they reach the parking lot, and then his truck. Nines unlocks it with his mind or something, opens the backdoor, and gently bullies Gavin into sitting down sideways in the backseat with his legs hanging out the door so Nines can fuss over his face.

"S'fine," he tries to protest.

Nines grabs the spare medical kit he keeps under the backseat and lays it in his lap. Gotta have one for all the bar fights he, well. That he used to get into. Sure as fuck can't afford hospital visits.

"I tried … so hard … not to … miscalculate," Nines says, voice overlaid with static.

Gavin tries to hold his face still so his partner can wipe all the blood off. "Mish-cal-coo-ate whah?"

"Jealous partners are bad."

Gavin blinks and stares at him. "Bad."

"It is … abusive."

Gavin opens his mouth and looks around the parking lot, as if the ghosts of all his actually abusive exes are going to show up, point their fingers, and laugh.

He brushes away Nines' fussy hands. "Is that why you've been ignoring me?"

Nines goes from yellow to red again. "No. Not … ignoring. Solving the case. In absence of … social module. Appropriate preconstructions. I … solving the case would make them leave. And I would have you to myself again."

He admits the last part quietly. Gavin feels like he just found out two plus two equals sixty-seven.

"You—at the party though," he insists. "You didn't say shit to me. You just hunkered down in the corner with Con … Connor. Who has a social module."

Nines nods. "Correct. I asked … for advice … to …"

He trails off and flutters his hands around Gavin's face again, then settles on carefully touching his chest, right over his heart. His big blue eyes stare at him like he's the most important person in the world.

Gavin feels his heart lurch up into his throat and pulls Nines closer by the back of his neck before remembering that even without all the blood only half wiped away, he can't kiss with a nose that's not quite broken, but still pretty goddamn close.

"Babe, just tell me," he says instead. "Phck, I have a social module. And I'm the—the relevant party. Your partner. Just fucking ask if you're not sure of something."

Nines looks down.

"The only reason." Gavin stops and swallows hard. "I even—with Nate. Was because we haven't talked about, y'know. Us. So I didn't know if, if you wanted to like, date me. Or if you were just experimenting and stuff."

Nines' whole face crinkles up in a frown. Cyberlife let him keep that expression. All the "scary" ones.

"You are my partner," the android says. "But you are also human. You have needs I cannot—"

"Absolutely the fuck not," Gavin interrupts. "You're mine. I chose you."

Nines looks up and hits him with those blue eyes again. "And are you mine as well?"

"Yeah." Gavin clears his throat. "You uh, might have to remind me though."

Nines decides the best course of action is clearly to drag Gavin closer and growl in his ear. Literally growl, like the giant unstoppable predator he is. Gavin shivers—and maybe whimpers a little—and presses closer.

"I will take you home and keep you safe and never let anyone else ever touch you," Nines says, petting his hair.

Gavin sighs in bliss.

"But you will be happy too," Nines states more quietly. "Yes?"

Gavin nods into his shoulder. Yeah. He's going to be happy. They'll both be happy.

Together.

***

***

this is another commissioned fic! my rates are $10 for 1k / $25 for 3k / or $40 for 5k, and you can also check out my patreon for my main reed900 series here ^^

[bluboothalassophile]

Crash Course!

@chromium7sky & @deep-in-mind67 a tremendous Thank You for allowing me to borrow Cas ad Malik for some mayhem and destruction! They are terrific and you are both lovely and I hope you enjoy!

~~~*~*~*~~~

Damian al Ghul was a busy man, by nature, he wasn’t one to idly sit about, and he did have operations to run, companies to manage, people to train, a wife to love, and a son to raise. Life was never simple, and lately, Malik had been up to something.

Damian didn’t want to press his son, he did not want to be that parent, he had hopes that Malik would come to him when he was ready, but he was seriously concerned for his son. Malik may be the most mature, levelheaded sixteen year old that Damian had ever encountered. But his son was a perfect resurrection of the Lazarus Pit and a demon and he knew, after watching Todd, his mother, grandfather all struggle with the Pit, that it wouldn’t be this simple, despite Malik being a very good young boy. The sixteen-year-old was a sixteen year old boy in a twenty something year old body, and a demon, and Damian worried. He was a father, he worried.

And lately Malik had gotten very reclusive and very secretive, and he was very worried for his son, but he did not want to be an overbearing parent; he had seen how poorly that turned out. He just hoped that Malik would trust him enough to come to him when things got really bad for him. Damian hoped to any and every deity that Malik knew that Damian was in his corner no matter what.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Malik didn’t think it could be too difficult to do what Casmir was asking, it was not like driving was rocket science, and he had learnt when he was twelve; he was genuinely surprised Cas did not know how to drive. But apparently an incident with Raynor had had their father saying no to any and all teachings for driving until they were legal. Plus, like him, Cas portalled everywhere, but still, Malik could see the practicality in the ability to drive.

And since Casmir’s parents were out on a Justice League mission, all the Batlings were under Nos’ care and Malik didn’t think the feline would care if he taught Cas to drive. Besides, this version of his parents were why more… gentle, he didn’t think they’d get into any serious trouble if they were caught.

“Okay, I’m set,” Cas grinned as they sat in one of the zillions of cars the Waynes always seemed to own. Malik had talked Cas out of the Lamborghini, instead they had opted for the Aston Martin; it was the one that looked like it belonged in those bond films, and he rather liked it.

Malik had walked Cas through the check list for safe driving. They slowly drove to the Batcave where there was a huge track set up for some reason. Malik would admit he was impressed with this version of his father for having adapted a serious training regime here in the Batcave, back home most his training was in Nanda Parbat with his family. Until running into the Batlings he hadn’t really seen much of anything outside the compound, though he did dimension hop from time to time when his mother and father were not around.

“Break, gas, and watch your speed, we shouldn’t go super fast,” he instructed as they got to the track.

“Beak, gas, seatbelt,” Cas muttered as they started going. Suddenly there was a blast of light and it felt like Cas hit the gas too hard as they were both thrown back in their seats.

“CAS!” he shouted and there was a blast of light as a blackhole opened.

“MALIK!” Cas screeched.

They both screamed as they were dimension hopping too quickly to even slow down.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Cas would admit, admittedly, this was not his brightest idea, but Malik hadn’t said no!

For a hot minute Cas was not the oldest and therefore, so not responsible!

Plausible deniability was going to be great. Honestly, Cas had never had this! But he could see from the look of the garage they had crashed into again that they were so dead, so very, very dead. If he and Malik survived this, Lorcan and Griffith were dead when he got home!

It took one look at an unamused Jason Todd for Cas to know exactly which universe they had crashed into, as this was obviously the one with the Jason Todd who had taught Raynor to drive!

“Is that Todd?” Malik asked warily.

“Not either of ours,” Cas grimaced and smiled. Jason stood there staring blandly back with a mug of steaming coffee, the mug was a minion’s mug; and Cas was certain it was the one Ingo had gotten this Jay. This Jason was different from either his or Malik’s, with a J seared into his cheek to highlight the immediate difference.

“Hey Jay,” he called as he rolled down the window.

“Casmir,” Jason remarked. “I don’t know which one is beside you,” he stated.

“This is Malik, he’s from another, another dimension,” Cas explained.

“Mmm,” Jason hummed. “Raven!” he barked.

“What!?” she appeared.

“Control your other dimensional children!” Jason demanded.

“Mom!?” Malik gaped. Cas smiled meekly as she went to stand beside Jason, she was tiny still, her hair was now to her waist, long, thick, inky black, her eyes were now distinctly violet and her sharp features were schooled in indifference as she arched a delicate brow at both of them while sipping her tea.

“Oh, that is not a good look,” Malik muttered while paling.

“We’re so very dead,” Cas whispered as he sunk in his seat.

“You want to tell me what’s happening here Cas?” Raven asked idly as she appeared in their back seat having both the boys jolting as they twisted around.

“M-mom!?” Cas and Malik yelped.

“Not quite,” she chuckled humorlessly. “Now why are you crashing through the garage?”

“Malik agreed to teach me to drive,” Cas informed her.

“Mmm, and I’m guessing you’re Malik?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Nice to meet you, did the Batlings abduct another child I wasn’t aware of?” Rae asked blandly as she examined Malik.

“Um…” Cas looked at Malik and back at Rae who was sipping her tea.

“Not quite,” Malik answered. “I found the Batlings, I’m from another dimension,” he explained.

“Mmm, well, clean up and we’ll get breakfast then send you home. If you think to dimension hop, I’ll remind you I know where you live Cas,” Raven stated as she was enveloped by shadows and reappeared beside Jason.

“You know her?”

“Yeah, Ingo found her when we were babies, she’s family now,” Cas muttered.

“She does know she’s not the boss of us, right?” Malik asked.

“I am so not getting on that version of mom’s bad side!” Cas stated as he got out of the car.

“Why would we get on her bad side!?” Malik asked.

“Trust me, we don’t want to end up there,” Cas stated. “And this Jay can outcook Alfred!”

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven was barely awake, and Jason wasn’t much better than she was at this point. Though Jay was prepping breakfast. It was a perfectly peaceful morning for her and Jason, none of Jay’s relatives were here for a change which had made life peaceful. Her own family was out of town as well. Rae had been texting Dean, Cas, Sam and Jack in the family group chat, and she had also had a call from Elijah to wish her a happy birthday. Her moms’ had called her from their European tour; which was apparently something Harley had always wanted to do, but they could never leave Gotham long enough to actually do it; but Rae was having breakfast with them tomorrow when she portalled over so she could meet up with Donna and Roy. Donna and Roy had plans for her tomorrow for a late Birthday dinner; it wasn’t easy to get time with the Queen of Themyscira. Vic had called her from deep space even, he was still helping the Lanterns. Kyle, Artemis, and Eddie were going to have lunch with her and Jason. Constantine was having dinner with her, Luci, Alice, Jack, Mary-Beth, Billy, and Jess tonight. But until her lunch, she had all the time in the world with Jason, and only Jason, which was something rare.

At least it was just her and Jason until there was a horrible crash in the garage.

Now though, after having the children clean up the garage, she found herself sitting at the island across from two sheepish looking boys. Cas was tall, gangly, and lean, his black hair was sticking up in odd directions, and his violet eyes were down cast. The other boy, Malik was huge, tall, thick and she sensed the Lazarus Pit in him. His eyes had the tell-tale green ring pulsing in them around the violet irises. He also looked a lot like Damian, high cheek bones, lean face, sharp nose, firmly set lips pulled in a grim line as he assessed her, his black hair was a bit shaggy.

“You want to tell me how you ended up in this dimension, again, Cas?” Raven asked as she set out two teas, she saw the other boy’s surprise as he cautiously came forward with Cas for tea.

“It’s Ingo’s fault.”

“Sure,” Raven waved off as she accepted the waffles from Jason. Jason served up two heaps of waffles for the boys as he pulled a cigarette.

“No smoking,” she said as she plucked the cigarette from his lips.

“Rae!”

“No! No smoking, you promised you were quitting, and I’m ensuring it. You’re Malik?” Raven turned her attention on the other boy who was cautiously cutting into the waffles with pristine manners, he was obviously Damian’s kid she thought.

“Yes,” he answered warily.

“And you’re from a different dimension?” Raven asked as she ate her own waffles, Jason finally sat and stole her syrup. “Hey!”

“You took my smokes!” he retorted.

“They’ll kill you young.”

“Jokes on you, I’m living to a hundred and two and then dying like the city of Detroit!” he sniped as he drowned his waffles in syrup.

“One of these days the Pit’s not going to save you from yourself,” she muttered as she swiped the syrup from him before he could have a sugar high. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I am from a different dimension,” Malik replied tentatively, clearly still absorbing the situation.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Malik was very confused. He’d been to a lot of different dimensions, which was how he had met the Batlings, and unwittingly befriended them, and been pulled into their antics. When he had agreed to teach Casmir to drive, he had not expected to be hit by a spell from Lorcan and Griffith, and somehow not controlling his own dimension hopping, which had been very unnerving. Then he had crashed into an unknown garage, which had not looked anything like the Batcave where he and Cas had been driving, to see a man who was clearly Todd but not his or the Batlings’ Todd.

This Jason stood there, lifted a scarred brow, his cheek had a J seared into it, and there were green pulses in his eyes, similar to Malik’s own. It was a mark of the Pit, and it was unnerving to see it reflected in his uncle’s eyes.

Then this Raven, his mom, had appeared, she stood beside Todd, and for the first time ever he truly noted how small his mom was. The Batlings’ Raven was lithe, delicate, his own mom had been small but not delicate, this Raven was small, petite, and almost delicate, yet her presence; like the other Raven’s he knew, was commanding. She was unnerving as well with how she had appeared, disappeared, and reappeared, he couldn’t sense her movement which was actually terrifying to him.

Now he was seated, in a warehouse, in a kitchen, before a plate of massive waffles, which were utterly divine in flavor, watching this version of his mother poke and prod this version of Todd and he was confused.

“I see, and in your universe, would your parents permit you to teach driving to a fifteen year old?” Raven asked dryly, turning her attention on him. It was unnerving how she had the mom look mastered and he felt this immense guilt about having agreed to just teaching Cas to drive.

“It’s not our fault we dimension hopped!” Cas protested.

“Sure, it’s not,” Todd muttered which had Malik glaring at this version of his uncle.

“It’s not!”

“Mmm, and how the hell did you get here?” Todd asked dryly.

“We were hit with a spell from Lorcan and Griffith,” Cas stated.

“We had no control of our dimension hopping,” Malik stated firmly. He was a bit annoyed with this version of his uncle; it was a bit annoying to have Todd of all people looking at them like they were reckless idiots. It wasn’t like they had intentionally dimension hopped!

“Mmm, should we be expecting the colony?” Todd asked dryly and Malik glared at his uncle.

“Um… no, I don’t think so,” Cas said.

“Good, little bird,” Todd turned to her. “Think you could get them home?”

“Not until I finish breakfast.”

“Obviously,” Todd snorted.

Malik did agree with Cas about this Todd’s cooking, it was very excellent! “Where’s father?” he asked as he continued cutting the waffles.

“The gremlin is at Berkley with his girlfriend,” Todd answered, and Malik’s head snapped up at that information as he glanced at this version of his mother then to Cas.

“Um… our parents are together in this universe,” Cas said.

“I do not understand,” Malik stated. His parents love transcended all boundaries he had encountered. Almost all the multiverses he had visited he had encountered his parents, together, they belonged together. “If mother is not with father…” he started.

“Your father is dating Irey West, and Jon Kent, depending on the day of the week and time of the month,” Todd chuckled as Raven whacked Todd up the back side of the head.

“In this universe, and in this universe, I do not date jailbait, which is exactly what he would’ve been if we had gotten together and it would have been disturbing, even for a demoness like myself.”

“So…”

“She’s with Todd,” Cass whispered.

“We’re not together!” Todd and Raven shouted as Cas. “Christ it’s like we’re twenty all over again.”

“Speak for yourself, it’s like I talked to Luci and Maze again!” Raven groaned.

“Just get the gremlins’ and other little birds’ spawns’ home and then we’re resume birthday plans,” Todd decided.

Malik blinked in utter confusion. This was a very strange universe. But these waffles were amazing, he wondered for the first time ever, if his uncle was as good of a cook as this version was.

“It’s your birthday?” he blinked at this version of his mother.

“Yes, it is,” she chuckled. “How do you like the waffles?”

“They’re delicious!” Malik admitted and stared longingly at his plate.

“Of course, he likes the fucking waffles, little bird, he’s your kid,” Todd stated as he nudged her side and started making more.

“This is the strangest universe I’ve been in,” he admitted to Cas.

“Yeah, me too, no one tried to stab, shoot or blow me up the first time I landed here!” Cas grinned in delight as Jason started serving them more waffles.

“You crash landed in the bouncy house,” Todd quipped.

“That was fun,” Cas chuckled.

“You dimension hop a lot,” he deduced from his brother.

“You have no idea,” Cas grinned.

“And I’m sure your parents will be lighted to know this in addition to you wrecking my garage,” Raven smiled.

“Do I at least get more waffles before my funeral?” Cas sighed.

[nayutai]

Chasse Á L’amour

» Pairing Incubus!Taehyung x Original Character

» Rating 18+

» Genre angsty horror smut 

» Word Count 20.626

» Warnings explicit violence, gore, mentions of pedophile behavior (not by main characters), mentions of sexual assault (not by main characters), major character death, minor character death, twisted romance, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (pls use condoms)

» Summary Taehyung is an interesting being. He’s spent several centuries fucking for survival but he never takes the life of someone that doesn’t deserve it. He makes it his duty to rid the world of those with enough power to inflict their evil upon the masses. When that darkness strikes close to home, he’s nearly overwhelmed by the pain. However, getting his revenge isn’t the cake walk he thought it would be.

Phoenix hummed and hawed as she stretched out across her bed. The man that had occupied it with her at the start of the night was long gone as she’d told him to be. She relishes in the soreness that spread through her limbs when she finally separated herself from the sheets. Annoying as he had been at the bar, her chosen conquest had been quite the lay just as she’d predicted him to be.

Freshly showered, she settles in at her kitchen table with a bowl of oatmeal and some fruit. Her laptop whirs to life in front of her ready to supply her with an inbox full of people needing help of the supernatural variety. Most of the people that email her don’t actually need her help. For instance, Molly from New York believes she’s got a vengeful spirit on her hands because her makeup products are continuously vandalized even though her husband, who has expressed his distaste for makeup, swears it’s not him. She needs a marriage counselor, not Phoenix. Then there’s Elijah from Colorado. He’s complaining of some sort of creature that eats all his food and leaves the cabinets open. The number 420 and the fact that Elijah chose to write his entire email in green Papyrus font suggests that he has a weed problem not a supernatural infestation. 

An email halfway down her screen actually shows some promise. A young newlywed couple, Malina and Trevor McAvoy, have just moved into a fixer upper that they found in a quiet, little suburb of Detroit. Phoenix balks at the sheer length of the email they’ve sent her but as she skims through it, she can tell that the McAvoys are one of the unlucky bastards that are actually in need of her help. She starts tapping away at her keyboard. Her phone vibrates against her left breast, halting her email session. It’s one of her hunting buddies, Derrick Yates. 

“Hey, asshole.” Phoenix answers jovially. She can practically see Derrick rolling his eyes in the exaggerated fashion that he’s known for. He claims to love her like family but Phoenix is almost positive that Derrick seriously hates her for all her antics.

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t say that, especially since I actually called you with a friendly offer.” 

“You have my attention.” Phoenix closes her laptop so that she can give Derrick her full attention. 

She listens intently as Derrick details the small demon coven that he and his partner Patrick Brewer have been tracking for the past week or two. They’d received reports of the demons wreaking havoc on society and were aiming to put a stop to it. Apparently, they’d followed them to Iowa and stumbled upon a demon hangout of sorts. By their count, there are at least twenty demons milling about the large house they’d found in the middle of the woods.

“So, what exactly is this offer?” Phoenix inquires curiously.

“We’re about to go in guns blazing and fuck shit up. Do you wanna come?”

“Send me the location.” She drops her phone onto her kitchen table unceremoniously, going back to her email to the McAvoys. It shouldn’t take long to help Derrick and Brewer dispatch of the demon nest they’ve happened across and afterwards she’ll head out to Detroit to deal with the vengeful spirit that’s been terrorizing them. 

The door of her trusty Jeep shuts with a low thunk as Phoenix hops out of it in front of the low end motel that Derrick and Brewer told her they’ve chosen to hole up in. She grabs her overnight bag from the trunk and walks closer to the building. Her eyes scan the doors for the number 215, finding it off to her right. 

She knocks seven times. Five long two short based on a code they’d devised years ago to announce themselves. A knock for each letter of their name in a cadence of their choosing. Derrick opens the door with a chicken bone hanging from his lips like a cigarette and a chicken leg awaiting the same fate in his free hand. He’s shirtless as per usual and his olive toned skin is glistening as if he just recently got out of the shower. Phoenix reaches out to twist one of his tanned nipples before he can stop her, enjoying the girlish scream he lets out as the pain grips him. 

“You, bitch.” He grunts out when she slips by him, giggling. His partner Brewer emerges from the bathroom then and immediately pulls Phoenix into a tight hug. 

“Don’t hug her. She just tried to kill me.” Derrick whines. Both Brewer and Phoenix flip him off in response which sends him into a rather creative fit of curses about the lack of loyalty and respect he’s “forced” to endure.

Derrick passes Phoenix a beer out of his highly decorated Yeti cooler despite the fact that he was just cursing her life not even five seconds before. He’s truly a frat boy at heart and looks the part with his curly hair that flops over his hair and his preference for khaki shorts and Sperry’s outside of hunts. 

It’s all business from there as the three of them go over the best plan of action to hit the demon hive. Demons are most active at night although not for the reason that most lore claims. The sun doesn’t burn them like most aware humans count on. Most debauchery occurs at night so they’re sleep cycles follow that pattern. That’s probably the most interesting thing about demons. The fact that they actually sleep when they deem it necessary. All demons were humans once and thus a good night’s sleep can actually help them recharge just as it did when they were still human. 

“I’m not saying I’m a genius or anything but I have the perfect plan.” Derrick gloats from his seat with a shit eating grin on his face. Brewer rolls his eyes which only intrigues Phoenix even more.

“I swear to God if this involves that stupid fucking thing you rigged up I’m gong to shove this beer bottle right up your ass.” Brewer warns as he watches Derrick’s grin grow that much wider. He makes some lewd comment about girth and anal stretching that makes Phoenix groan in disgust while Brewer looks more than a little intrigued.

“Now I have to know what this is about.”

“Wait right here, m’lady.” Derrick looks almost manic as he slides a black case out from under the bed. He pops the latches with such reverence you’d think it was the holy grail he had in there. “Say hello to my,”

“Please don’t do it.” Brewer begs fervently.

Derrick presses on as if he hadn’t even heard his partner say a single word. “…little friend.”

Curses fly haphazardly out of Brewer’s mouth much to Phoenix’s delight. Her laughter is replaced with confusion when Derrick pulls some sort of crossbow-shotgun hybrid from the case. 

“Derrick, what the hell is that?”

“Are you blind? It’s a grenade launcher, you imbecile.”

“It looks like fucking trash.” Phoenix mumbles as she lifts her bottle to take another sip of her beer only to realize that it’s empty. Derrick protests when she reaches for his bottle instead but she downs it anyway.

“Now why don’t you tell her what you planned to do with this grenade launcher?” Brewer pipes up, interrupting his own brooding session. He crosses his arms smugly as he waits for Derrick to explain his genius plan and how his knockoff grenade launcher factors into that. 

Based on the stakeouts they’d done in the previous few days, Derrick and Brewer had observed that the demon house of horrors was most active at around four in the morning. All of them seemed to slink back from their soul stealing then and would congregate together to drink and continue to be merry throughout the day. According to Derrick, that is the time to strike. He’s concocted a grenade of sorts but instead of shrapnel he’s rigged them up to spray a mixture of holy water and frankincense in an eight foot radius. 

“I say we hit ‘em with the grenades hard while they’re all pissy drunk then take ‘em all out” Derrick smacks his open hand on the table for emphasis which earns him a flick on the forehead from Brewer. 

“That’s actually not a bad plan, but why the frankincense?” Phoenix questions. The holy water makes obvious sense but she’s never heard of any hunter using frankincense to disarm any kind of supernatural being before.

“It honestly serves no purpose. I only put it in there because it has a cool name and I like the way it smells.” Derrick promptly explains.

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“You and me, both.” Brewer mumbles as he chugs the rest of his beer.

It takes Derrick one day and half a dozen beers to rig up two more of his contraptions and enough holy water grenades to coat every wall of the house with holy water. Brewer has never seen Derrick pray that much in all the years he’s known him. That night, the three of them suit up and head out to cause some mayhem. 

The forest is quiet as they slink through the woods towards the old farmhouse that the demons have taken over. This far off the beaten path, the sounds of wildlife should be at a pretty decent volume but the present of evil seems to have sent the forest residents packing. That makes their approach a bit trickier as they don’t have the noise to cover the sounds of their movement. As they get closer to the house; however, they realize that the demons themselves are providing the necessary cover for their own demise. Their laughter and joyous noises can be heard quite a ways off as they keep the party going amongst themselves. 

As planned, Phoenix and Brewer split off to cover the left side and the back of the house while Derrick takes the front. Phoenix finds a chick copse of bushes to crouch behind and waits for the first shot. Her cue to send her own grenades flying. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins and it take a herculean effort for her not to jump the gun and get things going herself. The anticipation is nearly too much for her to handle when she finally here the tell-tale sound of a gun being fired. It’s show time.

The laughter quickly changes to anguished shouts as Derrick’s homemade grenades spray holy water on every conceivable surface. Phoenix unholsters the gun on her hip as she waits a second to see if a demon is going to run out of the back door in an attempt to escape. A young female takes the back door clean off its hinge as she tries to get away. Large flaps of skin hang from her limbs from the caustic effects of the holy water. Phoenix puts a bullet in her head before her feet even leave the small back porch. The bullet won’t kill her but it will keep her down until she can be properly dealt with. Phoenix drags her back inside, relishing in the way her skin sizzles like bacon as she comes in contact with the water that covers the floor of what looks like a small kitchen. A hiss brings her attention to another demon off to her left that’s crouched and ready to strike despite the fact that its face is nearly completely burned away. Phoenix puts that one down too. She takes a deep breath in through her nose. The smell of burning flesh singes her nose hairs and she loves it.

Most of the mayhem seems to be contained in the front part of the house if the demonic shrieks and screams are anything to go on. Derrick and Brewer are swiftly moving through the horde of smoking demons with ease. Phoenix is about to jump into the mix to when movement in the hallway off to her right catches her attention. Satisfied with how her friends are handling their own situation she sets off to investigate. 

The door to the room at the very end of the hallway is still ajar. Since Phoenix hadn’t heard the sound of a door closing, she decides to start there. The small bedroom is quaint and sparsely decorated. It also appears to be empty. Whatever had been in this room seems to have disappeared. No sooner has that thought crossed her mind when another blur of motion leaves her barely enough time to dodge what would have been a brutal attack. Spinning on her heel, she comes face to face with a pissed off demon that seems to have made it through their blitz attack relatively unscathed. She’s tiny, probably five foot and a buck twenty on a good day but Phoenix knows better to underestimate her. 

Her eyes looks more like chips of obsidian as the demon hisses. Phoenix is ready for her when she attacks this time. They’re dancing around the room, striking with increasing amounts of force and hatred as they seek the opening they need. The heel of Phoenix’s foot connects with her opponent’s rib cage, sending her flying into the wall. Not one to let good fortune go to waste, Phoenix unsheathes the emergency knife she keeps by her ankle before she’s descending on her pray once more. 

Phoenix grabs her foe by the throat as she struggles to her feet, dragging her up the wall until she’s eye level. To her credit, the demon doesn’t scream once though she does continue to try and strike at Phoenix despite the lack of oxygen she’s currently getting. Phoenix readjusts her hand so that she has enough room to press the blade of her knife against the demon’s throat. 

“Any last words, bitch?” Phoenix teases as she drags the blade across  the demons cheek. A thin line of blood follows in its wake. “No? Okay then.”

With the precision of a trained assassin, she slices through the delicate skin of the demon’s throat. Her victim chooses that exact moment to strike out at Phoenix one last time. She catches Phoenix in the ribs with a well-aimed kick that leaves her gasping for breath as the arterial spray from the demon’s mouth bursts forth from the wound Phoenix has just opened up. Phoenix drops the demon like a sack of potatoes as she frantically tries to spit out the blood. 

She’s vaguely aware of the tiny piss ant gasping for breath right next to her. Apparently, the kick had saved her from the instant death that would’ve befallen her if she hadn’t kicked Phoenix when she did. Despite that, she’s not going to last much longer. She uses her last breath to make one final stand.

“Hinkku….imnum” She sputters out before finally succumbing to her injuries.

It’s as if every muscle in Phoenix’s body seizes up at once. Her limbs are violently flailing around as she slowly starts to lose feeling in her extremities. The force with which her head is banging against the hardwood floor should’ve taken her out already but she can’t even feel it. She can barely feel anything anymore. Derrick’s terrified face comes into view. He must be holding her head up. She’s not sure but he remains in her field of vision so it must be true. The ice that had invaded her bloodstream runs it’s course. Derrick feels like his throat is closing up as he tries unsuccessfully to bring her back around. 

If there’s one thing Taehyung loves, it’s the warmth that spreads through his limbs when he stands in the sun. He hasn’t been human in almost half a millennia but that’s one aspect of his former existence that he’s held on to all this time later. His face is currently tilted towards the heavens as he stands on the balcony of his latest conquest’s spacious mansion, stark naked, soaking in the rays.

He takes a final deep breath before turning to step back inside. A cocky smirk tilts one side of mouth up as he takes in the sight of his handiwork stretched out across the California king bed in front of him. Carlotta had been her name. A bitch in the most extreme sense of the word. Her ivory skin is marked up from his teeth and nails making her look just like the child laborers used and abused in the factories that supplied her multiple businesses with inventory. She’d been on Taehyung’s radar for a while, but when he caught wind of her cutting the pay in half for factory workers to recoup the cost of her brand new private jet, that had been the final straw. 

Nine days, two glasses of champagne, and one very expensive tuxedo had lead to this very moment. Taehyung standing over the lifeless body of an evil business mogul that the world is undoubtedly better off without. He can’t help the demented little giggle that slips from his mouth as he recalls Carlotta’s face when she realized what was happening to her. If he breathes deep enough he can still smell the terror that had bled into her pheromones when his true nature had been revealed. It had made him orgasm almost instantly as the last vestiges of her shit stain of a soul are absorbed into his being. 

Deciding that he’s spent enough time reminiscing, Taehyung moves around the room as he redresses himself. His hand dips into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out the flash drive containing the evidence of Carlotta’s atrocities. He swiftly clips it to the chain holding the gaudy gold cross that he’d insisted she keep on as he’d ravaged her. The irony of it is still just as funny to him now as it was when he’d first noticed it around her neck. Even if he hadn’t taken her soul, there’s no way she’d be going anywhere near heaven.

The scenery is a blur as Taehyung speeds away in the Tesla from Carlotta’s garage that he’d helped himself to. A constant vibration against his thigh alerts him to a phone call coming through. 

“Marcus! What’s u-” Taehyung’s attempts at catching up with his long time friend is interrupted by a sudden plea for help. Everything that follows afterwards is a jumbled mush as all of Marcus’ words run together in his haste to get the story out.

“Slow down, man. What’s going on?” Marcus takes several deep, ragged breaths to get himself together. 

“The B&B got hit last night. I popped in last night and it was…” Silence takes over the line as Marcus trails off, searching for words to describe what’s happened. “Taehyung I’ve seen some fucked up shit and done even worse but this made me physically ill.”

Taehyung has to focus intently on not ripping the steering wheel clean off as Marcus recounts the horror show he’d discovered at the B&B. He has fond memories of the quaint farmhouse that had been owned by a kind human who everyone had affectionately called Mama Dee. To this day, Taehyung isn’t sure how or why Mama Dee’s home had become a safe place for the supernatural creatures of the world to rest and recuperate but she was a saint in their eyes. The turnout for her funeral when her body had finally succumbed to old age had been a hunter’s wet dream as the subject’s of history’s folklore had gathered to show their respects. To know that Mama Dee’s had been the backdrop of something so foul that Marcus was still having trouble getting it out made his blood boil.

“I’m catching the next flight out.” Taehyung didn’t wait for a response as he ended the call and tossed his phone into the seat next to him. His foot pressed the accelerator harder as he pushed the Tesla to its limits.

Whatever happened. Whoever was responsible. Someone would pay for it.

“Open this fucking door, Astinil!” Derrick bellows as he aggressively kicks at the solid oak door of the shaman’s home. He’d nearly killed the three of them as he tossed his knowledge of traffic laws out of the window of his Jeep. Brewer’s fingers are glued to Phoenix’s pulse as her head rolls around on her shoulders from Derrick’s frenzied kicking. It’s growing more and more faint by the minute but for now her heart is still beating. 

The shaman in question finally opens the door, looking less than happy to see Derrick on the other side of it.

“You are not welcome here, Derrick.”

“Fuck, I know that. Do you really think I’d be here if I had any other options? My friend is dying and you’re the only one who can save her.” Astinil glances at the young woman lying limp in Derrick’s arms obviously in need of his help. 

“Astinil, please. I’m begging you to help me. I can’t lose her.” The emotional cracks weaving through Derrick’s words makes the shaman’s decision for him.

“Bring her inside.” Derrick nearly sobs with relief. He’s not naive enough to believe that Phoenix is out of the woods yet but her chances just got astronomically better. He gently lays her out on the sofa in the sitting room. 

Astinil directs Derrick and Brewer to sit in the corner and not bother him as he sets about crushing various herbs with his mortar and pestle. The acrid smell of demon blood is nearly overpowering and he knows that he must work quick. He has no idea how much blood the young woman ingested nor how long the poison has been pumping through her system. 

A few drops of holy oil turns the crushed herbs into a paste. Normally, he’d pour in enough for it to be drinkable but there is no time for that. Less conventional methods have to be used with this one. Brewer has to physically hold Derrick back when Astinil produces a knife from his pocket and slashes Phoenix’s wrists. The shaman quickly covers the wounds with a thick layer of the paste. He utters a prayer as he repeats the process on the other pulse points that he can reach. 

The remainder of the mixture is piled under her tongue. Astinil continues to pray as he uses holy oil to draw a cross on her forehead. Nothing happens. The convulsions that normally accompany such a strong spiritual cleans e are absent and it’s with a heavy heart that Astinil realizes that his efforts are coming too late in the game. Her heartbeat has grown stronger though and that puzzles the healer. He wipes the paste from her skin only to grow even more confused. The wounds he’d created have nearly healed and the surrounding skin looks as if it’s been chemically burned. The same can be said for her forehead when Astinil wipes away the holy oil. The puzzle pieces are all falling into place for him now.

“Is she going to be okay?” Brewer asks fearfully. Derrick had long fallen silent from the shock that the adrenaline had been warding off. He stares unseeing at his friend’s still body.

“She will live.” Astinil answers carefully. Probably forever he adds internally. “Come, you two can sleep in the spare room. We must let her rest.” 

Brewer stands from the stool he’d found to perch himself on but Derrick refuses to leave Phoenix by herself. He stretches himself out on the floor next to the couch, pulling Phoenix’s hand down so he can hold onto it. Brewer’s heart aches at the sight. He knows all too well just how important Phoenix is to Derrick. The thought of what losing her could do to him makes him want to pull Derrick into his arms but he knows Derrick well enough to know that that’s not what he needs right now. With a heavy sigh, he turns to follow Astinil down the hall instead.

Phoenix awakes with a start. Her head is pounding from all of the different scents and sounds assaulting her senses. She has no clue where she is and her first thought is how to escape. The last thing she remembers is running into the demon hive they’d hit but everything afterwards leading up to this very moment is a mystery to her. Not to mention the fact that she feels different. Not banged up or bruised like she would’ve expected be after being so incredibly outnumbered. In fact she feels as though she could do the job over again solo and still come out on top. 

A groan followed my unintelligible mumbling grabs her attention. Her brow burrows as she leans over the edge of the couch to see Derrick curled up in the fetal position on the floor. Stress mars his features even deep in sleep. The faint sound of footsteps approaching has her tensing up. An unfamiliar man rounds the corner, regarding her warily as she draws in on herself. Ready to attack at the first sign that he has ill intentions. He’s tall and looks to be somewhere in his fifties but something tells Phoenix that she’d be a fool to underestimate him. He exudes an aura of power that indicates he’s not to be messed with.

“Come. We have much to discuss.” Whoever this man is, he doesn’t wait for Phoenix to respond as he turns to walk back down the hallway he’d emerged from. As if he just expects her to follow him like a curious puppy which is exactly what she does. 

She barely catches him disappearing through a door near the end of the hallway after taking the time to put her boots back on. The sweet smell of dewy grass and various flowers greets her upon passing through the doorway that leads into some kind of private garden. The man she’d followed is perched upon a wooden bench with his head tilted towards the heavens, eyes closed to the waking rays of the sun.

“What do you remember?” He questions.

“Who are you?”

“Answering a question with a question is in poor taste.” Phoenix glares at his side profile but decides to play nice.

“I remember running into a house full of demons but nothing after that.” He hums thoughtfully. Eyes still shut. Head still facing the clouds. 

“Astinil is my name. Sit and I will fill in what you’re missing.” Phoenix nearly trips over her own two feet in her haste to sit on the bench. She has no idea what day it is or how long she was knocked out. All she knows is that she’s missing something. Something big. She doesn’t realize how big until Astinil retells the happenings that lead to her being passed out on his couch. The longer he talks, the more memories from that night she’s able to retrieve.

“Did the demon say anything that didn’t sound like English?” Phoenix racks her brain, gasping when the mental image of the demon she’d slain muttering something with her dying breath creeps up behind her eyelids. Hinkku Imnum. Astinil hums thoughtfully.

“That confirms my theory.” According to the shaman, hinkku imnum is in fact not English. It’s Akkadian, a language that predates the Bible and was last used by ancient Babylonians. “Literally, it means ‘death to you’.”

“But, I’m not dead.” Phoenix holds her hand to her heart just to double check. She’s relieved to feel the muscle beating as normal.

“It’s a transformation spell. Long ago, demons discovered that if they grew powerful enough they could use this transformation spell to turn people into demons without having to go through all the trouble of bargaining for their souls.” Astinil takes a deep breath before he continues. “In this case, the death is restricted to everything that makes you human when the transformation takes place.”

“No, no, no. I have a heartbeat!” She insists, hoping that this fact saves her from what Astinil is leading up to. The look on the healer’s face is pinched as though he smells something bad.

“And yet, you’re not totally human. Not anymore.”

Marcus is sat on the front steps of the B&B when Taehyung arrives exactly fifteen hours after their phone call. His eyes follow Taehyung’s movement but they look far away. The smell of burned and rotting flesh hanging heavy in the air makes Taehyung wrinkle his nose. Bile rises in his throat but he manages to keep himself together. 

Taehyung is hesitant about entering the house. He knows that all of the beautiful memories he has in this house will be tainted once he crosses that threshold. His hand shakes slightly around the brass door knob before the door is creaking open. It’s worse than he’d thought. He recognizes a few of the faces that aren’t burned beyond recognition. The shells of his friends lay dismembered and disfigured across the living room floor. Without stepping foot inside the house, Taehyung slowly shuts the door, laying his forehead against the wood.

“Do we know who did this?” He chokes out around the lump in his throat. His eyes burn with unshed tears as he waits for the answer he so desperately craves. 

“I’ve heard rumors of Phoenix Emery being seen at a gas station just north of here.” He should’ve known when he saw the brutality of what had gone down that she would have been involved. 

Phoenix Emery has been on Taehyung’s shit list for a while now but tracking her down was no easy feat. The woman is almost as untraceable as the ghosts she exorcises. Every time he stepped foot on American soil, he did his best to oust her but she always seemed to be one step ahead of him. He’d all but given up on taking her out but with this latest stunt she’s made herself a top priority. 

There was a time when Taehyung had considered himself some sort of demonic vigilante. The number of hunters running around with their guns half-cocked and their brain cells half-firing had risen to an alarming number. Stupid as they may be, even the most inept hunter knew how to sniff out a demon. The average human as well although they tend to just blame it on some lame “sixth sense”. However, incubi are the exception to this rule. It simply wouldn’t do for a creature that survives on sex to arouse the ingrained suspicion of every human they encounter. 

While an incubus is low key enough to fly under the radar, Taehyung is the only one bold enough to actually target hunters. He makes sure to go after the most egregious ones just like with his other kills. The ones that get drunk and beat their wives. The ones that use their skills to be morally corrupt contract killers on the side. The ones who make their kills unnecessarily violent. As evidenced inside Mama Dee’s house, Phoenix Emery and the hunter couple Taehyung has heard she frequently works with fall squarely in that third stereotype. All three of them will pay the same price his friends did inside those four walls. He’ll make sure of it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Derrick asks for what very well may be the millionth time since the three of them had piled into his jeep. 

“If you ask me that one more time, you won’t be okay. I’m fine, Derrick, I promise.” Physically that is. 

Phoenix had made Astinil swear that he wouldn’t tell Derrick and Brewer what had actually happened to her. She hasn’t even attempted to try to process it and right now she doesn’t really want to. The irony of it all would be funny if it wasn’t her reality. A hunter whose specialty is killing demons is now some strange demon-human hybrid. Her mind drifts back to her conversation with the shaman as they’d watched the sun rise over the garden. He’d been able to stop the spell from completely transforming her into a demon but it wasn’t within his powers to reverse the damage that had already been done hence her halfling state. Before the trio had left his residence, he’d pulled Phoenix aside to give her a warning. 

Your humanity is dependent on your safety. Should you suffer a fatal injury, you will not die but rather the transformation will complete itself.

Those parting words play on a constant loop as she watches the trees blur past the speeding vehicle. Hunting is all Phoenix has ever known. Both of her parents were hunters as were their parents before them. It’s in her blood to snuff out the supernatural bullies in this world. How can she give it up? How can she just give up her life’s purpose like this?

Derrick’s eyes keep drifting to his friend in the backseat. She told him that she’s fine, but he can see through that bullshit. The turmoil swirling around her mind is plain as day. He’s used to her telling him everything that goes on in that scary brain of her so this new ice out method is both new and frightening. She feels far away even though she’s sat in his backseat and he doesn’t know what to do with that. His stomach is twisting into knots again as he thinks about just how close he’d come to losing her. The feeling of Brewer’s fingers tightening around his own brings him back to reality. He leans over to kiss him on the apple of his cheek when a disgusted noise comes from the back of the car.

“Can you losers keep your lips to yourselves up there? I just escaped death and now y’all are trying to kill me by being in love at 80 miles an hour.” Brewer chuckles, reaching back to flick Phoenix on the knee as she continues to rant. “Just push my lonely ass out of the car before y’all the dicks make an appearance. My virgin eyes do not need to see that.” Derrick can barely contain his laughter. Maybe he doesn’t have anything to be worried about. Maybe Phoenix really is okay

“Virgin, my ass!” Derrick shouts above his boyfriend’s hysterical laughter. “Brewer, get on the mainline and call Jesus. I want this lying heathen struck down immediately.” 

Phoenix flips them both off before going back to staring out of the window. For those few minutes, she was normal. She was simply Phoenix Emery, the girl who can never let her best friends be a couple in front of her without acting like a disgusted toddler. Not the Phoenix Emery that is newly demonic. She decides then and there that if she doesn’t acknowledge what happened then it can’t affect her. It might not the best course of action but it’s all she’s got. Her first order of business? Getting to Detroit to divest the McAvoy’s of their nasty poltergeist problem as well as her $2,500 fee. 

Tracking down the trio of hunters responsible for the death of his comrades had been a little harder than Taehyung had originally expected. Three months later and the only information he’d been able to get on Phoenix is that her kills had gotten more brutal since her and her friends had hit The B&B. He’d thought her two friends would be easier to start with but he’d still only just been able to pin down Derrick Yates and his boyfriend Patrick Brewer. According to the call he’d received the day before from Irene, a werewolf that had frequented The B&B, the two lovebirds are holed up in a motel just outside of Kansas City. Fresh off a kill. During his search, Taehyung had learned that the couple liked to celebrate successful hunts by fucking each other brains out for a few days. Getting his revenge may have just gotten even easier. He just had to get in that motel room. 

It took two whole days of waiting but the door to the two hunters’ hotel room finally opened. Only one of the men emerged from the room, the one Taehyung now knew to be Derrick Yates. From his research, he’d learned that his history with Phoenix Emery spanned more than two decades. The two had grown up in the same circles with both of them coming from households where hunting was the encouraged profession so naturally they’d developed a bond that had seemingly lasted the test of time. Phoenix’s family had even taken young Derrick in when his intolerant parents had kicked him out upon discovering their son was gay. It dawned on Taehyung then that killing Derrick and Patrick would surely make Phoenix surface. A wicked smile took over his face at how everything was lining up as he followed Derrick to a nearby gas station. 

Weaseling his way into the seedy motel room was surprisingly easy. Taehyung got the feeling that Derrick and his boyfriend liked to invite other people into their lovemaking quite often. In less than hour, Taehyung found himself drinking copious amounts of beer and smoking some weed Derrick had bought from some old lady three doors down. The weed had to be laced with something potent as it had Taehyung flying amongst the clouds despite his demon nature which normally afforded him near immunity to such things. 

Taehyung was staring off into space, contemplating just what the hell they were smoking when a large hand groped him over his jeans, bringing him back to the moment at hand. He slowly blinks as Patrick’s face comes into focus mere inches away from his own.  

“Why the fuck isn’t he answering?” Phoenix grumbles as she angrily tosses her iPhone down on the kitchen table. It has been over a week since she’s heard from Derrick or Brewer and it’s starting to grate on her nerves. In their line of work it isn’t too uncommon for one of them to go off the grid for a while but they never go this long without checking in with each other. She goes back to angrily scrolling through her email inbox as she laments about why her best friend is ignoring her. He better be dead or I’m going to kill him myself.

Her laptop pings with a google alert and her heart stops. There is only one reason that she would be getting that ping. Someone she loves is dead and the news has gotten a hold of it. Phoenix had set alerts for exactly three people. Derrick, Brewer, and Betty White. Her hands shake as she slides her finger across the trackpad to click on the notification. 

Ice flushes through her veins as she clicks play on the news clip that pops up at the top of the page. One of Derrick and Brewer’s many mugshots are plastered on the screen over a video of a county coroner rolling two body bags out of some run down motel. The sound of the newscaster listing out all of the crimes Derrick and Brewer had committed over the years melts the ice in her bloodstream as it’s replaced with white hot rage. Phoenix is seconds away from putting a bullet through her laptop screen when her ringtone blares. She freezes at the familiar instrumental tone of Will Smith’s Wild Wild West. The ringtone she’d set specifically for one Derrick Yates. She says nothing as she answers the phone, waiting for whoever is on the other end to speak first.

“Hello, Phoenix.” A voice as lush as the fleece blankets she’s partial to caresses her ear drums but there’s something off about it. A hard edge that’s sharpened by malice. Still she says nothing.

“I’m sure you know about your friends’ demise by now if all these news trucks are anything to go on.” Her grip tightens dangerously around the phone in her hands. 

The now familiar red haze that clouds her vision when the bloodlust of her demon half threatens to overwhelm her tints the world around her a deep crimson. She’s never felt it this strong before but losing the two most important people in her life, the only two people remaining in her life, is a pain she hasn’t dealt with before. Even when her parents had been killed in a plane crash of all things, she hadn’t felt this out of control. This off kilter. Phoenix is so lost in her own head that she doesn’t realize that the other end of the line has fallen silent as well until they start speaking again.

“You and your friends should’ve never entered that farmhouse.” Phoenix laughs bitterly at that one. That fucking farmhouse has been the catalyst to all of her problems. No one wishes more than her that they’d all stayed far away from it. 

“What do you want?” 

“Your bleeding heart in my hands.” The smooth-talking stranger begins. “Your friends had the luxury of going out with a…bang. You, on the other hand will not be so lucky thanks to your brutally impressive track record.”

“Aw shucks, thanks for noticing.” Phoenix smiles gleefully at the frustrated growl that comes from the mystery man on the other end. She’d already figured that he was some demon looking for revenge for his fallen comrades and that demonic rattle rising from his throat is only confirmation. He rattles off an address about a day’s drive south from her house and a date before hanging up the phone.

Phoenix knows this is a trap. She knows that whoever that was killed Derrick and Brewer and is gunning for her next. As she loads up her SUV with enough artillery to arm a small militia, she’s vaguely aware of her eyes shifting from their normal dark brown to the black chips of obsidian that showcase the less human side of herself. It had freaked her out the first time it happened but now she revels in it. Loves the shocked faces of the other demons she snuffed out in her hunting endeavors. Apparently she’s just human enough to not tip off other demons. She’s banking on the fact that whatever supernatural being she’s headed to meet is unaware of her status. It’s her one ace in the hole. 

Taehyung lounges leisurely among the wildflowers growing abundantly in the meadow. It’s been a while since he’s had the time to just stretch out in an empty field and be one with nature. He takes a deep breath, humming joyously at the sweet smell of the flowers. Part of him doesn’t want to desecrate such beauty with the murderous actions he’s about to partake in but it must be done.

He picks up on the sound of a truck approaching from the west. Taehyung isn’t surprised to hear the engine cut out a few hundred feet away as Phoenix chooses to make her final approach on foot. He doesn’t budge from his position in the slightest as he counts her footsteps. A low thud followed by a hiss that sounds suspiciously like a tire being slashed has him raising his head. Sure enough, Phoenix is pulling a knife out of his front driver side tire and walks around the rented SUV to do the same to the back passenger tire. The car is outfitted with run flat tires but Taehyung is sure they’re not built to withstand a blade stabbing through the side wall. He’s intrigued to say the least. 

It’s when she turns to finally face him that Taehyung gets the shock of several lifetimes. Staring back at him is not the hunter that he was here to kill but the woman who’d stolen his heart. A woman whose hand he’d clung to desperately as she walked out of his life.. Something that had nearly ripped him apart. But that was in 1748. There’s no way in hell that the woman he’d loved all those years ago should be shoving knives into his tires today. Her friends’ phones had been noticeably devoid of any pictures of her though he guess that isn’t entirely uncommon amongst hunters. Bile rises in his throat at the thought of killing someone who looks so much like his beloved Arabella but it must be done. He steels his nerves and sets his jaw. 

Her curly hair has been pulled back into a bun and she looks like she’s dressed for a Tomb Raider convention with all of the holstered weapons she’s sporting. The cargo pants she’s wearing do absolutely nothing to conceal her impressive figure. If she wasn’t such a menace to his kind then maybe Taehyung would’ve considered giving her the same treatment her friends had received. Unlike them however, Phoenix seem to find some sick and twisted pleasure from killing demons with as much brutality as possible. She doesn't deserve to meet her end wrapped around his cock as he brings her to a screaming orgasm. No, she deserves exactly what she dishes out. Cruelty.

“What was the purpose of that?” He questions as she returns her knife to the holster strapped to her unfairly shapely thigh.

“Don’t want you running away.” She replies calmly as she places her foot on the back bumper to give herself the necessary boost to climb onto the roof of the now useless vehicle. She mirrors the cross-legged position that Taehyung has taken on. They sit and regard each other in silence until Phoenix just can’t take it anymore.

“You killed my friends. My brothers.” She hates the way her voice cracks. The emotions that she’s been frantically shoving down are catching up to her at the worst possible time.

“It’s what they deserved. It’s what you all deserve for what you did to my friends.” Taehyung grits out. His hands curl into fists as he thinks back on the brutality that he’d seen. The remnants of as his friends laid in blistered pieces around what was supposed to be a safe place. The anger coursing through his veins all but erases the nostalgia that had nearly overwhelmed him.

Phoenix moves into a crouch then. “Well what are you waiting for? Give me what I deserve.”

Taehyung regards his opponent carefully as he remains seated on the ground. There is something…off. Something other than her outward appearance. He can’t quite put his finger on exactly what it is but something isn’t right. Apparently, he’s taking too long to get to the main event as he just barely rolls to the side in time to dodge the knife that would’ve sliced through his torso like butter if not for his quick reflexes. Phoenix is still crouched on top of his useless vehicle. If it weren’t for the blade sticking out of the soil to his left he would’ve never guessed that she’d even moved. That only adds to his suspicions. No hunter he’s ever encountered has ever been so precise and quick in their movements to the point they almost got the drop on him. He doesn’t have the time to dwell on that though as yet another blade is whistling through the air in his direction at an astonishing speed. Once again, he’d barely seen her move.

“That’s it. No more games, bitch.” Taehyung mumbles to himself. He has to get her off of that car now. As long as she’s up there, she has the upper hand and it’s time to even the playing field. 

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Phoenix. She has the audacity to grin at him, taunting him even now. A growl rises from his chest as he launches himself at the side of the car. It rocks violently when he strikes it. The glass from the drivers side exploding around him. He steps back and notices that Phoenix is no longer perched on top of the SUV like a bird of prey. The human-sized dent in the side of his rental tells Taehyung that she should’ve definitely been thrown somewhere but when he walks around to the other side Phoenix is nowhere to be seen.

“What the…” Taehyung doesn’t get to finish that sentence. He’s too preoccupied by the hand grasping a fistful of his hair to slam his head into the side of the car hard enough to shatter one of the remaining windows. 

He hits the ground when the unknown hand releases him. Looking up, every muscle in his body tenses up when he sees three women staring down at him. Taehyung screeches and thrashes around as she pours what can only be holy oil directly onto his face. 

“Huh, so you are a demon.” Phoenix murmurs as if she hadn’t been totally sure what type of being Taehyung was. 

Though agony still holds him firmly in its grip and he’s still seeing more than one Phoenix, Taehyung pauses. Demon. It would explain everything. She shouldn’t have been able to move faster than his eyes could keep up with and yet, she did. She should have been thrown several yards and injured when he’d flung himself at the car he was currently lying next to and yet, she wasn’t. He’d rented the SUV from an armored car company so she shouldn’t have been strong enough to break the reinforced glass with his skull and yet that’s exactly what she did. His vision finally stabilizes at the same time as the blisters on his face finish healing when Phoenix crouches to press the business end of a pistol she pulled from God knows where against his forehead.

As if she can see the gears turning in Taehyung’s head, Phoenix’s irises along with the whites of her eyes disappear entirely until nothing is left but darkness. A smug, toothy grin exposes her teeth in a way that gives him pause. He’s really thrown for a loop now. Taehyung had heard stories of demons that had devised a way to simply create demons but until now he’d thought it was just bullshit to scare humans. As Phoenix continues to stand over him, seemingly amused at Taehyung’s realization, he remembers the one thing that set the made demons apart from the rest. Their eyes would turn solid black unlike the red irises that presented in demons who’d bargained their way into their situation. Everything made sense and yet it didn’t. Phoenix Emery has a heartbeat. Taehyung could hear it from a mile away whereas other demons like Taehyung were noticeably devoid of one.

“What are you?”

She shrugs as if he’s just asked her a math question she doesn’t know the answer to. “I’m someone you shouldn’t have messed with.”

BANG.

Taehyung sits on the balcony of his swanky New York hotel room soaking in the sun’s rays. The sound of the waves beating against the rocks far below provide a serene soundtrack to his chaotic thoughts. A deep inhale fills his nostrils with the salty air tinged with the scent of a small, but busy donut shop somewhere along the beachfront. Everything about his surroundings should relax him but his shoulders are still tense, thoughts still jumbled together.

He absentmindedly fiddles with the bullet that Phoenix had put through his skull. It had been lodged in the soil beneath his head when he finally came to several hours later. He’s been confused ever since his eyes had slowly blinked open to the dazzling sight of stars twinkling down at him. His life had been spared and he has no clue why. She had to know that the bullet wouldn’t kill him. The only surefire way to kill a demon is dismemberment preferably followed up by burning the pieces. She hadn’t done any of that just left him lying on the ground with a hole in his head.

Not only had Phoenix left him alive but she has seemingly gone off the grid. Despite all of his searching, Taehyung hasn’t been able to find a trace of her in the weeks following their meet up in the meadow. He hates the phrase “going ghost” but that seems to be exactly what she’s done. 

He’d tried calling her from her friend’s phone only to discover that she’d changed her phone number. Some arm twisting had gotten him an address but when he’d shown up at the modest brick house it was boarded up. It didn’t look like anyone had been there in a while. The question of why she’d left him alive bounces around his brain incessantly. He can’t rest until he finds out why. 

Despite the hell she’d helped rain down on his comrades, Taehyung isn’t all that sure that he wants to kill Phoenix anymore. Taehyung has always been and excellent judge of character and he had seen flashes of genuine emotion and humanity in her eyes in that meadow. Sure, she killed demons for sport but she wasn’t all bad. In other words, he’s torn on what to do when he finally tracks her down. On one hand, he’d promised Marcus to avenge their fallen friends but on the other he had his own moral code to adhere to as well. He’d promised centuries ago that he would only take the lives of those that were too evil to be allowed to live. He’s not sure you fit that criteria anymore.

He lets out a resigned sigh as he returns the bullet to the pocket on his button up. The mangled piece of metal serves as a daily reminder of his new purpose. Finding Phoenix a second time is already proving to be one of the hardest tasks he’s ever undertaken in his lengthy existence. 

“That pie must be shit.” A hand slides into Taehyung’s line of sight, taking his fork right out of his hand to take a bite of the mediocre blueberry pie in front of him. A gag follows soon after. “That’s awful.”

“Phoenix…” He breathes her name out in shock as if he can’t believe she’s actually sat in front of him in some shitty diner in Phoenix, Arizona of all places. He’d come here for the irony of it all since she’d taken over his thoughts for the past seven months. Now here she is in the flesh. His eyes roam over her face, taking in every detail. She’s just as beautiful now as she was more than 200 years ago.

“I thought we would’ve had round two forever ago but one of us is actual shit at finding people.” She sends him a pointed look as she waves away the waitress that had come to take her order. Her mouth is open to speak again, but Taehyung interrupts her.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” He whispers. If his heart still beat, it would be racing right now. His fingers grip the edge of the wooden booth so hard he can feel the wood splintering. 

Phoenix considers him carefully. Even by demon standards, he looks crazed and out of control. She’s done her homework on him since their first physical interaction. Kim Taehyung is not to be underestimated. Though an incubus he may be, he’s old, wily, and dangerous. His own ignorance and rage had worked to her advantage before but now that he knows her secret she doubts that she will have the same luck a second time around. She really should have ripped him apart and lit him up like a Christmas tree but it didn’t feel right. Her hands had cradled his head in her hands with every intention of wrenching it from his shoulders with the brute strength stored in her arms but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Phoenix recalls the anguish that had flowed through her at her failure to properly get justice for Derrick and Brewer. Her fingers had carded through the bloody strands of his hair with what could only be described as tenderness. She couldn’t understand. Still can’t understand even after all the time that’s passed. Ultimately, she’d left Taehyung lying in that field a bloody mess and she still can’t quite explain why. 

“I know you’ve probably agonized over this for months, but I don’t have the answer you’re looking for because I don’t even know myself.” Taehyung is taken aback. How could she not know? Phoenix Emery never leaves a job unfinished and yet here he sits, alive and kicking. She crosses her arms across her chest and Taehyung can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to her ample breasts as they threaten to pop out of the thin tank top she’s wearing.

“Stop looking at my apple dumpling shop.” Phoenix chastises as she covers her cleavage with her hands. Taehyung’s eyes widen in shock once more. Apple dumpling shop. He hadn’t heard anyone utter that phrase in almost two hundred years. In fact, he’d only ever heard one person use it in his presence. Arabella.  

“I have to go.” Phoenix is a picture of confusion as Taehyung sends his chair toppling to the floor when he shoots out of his chair. He drops a few bills on the table and all but runs out of the diner. His legs don’t stop moving until he’s locked in the safety of his hotel room. 

This can’t be. This just can’t be. Taehyung isn’t naive enough to think that reincarnation isn’t possible. He’s heard of it happening. He knows it’s more common than most probably think but never did he consider the possibility that the one woman he’d given his heart to would ever reappear. Arabella Cardinal had been her name. Part of him had hoped that her soul never found its way back to Earth just so that he wouldn’t have to have to watch as she lived her life without him again. He can clearly recall the pain he’d felt when she’d finally gotten tired of him rejecting her advances not knowing that he was doing so in order to keep her alive. Taehyung would’ve given anything to know her in that way but it was an impossibility that he had no way of solving. 

He had thought that nothing could be worse than having the woman of his dreams reject him for something he couldn’t control but he had been wrong. So very wrong. Watching Arabella meet and marry the local blacksmith who gave her everything Taehyung so desperately wished that he could had nearly been his undoing. He’d wanted to leave. Wanted to get as far away from the happy couple and their growing family but he was greedy. He couldn’t stand not being near her. Hearing the sound of her laughter as she conversed with the other married women at the market had been the only thing to keep him sane when it felt like it would all become too much. It had nearly killed him to leave the small village but people had started noticing that he wasn’t aging. He couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion. An entire century and then some stretched between then and now yet the pain was still just as fresh. Now here she is again to torment him. Close enough to touch and she may as well be a million miles away. 

Taehyung has absolutely no way to confirm that Phoenix Emery really is the reincarnation of his beloved Arabella. He could have this all wrong. It could all be one nausea-inducing coincidence. There’s a feeling deep in his gut though that tells him its not. Phoenix can’t explain why she didn’t kill him all those months ago but maybe he can. His Arabella had been one of the kindest souls he’d ever known but everyone in the village had known that she kept a blade between her full breasts that she had no problem using if she felt she had to. Many a handsy drunk had known the truth of that fact. Taehyung stretches out across his mattress, staring at the ceiling as he mind finds the similarities between  and Phoenix. Little mannerisms that he hadn’t even really noticed until now. He needs to get out of Arizona before he does something crazy. Taehyung hastily collects his things before checking out of his hotel.

“Fuck you.” He hisses angrily at the ground as he steps outside into the heat. A few passerby give him strange looks but he doesn’t care. Only Satan himself is twisted enough to try and torment him like this. Taehyung is opening the door to his rental to drive to the airport when a hand reaches around him to shut it. 

“Leaving so soon? I thought we were going to finish this once and for all.” Phoenix whispers huskily against the shell of his ear. Taehyung couldn’t have stopped the shiver that runs down his spine even if he’d wanted to. Arabella had loved to “sneak up” on his to whisper filthy shit in his ear. He hadn’t been able to tell her that he always heard her coming. Phoenix on the other hand truly did catch him off guard.

“You let me live. We’re even now.” Taehyung mumbles before he yanks the door open once more. Phoenix keeps her hold on the door, preventing him from closing it as she stares him down. Silence stretches between them as all of the background noise of their surroundings fades to nothing. She releases the door form her grasp and takes a step back, allowing him to drive away as she watches after him. 

Phoenix can’t explain this…pull she feels towards Taehyung, but she knows that she doesn’t like it. Her eyes follow his vehicle until he turns off of the main road and disappears from sight. She needs answers and there’s only one place she knows to go get them.

Phoenix is almost nervous to be knocking on Astinil’s front door. The shaman doesn’t seem surprised to see her in the slightest. He doesn’t even greet her, simply turns to walk back into his home and she follows him in. It’s not till she’s seated on his sofa with a mug of peppermint tea in her hands that Astinil finally speaks. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Emery?” Like a dam giving way to a storm surge, Phoenix launches into the tale of everything that happens since she last was on this very couch. Astinil expresses his condolences for Derrick and Brewer’s deaths but otherwise he remains mute as Phoenix presses on. 

“I don’t get it, Astinil.” She all but yells in frustration. “I put a bullet in his head. I could’ve ripped him apart with my bare hands and everything would’ve been over but I couldn’t do it. I just…couldn’t.” 

“And why do you think that is?” Astinil looks like he knows something that she doesn’t and it’s honestly starting to piss her off. Why can’t he ever be forthcoming with information? Why does he always make her work for it?

“I was hoping you would tell me that.” 

“Nothing is ever that simple, Phoenix.” Astinil takes a final sip of his tea before venturing back into his kitchen with Phoenix hot on his heels. 

“Come on.” She whines. “You have to know something. Have a clue at least.” The hope in her eyes makes her look like a small puppy but Astinil is resolute.

“I know you came here looking for a helping hand in find the answers you seek, but your answers are not here. Try Paris.” Astinil gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving her in the kitchen with her thoughts. She lingers there for a bit as she watches Astinil, who is now in the garden pruning hedges, through the window above his sink.

Well this was useless.

Phoenix hits the freeway and just drives. She has no real destination as she maneuvers through the slower vehicles. A sign indicating there is an airport at the next exit prompts her to finally exit off of the highway. She digs around in her stash of documents coming up with two passports, American and France, drivers licenses from six different states, about two grand in cash, and several credit cards. She drops the cash, all of the credit cards, and the French passport into her backpack before assessing her clothing situation. Seeing as how she’s been practically living out of her car, she’s got enough clothing for at least a month or two.

As she makes her way inside the airport, she still has no idea what the hell could possibly be waiting for her in Paris but she’ll just have to figure it out when she gets there. The flight board shows one flight to Paris, France with a connection in New York City. As if some unseen force is guiding her hand, Phoenix finds herself swiping her card for a one-way ticket to Paris as opposed to the round trip she’d originally planned for. Her brain seems to have taken a vacation and left her baser instincts to take over. She has no idea what awaits her in the City of Love but whatever it is better be worth the $800 it’s costing her to get there.

It’s official. Taehyung is losing his mind. After his realization in Arizona, he’d returned to his villa in France to go back to his own life pre-Phoenix. Everything had been going fine until today. Venturing into the city usually brings him peace as he strolls down the streets. He’s doing just that when he spots someone that looks suspiciously like Phoenix Emery. Taehyung hastily returns back to his home on the outskirts of the city. Sure that he’s just going crazy, he goes back to planning the next corrupt target he’s planning to eliminate. A politician by the name of Jacques Bourdain with a penchant for brutally assaulting the hired women his assistant often supplied him. 

Taehyung is knee deep in surveillance videos when his phone vibrates next to his laptop. He sends it to voicemail after taking a look at the caller ID to see that it’s one of his former hookups Mattilyn. She was a bit too clingy for Taehyung’s liking hence why she’s a former hookup and yet she still finds the need to call him periodically to try and win him back. It’s when Mattilyn has called for the fourth time that Taehyung gets frustrated to pick up.

“What the fuck do you want, Mattilyn?” He barks into the phone speaker. His interest is immediately piqued by the sound of what can only be described as all out warfare. 

“Tae Tae I know you don’t want to talk to me, but a hun-” Mattilyn doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Taehyung picks up on the whistle of a blade slicing through the air right before Mattilyn is cut off. He’s frozen in his seat as the sickening thunk of metal chopping through flesh meets his ears.

Taehyung’s car is screaming down the highway towards the hangout spot that Mattilyn is known to frequent when he hears a familiar voice over the bluetooth speaker. The voice is as smooth as honey even though they’re slightly out of breath.

“Tae Tae, is it? If you’re coming to avenge your little friends, don’t bother. They’re beyond saving.” A loud clatter indicates that she’s dropped the phone to the stone floor but the call remains connected. Taehyung mashes the gas pedal that much harder. He’d thought that he’d been going crazy when he saw Phoenix earlier in the day but hearing her sadistic laughter preceding the striking of a match tells Taehyung that he is still very much in control of his mental faculties.

The lavish bar is ablaze when Taehyung slides into the parking lot. He can practically smell the holy oil used as some sort of sanctified accelerant. It irritates the sensitive lining of his nose to even breathe in the heated air. He looks around for any sign that Phoenix is still here. The hunters that normally patrol this part of the country are nowhere near bold enough to hit and torch a known demon hangout. As he jogs around the building, it dawns on Taehyung that a a particular vehicle is noticeably absent from the parking lot. Mattilyn has driven a flashy purple BMW for as long as Taehyung has known her. He knows for a fact that her body is one of the ones burning along with the bar and yet her car is mysteriously not present. 

Quickly approaching sirens spur Taehyung into action as he hops back into his car and speeds away. Mattilyn’s car is equipped with a tracking device. A safety measure she took after a couple of joy riding teens decided to take it for a spin since she’d been stupid enough to leave it unlocked with the keys still in the ignition. He plans to head straight for his laptop to start trying to track the sports car down. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to go to the trouble. When he reaches the end of his winding driveway, the car is idling at his front steps.

Taehyung reaches into the glove compartment for the nine millimeter that he keeps there for emergencies. He’s still not sure what the hell kind of demon Phoenix is but a bullet will definitely slow her down even just a little a bit. He approaches the BMW with caution, gun drawn and ready to go. The driver seat is empty. Taehyung’s anger only rises as he realizes that she must have went inside his house. The picked lock confirms his suspicions. The lush carpeting muffles his footsteps as he enters his home. 

“Put that thing down and come upstairs, will you? I have some questions.” Taehyung looks almost comical as his head flips around to locate the source of the voice. He spots Phoenix leaning against the banister on the second floor. He doesn’t hesitate to fire a shot in her direction. He misses.

“Now, that’s just mean.”

Phoenix returns Taehyung’s bullet fire by throwing a knife that she pulled from only God knows where with deadly accuracy. Something Taehyung is realizing to be a go-to of hers. She’d aimed for the center of his chest but, thanks to his quick movements, the knife only grazes him. He snarls at the feeling of the sharpened blade opening up a large wound along his rib cage. In the time it takes him to look down at his side and back up again, Phoenix is on him. Slamming her fist into his rib cage.

Fuck she’s fast.

“When you wake up, remember I didn’t want to do this.” She grabs his head in both hands, twisting it violently to the right. Taehyung crumples at her feet. His gun skitters across the floor like a spooked mouse.

Taehyung comes to with a start. The first thing he notices is that he’s restrained. Tied to a chair he notices as his senses come back to him. A glance out of his open bedroom window shows the sun just starting to set over the horizon so he couldn’t have been out that long. He cranes his neck from side to side, working out the kinks. When he lifts his head, he notices Phoenix standing in front of him. She’s turned away from him as she gazes at the various surveillance pictures of the politician Taehyung is after taped to the wall. That’s about to prove very foolish for her. 

The restraints on his wrists and ankles are no match for Taehyung’s superior strength. His fist is flying towards the back of Phoenix’s skull when suddenly she’s not there anymore. He stops short, confused, as he spins around to come toe to toe with the smirking hunter. She knees him in the gut before guiding him back to the chair by his ear. 

“You’re not nearly as fast as you think you are, Taehyung.” She appraises him carefully as he does the same from the chair she’s shoved him into. “Now be a good boy and answer my questions. I’d hate to have to break your neck again.” Taehyung’s glare only intensifies at the reminder of how she’d viciously snapped his neck earlier. 

“I told you to leave me alone and instead you follow me here and kill more of my friends and now you want me to answer questions?” Taehyung spats out vehemently. “Have you ever fucking heard of Google?”

“First of all, I didn’t follow you anywhere so let’s get that straight.” Phoenix begins. “I was told that Paris held the answer to an important question so I came here. Your friends killed a kid and laughed about it when I confronted them. They deserved to burn and I won’t apologize for it.”

Taehyung’s eyes search her face for any hint of her story being a lie but he can’t find one. His shoulders droop defeatedly. He would like to believe that his friends weren’t the type to kill an innocent child but his gut is telling him that she’s being truthful and he hasn’t survived this long by not trusting his gut so there’s no reason to not believe it now. 

“Fine, I believe you. What more do you want from me?” 

“I just want you to answer a few questions.” She takes his silence as acquiescence to her desires and grabs another chair to take a seat in front of Taehyung. “Why do you have so many books on reincarnation.”

“Personal fascination. Next question.” Taehyung handles the question with ease but inside he’s a lot less composed. He’d almost forgot the ancient texts about reincarnation he’d rounded up the second he’d returned to France. 

“Why did you leave Phoenix like your ass was on fire?” She inquires with a tilt of her head that Taehyung would probably find cute if she wasn’t such a pain in his ass. 

“Because I was tired of being there, anything else?” Phoenix doesn’t believe him one bit and Taehyung knows it but what he doesn’t know is why she chooses not to acknowledge his obvious lie. She slouches back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest. 

“What’s with all the pictures of Jacques Bourdain?” She lifts a hand to point at Taehyung’s offender wall before folding it back across her chest.

“How do you know who he is? He’s pretty low on the politics totem pole.” He questions with a lift of his eyebrow.

“I managed to get into some swanky party my second or third night here. That fucker groped me at the bar then had me thrown out when I punched him.” Just thinking about his vile hands on her body makes Phoenix seethe. She shoots out of her seat much the same way Taehyung had in that Arizona diner. He realizes then that Phoenix may actually be useful to him. He may as well make the most of her presence since the universes seems so keen on forcing her into his life. 

“What if I told you that I could help you get revenge?” Phoenix returns to her seat, eyeing Taehyung intently.

“If it involves that bastard’s blood on my hands, I’m in.” Taehyung nods once before crossing the room to his computer. He opens his file on the bastard in question and shares his screen with the massive tv mounted to the wall.

“How much do you know about me?” Taehyung questions as he turns to face Phoenix once more. 

“I know you’re an incubus with a dick that’s supposedly the size of the empire-state building but my contacts were pretty much mute on everything else.” Phoenix replies with a not so subtle glance at the front of Taehyung’s slacks. “Looks kinda average to me though.”

Taehyung can’t help but preen at the praise about his cock that Phoenix was obviously quite loathe about receiving. It seems that his recreational romps with a fellow demon here and there has built up quite a reputation for him over the years. 

“Allow me to fill in the blanks for you.” Taehyung turns back to his computer, fingers flying across the keys. Pictures of people that Phoenix has only seen on international news channels appear on the screen in rapid succession. “In terms of the humans I go to bed with, my preferred type are the most immoral shit stains I can find. Modern-day slave owners like Amanda Pine? Dead. CEOs that cut off basic resources to entire populations of indigenous people to steal their land like Jason Blackwell? Dead. Homophobic fashion house owners like Donatello Bianchi that put out hits on the small creatives that they steal designs from while putting up a homosexual front to sell said designs? Dead.” 

Phoenix is admittedly in awe as Taehyung continues to list the names of the powerful people and their heinous crimes that he’s punished them for. Her entire existence until this very moment has been built on the notion that demons are inherently evil and bring nothing but destruction to the world and the people around them. Thus, they have to be put down like rabid animals. Now, now she’s not so sure that that wide-sweeping assumption was correct. 

“This is cool and all but I’m not sure how I fit into that. You obviously have a…system that’s working for you.” Phoenix trails off as she looks over the pictures on the screen once more.

“Jacques Bourdain is straight as an arrow and toxically so. My system as you call it won’t work on him and that’s where you come in.” Taehyung leans back against his desk as he watches Phoenix for a reaction. Her expression is carefully devoid of anything that would allow him to gauge what’s going on insider her head. “If you help me then I don’t have to spend weeks planning a new approach.”

“Let’s do it.”

“How do I look?” Phoenix asks, doing a quick twirl in the red cocktail dress that just barely covered her ass. Sky high platform heels adorned her heels, the red bottoms almost the exact same shade as her dress. Cartier diamond studs from his own personal collection glittered whenever they peeked through the thick curls that seemed to bounce whenever she walked.

“Bewitching.” Taehyung replied and he means it wholeheartedly. The dress is perfectly suited for the luxurious curves of her figure. He’s already enraptured with her from one glance. She should have no problem catching Bourdain’s attention tonight. 

The drive to the nightclub is spent going over every fine detail of their plan. Phoenix is confident and assured as she repeats everything to Taehyung with perfect accuracy. This is just like any other hunting mission to her only this time she’s hunting a different kind of demon. 

According to some intel from one of Taehyung’s contacts, the corrupt politician will be at an exclusive night club called Deux, his current favorite spot for picking up girls. Potential patrons dressed to the nines give Taehyung and Phoenix strange looks as they stride to the front of the line. Taehyung can hear whispered words about how they’ll never get in in passing, smirking to himself. The confused ogling becomes outrage when the bouncer at the door steps aside to let them in immediately. 

“That’s how it’s done.” Taehyung murmurs almost to himself as he follows Phoenix up the narrow flight of stairs. 

He nearly misses a step when the action of climbing the stairs causes her dress to ride up enough for the curvature of her ass to start peeking through. He reaches forward to hold the hem down while doing his best not to stare. Taehyung nearly groans when his fingertips meet the warm flesh of her thigh. All of his centuries spent fucking for survival and this one woman has him flustered like some prepubescent schoolboy without even trying. Unacceptable. 

Bourdain isn’t hard to spot once they reach the top of the stairs. He’s perched in the VIP area like a hawk, nursing a drink as he scopes out which unfortunate young woman he deems pretty enough to make his victim for the night. Taehyung makes sure to disappear immediately as planned, leaving Phoenix to her own devices. He watches with rapt attention as she quickly gains entrance to the VIP section. Taehyung recalls the advice he’d given her when they were deciding on what she should wear tonight. If you look like you belong no one will question if you actually do. Looks like Phoenix had taken him seriously and it is already working in their favor. 

Taehyung grabs a seat at the bar and signals for the bartender. He quietly sips on his whiskey when it comes as he watches Phoenix do her thing. She boldly takes a seat next to Bourdain who looks a bit surprised to see her. They strike up a whispered conversation that quickly turns heated, presumably because of the mention of the security camera footage of him assaulting Phoenix stored on the flash drive tucked between her breasts. Bourdain’s gaze falls to her breasts when she suggestively runs a single finger over her cleavage. Phoenix parts ways with the politician and with a knowing glance exits the club. Bourdain looks deranged as he downs the rest of his drink, the fingers of his free hand roughly yanking through his hair. It’s not long before he’s following the same path Phoenix had taken towards the exit a few minutes prior.

When he reaches the street, Taehyung follows the sweet citrus scent of Phoenix’s perfume. There is an alley a few blocks down from the hotel that the two of them have deemed the perfect spot to give Bourdain what he deserves. Taehyung’s step falters when Phoenix’s scent trail suddenly cuts off before he’s even reached the alleyway. He looks around only to realize he’s standing next to a near empty parking lot.

“Fucking hell, Phoenix.” His steps are quick as he heads in the opposite direction to his own vehicle. Just when he thought that she’d learned to follow directions, the wench has proved him wrong by going horribly off script. 

He doesn’t expect her to answer, but he calls her phone anyway just to say he made the effort. Phoenix picks up on the second ring much to his surprise. If demented killer clowns were ever recorded giggling they would sound exactly like the woman on the other end of the phone call. Blood thirsty and psychotic. 

“Phoenix, where the hell are you?” 

“Jacques wanted to go somewhere a little more private. I’ll be back soon don’t worry.” She cuts the call before he can get another word in. 

“God damn you, Phoenix Emery.”

Four hours twenty nine minutes and thirty eight seconds. Taehyung is seated at the bottom of the main staircase when Phoenix finally struts through the front door of his home like she owns the place. There is a pleased gleam in her eyes that only shines brighter when she smiles at him. Taehyung hates the fact that his anger dissipates at the sight of such joy on her face. Thankfully, he’s able to maintain the scowling expression he’s been sporting ever since he’d last spoken to the woman in question.

“Look I know you’re mad that I didn’t follow the plan but that bastard definitely got what was coming to him. I promise I’ll do everything your way next time.” She has the decency to look almost sheepish as she stands in front of Taehyung’s seated figure.

“What makes you think there will be a next time?” He arches an eyebrow in question. “For one, you’ve already proved that I can’t trust you to stick to the script. Plus, I don’t actually need you, especially considering this is the only way I get to feed.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure Jacques Bourdain isn’t the first loser you’ve gone after that doesn’t like dick and I’m sure he won’t be the last. Let me help kill bad guys, Taehyung.” She looks almost desperate as she pleads for him to let her stay. “You took away the last bit of good I had in my life when you killed my Derrick and Brewer. You owe me this. You owe me this and more, Taehyung.”

“Fine,” Taehyung breathes out after a moment. “but only on one condition. You tell me what you are.”

“Thought we covered this right before I put a bullet in your brain.” Her eyes become engulfed in darkness just as they had that afternoon in the meadow before returning to their normal dark brown. 

“And yet, you have a heartbeat.” Taehyung points out. 

“The demon that tried to turn me couldn’t get the job done. I’m still human if only just a little bit.” Phoenix replies with a shrug of her shoulders as if they’re discussing the weather. There is tension in her shoulders that suggests she’s not as okay with the subject matter as she’s trying to portray. Part of Taehyung wants to press the issue, but a larger part of him decides to leave it alone for now. She’s human enough to not arouse the suspicions of full-blooded demons which she’s obviously used to her advantage as she also happens to have enough demon blood in her to give her access to some of their more supernatural abilities. 

“We’re not done discussing why what you did tonight wasn’t okay, but we’ll pick that conversation up again tomorrow.” Taehyung rises to his feet and looks over the woman in front of him appraisingly. “For now, you’re welcome to any of the extra bedrooms upstairs. Good night.”

Taehyung is chopping strawberries when the newscaster interrupts her piece on a recent factory fire to report on some breaking news. According to the overly bubbly reporter, the body of Jacques Bourdain had been discovered about an hour ago. The politician had apparently been found parked in his car outside of a known brothel that catered to people in his tax bracket. The reporter on site looked visibly ill. After hearing how both of Bourdain’s hands along with his penis had been detached and placed on the hood of his car, Taehyung could understand why.

“Officials say there was a flash drive was found hanging from the victim’s neck but no word on what that flash drive may have contained. Back to you, Mila.” 

Taehyung goes back to his strawberries as the sound of Mila and her cohost discuss the implications of Bourdain’s death. It’s only a matter of time before the contents of that flash drive come to light. The “beloved family man” reputation that Bourdain had worked so hard to curate would go up in flames. 

“Good morning.” Taehyung turns to face Phoenix as she enters the kitchen and he almost wishes that he hadn’t. He must have stored some clothing in the guest room she’d ended up in as she is clad in one of his t-shirts and not much else from the look of it. “Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your shirt. I realized that all of my bags are still in my hotel and I was not about to sleep in that dress.

“S’fine.” He offers her some of his strawberries which she gladly accepts. She stares at the tv thoughtfully as she perches on one of the barstools and munches away on the juicy fruit. 

It’s a struggle for Taehyung to keep his eyes off of her thighs as she spins slowly on the stool. His grip on the knife is tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. She’s tormenting him and, judging from the way she’s dedicating her attention to the news, she has no idea she’s even doing it. 

“The dismemberment was a nice touch.” Taehyung points out, breaking the silence. Phoenix turns to face him with a pleased smile. 

“A known rapist and abuser like him deserved that and more. I just hope all of his past victims can find peace in knowing he can’t hurt them or anyone else ever again.” She snags a few more strawberries before turning back to the television. She’s practically radiating with joy at hearing the media talk about the brutally gruesome aftermath of her rage. 

“So, who’s next on the hit list?” Phoenix questions when the news program goes on a commercial break. She looks affronted when Taehyung denies her attempt at snagging more strawberries but she stays silent. 

“Next up on the agenda is Johnson Danville. His company has caused a wave of childhood cancer by dumping its waste in a nearby town’s water supply and he thinks he’s above the law because he has enough money to thwart any legal action.”

“What’s our approach?” She’s all business now. Brow furrowed, jaw set, and fists clenched as images of her snuffing out the life of such a horrid man probably play on loop in her head.

“There is no our. I’m doing this one on my own.” Taehyung silences her instant protests with a single raised hand. “Consider this your punishment for not following the plan last night.” The cute way she pouts at his decision makes her look like a child that’s been denied candy. Taehyung is tempted to give in just so she’ll stop looking at him like a kicked puppy. Thankfully, the doorbell rings and saves him from making a rash decision out of his own weakness.

“That should be your bags.” She doesn’t seem particularly concerned about how I found which hotel she was staying in to have her luggage delivered which doesn’t go unnoticed by Taehyung. He makes a mental note to explore why that is later. 

Phoenix is seated at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him when Taehyung emerges from his room. His steps falter for a second but he gets himself together before she has a chance to notice.  He busies himself with his cuff links as he hurries down the stairs. She can pout all she wants but Taehyung is determined to remain firm in his decision. If she wants to be a part of what he does, then she has to learn that what she did with Bourdain is something that won’t be tolerated. 

“Sitting at the bottom of the stairs like a lost puppy won’t change things, Phoenix.”

“Oh come on. You’re acting like I did something so wrong.” She protests vehemently. “You were going to kill him anyway so why are you so mad that I freestyled a little bit?”

“It’s not about that. It’s about trust.” Taehyung makes final adjustments to his suit in the mirror by the door, staring at Phoenix in the reflection. The puppy eyes she’d been sporting when he first came downstairs have been replaced with indignant anger. “I can’t work with a wild card.”  

Taehyung gives Phoenix one last appraising look before disappearing through the ornate front door. Phoenix finds herself staring at the carved wood for a few seconds. Her first instinct is to go out and kill something to release the rage coursing through her. She races upstairs to the guest room she’s chosen to occupy. 

She hadn’t been able to bring any of her own weapons save a few ceramic knives that she’d been able to sneak through airport security. She’d rectified that as soon as she landed in Paris by securing a few firearms. It’s as she’s tucking her nine millimeter into the waistband of her jeans that she catches sight of herself in the full-length mirror in the closet. Staring back at her is not her own reflection but rather the image fo her mother. She can hear her voice clear as day repeating the mantra that she’d parroted to Phoenix every time she’d done something self-destructive. 

“Your future is manifested through your own actions.”

Phoenix closes her eyes, trying to hold on to her mother for as long as she can. The person staring back at her looks eerily similar to the woman who’d brought her into this world, but there is a pain in her eyes that is deeply rooted in her soul. Before common sense can catch up with her, Phoenix draws her weapon and fires. Once. Twice. Three times. Until the image of her own despair lays shattered at her boot clad feet.

Taehyung returns the next morning rejuvenated and expecting to walk into an empty house. He’d fully expected for Phoenix to work herself up into an enraged fit and leave. The first thing he notices when he steps into the foyer is the lingering smell of a gun that’s recently been fired. The air is still, undisturbed. Taehyung is relieved to not be able to pick up on the smell of blood but he is still uneasy. He draws his own weapon from his waistband. After checking the first floor, he creeps up the stairs. The first room he checks is Phoenix’s. He finds his new roommate stretched out across her bed with a gun on the mattress next to her. He gives two short knocks on the door, startling her awake. 

“Woah, woah, woah it’s just me.” Taehyung shouts when Phoenix immediately draws the weapon next to her. He definitely should’ve expected that. “Why have you been shooting a gun in the house? Was someone in here?”

Her eyes get comically wide as she glances towards the closet. Taehyung can tell she probably didn’t mean to do that when she winces immediately after. His eyebrow raises in confusion. He’s never seen her show so little restraint over her actions in all the time he’s known her. Though she tries to stop him, Taehyung strides over the walk-in closet. The remnants of the antique mirror that had once stood in the closet lay in sad, little pieces at his feet. 

“Do want to talk about this?” Taehyung murmurs as continues to survey the damage. He can almost hear the gears in her brain whirring, trying to find an answer that doesn’t make her sound unstable. 

“My future is manifested through my own actions. I don’t want to mess up again.” He turns slowly to face Phoenix where she stands in the doorway of the closet. She feels small under his piercing gaze but she doesn’t shy away. Taehyung is silent for a long while.

“Okay then. Come, we have work to do.” He slides by her and returns to his bedroom with Phoenix following behind him. Neither one of them can really put their finger on it, but something has shifted. She follows him dutifully to his bedroom.

“Now, before we do anything I want you answer one question.” Taehyung starts as he takes a seat in the leather chair in front of his computer. “What are you?” Phoenix was afraid of this question. It’s been months and she still hasn’t fully accepted the truth of it herself.

A lie is on the tip of her tongue. Taehyung must be able to sense it because he raises an eyebrow as if challenging her to let the lie fall from her lips. Phoenix bites down on her bottom lip as she contemplates what she wants to do. Her mother’s words play again in her head so she takes a seat on the end of his bed and tells him everything. Taehyung has never heard of such an occurrence and if he couldn’t hear her heartbeat clear as day, he wouldn’t even believe that something of this nature could even happen. He is absolutely floored though in hindsight he probably shouldn’t be. The evidence has always been right there in front of him.

“That’s…” Taehyung trails off as he searches for the right words. “That’s definitely something. I’m sure you’ve had a hard time coping with that.” Phoenix laughs humorlessly. He doesn’t even know the half of it. 

A single tear slides down her face and she does her best to keep the rest of them at bay. Taehyung feels a physical ache in his arms at not being able to reach out and comfort her. Arabella had always told him that she felt better about whatever was going on whenever he held her but he has to continuously remind himself that the woman in front of him is not Arabella. So he comforts her in the best way he knows how, turning to his computer to bring up a profile on the next person he plans to eradicate.

Phoenix hums to herself as she steps inside of the modern split-level that Taehyung has summoned her to. The tangy scent of fresh blood caresses her senses like a fleece blanket. According to the text message she’d received about half an hour ago, things had gotten…messy and he needed new clothes to wear. She whistles lowly when she finally sets foot into the kitchen where Taehyung had chosen to take care of business.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to kill someone in a room with quite this many knives.” Phoenix observes as Taehyung sheds his shirt and drops it into the trash bag she’s holding open for him. It’s littered with bloody puncture marks from obvious stab wounds and yet his skin is tanned and unmarred. She whistles lowly, wiggling her eyebrows when he drops his pants to the ground to drop those into the bag as well. Taehyung makes some lewd comment about his dick being to die for if she ever felt like going full demon which earns him a kick to the knee.

“Duly noted, sensei.” He mutters with a roll of his eyes. Phoenix just snickers, tying up the bag holding his ruined clothes while Taehyung changes into the hoodie and jeans she’d brought for him. Conversation continues to flow easily between the two of them as if there isn’t a corpse at their feet. She glances at the pool of blood around Taehyung’s latest snack, an art teacher by the name of Aleyna with a taste for prepubescent boys. Her throat is slashed clean through to her spinal cord.

She drops to a crouch next to the bloody body on the linoleum. She pulls out the small pocket knife she keeps tucked between her breasts. Taehyung looks on curiously as Phoenix carves the word pedophile into the bare chest of his victim. He’s about to remark on how neatly spaced her letters are when he hears sirens approaching the house.

“Time to go.” He mutters as he grabs Phoenix by the hand. Judging by how close the sirens are, it’s too late to hop in the car and speed away. He remembers Aleyna mentioning something about the home having an expansive basement that was converted into a wine cellar. Hopefully, that means that there’s another exit.

The locked cellar door is no match for Taehyung’s superior strength as he wrenches it open. He can hear the front door being broken down. Aleyna must have had some sort of silent alarm that she’d managed to trip. He curses to himself at the inconvenience of it all. Part of him wants to tap into the renewed power thrumming in his veins and take out the law enforcement team currently sweeping the home, but the more rational part of him reminds him that while his DNA is untraceable, Phoenix’s is not. He can’t risk her getting nicked by a blade or a stray bullet and leaving evidence at the scene of a murder. Taehyung’s eyes go wide when he hears the tell-tale sound of a silencer being twisted into place. 

“What the hell is that for?” He whispers incredulously.

“CYA, my friend. CYA” She whispers back with a devilish smirk as she hands Taehyung the extra firearm she had tucked into the waistband of her jeans.

Thankfully, the wine cellar is equipped with a second entrance as they slip out into the night. Phoenix and Taehyung take down the two officers patrolling at the back before they get the chance to even think about calling for backup. They drag their bodies into the shrubs. The car is a lost cause with all of the police activity going on at the front of the house so they’re forced to make tracks through the woods.

They don’t make it far before things go plummeting down hill. A loud shout has Phoenix twisting in place to fire off a few shots. Unsurprisingly, she hits all of her intended targets, but this time she’s not quick enough to prevent the officers from getting off a shot of their own. Rage floods Taehyung’s entire being at the quickly growing stain growing in Phoenix’s left shoulder. He lifts her into his arms and runs faster than he can ever recall running before. Her slowing heartbeat spurs his legs to move even quicker. This is exactly what he was afraid of.

Over the past few months that they’ve been working together he’s learned just how much Phoenix treasured her humanity. Despite her perceived recklessness, she’s never put herself into a situation that she had any real doubts about fighting her way out of. A few bruises and scrapes here and there but never has she incurred anything as serious as the gun shot she’s just incurred. Taehyung is less than two minutes away from the closest hospital when he hears it. The steady thump, thump, thump that he’s been so used to hearing falls silent. The absence of it is so deafening that his steps falter.

“Phoenix?” He jostles her in his arms expecting, hoping for her to come back around. Her head simply lolls around on her shoulders. 

Taehyung’s heart hasn’t beat in over four hundred years and yet he could swear that the muscle is constricting violently in his chest. When he’d lost Arabella he’d been in absolute agony, but she had still been alive when she’d left him. His knees buckle from the weight of the range of emotions threatening to drag him under. Deep down he knows that she’s not truly dead, but it hurts all the same. They’re close enough to the city now for the sounds of people and cars to reach his ears but none of it matters. He hugs Phoenix’s limp body to his chest. In spite of how they came together, she has become not only his partner in crime but one of his closest friends. Taehyung nearly leaps out of his skin when something touches the back of his head.

“You smell like sex, blood, and adrenaline. It’s awful.” Phoenix croaks out, pushing him away with a pinched expression on her face. Taehyung laughs despite himself. It doesn’t matter if she technically just died, Phoenix can never let him live.

“I’ll shower later. We have to get out of here.” Taehyung hauls them both off of the ground, dusting the dirt off of Phoenix’s jeans despite her protests. She tries to yank her hand out of his when he latches onto it to pull her along, but Taehyung is having none of it.

When Taehyung had said that they needed to get out of here, Phoenix thought he meant get out of the woods and back to his house to hide out. It wasn’t until he told the driver of the cab they hailed to take them to the airport that she realized he meant that they were getting out of the country entirely. She had nothing on her but her American drivers license, forty euros, and a black cat sticker and yet she was sitting on a private jet headed for the Maldives in less than two hours. That was nearly three weeks ago and Phoenix can’t exactly say that she’s upset at that. At first, she’d been positive that she would get bored of not having a clear and purposeful goal for her time but that notion had quickly been squashed. 

These days she spends her days exploring the island with Taehyung or lounging on the private section of beach in front of the massive villa that they’ve been staying in. Today, they’re in search of a small cave that the locals say is home to a hot spring that Taehyung is dying to take a dip in. Phoenix is just about tired of navigating the precarious path of slippery rocks when Taehyung suddenly shouts. She nearly loses her footing but recovers in time to see him dashing off towards the cave she figures is the one they’ve been searching for. By the time she catches up to him, he’s already waist deep in the water.

“You couldn’t even pretend to wait for me?” She asks playfully as she strips off her clothes, dropping them in a pile on top of his. He totally submerges himself in the crystal clear water as opposed to answering her question.

The spend the next half hour frolicking around, dunking each other under the water. Taehyung has just bucked her off of his shoulders when they decide to take a break and just float around. Head tilted back, arms outstretched, Phoenix is almost asleep as she drifts around on her back when Taehyung interrupts her solace.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” His voice is so soft that she almost doesn’t hear him even with her enhanced hearing. Even so, she contemplates ignoring him anyway just to avoid the conversation he’s trying to have. 

This isn’t the first time he’s tried to get her to talk about her emotions and she’s tempted to give him the same answer she’s given him on his previous attempts. No. She doesn’t get the chance to do so though. Phoenix gasps out loud when she’s suddenly flipped upright and lifted out of the water to sit on a large rock next to the hot spring. Taehyung’s hands remain firmly planted on her hips to ensure she doesn’t try to escape. She’d discovered a while ago that Taehyung is actually quite clingy with people he trusts so she’s not surprised when he lays his head in her lap with his arms wrapped tightly around her and threatens to keep her trapped that way until the sun explodes unless she talks to him.

“Taehyung, this is madness. Move.” She nudges him with enough strength to send a human man flying, but he doesn’t move an inch. They fall into a stubborn silence as they both wait for the other to make their next move. As Phoenix expects, Taehyung cracks first.

“If I tell you a secret, will you talk to me?” He murmurs against the damp skin of her thigh. She feels more than hears his words.

“Depends on what the secret is.” Phoenix kicks her legs lazily on either side of Taehyung’s body. He takes a long, shuddering deep breath that intrigues her enough that her legs stop moving.

“The reincarnation books I have in my room. It’s not just a personal fascination.” Taehyung falls silent as if he’s gathering the courage to get to the root of what he’s trying to say. Phoenix had already assumed that there was a deeper reason for the massive tomes that Taehyung hoarded but she’d never felt like it was her place to intrude. 

“I was in love once. It was the 18th century and I met this firecracker of a woman that made more heart beat fast for the first time since being turned.” Phoenix listens dutifully as Taehyung describes the woman that had held his heart in her hands. The more he talks, the more she feels this odd sense of familiarity. As if she knew this woman personally. Her brain connects the dots right as Taehyung gets to the gist of his tale.

“Wait,” She stops him before he can get the words out. “are you about to say what I think you’re about to say? Because if you are, I have an assload of questions.”

“Do I think you’re the reincarnation of my Arabella? Yes. Can I prove it beyond a reasonable doubt? No.” He confirms. Phoenix pushes at his shoulders and Taehyung allows himself to be moved. Judging by Taehyung’s expression, the panic sitting like a stone in her gut is manifested on her face.

“How long have you thought this?” 

“Since I first laid eyes on you in that field. I’d gone through your friends’ phone but they didn’t have a single picture of you. I nearly got up and left when I saw you.” Phoenix snorts as she replays that day in her mind as she often does only this time with Taehyung running for the hills the second he sets his eyes upon her face. 

“This probably sounds ridiculous, but I feel this…connection to you.” Taehyung explains with a sheepish look on his face. “It’s like you’re a planet and I’m a moon being pulled into your orbit.”

She doesn’t have the courage to admit that she feels the same way. Phoenix slips back into the water now that Taehyung is no longer physically restraining her. He says nothing as she moves behind him to wrap her limbs around him. She allows a few moments of silence to pass before she unloads everything she’s been holding back. The disgust she feels at what she’s become. The shame of feeling like she’s let her parents down considering she is now the very creature they dedicated their lives to hunting like rabid dogs. Her fears for the future and the possibility that darkness that is practically inherent in demons could one day overtake her. 

“Do you think I’m evil?” Taehyung probes.

“Well, no, not really.” She answers without missing a beat. Her original assumption of Taehyung had proven to be quite false despite the events that had allowed them to opportunity to build the friendship they have today.

“So why do you think that you’ll suddenly become some sort of degenerate just because you’ve lost your human side? You’re still the same Phoenix Emery as you were before the change. Demons make their own choices and have to live with the consequences of them just like everyone else.” His words hang in the humid air, marinating into her psyche. She’s not entirely sure that she believe him but the thought of being able to hang on to some sense of normalcy give her hope for the centuries to come.

“Taehyung, do you love me?” Phoenix voices into the still air in the double bedroom she and Taehyung share. The villa has four other rooms with single beds and yet for whatever reason they’d decided that this room was perfect.

“If this is a ploy to get me to sing Drake again, I’ll kill you.”

“No, seriously. Do you love me? Since I’m probably the reincarnation of your dead girlfriend or whatever.”

“I care for you deeply and I think your ass is perfectly perky and round, but no I do not love you the way I loved, Arabella because you are not her.” Taehyung responds matter of factly. An inkling of regret is creeping in. Maybe telling Phoenix about Arabella hadn’t been the best idea.

“Don’t get so full of yourself, Taehyung. I’m not looking for you to pledge your undying love for me. I just wanted to know.”

Taehyung stays quiet for so long that she’s beginning to think he’s said all he plans to say. “Phoenix, have you ever been in love?”

“Once. At least I thought it was love but then he made me choose between him and hunting and I hesitated.” Taehyung whistles lowly, flipping over in his bed to face her in the darkness of the bedroom. He analyzes her side profile as she continues to focus her eyes on the ceiling. His lips tingle with the urge to ask her more questions but he remains silent, waiting.

“I last saw him about two years ago. He’s married now with a kid and a dog and a white picket fence. I’m happy for him because I don’t think I could’ve given him that.” She whispers solemnly. Her tone is flat and even but Taehyung can hear the emotions that she’s not voicing.

“Would you do it differently if you could go back in time?” He asks curiously. Phoenix doesn’t turn over but she does glance at him fleetingly.

“Honestly, no. I’m a sadistic motherfucker that like to hunt and kill beings I deem unworthy of living. That’s not the type of person who settles down with 2.5 kids and a dog.”

“Touché”

“What about you? If you could’ve turned Arabella, would you have done it?” Taehyung should’ve expected her to turn his own question back on him but it catches him off guard all the same. A few months ago, he would’ve said yes without a shadow of a doubt. Now? He’s not so sure.

“I don’t know that I would. I’d always thought that I’d do anything to bring her back, but I don’t think she’d be happy this way.” Phoenix hums thoughtfully. 

“Well at least you have me. Annoying but cute.”

“What have I ever done to deserve such a blessing.” Phoenix lashes out with one of the extra pillows on her bed, using it to get revenge on Taehyung for the sarcasm dripping from his words.  There’s no way the fluffy down pillow has any effect on him but it makes her feel better all the same. 

“Sarcastic bastard.” She spits out only for him to playfully stick his tongue out at her with a childish giggle.

“Aw, should I kiss it and make it better?” Taehyung teases. His eyes nearly bug out of his head when Phoenix says yes.

At first, he thinks she’s just kidding until she gets out of her own bed and into his. She slips underneath the covers and scoots close enough to Taehyung for every inch of her body to be pressed up against him. The air in the room feels thick with the pheromones and sexual tension radiating from the both of them. He can already feel himself rising to the occasion but he doesn’t want to read too much into it although a blind man could see that there is only one way to interpret what’s happening right now. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. She’s brought her face so close to his that every word is punctuated by the slight brushing of his lips against hers. Her eyes sweep over his face.

“Research.” Taehyung practically growls when she presses her lips against his. Not kissing her back doesn’t even cross his mind as her tongue traces against the seam of his lips and he lets her in without protest. He explores and plunders her mouth just as they’ve done with the various caves and forests they’ve ventured into during their time in the Maldives, with reverent excitement.

His large hands slink underneath the t-shirt she’d stolen from his dresser and he’s pleased to discover that there isn’t much to be found beneath it other than her supple skin. Their lips remain connected even as Taehyung pulls her body on top of his. He can feel her hardened nipples through her shirt and he’s overcome with the need to feel her skin directly on his. The thin fabric doesn’t stand a chance against him when gathers it into his fists, yanking until she’s totally free of it. She makes some comment about his eagerness that he chooses to ignore in favor of covering her chest in as many marks as he feels fit to create. 

Phoenix rearranges her legs so that she’s straddling Taehyung’s lap. The new change in position means the sizable bulge barely contained by his boxer briefs is now pressed perfectly against her clit. Her hips start moving practically on their own, settling into a pattern of slow, purposeful grinds. Taehyung grabs at her ass with both hands to help her along. Even in the dark, he can still see the growing patch of wetness on the grey material that remains between them. The soft whimpers she makes every time he bumps against her clit could rival even the world’s greatest symphony. Her breasts swing tantalizingly in his face, but just as he goes for them again, she pulls away. 

His protests fizzle out when she tugs on the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help her out, reaching down to slowly stroke himself once he’s free of them. The shocked look on her face is definitely something he plans to tease her about for the next few decades, but for now Taehyung is more focused on getting his cock shoved down her throat as quickly as possible. 

“Taehyung, that’s an excessive amount of dick.” Phoenix can’t take her eyes off of the stiff appendage between his toned thighs. She’d always thought that the rumors of him having a dick the size of the Empire State Building were just that, rumors, but she’s quickly discovering that he definitely gives the popular landmark a run for its money in the size department. She’s both incredibly turned on and more than a little hesitant about fucking someone with that much to work with.

“Scared?” The smirk on his face lets her know that he knows exactly what that does to her. She feels challenged and Phoenix Emery never backs down from a challenge. She’ll die trying to prove him wrong and he knows it.

She gives him a firm squeeze when she takes his length into her hand. His head falls back as a groan rattles around his chest. Taehyung gasps at the unexpected sensation of Phoenix suckling on his balls as she continues to stroke him just the way he likes. She licks a stripe up his cock from base to tip, sucking on his leaking head before repeating the process. He hisses when she finally envelopes his cock in her mouth. His hips push forward on instinct to get as much of himself into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth as he can. 

“Fuck your mouth is so good.” He murmurs. She hums around his cock in her mouth, burying her nose in the finely trimmed hairs at the base of his erection. Taehyung has never been to heaven but in that moment he swears he can see God. Euphoria spreads throughout his body as Phoenix continues to bob her head up and down on his cock. It’s sloppy, messy, and delightfully amazing. He can feel his balls drawing up, on the verge of an orgasm when she pulls her head away from his lap.

She walks on her knees until she’s straddling him once more. She leans down to kiss and suck at the tanned skin of his neck, making her way up and along his jaw. Taehyung is only too happy to reciprocate when she presses her lips against his insistently. He could spend the rest of his existence kissing her and it would make him the happiest man alive. His lips are wrenched from hers when she suddenly flips the both of them over so that Taehyung is hovering above her. His cock, still damp with her spit, rests against her pubic bone. He stops her when she grabs his cock and moves it to where she needs him most.

“Wait, but don’t you want me to finger you first? Or eat you out?” He questions. “You said yourself that I have an excessive amount of cock and I have to make sure you’re wet enough for it.”

“If I get any wetter, we’re both going to drown now stop making excuses and fuck me.” Phoenix drives her point home by grabbing his length again and dragging it through her drenched folds a few times before lining him up with her entrance. Taehyung doesn’t need any more convincing than that. He joins them totally with one strong thrust.

One thrust turns into two which turns into two more until Taehyung is sliding in and out of her like a well-oiled machine. He pauses long enough to press her knees into her chest before he resumes his movements. The change in position has his name flying out of Phoenix’s mouth like the darkest of curses. Her nails are digging into his thighs and the pain only adds to his pleasure. The image of Taehyung covered in sweat as he tosses his head back with his teeth bared like some sort of feral animal is one that Phoenix never wants to forget. She does her absolute best to keep her eyes open to commit this moment to memory. The sound he makes when she tightens her inner muscles around him could only be described as a growl.

His hands release her legs in favor of latching on to her bouncing breasts instead. She keens when he rolls her sensitive nipples between his fingers. Taehyung switches gears from his relentless pounding to a more purposeful grind of his hips, making sure to press his pelvis into her clit on every thrust. Phoenix grabs at both of his wrists and pulls in an effort to bring him closer to her. He obliges her with a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. She wraps her limbs around him and holds on tight as the waves of pleasure begin to drag her under. Taehyung follows her over the edge with a harsh bite to her shoulder that makes Phoenix want to cum again. They fall asleep in a tangled mess of limbs and feelings that will be left to sort out when they wake. 

“Good morning, Sunshine!” Taehyung sing-songs. He yanks open the curtains to let in the light and isn’t surprised when his actions are met with a creative string of curses that would make even the most depraved demon cower in fear.

“I will rip your toe nails off and shove them in your eyes. Go away!” Phoenix buries her face into one of the few pillows that had managed to stay on the bed during their late night frolic but to no avail. Taehyung is quick to snatch it away from her along with anything else she could possible use to hide away.

She eventually realizes that resistance is futile and sits up in bed. Taehyung is momentarily  distracted by the small bruises and bite marks that have yet to fad away. They’ll be gone in the next few hours and part of him wants to take a few pictures to hold onto for his own personal use. 

“I think we should talk about last night.” Taehyung crawls back onto the bed, pulling Phoenix into his arms just because he can. She twists around in his hold until their face to face. 

“What is there to talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know maybe why?”

“Remember the ex I told you about right before…that?” Taehyung nods his affirmation. There is an inkling of fear that what she’s about to say is going to kill the domestic dream that had danced across his mind’s eye all night.

“When he asked me to choose between him and hunting, I couldn’t do it but just the mere thought of not being with you despite how we ended up together physically pains me.” Phoenix distracts herself by dragging her finger across Taehyung’s chest in a nonsensical pattern. She can’t handle looking him in the eye while she talks about her feelings this way. “We’ve both hurt each other in major ways but, as twisted as it is, I think it was meant to happen this way. Fate and all that other mushy shit, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Taehyung nuzzles her cheek with his nose which she recoils from with protests about cooties. He shuts her up with a kiss that he hopes conveys all of the words he has no idea how to say.

[jennamoran]

Baggage

(a Hitherby Dragons repost, because sometimes I feel like doing that.)

“I like the rain,” Sid says.

“It’s nice,” Max says.

“It’s like the corpses of melted snowflakes dripping slowly from some great snowflake graveyard. Don’t you think? A graveyard like elephants have.”

“I miss you,” Max says. “It hurts my heart. Because it’s so very Sid not to know the word ‘cloud.'”

Sid looks down. His eyes are winsome.

“It’s a hard word,” Sid says. “Two vowels in a row, like ‘ouzo’.”

A distant crashing noise intrudes. It is followed by a soft and faraway hum.

“It’s starting,” Max says.

“What is?”

The world vibrates softly. Something new is happening. Something strange. The salt and pepper shakers rattle. The beaded curtain in the doorway shakes.

“The running of the luggage,” Max says.

In Babylon, in 2004, it is the running of the luggage.

Sid listens.

“Is that why we’re here?” Sid asks.

“It’s why I’m here,” Max says. “I don’t know why you’re here.”

“I wanted to go to Sydney,” Sid says. “It has the best name of any Australian city ever. But I drowned in confusion and got on the wrong flight. That’s why I’m in Babylon.”

“Like luggage,” Max says.

“Like lost luggage.”

“My bag came here,” Max says. “A lot of luggage does. The undeliverable. The forgotten. The lost.”

The table shakes with its hidden passion.

(It is its love for the nearby table. It can never be expressed. It can never be spoken. If a table speaks of such things it is the end. But it may tremble.)

The water glasses on the table shiver.

“Every year,” Max says, “Babylon holds the running of the luggage.”

“I met you when I got off the plane,” Sid says. “It was an accident. I wanted never to see you again. I didn’t know it was the running of the luggage.”

“Have a drink,” Max says. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Sid says. “I have to turn you in to the police.”

“It’s no big deal. We met. We walked to a restaurant. We got our hair wet in the rain. We went through the curtain. We sat down at a table. I ordered a drink. You should too.”

A pack of luggage gallops by outside the door. A damp breeze stirs Sid’s hair. A few thin locks of hair curl against his cheek. They look dead sexy there.

Sid looks pretty good today, for Sid.

“If you get an alcoholic drink,” says Max, “you might forget to turn me in. But if you get something watered down, the local water will make you sick.”

Sid looks sad and lost.

“Have I no third option?” Sid asks.

Max thinks. The cloud of his thoughts grows richer and denser. A suggestion precipitates. “Rum and coke?”

“Okay.”

Sid orders a rum and coke. He sits back.

A carousel of luggage storms by. It turns the street’s puddles into spray.

“Is this festival safe?” Sid asks. “The door is a beaded curtain. It cannot save us from feral Gucci.”

“I don’t know,” Max says. “I guess so. Nobody else is leaving.”

“That’s true.”

A single solitary bag ghosts by. It’s lean and underpacked, like a scavenger. Its hunger is tragic.

“I lost a head,” Max says.

“A head?— oh, thanks,” Sid says. His drink has arrived. He sips it through a straw. Each sip is daringly unabashed.

“I packed it to prove I killed someone. I checked it for Detroit. But it got sent to Babylon.”

Sid sips further.

Max waits.

“Hard luck,” says Sid.

Max nods.

“Sometimes I miss you and my bones ache and my eyes blur,” says Max.

“It’s not a big deal,” Sid says.

Max half-smiles.

Sid looks sad.

“I plan to do this,” says Max. “I’ll have a drink with you. I’ll hang out. Then when I can bear to leave, I’ll sneak out and find my luggage.”

“It’s out there?”

“Out there.”

There’s a scream from somewhere outside. The scream stops, sudden and short. The locals look up from their tables. There’s a silence in the room.

“Tourists,” one man says.

Another man shakes his head.

Then the locals go back to their conversations.

“Don’t go out there,” Sid says.

“Why?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“My bag is mine,” Max says. “It won’t hurt me.”

“It’s running with a bad crowd,” says Sid. “It might go feral.”

“Things like that don’t happen,” Max says. “Not to my luggage. My luggage wouldn’t go feral.”

“Mine bit me once.”

Sid drinks some more. It’s suddenly cold and bitter drinking.

“I caught my finger in the zipper. I had to rip the whole bag apart.”

“Harsh.”

“No,” Sid says. He’s hard-edged now. “Practical.”

“Ah,” says Max.

Sid sips ruthlessly at his straw.

“You know— I mean, that thing— what happened with us—”

“Practical?”

“Yeah.”

“I know,” says Sid. He smiles. His smile has sun and snow and ice in it. “I still have to turn you in. For closure.”

“I understand.”

“But I’ll go to the bathroom first,” says Sid. “I have to pee. So you can run away then, like a terrified puppy.”

“Okay,” says Max.

“I mean, not that you should.”

“Of course.”

“Just, I have to pee.”

“It’s okay.”

Sid gets up. He asks a waitress where the bathroom is. He faces the bathroom hallway with determination and walks in.

Max stands. He slinks to the door.

“It’s not safe,” the waitress says.

“It’s okay,” Max says.

“It’s not safe,” she insists. But he pushes past her, out through the beaded curtain. It rattles like a snake. Like a snake with maracas, preparing to strike.

“Be well,” Max says, to the waitress.

The luggage run is fierce now. It fills most of the streets. It shouts to Heaven like a world in pain. It thunders like the wrath of God. Max jumps up and grabs the fire escape ladder. He drags himself up towards the roof. He needs a lofty height to find his bag.

“I can’t see it,” Max says.

He goes higher. He’s standing on the roof.

“Black,” he says. “Black as pitch. Zippers like dragon’s teeth. My bag, with a teddy bear and some clothes and a poor damned bastard’s head.”

The luggage runs fiercer.

“Where are you?” Max asks the world.

There’s a growling snapping zipper behind him.

The bag is not Sid. It did not love Max long. It did not love him well. And it does not love him now.

[stormcrawler75]

“Aren’t they a little old to be adopted?” If you're still takin these prompts, with anyone? :>

Pairing: Logince!

Virgil watched the others kids run around the playroom, the little ones screeching their heads off and being the main reason Virgil was wearing his headphones, and the older ones playing quietly by the blocks, reading books, or doing arts and crafts with one of the orphanage staff. The youngest of the kids in the orphanage were in another room having nap time while everyone else was waiting for groups of potential parents to come to visit with kids. The youngest kid in the playroom was a little girl who was 4 years old.

Virgil was the oldest at 16.

He, of course, knew that he was only at this little thing because the orphanage workers wanted all the kids in the same space. No one adopted teenagers. Even the workers knew it. Virgil had heard one of them whisper a few weeks ago, “Aren’t they a little old to be adopted?” There was no hope for him anymore.

He winced and adjusted his headphones when the first set of parents walked through the door, setting off a group of toddlers who waved at them excitedly. He sighed and shifted so his back was facing the door and fished out his phone from his hoodie pocket. This was going to be a long day.

Music blasted through his headphones and he closed his eyes. Virgil slouched down in the plushy armchair he was and leaned against the back, pulling his legs up to his chest. He was completely and totally prepared to ignore everything happening around him until he could escape back to his room for the rest of the day.

That is until someone poked him in the shoulder and he jumped so hard that he ended up half in the chair and half out.

He stared up at who had poked him, expecting one of the younger kids needing something, but instead saw a familiar man standing over him in his regular polo shirt and dark blue tie.

Virgil quickly pulled down his headphones and let them rest on his collar bone. “Um, hi, Mr. Logan.”

Logan Prince looked down at him in concern. “Hello, Virgil. I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?”

Virgil nodded and pushed himself back up in the chair, curling up into a ball. “I’m fine. You just, uh, yeah. But I’m fine.”

Logan Prince and his Husband Roman had been coming to the orphanage for around two months now. At first, they had been just like the other parents, going straight to the younger kids and trying to make a connection with one of them. But, that all changed when Roman had caught sight of Virgil’s phone and saw him listening to A Whole New World and engaged him into a conversation about his favourite Disney movie.

It turned out, Roman Prince was almost, almost, as passionate about Disney movies as Virgil was.

Logan had found them in the middle of an intense argument about whether or not Disney movies had dark messages to them. Apparently, according to Roman anyway, Logan had been impressed by Virgil’s arguments and the logic he had used. So they kept going to see him every time they came to visit.

It didn’t mean anything, of course. Logan had shown him a picture of their son, a peppy twelve-year-old by the name of Patton, and Virgil just knew that they wanted another one just like him. They didn’t want the moody sixteen-year-old who no one wanted to be a part of their family.

Virgil was pulled back to the present when Logan nodded and pulled another armchair close and sat down elegantly in it. “Good, I’m glad. How are you today, Virgil?”

Virgil shrugged and played with the cord of his headphones. “Okay, I guess. Um, I wrote another poem today and I tried to do what you showed me last time.”

That earned him a small but proud smile. “Excellent work. I have no doubt that the poem is just as good, if not better, than your earlier work. You have improved a lot since you first started.”

Virgil ducked his head and tried to hide his burning red cheeks. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“Virgil!”

Virgil looked up just in time to see Roman plop down beside Logan, wrapping his arms around his husband’s shoulders. “Hello, my Dark and Stormy Knight! How are you on this fine day?!”

He giggled a little at Logan disgruntled face and covered his mouth with his sweater paw. “I’m okay.”

Roman winked at him but then got a serious expression on his face, quickly being mirrored by Logan. Oh no. This was bad, they probably had bad news. They probably had chosen a kid now and were just coming to tell him that they weren’t going to talk to him anymore.

He shrunk down in his chair and looked at them anxiously. “Is everything okay?”

Logan’s serious expression immediately turned into a soothing smile. “Yes, of course. In fact, the two of us were wondering if we could ask you a question.”

Virgil slowly nodded and tightened his grip on his arms. “Um, sure. What is it?”

Roman grabbed Logan’s hand in his own and squeezed it. The two looked at each other before Roman asked nervously, “How would you feel about the two of use adopting you?”

Virgil stared at him in confusion, sure that his brain had melted and he was hearing wrong. “I, what?”

Logan tightened his grip on Roman’s hand. “We were hoping that you would be open to becoming a part of our family. In the time we’ve known you, we have really become fond of you and would love for you to be our son. Patton has heard plenty about you and would love to have an older brother. Of course,” he halted but kept going, “we understand if you rather not. But we both believe that we’d be excellent parents to you.”

Virgil blinked and looked around. Was he being pranked? He looked back at them and rubbed at his eyes. “You’re serious?”

Roman nodded solemnly. “Very, my knight.”

“But,” Virgil straightened up in his seat and gestured around the room wildly, “you got all these little kids to choose from! I’m sixteen, I’ll be going off to school in two years!”

Logan tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, we’re both aware, Virgil. I fail to see how you going off to school would affect this. And, as for the other children, I wish them all of the best but myself and Roman want you to be our son.”

Virgil swallowed and blinked back tears. “But, I’m a teenager. Teenagers don’t get adopted.”

“Ah, I see now,” Logan murmured, leaning forward to place a hand on Virgil’s shoulders. “Virgil, little one, I am so sorry that you have had bad luck with parents up until this point. But, I assure you, we want to adopt you very much. Would you like that?”

It was just too much. A sob broke out and Virgil curled up into a ball, leaning forward and being caught into Roman’s arms. Logan wrapped his arms around them both and Roman hummed what Virgil thought had to be a lullaby under his breath.

Virgil nodded frantically, clutching at Roman’s shirt. “Yes! Yes, I want, want to be a-adopted, please!”

Logan pressed a kiss to his temple. “Good, good. We’ll get the process started immediately. Welcome to the family, Virgil.”

Please send me an adoption prompt!

General Taglist

@punsterterry

@iris-sanders-athena​

@heck-im-lost

@sanders-trash-4ever

@tiredfluid

@sevenatee

@i-really-dig-the-purple

@detroit-become-pan

@trust-me-i-just-get-weirder

@radioactivehelena

@max-is-tired

@unikornavenger

@amazonprimebox

@emmydragon

@eli-galaxy

@lunareclipse-524

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

Fic: Come As You Are (2/11)

nope. i haven’t given up on this, no matter how long it takes me.

Summary: A series of codas/tags/missing scenes to every episode of the first season of TItans. 

Warnings: SPOILERS for the whole series, some swearing, violence and gore, lot of dense parenthetical nonsense and fancy formatting. I’ve also taken the liberty to fill in some gaps that were left by canon.

corresponding episode recap is here, and the episode recap series is here.

Chapter one is here.

Come As You Are

1.02

For about an hour into their drive out of Detroit, they say nothing.

Rachel is huddled awkwardly against the car door, staring at the floor or out the window. She doesn’t talk or even look at Dick for a while. He can’t really blame her; every time he blinks, he’s still seeing Rachel’s kidnapper’s face pressed against the glass, leaking blood and brains even as he melted from the inside-out. The last twelve hours have been a lot to take in, and for some time Dick lets the empty hum of cruising down the mostly-deserted highway fill his brain.

Things start filtering in eventually: Rachel sniffing, the creak of leather as she shifts in her seat, the whine of the engine, the cold bite of air through the crack in his window, the vibrations of his seat, the steering wheel under his hands—even the way his hair falls over his forehead, his shirt clinging to his back with cold sweat, the sense-memory of hot, sticky blood on his hands. Each of them plucks at his over-stretched nerves until he can’t stand it anymore: he grits his teeth and fantasises, very briefly, about ripping the steering wheel out and screaming until he loses his voice.

Instead, he says: “you hungry?”

Rachel looks at him warily. There’re flecks of blood on her chin and near her hairline, and Dick’s gut clenches at the sight. God, she’s a kid who’s just had two people murdered gruesomely in front of her, and here he is, no real destination in mind, about to get her snacks like they’re on a camping trip from hell. That’s not even counting the mysterious demonic force inside her body or the fact that she’s being chased by an honest-to-god cult—she needs actual help, like something someone from the League can provide, not a washed-up sidekick with anger issues who’s just barely keeping his life on track. What was he even thinking, just up and running like this without a plan, Bruce would be so—

Well.

Well, shit. So much for fuck batman—even his own brain was betraying him.

“Yeah, maybe,” Rachel mumbles to the dashboard.

Okay—okay. Dick can work with that. Make a plan. Step one. “There’s a rest-stop a couple of miles down the road,” he says, his voice sounding remarkably steady even to him, “we can stop for a bathroom break and some snacks. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Rachel says, still not looking at him.

When they stop, Rachel goes straight to the bathroom, and Dick takes a moment to breathe in the shadow of the convenience store. Clearly he needs to investigate what’s going on here, but before that, he needs to figure out what he’s going to do with Rachel. He doesn’t have the resources to protect her on his own (doesn’t think he can stand another second of being helpless as she clings to him, horrified and desperate), but he’s burned his bridges so thoroughly with most heroes—meta or otherwise—that he can hardly think of anybody who would welcome his presence as anything other than an insultingly transparent way to exploit their fraying goodwill. Besides, most heroes are well-connected to the League, and he absolutely in no way wants any of this to reach Bruce’s ears.

(there’s a part of him that thinks that Batman knows anyway. The thought makes his chest tighten and his skin prickles with barely reigned-in panic.)

In the end, he really only knows a couple of people who are still active heroes, and who couldn’t give a shit about what the Justice League thought, or knew. And even if they give him shit for showing up unannounced at their door after all these years—he deserves it all and more—they’re not going to turn away someone in actual need of help. Not even him.

Rachel’s walking towards him, her breath misting in the chill air, sweater sleeves tugged over her hands. “So,” she says, her voice trembling just a little, “are we going back to Detroit?”

“No.” He smiles at her, and for the first time in a while, feels the tightness in his chest ease just enough to allow in a semblance of the light and purpose that filled him the first time he jumped off the edge of a building as Robin. “We’re going to Washington.”

-

This is the end, Hank says, wracked with pain and crooked in all the wrong places. He smiles as he says it, though the smile is crooked, too, cracked through the centre with exhaustion and uncertainty. This one final operation and we’re fucking set for the rest of our lives.

Dawn nods, smiles, only half paying attention to the building schematics on the table. Inside, her heart thunders with anticipation, and her knee jiggles as she draws bright red, thick lines for the path that she will take right to the heart of the fight. Hank’s bait; a flashing beacon to draw fire (and another scar, and another scar, and another scar) while Dawn swoops in, taking down gunrunner after asshole after trafficker, feeling their bones crunch underneath her boot. It’s one thing to come home, weary down to your very bones, phantom punches still raining down on your body with every step you take; and quite another to be in the eye of the storm, spilling blood and laughter and thinking: this is all I’ve ever wanted—

“Babe?” Hank asks. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She gets up and walks towards him, cupping his face in her hands. Instantly, his rough edges soften, and he leans into her touch. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how if this is the last time we do this, we’ve got to give it everything.”

“Those fuckers won’t know what hit them,” Hank tells her, and Dawn thrills to the glint in his eye.

-

When Dick finally lets go of her, Rachel is reminded of peeling bandages and raw skin (sunken, sightless eyes and blood bubbling endlessly out of an open mouth) and she instinctively catches at his sleeve, not quite ready to have him leave.

He turns, and for a moment he glows blood red, just like the child in her dreams who saw his parents fall to their deaths, helpless. “Rachel,” he says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Rachel thinks of the nights Melissa would say that to her, utterly exhausted, shoulders slumped under limp hair. She even meant it, sometimes.

THEY NEVER MEAN IT.

“I know,” she says, letting go of his sleeve and gathering the hastily-drawn crosses around her along with what’s left of her composure, “I’m sorry. I just—I thought I saw the—the thing that made the other guy explode, and, and I don’t know, I thought maybe it’s here, or maybe because I’m here, more bad things are going to happen—”

“Hey, hey. Listen.” Dick gives her his most reassuring smile, but this time she notices that he doesn’t touch her. “I know you’re freaked, and you have every right to be, but I just got some leads to work on, and we’re going to figure this out, okay? I promise you that there’s nothing scary here—except maybe pizza that’s going to go cold very soon.” He gets up, tilts his head to the door.

HE PUTS ON A GOOD ACT, BUT HE’S NOT YOU.

She nods and follows him out of the bathroom. They eat in silence for a while, as Dick goes through several more papers that his computer spits out. She stares at him, nibbling at her piece, appetite entirely gone. He seems utterly unperturbed at the pictures that he’s looking through—though he is a detective, and (she hopes) he’s probably seen worse things. The only weird thing, honestly, is that he’s helping her at all after everything.

“Um,” Dick says suddenly. “You want to watch more TV?”

I want to know what’s going on, but you’re not telling me. “I’m okay, thanks,” she says.

Dick flashes her an awkward smile and goes right back to his papers. In any case, it’s better than what Melissa would usually do after Rachel had one of her… episodes, which was lock herself in her room and pray, then pretend nothing ever happened, as if Rachel couldn’t see her red-rimmed eyes, her flinches, her furtive looks whenever she thought Rachel wasn’t looking—

AND LOOK WHERE THAT GOT HER. AND JUST WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN TO HIM—

Rachel shudders. “Are we leaving?” she asks, if just to get out of her own head for a minute.

“Soon,” Dick says distractedly, flipping through another report. He doesn’t even look at her.

Well. At least that’s familiar.

-

“I’m sorry,” Dick says. “I’ll clean that up.”

And it’s that—more than showing up after dropping off the face of the earth for years, more than bringing some overpowered teenager to their doorstep, more than even cosying up to Dawn like he’s still fucking eighteen—the way he coolly dismisses the fucked-up thing that’s just happened like it never happened at all, that really pisses Hank off. He’s already looking for a broom and dustpan, and all Hank wants to do is punch that neutral expression right off his pointy face.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Hank says instead.

This is where Dick will come back with a wry smile and something meaningless and utterly infuriating like so I’ve been told, but Dick surprises Hank by saying, “I know. I’m sorry.” He drags a hand over his face. He looks tired, his hair tousled and greasy, dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a while. “I shouldn’t have—I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “About taking that kid in, or bringing her here?”

Dick is silent for a long moment. Then, in a moment of raw honesty that’s so far removed from his smug billionaire circus kid shtick that it throws Hank for a loop, “Both, I guess.”

“Well.” Hank turns around and rummages for the broom, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s what we do, right? Help people no matter how fucked-up and dangerous it gets?”

(no matter how much it kills you, piece by piece—)

“Even if you are an asshole?”

“Especially if you are an asshole,” Hank says firmly, and hands him the broom.

-

They’re gone.

It isn’t immediately obvious; every struggling, hard-won breath is like being stabbed over and over again, but enough time passes that Amy is aware that there is no fresh agony being inflicted on her, nor can she hear the voices of her assailants anymore. Another eternity is spent processing this and the fact that her body feels… broken on a level that she had never thought was possible.

(God. She knew partnering with a Gotham detective was going to be dangerous, but she didn’t think he would actually bring a piece of that godforsaken city with him—)

Her phone’s not far away—she can see the screen blinking to life by the couch as messages come in. She begins the slow, excruciating process of dragging herself there with one arm—the other utterly useless. Her wounds burn as they drag over the carpet and she almost passes out entirely several times, but somehow, she gets there, and presses 911 with trembling fingers.

“Please,” she whispers through a mouthful of blood to the operator who answers. “I don’t want to die.”

-

A hand closes over Dick’s shoulder, and for one long, hysterical moment, he expects to look up and see the imposing shadow of Bruce Wayne. Instead, it’s Hank, face half-obscured by blood dripping from a head wound and twisted into a rictus of agony so sharp it freezes Dick’s breath in his lungs.

“Dawn,” Hank whimpers, falling to his knees by her side, holding her hand. She’s past responding to him now, straining to breathe past the blood bubbling up her throat. Dick’s hands ache from chest compressions, but he isn’t sure any more if they would help.

“The ambulance is on its way,” he says, hoarsely.

Hank nods, never taking his eyes off Dawn. He cups her face with his hand, the movement so gentle that Dick feels like he’s intruding on an unspeakably private moment. “I don’t want you here when it comes,” he says.

Dick nods, numb. He stumbles to his feet, dizzy, feeling cold and hollow in all the places he’d kept under wraps for so, so long. He wants to fall to his knees and sob, wants to reach out and pull Hank by his shirt and snarl that he never meant for any of this to happen, wants to rage and vomit and despair. But the part of him that’s already planning ways to chase down their attackers, the part chiselled into shape by Batman and years of buried trauma, snaps into place, lifts his head, and makes him say, “All right. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

He turns and leaves, the sound of snapping wire still echoing in his ears.

[alleiradayne]

Yesterday’s Son

Summary: As the world fades away, Sam awakes on a beach. Square Filled: Apocalypse Warnings/Tags: Fluff, angst, mentions of death, world ending, apocalypse Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, a nameless man playing guitar Word Count: 1,888 A/N:  For @heavenandhellbingo, my first piece takes care of the Apocalypse square. I wrote this the day Jared, Jensen, and Misha announced the show was ending with Season 15. I guess this was how I processed that news. Song: Yesterday’s Son by Lifehouse

It had started with a whisper.

Metal had slashed through the air as a blade penetrated flesh and slipped between bones to spill sacred blood. With that singular death, the end had begun. An inexorable march had borne the entire world ceaselessly into oblivion. All because of one little death.

Ten years passed, each culminating in another step towards redemption. Someone had made a deal to preserve their world. But that had only delayed the inevitable. At the end of the decade, the end had claimed them all.

The dust had finally settled after weeks of endless fighting. All quiet on the abandoned city streets of Detroit, not a soul stirred. No one had survived the end. Not a single mortal creature had overcome that which had been foretold. No matter the choices they made, it always led to that final moment.

Fate. Destiny. Prophecy. Whatever you called it, the end had graced their world without warning. It had been nothing like the stories, the legends. In one moment, everything was fine. In the next, all hell had broken loose with a single choice.

None of that mattered then. Those boys had done their job and they had fulfilled their duty better than anyone could have hoped. That was, if anyone had known what to hope for. If only.

Buildings crumbled and faded from the world without witness. Long abandoned cars reduced to a fine grain and drifted away on the wind. Even the roads to nowhere soon evaporated and left behind nothing but open fields and sparse trees. But those too were not long for their world. The universe had run its course, breathed its last breath, and needed a little rest much like the people that had saved it.

And so, the fields of grass beneath the clear blue sky faded to nothing. The trees shriveled away and the sun’s light dimmed until it too ceased to exist. Then an inky black darkness settled as the moon and the sky vanished and left nothing in their wake. The universe had come undone, unraveled. Empty. Blank. A clean canvas.

“Sammy.”

Bright sunlight shown through closed lids as he squinted.

“Hey. Sam. Wake up, you gotta see this.”

Dean’s insistent shake of his shoulder dragged him up from the depths of a sleep he had not known in years. Too bright, Sam shielded his face as he opened one eye.

“What? What's going on?”

For a split second, Sam worried something had gone wrong but when he opened both eyes, he stared out over the ocean as the waves crashed upon the beach.

“Dolphins,” Dean said as he pointed. When he turned to Sam with a crooked grin, his face fell. “You okay? You look like you saw—”

“A ghost?” Sam interrupted with a grunt. He looked out to where Dean had pointed and found the pod of dolphins. “Yeah, must have been a bad dream.”

Dean turned to his left and asked, “Hand me a beer?”

Castiel flipped open the cooler and fished out a bottle of Margiekugel. With the top removed, he handed it to Dean who passed it on to Sam. “Here.”

Sam took the bottle but only held it, settled between his thighs clad in swimming trunks. “How long have we been here?”

Castiel leaned back in his chair and spoke. “Couple hours. Took a while to find some space. Beach is really crowded today.”

“Hey, man, are you alright?” Dean asked, a hand on his shoulder. “We've been here a while. You found this spot.”

When? Why couldn't he remember? He struggled to recall much of anything, in fact. Old memories, sure, but what of the last week? Month?

“Sam?”

Dean's concerned glare returned him to the present. With a shake of his head, Sam said, “Sorry. Must be the heat. And the beer.”

“You should probably drink some water,” Castiel growled as he passed a bottle of water to him. “And convince your brother to do the same.”

“Will you quit it with the water? I'm fine,” Dean barked as he handed the bottle to Sam. “But you’re not. What’s going on?”

He took the bottle despite his protests. “Dean, I'm fine. I think it's just the heat and I fell asleep. Weird dream.”

“What was it about?” Dean asked.

Sam wracked his brain as he tried to remember. “I… I'm not sure. For some reason, I thought the world was ending. Like, serious apocalypse level end.”

Dean scoffed at that, then laughed when Sam shrugged. “I'm surprised you're still worried about that.”

“I don't think I am,” Sam started. “Was just a dream…” His words trailed off, drowned by the waves as they crashed upon the beach.

“Okay,” Dean relented but not without another sidelong stare. “Just… lemme know if you want to go.”

Sam nodded as he looked out over the ocean. Mesmerized, he stared as a long-forgotten memory bubbled to the surface. He stood in a tiled hallway with Dean and they talked of a recent hunt. Dean appeared happy. And Sam remembered feeling happy, too.

But that was before…

“I’m glad we finally decided to do this,” Dean started. “Far as I'm concerned, we earned it.”

“Earned what?”

Dean glared at him. “Are you sure you're okay?”

Sam shrugged as he dug his toes in the sand. “Yeah, I feel fine. I just… my memory is a little fuzzy.”

“Huh. I suppose you did take another nasty shot to the dome again,” Dean explained.

Oh. A fight then. At least there was a reason for his aching head.

“Kinda why I figured we needed to hang it up. You were out for a few days. So, I called it. Time to retire.”

Retire.

Dean’s words echoed hollow between Sam’s ears, distant and unfamiliar. But then the memories flooded his mind as Sam recalled the last few months. The long battle, centuries foretold, had come to pass and they had won. Somehow, they had won. That part remained a mystery to him, and as he wracked his brain, little and less of it made any sense. One moment they had been fighting, pushing back angels and demons alike. And then the next…

The soft strums of a distant guitar penetrated his rambling thoughts, and a subtle tenor, warm and round, accompanied with words he knew by heart. He searched the beach for the source of the sounds and spotted a man a short way down the surf. He sat on a stool beneath an umbrella, a bucket at his feet. Passersby dropped coins and paper notes in as they walked, some stopped to listen, others hardly slowed. The man nodded his thanks, but never stopped signing, never stopped strumming, his song an endless story, perpetual, transcendent. But Sam knew it. He had heard it before, and so he hummed along.

The hours drifted by as the sun set to their right where land met the sea. Dean and Castiel began to gather up their things, folding chairs and collecting empty bottles. And though darkness loomed, the man and his guitar remained steadfast, still singing, still strumming. Compelled, Sam stood from his chair and crossed the beach, walking towards the setting sun. Something about that man resonated with him, and not just his song. As Sam neared him, his easy smile widened so his bright blue eyes crinkled. Through that familiar smile he sang those words Sam knew by heart.

He let the last chord ring, his story ended at long last. As the strings steadied, the man turned to him and spoke. “Hey, Sammy.”

Of course a random man on the beach with a guitar knew Sam’s name. No surprise there. “Hey.”

“You done good, son. You and your brother,” he continued. “Eh, and Cas, too, but I need to talk to him.”

Sam checked over his shoulder to find Castiel and Dean watched from their spot, waiting for him. When he turned back to the man, he asked. “What happened?”

The man gave him an appraising look. “Does it matter? You’re here with your brother and Cas.”

“I… can’t remember. There was fighting, a hell of a lot of fighting,” he said. “I thought the world was ending.”

The man shrugged. “Maybe it did.”

“What? How?” Sam asked, his heart racing.

The man raised a pleading hand as he spoke. “Sam, relax. You did what you had to do. Both of you did. And now…” he paused as he motioned to the beach, “you’re here.”

“But…” Sam stuttered, “what about everyone else?”

The man looked up and down the beach. “Oh, I imagine you might find them if you looked.”

Sam followed his stare along the ocean. “But… why?”

“Sam,” he started, “humans have been asking me that question for as long as I can remember. I still don’t have an answer. I probably never will.”

With another nervous look over he shoulder, Sam checked for Dean and Castiel. Dean raised both hands as if to ask what was going on, so Sam raised a single finger to ask for a little more patience. He turned back to the man and said, “Alright. Let’s say I believe you. If the world ended, then… what is all this?”

Those bright blue eyes looked out over the ocean once more before returning to his with an inquisitive gleam. “You haven’t puzzled it out yet?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand much of anything that’s gone on today.”

The man grasped his shoulder and pulled him close. “Just because things end doesn’t mean they cease to exist.”

“But it was the end, wasn’t it?” Sam asked.

The man quirked an inquisitive brow as he released Sam. With his guitar slung over his back, he hefted his bucket full of coins and notes of various denominations. As he turned and began to walk away, he looked over his shoulder and spoke.

“It was an ending.” He turned down the beach and waved. “See ya 'round, Sammy.”

Sam gaped, unwilling to believe anything he had heard. He turned to find Dean with his arms folded and Castiel sitting in the sand, chin resting in his hand. Did they know? Did Dean and Castiel understand what had actually happened?

Did he?

Sam turned back to ask the man one more question, but the beach sprawled empty, not a single footprint in the sand. His heart skipped a beat as he searched, eyes squinting in the fading daylight. Despite his best efforts, he found nothing. And then Sam understood. He could not have prayed for a better answer.

He turned on his heel with a small smile and returned to Dean and Castiel. As he neared, Castiel stood and hefted the cooler.

“What the hell were you doing?” Dean demanded. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked as he looked over his shoulder once more.

“You were standing there, by yourself,” Castiel stated. “When we get home, I highly recommend allowing me to check your concussion again.”

Sam shrugged as Castiel turned for the car and walked ahead of them. Before Dean moved, however, he glared at Sam once more and asked, “Are you sure you're okay? Positive?”

For the first time in so many years, Sam knew the answer without any doubt.

“I’m awesome. Let’s go home.”

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ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN HEAVEN AND HELL BINGO MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[coffee-with-bucky]

Compatible

Prompt: You’re a human made from skin and bones. He’s an android made from synthetic parts and metal. But that doesn’t hinder the love you two have for each other. 

Words: 1000 

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

A/N: This was an impromptu imagine I wrote at 4AM so if there are any mistakes or if anything doesn’t make sense I apologize in advance. Enjoy and feedback is appreciated! 

Despite the sky being completely pitch black, the stars decided they wanted to come out and play a game of hide-and-seek tonight. Lightyears away from earth, the luminous white spots were peeking behind thin clouds, peering down at planets in the galaxy. You were lying on your back on the hood of your car, observing the stars that were winking at you from above. The plain night sky was revamped by the glittering and twinkling stars as if an uninteresting black canvas was given dimensions that it desperately needed.  You sighed contently as the sound of Detroit nightlife was humming in the background.

“What’s on your mind?” Markus asked, leaning on a propped elbow right beside to you.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the noises in the distances. Car tires turning on asphalt. A few crickets chirping. A car horn. Winds whispering by. The metal chains of a swing set creaking.

Opening your eyes, you turned to your side and leaned on your elbow to meet Markus’ optical units. You gazed softly while looking into those beautiful heterochromic irises.

“Everything seems right, you know?” You said with a grin, “It took a while, but everything is at peace. Most androids and humans are living amongst themselves in harmony.”

Markus smiled, grasping your hand with his, “It wasn’t easy, but all we needed were sympathetic humans to understand. Sympathetic humans like you.”

You gave a sad smile, biting your lower lip as you lowered your head.

“I just wish my friends were just as understanding.”

Markus felt one of his heart, or in his case thirium pump, strings being tugged upon hearing your recent hardship. He knew what you were talking about and he couldn’t help but feel guilty about your whole ordeal. Last year after much contemplation, you finally decided to tell your friends about your relationship and ended up revealing who Markus really was. They immediately disapproved of the idea of you being with an android, listing every single negative that they could think of. All you wanted was for them to be considerate of your decision. It was your life. You decide who you wanted to be and not be with. Eventually, your friends pretended that your relationship reveal didn’t occur and continued on with other matters and their lives. They still cared about you, they just didn’t support who you were dating.

“If only I wasn’t an android…” Markus muttered, heaving a heavy sigh.

“This was never your fault,” You said, brushing your thumb across the back of his hand, “Don’t be ashamed because of who you are, Markus. It was my choice to tell them.”

He gave a slight nod, squeezing your hand back.

“The only thing that’s at fault is my heart,” You chuckled, “It fell for you hard and in turn, I fell for you harder.”

Sliding off the hood, you stretched your stiff arms and legs. The city lights caught your eye as you observed the river on the other side of the park. You breathed in the fresh night air as determination began to rise within you.

“You know what? I love my friends, I really do, but I love you more. I don’t give a damn what they say anymore. I’ve never been this fortunate before in my life and I’m not going to let their opinions take away my happiness. I love you so much, Markus.” You admitted.

Getting off to join you, Markus stood in front of you and took your hands with his. Leaning forward, he placed a delicate kiss on your forehead,

“I love you so much more.” He smiled.

You mirrored his smile as he reached up to cradle your face with his hands. He caressed your cheeks with his thumbs, making you close your eyes as you leaned into his gentle touch. A pair of lips met yours, causing your breath to hitch for a brief moment before you softened into Markus kiss. His hands drifted away from your face and leisurely wrapped his arms around your middle, bringing you closer to him. You responded back as you loosely hung your arms around his neck.

Pulling away, you mimicked Markus’ actions from earlier as you held his face in your hands. You brushed a thumb across his cheekbone, gazing over his features. Standing on your tip-toes you leaned up to kiss his temple where his LED used to be before wrapping your arms around his middle for a hug. You rested your head against his chest as he intuitively embraced you, placing his chin on the top of your head. For an android that was made out of synthetic parts, he gave you the best hugs ever.

“Your body temperature is dropping. We should probably head back home.” Markus concluded after detecting your temperature.

You chuckled, “You and your constant analyzing.”

“That’s just how I’m programmed.” He grinned while kissing the crown of your head.

Releasing you from his hold, Markus reached for your hand, laying the palm of his hand flat against yours. He brought your connected hands upwards, revealing his white synthetic skeleton. You smiled as you watched the pads of his hand illuminated blue against your skin.

For androids, connecting hands is a method to share memories and a way to create stronger bonds with other androids. It was as easy as downloading files. Of course, with you being a human, it was impossible for this to work. However, even though this feature isn’t compatible between androids and humans, Markus still joined your hands together. Because at the end of the day, it represented how strong of a bond the two of you have. You didn’t have to be an android in order to understand him and he didn’t have to be a human to understand you. You and Markus were compatible, it was just the route the both of you chose to be where you were today. All it took was time, patience, and compassion.

“Let’s go home.” You beamed.

[dystopiandisastercontrol]

General Collection of Old OC Dribbles

Pretty self-explanatory. Stuff from the old iteration of the blog, returning to keep this one generally active.

---------------------------------------------

First-Hand Experience

The scar on her leg is hidden from view, and very few have seen it. It’s a surgical scar, long and clean, knit back together perfectly. Something morbidly pretty to hide the defect of how the bones beneath porcelain-pale skin healed. She doesn’t actively show the scar, but the limp is prominent.

She refuses a cane, always has. It holds no real support, she says, and only furthers to remind her that she is a cripple. It won’t help. It can only hinder her more. People respect that. Why should she need it when she hobbles faster without it than with it.

A little cube-avatar pops up next to her head, within the cylinder of blue screens projected by the little chip she has placed on the ground under her. One of the ceiling crews, those in charge of keeping the Dome far above from decaying and crashing down on the city below.

There is a panel loose, he says. They’re checking for any sort of damage to both the supports and the surrounding panels. They’ll rivet it back down when they’re sure it’s safe, but they’ll need the heavy guns next to the trucks. She relays the news to a small group of Cablers with little to do amid the hustle and bustle of the rest working to stabilize another skyscraper for anchoring. They will be on standby.

It started when she first started talking, a dull throb in her right leg. She shifts her weight more to the left, but it’s still there. For a brief moment, her face twitches in emotion. Lips drawn thin just a bit before resuming its usual apathy. The leg does this every time they talk of panels, a not-so-subtle reminder to herself of why the Dome panels are important. Why they were slotted into the maintenance schedules every week.

Dome panels are heavy. She knew that even before the first one succumbed to gravity. Almost twelve years ago now. It wasn’t long after they moved in, while they were slotting into their respective societal niches.

She’s lucky she wasn’t wholly crushed, it was her split-second instinct to run at the echoing sound of screaming metal that likely saved her from worse. It’s only sad to say that her right leg wasn’t as lucky as she was. It was the only time she remembers showing emotion publicly.

-------------------------------------------

Sky

We have a joke among us.

‘The sky’s the limit!’ ‘That’s a pretty short limit!’

It’s a joke to us because of the existence of the Dome. It seems really far up there, almost like the sky from where we are, almost a full hundred levels below it. But we’ve actually touched it. That’s no sky. It’s no better than the artificial sky Kane puts over the top of Deluxe. It’s a really terrible substitute.

We’ve seen the sky. The real sky. It’s not something you can touch. It’s something to really aim for.

I remember on good days, it was clear and blue. Not just one shade, but several shades of blue, mixed and fading in and out of one another. There might have been wisps of clouds. Due to the air currents coming off the lakes, we didn’t get the big fluffy clouds too often.

The air never stopped moving, really. There were days when it would be a little slower, a bit of a light breeze to ruffle the grasses and trees some, but it never came to a standstill save right before a big storm. Living next to a lake the size of a small sea does that, keeps the air moving. Most of the time, if you didn’t get a whiff of Detroit, the air was permeated with the smell of cold fish. After a while, you get used to it and it doesn’t bother you anymore.

At night, the sky darkened to a very dark blue, though it had a warmer undertone, like a promise day would return. If you were lucky and Detroit’s light didn’t bleed too far into it, you could see stars. Pinpricks of light. The further you got from the cities, the more stars you could see until the sky looked like a black canvas that someone had splattered glitter and white paint across.

I remember the weather, too. The wind, of course. There was always wind at some level. I remember the rain the most. The best weather to me will always be rain. It washes away impurity. The world appears fresh and new after it rains. There’s a smell to it that you can never forget, one of cleanliness. It is immersive. You can lose yourself to it, and it gives you the hope that you can start anew. Snow was always a plus; it covers the world in white. All the blemishes given by nature were washed away, even if only temporary. It might be cold and harsh, but at the same time, it’s delicate.

I wonder if the weather still rages outside the Dome. I bet it does. The Dome can cut us off from the world. In here, where if something drips on you, you’d better get tested to make sure you’re not irradiated. But it can’t stop the world turning and changing on the outside.

'The sky’s the limit!’ 'That’s a pretty short limit!’

One day, maybe. One day, we’ll see the sky once more.

-------------------------------------------

Awake

Awake I - War and The Beast

The pangs are prominent, and are what initially wake it.

Deep within the entangled mess of wires and cables up near the ceiling of the Dome, it wakes. A shuffling stir of heavy fabric against hardened nylon, the hum of electrical current droning out the sounds of outside.

It unfolds with a crickling snap of long-unused joints, yawning wide to display the tools of the trade plainly. Hearing returns, giving away nothing but the typical ambiance and in safety, it uncoils from its space to resume its vigilance above. Stretches to further limber are taken with every stride and movement, steps careful and practiced across the usual perch.

Eyes glint silver, color of snow and frigid ends, a brief shift before resuming the abyss of oceans; dark, cruel, unforgiving. Scan of below before it begins to bubble and boil, starting in its chest and pushing up through parted jaws thrown wide.

It starts as a screech, escalates to the sound of a roar over those below. An assertion of dominance over its hunting ground, a reminder of monsters of old rising anew to begin the hunt again.

Awake II - Death and Vatka

It echoes through the air, the roar of the unpredictable unlikely guardian living at the ceiling. Every morning, at this time, he hears it down in the depths. Too organic to be mechanical, reverberating with the stale wind off cables and wires over the Cemetery Basin. They vibrate eerily, a song of ghosts through makeshift tombstones and across painted imagery of gape-mouthed spirits swirling through the ruins of what was once the bustling hub of the city, a bastion of the old world.

The dead are disturbingly expansive, and for others it is a lonesome lifestyle. Not so much for him, who hears the speech of the passed in whispers and laughter. Nor for his hulking mechanical companion.

She follows him down through a carefully-wound path, from altar to the plateau, rising as he beckons from where she sat not unlike a living dog. He muses a little to her, and she titters in that strange way of hers at his revelations.

Greetings to early visitors, both to the cemetery and to the apothecary gleaming like a beacon at the center of the depression. It is a calm morning, and hopefully an equally calm day.

Awake III - Famine and Plague

The call is heard much easier in the upper reaches of the city.

It is far too normal to truly pay mind to, so muses the Russian behind a cylinder of interfacing consoles, eyebrow over one eye quirking. Not often emotion is expressed on that face, and even then, it is brief before apathy reigns it all back in and it falls flat.

Someone to her side asks about plans concerning the Dome above them. She whisks her fingers down and up, pulling a series of files out of the column of screens, a push sending them to the other's console. Banter back and forth, the sound of machinery drowning out speech.

A panel came loose high above them in the night. It's a hazard they can't leave; Dome panels are massive and can cause more damage than any one attack by Kane if they fall. She intercepted the messages and brought Plague to boot. Together, they arrived with the Cablers to the area. They've all been working since early morning.

Her android brother is with a group above, stabilizing equipment and tools, or holding the offending panel itself in place while his comrades work diligently to bolt it back down. Someone shouts from one corner, waving a hand to catch attention. The metal has rusted through in this corner. They will have to replace a substantial portion of it to ensure the safety of those below.

What should only be a morning job has just gotten longer.

----------------------------------------------

Morning Routine

Four-thirty in the morning was always a bit chill. Dawn usually was, even inside the Dome, but down in the Old Detroit Basin, it always seemed at least a few degrees cooler.

Not that Death minded it much, the Haitian shouldering a small pack to begin his usual morning trek to The Altar down in the bowl itself, a spot constructed crudely of chunks of concrete with the Loa veves for both Legba and Samedi scratched into the surface of a large flat piece, like a plaque. In giving offerings to both the spirits and to the ghosts that wandered the cemetery, the plateau would be approachable for the day. Which was exactly what he was after, since that was where the apothecary rested.

The lights on the surviving city block of the plateau shone warm and yellow, a beacon in an otherwise drab world. There were no lights directly in the cemetery that surrounded the upraised place of the past, leaving it with the residual lights from far above. He surveyed the land he had been maintaining for little over a decade, inhaling deeply the smell of stale earth and cool air before descending down the curling road into the basin below.

The light was faint and seemed to suck all the color out of everything, just bright enough to read the crude scratchings of names and dates, epitaphs and well-wishes in the here-after across makeshift tombstones made of any stony material people could get their hands on. Rows were barely existent, making it look like crooked teeth in an old giant's open mouth. Somewhere in the depths were the remnants of power lines and cables from generations before of what Detroit used to be, looking like tentacles reaching into the depression. The air moved a bit, displaced by people racing about in the upper levels and circulated with the massive ventilation fans in the upper curve of the Dome far above. It whistled through the old cables, making them vibrate in eerie twangs, a melancholy and impromtu dirge for those thousands buried in the soil that had been an older, free Detroit.

For anyone else, the cemetery would have been a dark and dreary place to spend one's existence. To the whistling Caribbean making his way down from the Cemetery Plateau and into the graves themselves, this was simply a way of life. Someone had to maintain the dead, as a reminder to the living and as a reminder to themselves. And that someone happened to be the Vodou ghost-talker making his way down predetermined paths, beaten flat over time into dirt roads that all converged on the center rise, where the last surviving city block of Old Detroit still stood.

Wisps played among the tombstones, bobbing shadows up and down. Once or twice, he caught the glance of eyes, or felt them looking in his direction. Whenever he actively caught them, a jovial wave was given. Just because they were dead didn't mean they didn't want to be treated like they were. It was a rule to greet placid ghosts, and these were only curious, as they were every morning.

The Altar rose in the dreary gloom, the pedestal approached with a sort of quiet reverence. Even those spirits curious and following the ghost-talker stopped at the base of the rise it sat on, overlooking the back half of the cemetery, that darker portion where the lights from above didn't penetrate.

"Bon maten." he addressed the veves carved on the back piece, stopping in front of the flat table in front of it and dropping the pack he had brought with him. "I hope y'two had a lovely sleep."

Another wind rattled the cables deep in the darker portion of the cemetery, causing a far-off clanging sound. He took that as his answer from the two Loa, pulling out a set of wooden bowls, dipping saucers, and cups; two sets each. These, he scattered routinely across the tabletop and set about pouring a half-bowl of something resembling cream, dabbling a bit of fresh honey into the saucers, and pouring cups of moonshine. It wasn’t the rum he had been taught to use, but any alcohol would do. To his left, he set a bundle of dried tobacco leaves for smoking.

"Hope y'enjoy breakfast, wi?" he added before picking up the shoulder bag and turning to leave. "Mèsi poutèt ou, for watchin' over all us in the Basin."

The unseen cables rattled again, brightening his unpainted face with a smile as he strode back down the rise into the cemetery again. It was going to be a good day, he reasoned, catching sight of a cluster of short shadowy ghosts ahead of him on his path back to the plateau.

"Ah, can't be forgettin' any of you, can I." he chuckled, setting about on the second task of the morning before the shop opened.

Before he had returned to tend the greenery he sold and paint himself for the day, small clusters of brightly-colored candies and toys, mingled with shot glasses of the same moonshine, added a sense of life into the otherwise colorless graveyard.

[helheimraptor]

Such a dream [Elijah Kamski x Reader]

Word Count: 1523

Warnings: A little bit of smut, it hints at it definitely but it isn’t explicit.

Background: The first bit is from my story, this original version of the first part was more explicit but I made it more family friendly and then I decided to continue it and base it slightly off of things i’ve seen about bilingual characters and how adorable they are and also R.E.M from Ariana Grande is a great song so this is how this came to life. Enjoy?  

Extra: If you request it I can make something like this for other characters from DBH as well because I feel like that would be cool, or I can do head-cannons with this theme? Idk Request things for me to write pls. Also Unedited kinda.

"Anna, I need to talk to you for a few minutes, got some time?" Elijah asks me.

I look from Elijah to the door and back to Elijah and nod as he smiles and takes a seat.

I go to take a seat opposite him but he stops me and sits me down on his legs.

I gasp at the sudden movement and he chuckles.

"So, you are the famous deviant hunter, I've heard about you and honestly you are quite remarkable," Elijah praises.

"Why thank you," I reply smiling.

"Now the reason I wanted to keep you back was because I wanted to talk to you about this deviant situation you had last night," Elijah says softly.

His voice sends shivers down my spine as he lowers his voice.

Elijah brushes my hair behind my left ear, revealing my piercings which he admires.

"What do you want to talk about in referral to that?" I question.

"I wanted to ask about who do you think could possibly be helping that android," Elijah says.

"Well there was a deviant that we interviewed a few months back that was sent to the dumpster, but it could possibly be a revenge mission," I trail.

"Hmm," Elijah says as he remains silent.

"There were some deviants at the strip club in town that Connor didn't shoot so it could also be them getting revenge on me for some reason, but that wouldn't make sense," I explain.

Elijah looks at my collar bones that are poking through the top of my black shirt.

"Quite possibly, but that wouldn't make much sense as you said," Elijah says as his eyes slowly lower down my body, taking in the features of my body that are present with what I am wearing.

I have my signature tight black t-shirt on that is tucked into my navy blue police pants with my belt around my waist - which contains my gun, radio, phone, keys, badge and I.D - my shirt hugs my features tightly, which means my breasts, waist and stomach are on show, but through fabric. My collar bones stick out the neckline of my shirt which almost every guy looks at immediately.

"Yeah, so I'm not sure who else would have been involved, unless it could be someone who was helping one of the deviants that I took down within the past few months," I mention.

"That could be a possibility," Elijah says as he plays with my long blonde hair.

I let Elijah play with my hair because I don't really mind when people do it as I don't feel it that much.

"I probably should get back to the precinct as Hank and Connor will be wondering where I am," I say quietly and quickly.

"Of course, sorry to keep you so long," Elijah says as I stand up.

"Oh don't worry about it, thanks for having me and helping me with my deviant problem, if you ever need or want to talk to me here's my number and address," I say handing Elijah a piece of paper that I scribbled down my number and address on.

"Thanks," Elijah says smiling. "I'll stop by tomorrow if you want help fixing your place."

"That'd be great, I'll see you tomorrow then," I say leaving the building.

"Bye."

I exit Elijah's house and walk to Hank's car where both the guys are still waiting. I hurry to the car, apologising profusely as I get into the front seat.

"He likes you," Hank says as we drive off.

"Yeah obviously, he was checking me out, anyway I'm so sorry I took so long guys," I say looking behind me at Connor and smiling.

"Don't stress."

I relax at those two words coming from Hank's mouth and I slump back into my seat, listening to the music playing on the radio, hearing Hank care about me and tell me not to stress is one of the only things that gets me to relax because Hank is so asshole-ish all the time.

•••••••••

6 months later

The loud music of the party was getting a bit overwhelming as I wander around trying to find my boyfriend.

My eyes scan the crowd a couple times my eyes locking with co-workers who try to flirt with me. Eventually my eyes lock with the man I was trying to find, I approach him with a soft smile.

"Biggest party here in Detroit at this time of year," my boyfriend says as he wraps an arm around my shoulders when I stand next to him.

"Just to say the least," I chirp up with a smile as I look up at him.

"How nice of you to turn up."

"You know I could never miss an opportunity like this," I say kissing his lips quickly.

"Kamski! Richards!" I hear a voice shout from behind us.

Both Elijah and I turn around to see Hank and Connor behind us, both dressed up nicely.

"Ah if it isn't Lieutenant Anderson and his partner Connor, lovely to see you boys," I say giving both of them a hug, feeling Elijah's eyes burn into the back of my head.

"Lovely to see you too, it's been a while," Hank says as him and Connor shake Elijah's hand.

"Yeah, about a month i'd say," I say returning to Elijah's side.

"A month and five days to be exact," Connor says with a small smile.

Hank, Elijah and I all giggle at Connor's comment as Chloe comes around with drinks, which I gratefully accept.

"Wait so how long have you two been, y'know," Hank asks me and Elijah.

"Uh, what, about like 5 months?" I say looking up at Elijah.

"Yeah, just after the revolution ended," Elijah adds.

Elijah's hand drops from my shoulders down to rest on my hip as he pulls me closer to him.

"I'm gonna catch up with Hank and Connor for a bit okay? I'll be back soon," I say giving Elijah a kiss before walking to a quiet part of the room with Hank and Connor.

"You two seem pretty lovestruck," Hank comments as we sit down, looking out over the barren landscape.

"heh, you could say that."

I look over to Elijah who is talking to his guests, greeting them and making sure they get drinks and food.

"Anna, over here," Hank jokes while clicking in my face.

I zone back into reality and smile at the two boys in front of me.

"So what's been happening with you guys?" I ask.

Hank and Connor explain what has been happening in their life at the moment while I listen and think about how I should join the Police Force again.

"I'm thinking of joining the force again, should I?" I ask Hank specifically.

"Of course, we'd love to have you back!" Hank says happily.

I take a glance over at Elijah who is talking with some high school friends of his, making now the perfect time to embarrass him.

"I'll be back in a sec," I say standing up, adjusting my outfit which is a black jumpsuit with leg slits and black heels, my hair in it's classic high ponytail.

I walk over to Elijah and his group of friends, my hand resting on his broad shoulder, I lean down to his ear and open my mouth as I whisper something into his ear.

"Dois-je attendre dans la chambre, mon amour?" [Shall I go wait in the bedroom, my love?]

Elijah's face goes bright red as he looks up at me and gets a face full of breast.

Elijah turns to face his mates and looks down at his lap, face extremely red.

"So what's the answer sweetheart?" I whisper again.

Elijah starts to fiddle with his hands now before turning to me and kissing me passionately.

Elijah's friends all murmur something before one starts to cheer him on, I pull away quickly and walk over to his friend that was cheering very quickly.

"You wanna do that again? Because I am not afraid to kick you out, neither is Lij, so you can test your luck buddy or leave now and save yourself some embarrassment," I say sternly.

I return to Elijah and sit on the arm of the chair he is sitting on, while his arm moves behind me and rests on my hip again.

"Tu es un tel rêve pour moi," Elijah whispers back sensually. [you're such a dream to me]

"Shall we continue this conversation later then?" I question in referral to Elijah's friends and his horniness at the moment.

"Yes."

After everyone has left Elijah comes up from behind me and hugs me and kisses my neck.

"You know how to treat it," I softly hum as Elijah carries me to his bedroom.

Elijah puts me down at the entrance to his bedroom and I turn around, stopping him from going anywhere as I put my hands on his chest, slowly running them downwards.

"Boy you're such a dream to me," I sing innocently.

Elijah lets out a soft moan as I continue to sing.

"I watch them other girls when they come and bug you," I sing, cocking my head slightly, letting my ponytail fall to the side as Elijah kisses me softly, pushing me onto the bed.

Boy you're such a dream, if you can believe babe, boy you're such a dream to me.

[thenervousmedic]

A coffee a day... (Connor x Reader)

Note: Oof. This was certainly something to write.

Also! adding a ‘Keep reading’ line for all you poor phone users who have to scroll past all my rubbish <3

Not even 2k words, i’m so sorry, I feel a bit disappointed in myself, i’ll do better next chapter. ;w;

Chapter 10: Blinded by memories.

A rancid stinging assaulted your senses. The scent of blueblood intermingled harshly with old mould, the decay of the warehouse adding to it, a concoction of metallic burning and rotting wood making walking further into this place a nightmare. Unfortunately… the smell wasn’t the only discouraging thing adding to your growing anxiety. The thirium trail you and Connor followed had grown wild, unruly, with splatters covering the floor and smears trailing their way up the wall.

The warehouse was large… uncomfortably so. All the air in it sat still and quiet; not even the dust that hung in the atmosphere moved of its own accord. Your presence moving a small field around you, breathing life into a small bubble that surrounded you and your partner. Connor had already noticed the disgusted expression you wore. Taking light, slow, steps up a winding metal staircase as to keep your collective presence a surprise to the possible madman hiding somewhere in this building. The idea made your skin tingle from head to toe, seemingly forgetting the major downside of having a healing gunshot wound altogether.

The staircase wailed as Connor neared the top, his whole body stiffening while the LED on his temple flickered a shining yellow.

“Stay close.” He wasn't asking you, he was telling you, his voice low and grumbling as he tried to stay stealthy. The hand that held yours suddenly pulling away sharp enough for you to remember you were holding it to begin with. Slender fingers wrapping around something just behind his belt- a gun. A fucking gun, since when did he have that?

The upper floor wasn't as sparse as the open lower hangar. Boxes littering the hallway where several doors all lay open lazily, Old scraps of newspapers catching your attention for a moment.

That moment ended with a clattering. Something plastic and metal sounding as I'd it had been thrown across a room down the hall, your gut churning in response.

“Not good enough. No, not good enough. Again!” Chanted down the hall, drowning put your advancements as you perked up from behind Connors shoulders.

The voice was… Hmm. Familiar?

It was recognisable but you couldn't tell where from. Determined, self deprecating, dangerous. The ambition behind it housed frightening levels of perseverance. It itches at your ears, the tone like someone had drowned an android in hot oil then forced it to shout for hours on end, a hidden ember in your chest rekindling as it screamed again.

“It’s not WORKING!”

Connor’s arm hovered out in front of your chest, his gun hand firmly locked up in front of him, jaw tensed. Darkened brown eyes unmoving from the partially open door that the two of you now faced. Prickles of electricity ran up and down the hairs on your neck, like energy from behind the door was surging up your back.

--

With a swift, elegant, movement the RK800 kicked the door open wide, gun aimed out in front of him as he roared. “Freeze, Detroit police!” A flurry of scrap metal parts skidding across the floor. His whole body jolted back, suddenly feeling loose and wobbly at the sight in front of him.

Thirium pooled across the ground like thick, deep blue, rainwater. Remains of androids scattered haphazardly across the ground with some completely unrelated electrical circuits and components thrown aside into a hoard. It was enough to make Connor visibly recoil- his eyes widening to the carnage that was this butcher room. Some of the biocomponents he managed to scan weren't even recognisable from how far they had been mutilated and torn.

A figure stood before the two of you. Hunched over a table with its scrawny bone-like frame twitching and ticking with every nanosecond that passed by. Long draping blonde hair hung matted and clogged in blueblood as Well as other questionable substances. It's breaths ragged and out of sync. “Youuuuu.”

It felt as if every feasible sensor in Connors system had just been hit with sub zero temperatures. A solid wall of ice simultaneously setting itself up and shattering all at once. He knew the voice from… somewhere. He recognised this voice. “Put your hands where we can see them.”

With slow, sluggish, movements it shifted its weight. Raising both hands to above it's head while still glaring down at the scratched up table in front of it. It said something but it was much too quiet to hear over the thrumming of his own Thirium pump. “What?” You had asked curiously from behind Connors broad back, watching the monsters head whip towards you at the sound of your voice.

It seemed to hesitate but soon spoke up…

“Model RK800: 313 248 317 - 52…”

No…

“Execute B10C0D3 cache 794-C, authorization code 20019.”

Pain. At least the android equivalent of it. His gun clattered to the floor, firing off an unexpected shot at the impact- The suspect and yourself flinching at the sound before they quickly grabbed something and fled.

Connor dropped to his knees, both hands clasped roughly at either side of his head with a desperate cry. Eyes forced shut while he grit his teeth without thinking. Bright flashing enveloping his vision with images and sped up recordings that would be been nonsense to a human mind. Information flooding into his system like a hurricane.

--

You lunge forward before instantly doubling back on yourself as Connor collapsed to the floor instead of giving chase. Feeling every muscle in your throat and chest constrict at the guttural wail he screamed out. Whatever was happening it was hurting him and you had to stop it. You had to.

“C-Connor! Connor are you alright? What's happening-?” Panic strains through your words, the shakiness of your hands making it difficult to place them firmly on his shoulders, kneeling down in front of him with a furrowed brow. His whole body was tensed and rock solid. Arms shaking from the force they pressed onto his head.

Ignoring the sounds of your enemy's footsteps sulking out as he got away, you put your hands over Connors, trying to get him to look at you. “Hey, hey it's alright, it's ok. You're going to be ok.”

--

His systems blared and barked at him. Warning signs, update progress, and ‘unauthorised access’ all leading to an overwhelming mess of incomprehensible data. The sweet sound of your voice feels distant, as of his head had been shoved underwater, just barely mashing to pry open a painfully squinted eye to look at you.

He grunted, taking in deep shuddering breaths that helped to focus in the blurred video that repeated before his eyes.

A family. They were going out for… something. The car it… it tipped. He could feel the shards of glass as they tore through his skin. The yelp of his partner as her head collided with the dashboard- the sky turning on it’s head as the car rolled violently.

“Hey, hey it's alright, it's ok. You're going to be ok.”

He swallowed. Feeling his synthetic lungs hitch every few breaths. The warmth of your hands on his own bleeding through the chilled sparks that ran through his sensors. “Y-Y/N I… I can’t see-” He choked out, vision still engulfed in white. Dragging his hands away from his head, your own leading them down in front of the two of you. Holding him gently. “You… Alright. Ok, that’s fine, that’s ok.” He would’ve enjoyed the soft chuckling that rumbled from you if it wasn’t for the heavy alarm it was trying to mask. “You’ll get your vision back, I promise, ok? Just… Just uh- Hey, uhm, here-” His thirium pump almost stopped once your hands disappeared from his own, a frozen fear-like response shattering his resolve. Looking wildly around for you despite not being able to see. Flinching when you did eventually come back to him- your arms wrapping under his to help him stand. The thirium that coated the floor dribbling down his trouser legs from where his knees had sat in it. “I’m still here, i’m not going anywhere.”

--

Hank growled as his phone sang merrily at him, sat in his car with the windows tightly shut and the heater on, warm air humming softly from the vents. Unknown number… Hank doesn’t get many phone calls, especially not ones from strangers. He debated over ignoring it, listening to the call tire itself out, or simply declining the call. But curiosity was a dangerous thing. Who was even calling him? Why were they calling him? It’s worth at least hitting the answer button to find out. Not like it’ll kill him, right? Sigh *Click. “This is Hank, what do you want?” “Hank?! Hank, oh thank god, I thought maybe your phone was on silent or-” A strong primal impulse rattled Hank’s brain- worsening the aftereffects of his Hangover with a splitting headache as he rushed to sit upright. “Whoah, kid, slow down. What’s wrong, are you hurt?” “What? No, no, i’m fine. It’s Connor…”

“Connor?… where are you?” Something distant pulled at the back of Hank’s chest. His head and heart arguing inaudibly over the feeling that tried to grab at them both. Concern. Empathy. Whatever you wanted to call it. This walking tin can was going to give him a heart attack. The roar of the car engine sputtering and gurgling as he stepped on the gas. Tires grabbing tiredly at the road beneath them to pull the car forward. “Keep talking slugger, what’s going on over there?” “Uh, the uh, warehouse. Um, ssssecond left from my apartment, northeast of the precinct I think. It’s the big abandoned one with ‘Greymann gravel.co’ on the front.” “I know it. Vaguely. What’s wrong with Connor?” “H-Hank i’m so sorry it’s my fault, we went after this… ‘thing’ and it’s blinded him somehow. I don’t think it’s permanent but he’s worse than a bat right now, I don’t know what to do.” “Is this ‘thing’ still around?” A gritty anger rested at the edge of his voice. “No. They got away.....”