#also my local newspaper had a. front page article | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sleepingdeath-light · 4 months ago

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lunch break ; 18+

kinktober day eighteen

pairing ; jamie winton x trans male!reader insert

fandom ; you, me & the apocalypse

masterlists ; fandom | kinktober | ao3

content ; phone sex, mutual masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex acts

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

This move was actually going to kill you.

You could see the headline already: ‘local man found dead, crushed under mountain of cardboard boxes’ slapped across the front page of the newspaper, nestled between a mind-numbing celebrity gossip article and the latest fear mongering bollocks about something no one in their right mind would ever think about otherwise… maybe they’d even lean more on the tragedy angle and put a blurry pixelated-to-hell-and-back picture from your wedding day right in the centre of the page. There were a few particularly shit photos in your album that you refuse to get rid of (despite your darling husband’s objections) and the thought of any of those getting printed for everyone and their mother to see was enough to make you snort out a laugh despite yourself.

As you continued to move boxes and unpack all of the tat Jamie couldn’t bear to part with, your train of thought continued to follow that rather morbid track: were the boxes even heavy enough to take you out or would you just be trapped in place until poor Jamie found you? Lord knows your Jamie, for as much as you appreciated his physique, was a terribly lanky man and he certainly wouldn’t be able to rescue you from your cardboard prison on his own and you’d sooner let the earth itself devour you whole than be faced with the shame of needing to be saved from your mortifying corrugated sepulchre by your new neighbours. You hadn’t even learned their names yet!

Well, nobody except for your neighbour to the right. A lovely older woman in her twilight years… Maude? Mavis? Maggie? It was definitely an ‘M’ name… or was it an ‘N’? You weren’t really paying attention to what she was saying at the time, too focused on bringing more boxes inside.

Fucking boxes. You were sick of the damn things. If Jamie told you he wanted to move again after all of this you’d cry.

Then again you already felt like you were going to cry now and you weren’t even halfway through your dragon’s hoard of ceiling high stacked boxes. Frankly it was nothing short of a miracle that you hadn’t sliced clean through your hand yet given just how much ductape you’d had to cut through so far — but you also weren’t going to celebrate quite yet lest you actually jinx yourself.

Heaven forbid you have to drive yourself down to the local hospital to get stitches for something so stupid. You might actually have to move again after pulling a stunt like that…

That was enough of that thought experiment, you decided with a huff, no point embarrassing over yourself over something that hasn’t even happened (yet) and wasn’t going to happen (you reached over and knocked twice on the hardwood floor beside you). Better to focus on the task at hand and not let those ideas overstay their welcome.

You pulled open the flaps of yet another box and laughed heartily at the first thing you saw: Jamie’s pink underwear. He’d been looking for those before he left for work this morning, you recalled with a smile, and he’d surely appreciate a heads up about his signature garment’s location.

So, holding them limply in one hand, you reached blindly for your phone and dialed his number.

—————————————

The phone rang three times before your beloved finally picked up with a ‘hello’ that rang out with that particular tone of exhaustion that only a morning of customer service manages to bring out of him. You found yourself biting back a smile as you greeted him in return with all the enthusiasm and affection you could muster despite your own tiredness.

‘Jamie! My darling, love of my life, apple of my eye, my better half, my -‘

‘Good afternoon to you too sweetheart!’ Jamie cut you off, his words uttered softly around a quiet laugh that sends a warm fond feeling spreading from your heart to the tips of your fingers. ‘I’m assuming you didn’t just call to shower me with pet names. Is everything alright back home?’

‘It’s… erm…’

‘Boring?’ Jamie offered and you barked out a laugh in response.

‘To say the very least, yes. If I ever see another box in my life after this it’ll be too soon…’ you dramatically collapse back onto the settee and you hear him sigh your name through the speaker of your phone in a way that has your skin heating up.

‘Sorry, love. I’ll be home in a few hours to help you, just hang on a bit longer, yeah?’

You hum non-committally before remembering why you actually called your husband and speaking up in a much lighter and peppier tone than before. ‘Anyway! Speaking of boxes, you’ll never guess what I happened to find in one earlier,’

‘Oh? Is this another stray-fork-in-the-decorative-pillow-box situation?’

‘Something like that, actually!’ You say through a laugh, bringing your phone away from your ear to take a picture of yourself dangling his underwear beside your face — making sure to put on your cheekiest grin to add insult to injury. ‘Sending you the pic now, hopefully the WiFi at your job doesn’t fuck the quality… again…’

Jamie laughs and mutters his agreement and, after taking a second to briefly check the photo for any obvious embarrassing blemishes (God forbid you miss something stuck between your teeth… again…), you press the send button and wait for the inevitable half-amused-half-flustered sigh to echo through the speaker.

One second turns to two and then to ten before it finally gets delivered to Jamie’s phone, your grin growing broader and broader as you waited for the inevitable self deprecating comment to follow. But it never came, the silence between you stretching out for close to a minute before you finally called out to your husband in a slightly worried tone.

‘Jamie? Sweetheart?’ You hear him splutter and cough as if you caught him off guard before he manages to actually respond to you in an oddly strained, much quieter, voice.

‘Y-Yes darling?’

‘Something wrong? Oh God did one of your coworkers see that? I probably should have waited until you got home to show you that… I’m so sorry, babe -’

Jamie swiftly interrupts your rant with a shaky call of your name before taking in a steadying breath and continuing in almost a whisper. ‘It’s okay. I’m not upset, and nobody is in my office right now that would have seen it… but, sweetheart, did you need to get all of that in the photo?’

‘All of what?’

He lets out a trembling sigh. ‘My love please look at the picture you took again. You’re showing all of your, um…’ he quietens even further and his voice cracks slightly over his next words in a way that sends an unexpected wave of heat straight to your core, ‘your marks. The ones I gave you last night…’

Your eyes widen ever so slightly when you see exactly what he’s talking about before you’re hit with a realisation that makes you laugh.

‘Baby… did that make you hard? Is that why you’re so quiet right now?’ He lets out a sound close to a squeak and you continue, pushing past your own brief bout of embarrassment as you start to unbutton and unzip your shorts. ‘Thinking about what we were doing when I got them, right baby? Want me to help you out? Paint a clearer picture for you?’

Jamie huffs out a halfhearted protest and you can practically see the redness of his cheeks as he speaks to you. ‘Sweetheart I’m at work. My office is right next to reception. We can’t do this right now -‘

‘But you want to, right?’ You interrupt, using that tone of voice you know he loves and delighting in the way he gulps audibly through the call. ‘Besides, we can be quick. Just stay quiet and clean up your mess once you’re done and nobody will know,’

He pauses in consideration for a brief few moments before letting out a shaky but affirmative sigh, unzipping his pants and pulling his cock into his hand as he speaks to you.

‘Fine, okay. Quickly, my lunch break is nearly over…’

And in return you grin to yourself and offer a cocky bit of reassurance has earns you a pitchy groan from your husband.

‘Oh don’t worry, I won’t need long,’

—————————————

‘Remember how hard you got when you were eating me out last night?’ You tease in a low breathy voice, delighting in the way he groans into the phone in return. ‘You were super vocal too. Sometimes I think you enjoy it more than I do…’

‘You taste like heaven, love, how could I not?’ He asks the question so earnestly that you can feel your skin burning from how flustered he’s made you. Unable to stop yourself from slipping your free hand into your underwear to play with your swollen clit as you listen to him rant about how much he wishes his face was buried in your cunt right now. Circling, tracing, rubbing, and toying in time with his words as you try and bite back your gasps and moans and groans.

‘… fuck I wish you were sat on my face right now,’ and so do you, but you force yourself to push back those thoughts and continue reliving last night so you can actually fix the problem you caused.

‘And I wish your cock was inside me right now, but I guess both of us will have to wait to get what we want.’ You huff your faux-complaint and hear him let out a sound that’s somewhere between a strained laugh and a gasp. ‘All I can think about now is how deep you were inside of me last night… how big you are. Fuck, Jamie, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,’

You hear his breath catch in his throat and can imagine just how flushed his face must be right now. He’s always so bashful when you praise him, especially when you talk about his dick, and you wish you were there to see just how much your words are effecting him — but for now you’ll settle for listening to the wet sound of him fisting his cock getting faster and louder, and the quiet moans and groans and grunts he��s unable to bite back to let you know just how much he’s enjoying your vivid recollection.

You turn to look at your reflection in the mirror that’s leaning against the kitchen door and let your eyes drift from mark to mark as you speak. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that fucking marking kink of yours either… they’re everywhere, babe. I don’t even remember getting most of these — when did you get the chance to bite down on my thighs, anyway?’

He lets out a strained little sound before pulling himself together just enough to offer you an actual response, his words clipped and interrupted by gasps and moans and cries as he does his best to speak to you.

‘Couldn’t — hah — help myself. Y’so — God — amazing. ‘Nd you got so — oh — wet when I did it. They look s’good on you too…’

And you can’t stop yourself from plunging two fingers into your drooling pussy at his words, letting out a low groan that Jamie is quick to catch when your fingertips crook straight into your g-spot. And that little sound, and the faint wet sound of you fingering yourself down the phone, only serves to push your dear husband closer to his end as he wets his lips and forces out one last question to you.

‘Oh God,’ he all but moans out the words and it sends another wave of heat straight to your core, ‘sweetheart are you..?’

‘Mhm,’ you moaned out your confirmation to his unfinished question, ‘couldn’t help myself, you sound so hot when you’re jerking off Jamie…’

And that seems to be all it takes to finally send your husband toppling over the edge of climax. You hear the loud clattering of his phone dropping onto his desk and hear the broken, distant sound of him half-groaning-half-gasping your name through what you’re sure are gritted teeth before the line goes quiet and you’re left to push yourself to your own peak with that wonderfully erotic image in mind. Gasping and whining and moaning his name as loudly as you please into the emptiness of your new home until you’re cumming so violently all over your fingers that your vision goes completely white and you momentarily forget how to breathe — reaching nirvana with a muted cry of ‘oh my god’ that earns you a quiet moan through the speaker of your phone before you’re gone to the world and unable to think of much anything at all.

Anything at all besides the fact that you really wish it were Jamie’s fingers inside of you instead of your own, that is…

#sleepingdeath #minors dni #minors will be blocked #ageless blogs dni #ageless blogs will be blocked #smut #smut one shot #ymata smut #ymata one shot #ymata x reader #jamie winton smut #jamie winton x reader #trans male reader #trans male reader smut

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popculturelib · 2 years ago

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This week, we are featuring four publications that covered LGBT/queer news in the 1970s.

The Advocate is the oldest active LGBT magazine, and was originally founded in 1967, two years before the Stonewall Riots. This issue - vol. 4 no. 11, July 22-August 4, 1970 - was printed in the aftermath of Stonewall's one year anniversary and features articles about marches across the country. Transcriptions of the articles are below the read more.

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States. Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

“13 Hours of Hell: Advocate writer arrested in bar, says cops beat him” by Darby Summers

(Darby Summers is the pseudonym used by a regular contributor to the ADVOCATE who reviews plays and other theatrical events for this newspaper.)

My story is so incredible that, even though it has happened to me, I can scarcely believe it myself. However, I assure you, every word of it is true. It is a story so shocking and disgusting that I tremble with nausea as I look back upon it.

My body is still racked with pain and my throat is so raw and on fire that it is difficult to swallow.

It is amazing that this should happen almost before the ink was dry on the newsprint of the issue of the ADVOCATE in which I reviewed the plight of four prisoners at the hands of sadistic guards in The Cage.

It all began at 1:30 on the morning of June 25th at a straight bar, Christine’s, 2028 West 7th St. in Los Angeles. A straight friend of mine, Chuck, invited me to have a nightcap with him. Normally I don’t drink because a past bout with hepatitis makes any drinking unwise. However, to be sociable, I will take an occasional drink now and then.

I was dressed in a sharp, ‘different-looking’ pair of slacks I had just bought at Jean’s West on La Cienega. I also had on a denim jacket that was custom designed for my by Phyllis Says of Beverly Hills. There is nothing quite like it, but then, there is nothing in our laws that states we all have to dress alike.

The bartender had just handed me a screwdriver, and I was about to take my first sip when I was struck on the shoulder by a heavy object. I turned to see two police officers confronting me.

“Let’s see your identification,” they barked.

Now I have lived long enough

Continued on Page 8

[next story]

“New York City has largest turnout, longest gay march”

by Nancy Tucker

NEW YORK CITY – Some two to three thousand homosexuals, from cities around the East Coast gathered here on June 28th and marched from Greenwich Village to Central Park to demonstrate for “Gay Pride” and “Gay Power.”

The New York Daily News and a local radio station, WINS, carried even higher estimates of the number in the parade. The New said 10,000, WINS, 20,000.

It was called “the most important event in gay history” by the Christopher Street Liberation Day Committee and was planned and supported by a coalition of eastern homophile organizations.

Marchers traveled to New York from Boston, Philadelphia, New Haven, Washington, and as far away as Alabama and New Mexico to commemorate the first anniversary of a spontaneous demonstration by Gays which took place on June 27, 1969 following a raid on the Stonewall Inn by New York City police.

At that time patrons of the bar, located at 53 Christopher Street in Greenwich Village, were put out into the street as police took action against the bar’s management. Groups of Gays gathered and barricaded the police into the bar and then began a series of protest gatherings within the neighborhood. These led eventually to the formation of the Gay Liberation Front and the Gay Activist’s Alliance during the Fall and Winter.

The three-mile march took place in perfect 75° weather, be-

Continued on Page 5

[next story]

“1200 parade in Hollywood; crowds line boulevard”

The gay community in Los Angeles made its contribution to Americana on June 28.

Over 1000 homosexuals and their friends staged, not just a protest march, but a full-blown parade down world-famous Hollywood Boulevard.

Flags and banners floated in the chill sunlight of late afternoon; a bright red sound truck blared martial music; drummers strutted; a horse pranced; clowns cavorted; “vice copes” chased screaming “fairies” with paper wings; the Metropolitan Community Church sand “Onward Christian Soldiers”; a bronzed and muscular male model flaunted a 7 ½-foot live python.

On and on it went, interspersed with over 30 open cars carrying ADVOCATE Groovy Guy contestants, the Grand Duchess of San Francisco, homophile leaders, and anyone else who wanted to be seen, and five floats, one of which depicted a huge jar of Vaseline, another a homosexual “nailed” to a cross.

Christopher Street West, they called it.

Sensation-sated Hollywood had never seen anything like it. Probably the world had never seen anything like it since the gay days of Ancient Greece.

Crowds lined both sides of the boulevard up to 10 deep along the half-mile-plus parade route and spilled down the side streets and into the marshalling area at McCadden Place and down Ivar Street where the parade was supposed to disperse.

As the last united rounded the corner at Hollywood and Ivar, people began to stream blocks after them, following the three blocks south to Sunset Boulevard, where other crowds struck out on the sidewalks to watch. Although the marchers on foot had dispersed at Selma, the cars and floats remained mostly together and identifiable as a procession in the heavy traffic of Sunset nearly back to Highland Avenue, a block west of McCadden.

15,000 to 20,000

Laconic police estimates put the number of participants in the parade at anywhere from 400 to 1500, depending on which police source you took, and the number of spectators at 4000 to 5000.

More realistic estimates put the number of spectators at 15,000 to 20,000. Parade officials, using a mechanical counter, obtained a total of 1169 participants.

The turnout appeared to catch the Los Angeles Police Department largely unprepared. Although the police had opposed the parade on the grounds that hostile spectators might turn it into a riot, they had blocked off only one side of the boulevard, as specified in the permit, and permitted traffic to proceed on the other side.

As a result, cars were trapped in the rush of spectators who surged into the street all along the parade route, despite the efforts of a few squad car units and motorcycle-mounted patrolmen to force them back to the sidewalks. Shortly after the parade started, they gave up and began diverting all traffic except the paraders off the boulevard.

No Violence

There was no violence of any kind, and police would acknowledge only three arrests, those of MCC Pastor Troy Perry, Daughters of Bilitis Los Angeles Chapter President Carole Shephard, and Kelly Weiser of HELP, who were hustled away as they began

Continued on Page 6

#bgsu #queer #queer history #the advocate #pride march

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towelclips · 1 year ago

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(@metamorphosis-ask)

Transcribed the newspaper from the most recent Metamorphosis ask blog post! (+some thoughts)

Wednesday, August 7th, 2019

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Gildedville Times

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HERO SCRAMBLES REPTILE IN EGG-CITING FIGHT

At 11 am today, the notorious Reptile attacked Eggs Only Cafe, the beloved local cafe that sells eggs only products.

The cafe has been in business for two years now and has received very high ratings from all of its patrons. A startup by two brothers who had a dream to create the city's first egg based restaurant, Eggs Only Cafe has carved out quite the slice of popularity for itself.

However, today, all that was threatened by one familiar antagonist: The Reptile.

Gildedville's very own supervillain entered the shop at peak brunch hour. According to eye-witness reports, he approached the front counter and apologized to the staff "in a very sarcastic and insulting tone" before proceeding to assault customers and drive them out of the establishment.

Read more: page 3

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Another acquisition for Titan Health: Why branch into transportation?

Clyde's Rides isn't the first company to be brought (or bought) into Titan Health's arsenal. Other such notable companies as Golden Age Medical Research

(the rest is cut off)

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MISSING

LAST SEEN: 4/13/2012

(the rest is cut off)

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So! I'll just go in order of things listed! First of all, I find the date interesting, dunno if it has any significance, but might as well point it out .

Second, some neat lore! Idk why you'd want to make a restaurant that sells only egg products, but I'm biased (pretty picky about my eggs, and generally don't like em). I also wonder what Reptile was up to with the sarcastic apology and such, maybe he was being genuine and the staff misinterpreted it? (I feel ya there buddy)

Third thing in the article is mostly cut off, but I already get bad vibes from the mega corporation...

LASTLY BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST! There's a missing person thing! We don't get a name or a face, as the rest of the page is cut off, but I wonder if they have some relation to Reptile's origins (I could totally see some scummy corporation (maybe Titan Health?) kidnapping someone to create a villain if it'd benefit them in some way).

#others ocs #metamorphosis #ask blogs #i love speculating about other peoples ocs #or just thinking about ocs in general #why yes i am normal about this askblog #why do you ask?

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msclaritea · 2 years ago

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Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy: The Story Within A Story

In Tinker, Control resigns his post on November 14, 1973. I thought Control to be an odd name, and I know how dates are very important to the Brits. They lost Control....control of what? Recall all of the references to Gold, Gold Dust, Treasure, so on.

The full description of dropping the Bretton Wood structure makes it clear that Connelly was behind the push to remove gold reserves.

According to Wiki, the Nixon Shock as it was called has calamitous results:

The Nixon Shock has been widely considered to be a political success, but an economic failure for bringing on the 1973–1975 recession, the stagflation of the 1970s, and the instability of floating currencies.[citation needed] The dollar plunged by a third during the 1970s. According to the World Trade Review's report "The Nixon Shock After Forty Years: The Import Surcharge Revisited", Douglas Irwin reports that for several months, U.S officials could not get other countries to agree to a formal revaluation of their currencies.[citation needed] The German Mark appreciated significantly after it was allowed to float in May 1971. Further, the Nixon Shock unleashed enormous speculation against the dollar. It forced Japan's central bank to intervene significantly in the foreign exchange market to prevent the yen from increasing in value. Within two days August 16–17, 1971, Japan's central bank had to buy $1.3 billion to support the dollar and keep the yen at the old rate of ¥360 to the dollar. Japan's foreign exchange reserves rapidly increased: $2.7 billion (30%) a week later and $4 billion the following week. Still, this large-scale intervention by Japan's central bank could not prevent the depreciation of US dollar against the yen. France also was willing to allow the dollar to depreciate against the franc, but not allow the franc to appreciate against gold. Even much later, in 2011, Paul Volcker expressed regret over the abandonment of Bretton Woods: "Nobody's in charge," Volcker said. "The Europeans couldn't live with the uncertainty and made their own currency and now that's in trouble."

A note about Armand Hammer, the grandfather of actor, Arnie Hammer. An American of Soviet descent, he was singlehandedly responsible for the reviving of the Soviet Union. As for Billy Graham...

Mendel: "My friend just wants peace and quiet to work, Mrs. Pope-Graham. No Disturbances."

To Smiley: "Real name is just Graham. Added the Pope for a touch of class."

2005

"Billy Graham. We know that his messages are solid gospel. Few in or out of the Christian World have not heard of him. Since 1949 he has held the spotlight as the most prominent evangelist in Christendom. He has just finished his 416th crusade in Pasadena, California that drew over 300,000 people in four days. 13,000+ responded to his altar calls. Graham is now 86 years old and has one more crusade scheduled in New York City next year, health permitting.

The Pasadena crusade was on the anniversary of his first Los Angeles revival 55 years ago. It was after that meeting that Graham was "kissed by William Randolph Hearst" according to Dr Cathy Burns in her book, Billy Graham and His Friends. This meant that Hearst had decided to promote Graham's ministry in his nationwide chain of newspapers.

Immediately, reporters and photographers were crawling all over the Graham meetings. Front page articles began to appear in the leading local papers wherever Graham held meetings. One reporter was assigned full time to travel with Graham's team.

In 1991, Graham claimed that this sudden attention remained a mystery. Burns describes a more complex scenario. Regardless, the publicity propelled Graham into the national, if not international, limelight.

Jesus warned, "Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you." Over the years, Graham became the friend of presidents and kings, a beloved "America's Pastor."

But the fame came with a price. In his book, Smokescreens, written in 1983, Jack Chick describes how Roman Catholic leaders viewed and used Graham as a key player in their ecumenical plans. As early as 1965, he was a guest speaker at Catholic Belmont Abbey College in North Carolina where he received an honorary doctor's degree. A college official's letter describes Graham's address as "theologically sound" as may have been given by "any other Catholic preacher." The letter further states, "I would state that he could bring Catholics and Protestants together in a healthy ecumenic spirit." Graham was also speaking at several other Catholic colleges at that time..."

Connelly was said to be on secret peace mission with Hammer. Richard Nixon gave a speech that talks of 'the challenge of peace' in unveiling his new economic plan. In Tinker, Irina is taken and killed by Russia. Irina means Peace.

John Le Carré really is a genius writer because this was brilliant.

#UK #The Netherlands #Switzerland #Germany #Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy #John Le Carre #John Hurt #Control #Gary Oldman #Smiley #Italy #Belgium

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krjpalmer · 1 year ago

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Heading back from work just before the weekend, the radio traffic report happened to mention a kangaroo had escaped in the north of the very city I live in. I was amused by that, but also aware of the concern shown for the weather getting to be not quite what’s associated with Australian marsupials. For all of that, I might have let the news slip from my mind over the weekend until I saw it was a front-page article this morning in the newspaper I read from the big city of my area. I started mentioning it to my fellow coworkers during our morning coffee break, and then one of them said the TV tuned to the local news segment station in the cafeteria had just reported the kangaroo had been found. That made for a decent conclusion to the whole matter.

#dreamwidth crosspost #kangaroo

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thebearcathideout · 2 years ago

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My Thoughts on the Bowne Park Pond Eutrophication

Reading a newspaper article about a location I visited!

The front page of the newspaper I picked up.

Last Thursday, I went to my local library. While I was there, I picked up a free copy of each of the local newspapers, including a copy of the Queens Chronicle. Print newspapers are mostly read by seniors nowadays, but I read it anyways. And what I found on the front page of the newspaper was something I didn’t give much thought to before.

“Passersby could not see much of anything beyond the blooms of algae dispersed throughout the pond,” wrote Sophie Krichevsky on July 6th. She was referring to the pond at Bowne Park in Queens, which is prone to algae blooms, and the city had just finished a three-million-dollar project just over two months ago to prevent this from ever happening again.

That solution was by implementing an automatic sprinkler system that would both aerate the water and dispense it into the air, both improving the quality of the water and providing a nice spectacle to park-goers.

The situation at this park reminded me of "eutrophication," which is when an excess of algae in a body of water will, over time, starve the water of oxygen and kill off marine life in the water. However, this is typically caused by an influx of nutrients, which may happen in an ocean near the mouth of a river. That didn't seem to be happening at this pond, which had no nutrient flow to speak of. More than anything, the algae was simply an eyesore.

Regardless, the sprinkler system at the pond currently wasn’t working. When people went to check on it, many of the sprinklers only let off a “weak spurt of water,” with some only clicking without releasing any water.

Me in front of the pond at Bowne Park, nearly two months prior. Little did I know that the sprinkler I was posing in front of would be the focus of this local news article.

What’s interesting is, I actually went to Bowne Park around the time this article said the pond was at its best! On May 24th, I went there with my brother, and it was nearly going to rain that day so both of us tried taking pictures of each other at the park as fast as possible.

As for the pond, we didn’t see there were any noticeable problems with it, although light could not penetrate the pond as you can see above. We also saw that there were sprinklers, which we posed in front of, though I didn’t know at the time if these were new or old.

The news article went on to say that the Parks Department defended the park, saying that the algae bloom was actually natural, and that the pond was “healthier than ever.” While the news article goes on to doubt this claim, it’s ultimately left up to the reader to decide whether the pond is healthy or not.

It’s crazy to think that a physical location has changed so much in the short time since I’ve been there, from the bottom photograph to the top cover image. If you live in New York City, have you ever visited Bowne Park? Have you seen eutrophication at a body of water near you? If so, what thoughts did you have on the health of the water?

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suckitsurveys · 2 years ago

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Do you have the right time set on your microwave?: No. We unplug it frequently so we never set the time.

Do you have any old newspaper articles? Why?: I have a copy of a local neighborhood newspaper that featured the hospital where my mom was going to deliver her first baby (my older sister). She is on the front page of the paper. It was at my dad’s so I am not sure how I ended up with it. I know he also has an article from the Chicago Trib where there’s a picture of him and me at a Cubs game. He’s holding me and he had just caught a ball.

Do you have a flat screen tv or just a regular box?: All of our TVs are flat screens.

Do you have a radar detector for your car?: No.

Have you ever been arrested? For what?: Yes, a bullshit trespassing charge. We were collecting sticks in an OPEN yard.

Do you know how to change the oil in your car?: I’ve never done it or even attempted to.

Have you taken your shower yet?: I don’t shower every day.

Do you like Tootsie Rolls?: I do.

Do you have a printer? What kind?: We have two 3D printers lol.

Are you seeing anybody currently?: I am married.

Do you or have you ever smoked cigarettes?: I have, but not habitually.

Do you like it when it snows?: It’s pretty but I hate having to travel in it.

Are your ears pierced?: Yes. One on my right, three on my left. I’ve actually been wanting more.

Where do you do most of your shopping?: Depends on what you’re talking about.

Who do you live with?: My husband and three kitties.

What is your most expensive bill?: Rent.

Do you have a big yard?: It’s decent, especially for the city.

Do you live in the country or the city?: City.

Do you sleep alone or with someone every night?: With my husband and at least one cat.

Did you have a treehouse as a child?: No, but I had a swing set that had kind of a treehouse platform on it.

At what age did you obtain your driver license?: 21.

Do you look in the newspaper for coupons?: Nope. I get them all online.

Did you get a big tax refund from last year?: It’s fine.

Do you like Slim Jim’s?: Eh.

Is there someone you would love to punch right now?: Yes, always.

Did you grow up fast?: Lol.

What are you favorite kind of chips?: Salsa Verde Doritos.

Have you taken any medicine recently? For what?: Just regular pain meds.

What have you eaten today?: Cereal and a salad.

Did you or are you going to wash your hair today?: No, not til Friday.

Does the water in your shower take a long time to get warm?: No.

Where did you go today?: Just to work.

Are you sleepy right now?: Of course. When aren’t I?

What color is your mousepad?: I don’t have one.

Should you be doing something else at the moment?: I should be working.

Do you like your neighbors?: Yes, the ones in my building anyway.

Do you have bedroom shoes?: No.

Do you get your eyebrows waxed?: No..

Has anyone given you flowers recently?: No.

Do you work Monday thru Friday?: Yes.

Is there anything you are looking forward to tomorrow?: Yes! It’s my last day of work before I leave for Boston! I am also getting my nails done.

How many miles does your car have on it?: I can’t remember.

Is your alarm clock set to radio or beep?: I use my phone for my alarm.

Do you like to go fishing?: Eh.

Has anyone you know been arrested recently?: I don’t think so.

Do you have more than 1 email address?: Yeah, I have a couple.

Do you think you will have the same job 2 years from now?: Yes.

Do you have central heating and air?: No.

Do you speed while driving?: Sometimes oops.

Is there someplace you would rather be right now?: Yeah, not at work.

Did you build the computer you are using?: No.

Do you have good computer speakers?: This computer doesn’t have speakers.

Are you waiting on anything at the moment?: The day to end.

Where is your favorite person?: He’s at home.

Do you keep track of your debit purchases?: I mean, sure.

Do you ever shop at Harris Teeter? I have no idea what that is.

Do you like to burn incense?: Yes.

Are there any plants in your house?: Yes.

How long does it take you to get to work?: About 20 minutes.

#Surveys

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yatescountyhistorycenter · 2 years ago

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The Music Man of Main Street

By Jonathan Monfiletto

There is an old saying that goes, “Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.” This saying is so old, it seems, that it is attributed to people, according to my Google search, ranging from Confucius to Mark Twain (and probably Abraham Lincoln). Whoever said it originally and whoever has spread it since then, it seems Warner Bush lived it. Warner Bush chose a job he loved so much, in fact, that he not only never had to work a day in his life but also apparently never retired.

As many people still around Penn Yan and Yates County today remember, Mr. Bush owned Bush’s Music and Radio House on Main Street in the village – a business established in 1905 by his father, Fred, who was a grandson of Dr. Wynans Bush, the notable doctor and abolitionist of Yates County. Mr. Bush apparently worked in the family store from the time it opened when he was 9 years old until he died at age 92 in 1988, except for the time he served in the Army during World War I.

I enjoy choosing old photographs to post on our Facebook page; sometimes I know something about the photo because of the description either on the back or in our database, and sometimes I just choose the photo because it looks interesting. The latter was the case when I found a photo labeled “Warner Bush” on the back and depicting a man, Mr. Bush as I know now, showing off the latest and greatest in 1980 technology – a General Electric television with knobs on the front (though Mr. Bush is holding a thick remote control) and a sign above it reading, “Quartz Precision Electronic Tuning.”

Both the child-of-the-1990s part of me (I was born in 1988) and the old-man part of me (I’ll turn 35 next year) were amused by a photo depicting a state-of-the-art technology of the time that would nowadays be considered an obsolete and defunct relic. So, I shared the photo on our Facebook page and was treated to a multitude of people who commented with their memories of the kindly Mr. Bush and his wondrous store, where they bought records, appliances, and musical instruments.

The point to start talking about Mr. Bush might actually be with his death on March 21, 1988 and the ensuing newspaper coverage (several articles are in our subject files) that called Mr. Bush an institution in Penn Yan as well as a “long-time area musician, minstrel, composer, band leader, and businessman” and even the Music Man of Main Street. Fellow Main Street business owners paid tribute to him and celebrated the life of this colorful character. During his life, Mr. Bush was also featured in the local press when his store marked 70 years in business, when he turned 87 years old, when he turned 90, and elsewhere throughout his time. Each story seemed to add to the living legend of Warner Bush, especially when those who operated stores around his offered such kind words about this kind man.

Born February 21, 1896, Mr. Bush went into the music business when his father opened the store out of the family home at 129 Hamilton St. The elder Bush had started out selling meats from a traveling wagon in Penn Yan but transitioned to selling Edison cylinder records and record players, pianos, and organs as well as Singer sewing machines. The store moved to 132 Main St. sometime around Fred Bush’s death in 1939, and it remained there for the next 50 years. A 1914 graduate of Penn Yan Academy, Mr. Bush began playing music as well as selling it while still in high school and immediately afterward – performing concerts in front of the Yates County Courthouse and on a boat that went from Penn Yan to Hammondsport and back on moonlight excursions. In May 1918, Mr. Bush became Cpl. Bush when he was drafted and sent to basic training; he served with 40th Company, 153rd Depot Brigade and then 3rd Company, Convalescent Center before being discharged a year later. During the war, he was also part of a touring group of 40 Army band members, backing up vaudeville acts and giving concerts in what was a forerunner to USO shows.

Upon his return to Penn Yan and to the family business, Mr. Bush joined the town band, going from Penn Yan to Dresden on the train to perform for the annual Decoration Day festivities. He also formed a five-piece band that became known as the Saxophone Novelty Orchestra, playing the piano and doubling on trombone. Amid personnel changes, Mr. Bush remained with the band for more than 40 years until 1962 and even took over its leadership in the mid-1940s. Elsewhere, music aficionados knew you could “swing and sway with Sammy Kaye,” but in Penn Yan the slogan was, “shove and push with Warner Bush.”

And Mr. Bush didn’t just sell music and perform music; he also wrote music – publishing two marches, “The President Elect March” and “With The Colors,” in 1917. Both of these pieces were on display on the sheet music rack in the store, along with the reported 8,000 records in stock and the first television to receive a signal in Penn Yan at 4 p.m. on June 11, 1948. That television, of course, was a General Electric model; Mr. Bush began selling the first General Electric refrigerators and eventually became the oldest continuous dealer for the company in the United States.

Aside from his music and his appliances, Mr. Bush had a trademark style, of course. A lead in a 1983 newspaper article remarks that he would not have been born like other babies but “must have come complete in a blue, pin-striped suit with sheet music in his hands.” Even in his late 80s and early 90s, he worked each day and arrived shortly before noon, greeting customers and passers-by with a “Hello” and a smile.

#history #historyblog #yatescounty #pennyan #music #warnerbush #sammykaye #generalelectric #museum #archives

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mvrkgeoli · 4 years ago

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GHOSTING

pairing: ghost!yuta x reader genre: kinda 50s - 60s au for yuta, ghost au, angst, some fluff, kinda mature..? word count: 5.3k warnings: a handful of satanic themes, mentions of death / killing, bittersweet ending i’m sorry author’s note: lowercase intended. this is my first kinda lengthy fic and um yea i hope u like c:

settling into a new place where you weren't familiar with sure was draining, especially when you barely knew anyone around along with a long drive that separated you from your already long time friends. you had to move to alleviate the time it took to travel to the university you recently got into. renting a flat for yourself to live alone was the first "adult achievement" you had overcome, as how your mother would word it out. what definitely stunned you was how cheap the place was, for a whole flat you thought it would have cost you a few more hundreds at least.

from what you heard from the small old building's landlord, not entirely in detail, the flat was apparently owned by multiple in the past. you didn't mind it at all, you couldn't let such a price go for a student like yourself already struggling, happy with the fact that it was somewhat already furnished, furniture sitting dusted probably by the time that had passed from the last owner. some things stayed from all the years the building went through, mainly only the furniture and appliances being changed through the years. mentally reminding yourself to thank your bestfriend doyoung for helping you find places with affordable prices after you finish settling in the last of your belongings.

a few weeks had passed, finding yourself in a comfortable position in your bed along with stress clouding your mind from all the requirements already building up in the first semester. not to mention all the weird happenings that had been going on, you didn't know if you were just tired or already gone crazy.

the first time something happened was the day after you settled in the flat. the blinds in your room shut by itself just when you were going to bed, it had reminded you to close them before you drifted off into your deep slumber to shut off any peeping toms, you paid no mind to it thinking it was meant to be and nudged you as your first blunder.

the most recent one was by far the creepiest. the feeling of breathing against your ear sent shivers down your spine, sitting up from your bed abruptly, breaking you off from your little nap. the past ones had always been short hasty movements from the furniture or your belongings, sure they alarmed and spooked you but in contrast to the breathing occurrence, it was slow and calm, it felt so close. it continued for as long as it could until your wake that night, the feeling savored in your head for the rest of the day.

which leads you to today, texting doyoung if he knew anything about the unit before he suggested it to you. watching the small bubbles bobbing in your screen as you waited for his response, a short message making its way into your sight after a few moments.

dodoie | today at 6:23 not that i know of?? all i know is someone living there before but you already knew that :0

you sent him a brief thank you before shifting to your laptop to look for answers yourself, only thinking about it now after the breathing incident. first looking up the address, only the map and pictures of the neighboring buildings coming up.

after some time, you sighed to yourself, searching the last thing you wanted to if any incidents had happened in the building. woefully, an old article from a newspaper front decades ago popped up. the title reading, “nakamoto yuta, found dead in apartment…” a picture of the boy was attached, he had black slightly grown out hair, his smile was so pure you found yourself with a growing frown on your face.

what came next however, was a wave of shock running through your body at the discovery, quickly opening a new tab to search for the said name.

“local student uncovered to be a satanist—“ you trailed off, rubbing the palms of your hands against your face in stress.

clicking on another link to a 4chan discussion about the recent discovery, you saw a bulletin about the boy and some photos of the very unit you were in. he was apparently a sweet boy from what the neighboring people said. a boy who had a bright fresh smile that could lighten up any mood, it was unexpected for him to be revealed as such a person.

there was a picture of a girl next to yuta named kaiju, said to be the boy’s lovely girlfriend. the two lived together and were seen as the perfect couple.

after hours of scrolling through the page, you found a small recording of an old interview of the girl crying. “i-it was tragic… he was the perfect man— i thought he was the perfect man..” she sobbed. you frowned at your screen, eyes widening when a clip of the apartment rolled. it showed the floorboards under their refrigerator being opened to reveal different notes and certain objects that were said to be used for satanism.

you sat up to run to the kitchen, bringing your laptop with you. you compared the clip to the room in front of you. a cabinet sat where the fridge you saw was in the clip, you sighed to yourself before setting down your laptop to pull the cabinet aside.

nose scrunching in distaste as below you unveiled dust and dead bugs, taking the first utensil you could reach, in this case; a fork. you pried on the wood beneath you, pulling your shirt up to cover your nose from the dust that spread from your tampering. the wood popped open with a loud thump, you peeked inside to face dark emptiness. there sat cobwebs and dust for who knows how long, your eyebrows furrowed as the thought of the government probably collecting everything that had concerned the incident.

just when you were going to put back the floorboards, a noise rattled into your ears. you flinched back at the sound before taking into consideration to shine your phone’s flashlight at the darkness it held. there you saw the emptiness clearer. before you gave up, you saw one of the sides with little scratches and indents in the corner.

taking the fork again, you attempted to pry another piece of wood open, unfortunately failing when the prongs of the fork bent along with the burn of your fingers from using all your strength trying to open the side.

“almost...”

the voice seemed so close to you, letting out a yelp as you snapped your head towards the voice’s direction to face the empty kitchen. your breaths were heavy, heart beating at a pace you think it hasn’t been in before, your figure trembling as you hurry to unlock your phone to send all the articles you had found about this “yuta” to doyoung.

you slept by the unit’s entrance door that night in case you had to escape in a hurry.

you woke up to knocking on your door, groggily getting up from the floor to stretching briefly.

“hold on..!” you stood up and checked the little peep hole to reveal your bestfriend along with another boy.

opening the door immediately to face the pair staring back at you with questioning faces.

“jesus, did you sleep under a couch or something?” the unannounced boy spoke up. doyoung nudging him with his elbow in response, turning back to you with a small smile.

“sorry about him, this is donghy—“ “haechan.” doyoung rolled his eyes as he was cut off before continuing, “‘haechan’ right- this is one of my distant cousins haechan, i don’t think we have the money to hire a professional to check the place out but haechan here used to be in a ‘paranormal investigations club.’ and offered to help because he found you cute— ow!” an eyebrow raised at doyoung’s words as you watched the exchange between the boys. “anyways i called you and sent you messages hours ago, i thought something happened.”

you picked up your phone from the floor, the screen lighting up with multiple notifications. “oh.. sorry, i guess i was a heavy sleeper last night- wait you went all the way here!?” your eyes widened at the sudden realization, embracing the taller boy in your arms before inviting the pair inside straight away.

“holy shit the guy was into satanism?” haechan read in shock, his thumb scrolling through one of the articles you had sent doyoung. “you’re only reading it now?” doyoung scoffed at the boy as he shook his head, sitting himself right next to you on the couch.

“w..well yeah, i thought it wouldn’t be too big of a problem…” the boy rubbed on the nape of his neck in humiliation, to which your bestfriend responded with a low sigh. “i didn’t drive us an hour for you to end up useless, hyuck.” “—haechan!” doyoung only rolled his eyes at the other.

“and i’m not completely useless! one of the club members, chenle, used to say that ghosts usually only have unfinished business if they stay behind in this world. maybe we can confront this ‘yuta’ politely or make a deal with him-“ you raised a brow towards haechan rubbing the space between your brows in distress. “are you seriously telling me to make a deal? with a satanist? you’re basically making me make a deal with the devil, literally!”

haechan put his hands up in defense, eyes widening at your small burst. “okay, okay! what i’m saying is, if chenle was right about ghosts having unfinished business, maybe you can help ‘yuta’ to finish! if he was wrong, you can try getting a deal or something to leave you alone i guess.”

you sighed in defeat, this chenle guy could be right, but you would still take risk on having a deal with this guy. “so… how ‘bout it?” haechan shrugged as his eyebrows arched in proposition, to which you rolled your eyes. “okay kid, but how am i gonna summon him?”

“take this just in case.” haechan handed you a small bag, ‘iodized salt’ it read. you only nodded and casted him a quick thank you before he proceeded to enter the elder’s car first, giving doyoung another longing hug as he nagged on if you needed any more help. “sorry about donghyuck again, call me if anything serious happens. i’m also at fault here kinda ‘cause i suggested this place to you with no research.”

“what’s with ‘haechan’ anyway? and it’s fine, it was my fault i only looked at the price before deciding.” doyoung laughed and glanced over to the boy sitting in the passenger seat before turning back to face you. “he said it was a cool ‘code name’, he didn’t want any ghosts to know his name. anyway, seriously if worst comes to worst, it may cost more money but i’ll try helping with looking for another place.” you snickered softly before thanking him again.

and so, you were left alone again, waving goodbye to the car drifting off your sight. sighing to yourself as you went back into the building, sitting on the couch to research more about summoning dead people safely if that was even possible.

several hours had passed from reading about ghosts and looking for the right supplies, you just got back from a close bookstore to buy three new tall candles for summoning the little friend that had been haunting you, planning on doing it at midnight just like the “easy tutorial” donghyuck made doyoung send you.

later, moving to your bathroom hastily wanting to just get it over with, bringing the candles, a marker, along with the bag of salt donghyuck had given you. hunching over the bathtub to draw a decent sized summoning circle. placing the lengthened candles to three points of the summoning circle, you filled up the tub with at least an inch of water before lighting them.

you switched off the lights, closing the door before kneeling down behind the bathtub. taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes in advance of doing a cheesy chant along with saying the perpetrator’s name three times just like what donghyuck’s tutorial said.

“... nakamoto yuta,” the first holler of his name was said, already feeling stupid for using such a cliché way of summoning. “nakamoto yuta,” in an instant, your lips quivered when you felt your surroundings turn darker. “nakamoto..” the room felt colder, your ears ringing from how quiet the ambience had shifted. your breathing trembled as you finished the chant. “.. yuta.”

“so you did have the guts.”

your eyes crack open at the voice, only to face total darkness. the candles, from what you assume, blew over which meant something must have definitely happened. jumping back in a hurry as you rushed to turn on the lights, your breaths turned shorter as your eyes met with a dark haired man standing in the bathtub, right on top of the summoning circle you drew. your immediate reaction was ripping open the bag donghyuck gave and shoving it at the man as you recoiled your arms to cover your head in a corner.

a distant grunt echoed around the bathroom, followed by water sloshing around and dripping footsteps nearing your shaking figure. tears pricked your eyes as you felt the clear presence of the man get closer.

“this is table salt.”

thanks a lot, donghyuck.

your eyes creak open slightly, eyes meeting once again with the dark haired man. head still in your arms as you refused to lift your head for him, you spoke with a shaky voice. “yu.. yuta…?” your eyes were glued to the tiles of the floor, a peek of the man’s wet shoes making its way to your vision.

“that’s me— oh god, i don’t look like what i looked like when i died right??” your ears perked at the tone of his voice, eyebrows furrowing at the question. ‘oh god’? wasn’t he on the devil’s side? why was that his first question? why did he sound so soft? hearing the soft clacking of the soles of his shoes walking away, you lift your head to see the rear side of the man attempting to inspect himself and shake off the salt you threw at him.

“y-you’re a lot uh.. a lot less intimidating than i thought…” you spoke up, yuta turned to look at you with his big eyes before walking back to crouch down your eye level. “am i really?” you cowered back, his voice cutting you off before you could open your mouth. “i’m kidding, sorry..”

your fingertips reached out to feel his forearm in curiosity, lips pursing when it made contact to yuta’s arm. it felt real, the way your fingers would bounce back when pushed on the boy’s flesh. “you seem.. so normal- almost too normal…” his eyes trailed down to follow your finger’s movements, blinking to himself before speaking up. “i am normal- or i guess was… i won’t hurt you, don't worry.”

your eyebrows arched, skeptical of the man in front of you. eyes traveling down to let yourself think; in retrospect, for all of the things that have been happening, you will admit that none of them had hurt you in any way. your head tilted back up, still hesitant about everything and anything at that moment.

“okay, let’s- let’s have a small nice and calm talk—“

you sat across the ghost in the dining area in silence, your face buried in your clammy hands as you still couldn’t process everything. he sat stiff in front of you, blinking to himself as you both seemed like waiting for something to happen.

“it’s not true, y’know.” he broke the ice and attempted to make the first move to talk, he watched as your head tipped up at his voice, finally drinking in your features when you fixed your posture and pushed back the hair that got in the way of your face. “— the articles you read- i mean..”

you stared at the man in front of you dubiously. if he knew about the articles you’ve seen, how much of you did he see, you thought to yourself suddenly. blinking several times before thinking of a response. “the what?”

“the things you saw about me. they weren’t true.” his eyes trailed down to stare blankly at the center of the table as his fingers fiddled with the table’s ridges. you only raised a brow at the man, eyes following his movements.

“uh huh, okay..” you found yourself just nodding and humming to his words trying to talk you into him being good, you couldn’t trust someone that easily, even more so when it was a ghost who was known to be supporting the devil itself. “how am i supposed to believe a satanis—“ he looked at you with his wide eyes at this, palms laying flat against the table. “i’m not, i swear.. i haven’t done anything bad right?” listening to the man before you speaking softly shifting tone as he continued, almost as if he was scolding himself rather. “i didn’t hurt you? i didn’t hurt anyone who’s lived here before you! i didn’t hurt kaiju either!”

your eyes widened at the name, his past lover. staring closely at the man’s face, you almost see tears welling up in his eyes. choosing to silence yourself after the outburst not wanting to madden the boy in front of you more, you thought of anything calm to respond with.

you avert your gaze to the side as you saw the man stand up to walk away, listening to the soft footsteps he left behind him. lips pursing as you tried to think of anything to calm the mood.

“here.” you heard his voice ring from the kitchen area. looking up from your spaced out gaze to find yuta standing with his arms crossed by the cabinet you had previously moved. you stood up from your seat to walk to the kitchen in silence, making few steps to get beside the boy.

“open it again.” you only nodded, still feeling the awkwardness lingering in the air. you moved the cabinet aside once more, grabbing another fork from the kitchen drawer to pry open the floorboards. sitting on your knees as you face the empty compartment, eyes trained on the blemished side of the hollow cavity. you stared up at yuta only to face a blank look on his face insinuating for you to continue.

“i already tried…” you put the fork down to slouch. “i know, now try again.” he persisted, you only took a breath in before attempting to open another hidden compartment within the one already opened.

after several forks bent, a few dulled knives, the annoying thumping of a hammer ringing in your ears and your hands stinging with burns from the pressure forced onto them, you successfully pried open what seemed like the most superglued pieces of wood together to reveal an old looking shoebox. pulling it out before sitting comfortably to uncrate the box.

yuta crouched down beside you as you uncovered the shoebox. revealing a tattered pouch, something wrapped with worn down linen and some papers with characters you couldn’t read, opening the pouch with interest and dumping the contents onto the shoebox’s lid to exhibit different kinds of pendants and even some small lockets.

moving onto the linen wrapped item, you handled it with frail fingers, it weighed down your hands slightly making you more curious. it unraveled a small dagger.

you wince at the sight and dropped the dagger abruptly, the loud clang of the blade as it ground rang for what seemed like forever. it was covered with maroon. forcing yourself to think that it was just rust and not what you thought it was, you turned to yuta with your shaky eyes.

“she took one thing from people she had targeted after she was finished.” he said mindlessly, reaching forward to fiddle with the trinkets spilled from the pouch. you however, sat back to process the new discovery.

‘she’? you thought to yourself. kaiju? was it her? you blinked to yourself and tried to piece things together. the clip of kaiju sobbing appeared in your head. not once did she talk about the insights of their relationship when it was about ‘yuta’s satanism’. she even knew where the compartment was located after yuta’s death claiming he had left it open. burying your head into your dusted hands. yuta was haunting the unit not because he was bad.

he just wanted to be found.

you knew something felt off when you saw her smile whenever the public pitied her for the loss of her ‘lover’.

the thought of yuta staying for years being painted and seen as a bad person by the public made a frown quickly grow on your face, you fixated your eyes on the man beside you as he absentmindedly toyed with the small belongings of other people. the other people. did they stay behind and want to be found too? you thought.

“i’m so sorry…” you finally spoke words, yuta nodded and stood from the ground. “you summoned me to get rid of me right? sorry to break it to you but i was left here as a spirit beca—“ you took a sharp inhale at his words, standing up to face the taller.

“i wanna help you. this guy said people like you were left here as a ghost because they have—“ yuta looked at you with uninterested eyes. “unfinished business. i know, i was there when that haechan guy came.” he sighed and looked off to the side in contempt before continuing. “y’know, i’d be happy to accept but it’s hard when even i don’t know what my ‘unfinished business’ is. it made me think after what he said sunk in… what if we don’t move on after death. we don’t even know if that’s true.. who knows, maybe i’ll stay here as a ghost forever.”

you clenched your jaw as yuta spoke, he made fair points and what ifs. it made you even more mad that kaiju got away with it, yuta was portrayed as the bad guy and they left the case at that. “i’ll tell the police about this— i.. i can change what they think about you…!” yuta only shrugged, your eyes followed after his steps as he sat back down by the table. you trailed after him, sitting next to him this time. “it’s been years. i doubt all the people who were alive back then would care or would even remember.”

a sigh spilled from your mouth as you fell into a slump next to his careless state, you went from wanting to move out of the flat to feeling like you wanted to protect yuta and the apartment he had died in. “thanks though. for putting in effort i mean- all the people before you moved out in weeks or just ran away.”

he stared at your tired figure, eyes wandering to your distended fingers. he appreciated the pain your body had went through to see him, the thought of you wanting to even help him made him realize how much he missed how nice it felt to be given a care for. yuta watched as you straighten your posture back up to face him, he felt how dissatisfied you were by the droop of your eyes.

“then let’s still try.. we don’t know if what haechan’s friend said was true, just like you said but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. we just don’t know yet, it could be true! so let’s try..!” yuta blinked at your determination, letting out a chuckle for the first time since you met him. “you seriously don’t have to put this much into helping—“

“i don’t care! i don’t think i can live on with the thought of this man rotting here when i’m living my life like it’s back to normal. just let me help you… even if it fails i’ll be glad to know that i tried my best.” you thumped a fist to the table’s surface, seeing yuta flinch at the corner of your eye.

yuta had been rotting in this hell hole for years, he had long forgotten what it felt like to be important, even being thought about made him feel like he still had purpose. he was sure that if he still had a functioning heart, it’d be beating with how warm he felt.

“okay.. let’s try.”

a few weeks had passed, both of you agreeing to act like normal as if you were roommates, though the only difference was yuta not needing to eat nor bathe or anything, in an attempt to make your new ghostly friend feel happiness. he shared that he lived a pretty decent life, although short he was happy. he had no one who seemed like they would put up a fight with him, bad things that would come across nor anything physical that was unfinished from what he could remember of his life when he was alive- other than being killed and sacrificed to satan of course.

you contacted doyoung to tell and explain what really happened, he however didn’t know how to feel about the situation. a friendly ghost being by his bestfriend’s side almost 24/7, he was happy that you didn’t get killed or possessed or anything but he was skeptical that he hasn’t seen the man himself whenever you facetimed or called. yuta on the other hand refused to show himself even if he couldn’t be seen anyway especially if haechan was with doyoung, if you were in a call, he’d simply just hang around in a different room not wanting to lift some book just to prove he was actually the one moving it.

in yuta’s perspective, he thinks that this was probably the happiest and lively he’s been in years. he had someone to talk to, hang out with after he spent all this time trying to get attention from people and being lonely. you were there to listen to all the stories he had from all the exciting things he experienced and went through, and he was there when you needed someone to rant to even about the most random and little things. even teaching him about modern technology and watching series he hadn’t watched.

yuta felt like his presence was valued. sometimes he’d forget that he was even dead when he was having fun with you. you believe that everything was working out well, you almost felt like stopping because if you were to be honest, you probably had shared some of the happiest moments as well and didn’t want anything to end.

as more days, weeks, months passed by like nothing, yuta was at his peak of happiness spending time with you and learning about how things had changed through the years.

you made an anonymous 4chan thread about the truth, you wanted justice for yuta to be seen as someone he truly was. you named yourself as someone who lives in the flat currently and acted as someone who was curious about the old building. soon a small group who theorized yuta being innocent was formed, it made you glad that even a handful of people believed that he was actually good.

yuta shortly requested if he could lay with you in bed after you got comfortable with his company, claiming that ghosts could feel sore too. you only laughed and agreed, you learned that he had his ways to charm you into his silliness.

“so what was with the breathing?” you suddenly remembered the whole reason why you summoned yuta in the first place. he shifted his head to the side to look at you, bottom lip pushing out slightly as he tried to think. “the what breathing?”

“i remember feeling someone breathing against me, it was kinda the last straw with me back then before i did research about the place and found out about you.” yuta hummed to himself as he thinks all the way back to when you were kind of new to the place, he swore he could feel his face warm up when he realized what you were talking about.

“... i was uh.. you know how i get lonely right— i mean-! i swear i was just laying in bed! i didn’t realize i was so close to you and affected you!” you smirked at the response, giggling at how he babbled on and tried to explain himself. “hmm okay, perv.”

“i— what?” yuta sat up slightly, using his elbows to support his body on the soft mattress. “i mean, you probably have already seen me naked.”

“hey! i know being a ghost is creepy but i’m not that kind of creepy… i suppose i have seen— but i swear i didn’t think anything filthy of it-!” you laughed at the man’s embarrassed face, brushing off the topic to save the man from sinking further into shyness.

“y’know, i don’t think i’d get to see ghosts the same way as i did before i met you.” you started off, yuta only stared at you with interest as you continued. “i didn’t even believe in them before this, and everyone in the world thinks ghosts are always out to kill or haunt you or something.” your eyes trailed forward to look at your ceiling, thinking of the right words to say.

“but now i know.. a lot of you probably just want closure from death, it makes me sad that most of you just rot away not doing anything, moving stuff to get our attention and stuff, no wonder some tired and lonely ones end up haunting places with bad intentions.” yuta blinked at your sudden burst of feelings in words, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of finally being understood.

“it’s too bad that you guys are usually interpreted as bad people, when you’re just finding your way to peace.” you didn’t realize a tear slipped down the side of your face until yuta wiped it off with his cold fingers. he fully sat up to face you, following suit to the man beside you.

yuta hesitated before leaning in slowly, you closed your eyes in content. lips pressing against his cold slightly chapped ones, you felt one of his hands travel up to cup your cheek gently. yuta felt himself flood his own tears after so long. the kiss lasted a good moment, it was sweet and genuine. pulling away with slightly hooded eyes, you cupped his cheeks with both hands, leaning in once more to kiss away the man’s tears.

“it’s okay, let it all out…” you whispered tenderly, he might be decades older than you but he was still the bright young hopeful boy he once was.

the happy moment quickly converted into confusion when you saw his figure slowly turn translucent, seeing the light sourced by the room peek through him slightly. he turned back to you with a happy smile this time, his voice rung in your ears with a slightly thrilled voice. “i think i understand what my ‘unfinished business’ was.”

your eyes widened further as you thread your fingers through his soft tufts of hair. “w-what do you mean…?” you weren’t ready to let go of him yet, your eyes swelled with tears as he spoke once more.

“yuta! no.. what—!?” you watched as your hands sunk into his figure. you couldn’t feel him anymore.

“thank you for loving me back.” you stared at the man in dejection, your breaths turning shallow as your time with yuta came to an end. he was finally at peace. eyes pouring rivers at the realization that he was actually gone, if past you knew that he was gone now, you would probably be happy.

weren’t you supposed to be happy? this was your goal from the beginning, why did it feel like a part of you died along with yuta’s disappearance. you slumped in devastation. yuta didn’t want to live perfect and happy.

he just wanted to be loved genuinely.

you didn’t even get to say the words to him, it was too late when you were certain you felt these strong feelings for the man.

“i love you too.”

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unproduciblesmackdown · 3 years ago

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fairly extensive billions dream scene surely influenced by 6x01 b/c there kept being similar contexts

taylor was going around in a place like if a mall food court had a bar and was trying to do some groundwork for a potential new strategy to pursue by asking people if they had News about [subject], namely, printed information. they mentioned to this one older guy that they knew earlier he had been like “oh i’m never gonna talk to you again” out of being pissed off about axe’s Losing and taylor’s role in it, but that guy was now like, still grumpy but less mad at them in particular lol like aw i was just lashing out....i in this scenario was like, a nameless tmc employee, and had the True To Waking Life thought like “is this how someone thinking about a financial strat in billions would go about collecting news, really?? going around asking for publically available info they and anyone could just pursue directly anyways?” but the point is even unconsciously i cannot be bothered to come up with more billions accurate scenarios with any details i guess lol, so it was like, okay, there’s taylor with a stack of papers seeking more of that printed info just by going up and asking people if they have any. at one point they were just standing there with that stack and generally asking like Papers? and i went “is this just like newsies?”

through the magic of insider It’s My Dream knowledge, i got the notion that taylor was considering getting Directly into fracking? through the magic of “and i still have some of the kinds of billions reflections i’d have if i were awake,” i was a bit confused by this like, it’s been a while and now of all times it seems weird that this is what taylor’s looking into, but okay. i, with that generic unnamed tmc employee role, found a newspaper with a headline with an article that seemed to be relevant, and was like, again surely a printed newspaper where this is on the front page isn’t gonna be the cutting edge knowledge that they hinge any decisions on, but hey. i offered them the newspaper like, this is relevant to what you’re looking for right? i will only tell other tmc employees and ask them not to tell anyone else in turn, don’t worry. except f for me, because then i realized like oh wait this is a completely irrelevant headline about a casual like local piece about queer people’s favorite rock music and similar genres to tune into on the radio. like well :/ sorry taylor maybe it’s a fun read anyways

in the midst of this there was like, a Cut to a winston scene wherein he was also doing some Consideration Of The Future apparently in that he had like a dating site open in one tab and a search for “single at 34″ open in another, the latter of which i again had the True To Wakefulness reflection of “uh unexpected implied age specification when we’re pretty sure he’d be a Twentysomething in a range of maybe +/- 2 yrs re: taylor’s also imprecise twentysomethingness. but ok” and the former of which i was like “oh he likes rian but guess he’s looking less for Will We Won’t We rn and pursuing something that can become more We Will, Presently” and i was also like “oh, so he’s lonely :/ :(” and furthermore naturally he was doing this at work and someone comes up with a “hmm i’m critically assessing you at any time” energy such that winston was simultaneously a bit flustered about having these things up on his computer and also somewhat put out about Not having impressive work things in front of him, and whatever else the person was talking to him about re: work things

#winston billions #like hey thanks for the Billions Material Dream that was even unusually lengthy it seems but like #could i not instead get to dream about these people kissing or having a more fun time lmfao #get in on the transformative stuff....but truly my Billions Dream Scenes tends to tend to be like inventing would be canon material #i say this like i think the last dream i remembered / shared wasn't the invented canon material being ''oh rian's kissing winston :o o///o''#it was very fancy to get to interact with taylor lol like. offering moral support #dream me was like well despite questioning this fracking strategy i have a role to larp here darn it

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gambitimagines · 3 years ago

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J’tadore Vous Part 3

Sorry this isn’t as soon as I/you would’ve liked. Insomnia weeks again! Also, I figure everyone understands I’m human and need breaks to recharge, have other responsibilities and can’t write fics all day, as fun as that would be. Thanks!

The legend is my own imagining based off Remy’s less-than-flattering nickname for the purpose of the story.

Warnings: Jack the Ripper references, but nothing graphic. Mentions of women being accosted and other stuff, but nothing too horrid. If men locking car doors triggers you, skip where the asterisks are.

-------

You we’re up late researching Remy, but not so late you couldn’t get up the next morning. You headed to the museum to look into a lead. The legend of Le Diablo Blanc-the white devil. (Not to be confused with Daredevil.)

Legend had it that a mysterious figure showed up around New Orleans around the 1900s, the same time as a man was doing some horrific “Jack-the-Ripper” inspired killings, but a bit less dark. Young women were accosted, preyed upon and several were killed, or wounded if they managed to somehow get away. Then, one day, mentions of a savior started spreading like wildfire through the town. He would pull away damsels in distress, but they never saw his face. He wore a black mask to cover his features, but all you could see were glowing red eyes and white skin, so the papers branded him Le Diablo Blanc. Stories went around of him throwing playing cards that exploded at the murderer, but he didn’t catch him for about a year. Until 1915. The killer was dropped off at the local police station tied up with some rope, looking worse for wear, and the queen of hearts card stuffed into a large gash in his arm.

After that, there were a few stories in surrounding southern states about the hero rescuing people, but they completely stopped in 1918. The hero had hung up his mask for a quieter life.

You weren’t positive that he and Remy were one in the same, but it was worth looking into. Then there was the picture. You planned to take it to your friend at Kensworth’s Copies to be blown up for a better look.

At the museum, you looked through the historical books and files for anything on Le Diablo Blanc or Remy LeBeau. Despite being a museum of _Natural_ History, the place had many books, files, CD’s, and other media on general history about the nation and the world. You also planned on going to the library, because they might have something there. Newspaper articles or something. You didn’t know how much fame Remy had garnered over the years, if any, but billionaires never seemed to stay out of the limelight.

“You’re here? On a weekend?” Jenny entered the office looking exhausted. Her hair was a mess and she looked frazzled. What the actual frigging heck?

“Personal project,” You murmured, barely looking up from the many open books in front of you, “If I’m in the way, I can step out for a bit, but this is important.”

“No, no.” Jenny waved her hands, “I’m just a corporate slave. There’s a meeting with the higher ups at freaking nine-am and I was instructed to come, take some notes and be amicable to that snake, Misses Winters.”

Mrs. Winters was a 70-something year old woman who was the head of the museum. You crossed her, you were fired. She was known as cold-hearted and ruthless. Not a warm person.

“How did yesterday go with the mutie?”

“I told you not to use that word around me. It went fine.” You looked up a moment. Jenny really did look like garbage today. “Why do you look so...out of sorts?”

“Didn’t sleep good. Sister and her five-month old twins needed a place to stay at two this morning. She got into another argument with her husband.” Jenny drank her coffee, “I’m gonna go freshen up. Have fun on your _day off_. See you _Monday_.” She was venomous, but you couldn’t blame her. Everyone needed their sleep.

In moments, you forgot her. Somewhere between ancient Mesopotamia and the California gold rush, you found more stories of a dashing red-eyed savior sprinkled throughout history. You went back further in history, jumping around books.

1842-Colombu’s travels include a snippet about a red-eyed man saving one of his ships from thieves before leaving port by somehow blowing up several barrels.

1924-Remy’s picture is clearly snapped in a crowd at the opening of one of the first Ford Automotive companies.

1912-The Queen of England is saved by a man only known as LeBeau. No other description is given.

1202 A.D- The Mayans have a symbol carved into a wall of a hand seemingly on fire. One of their villages had a rockslide the week before, but the casualties hadn’t been that bad.

1995-Remy Picard gets his picture in the New York Chronicle for making 500 billion and donating some of his money to a new children’s hospital.

You sit back in your chair a moment. Taking it all in. Was it a trick? Coincidence? You needed to know more. You got your bag and headed to the library.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You went through the history section at the New York City library, getting out book after book again. It took over two hours, but you’d made out a hypothesis.

Remy was possibly born around the time Egypt reigned, if not earlier. He had to survive because of his mutantcy, you knew that much. He’d obviously amassed billions, keeping his profile low key over the recent years, for the most part. Hide in plain sight and you wouldn’t get caught. As far as the public knew, he was a rich mutant, nothing more. He’d hung up his hero status for reasons unknown, but he wasn’t as “young” as the history book claimed.

The figment, the savior, the man with the seductive, beautiful red eyes wasn’t a myth shrouded in stories and half-truths. He was real. And he wasn’t hundreds of years old. He was _thousands_ of years old!

The book you were looking at in the library shut loudly, making you jump. Remy was beside you.

“So, you found out my secret, after all, Cherie. You come with me. We need to talk.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Remy drove the two of you to an empty parking lot away from the city. You were suddenly terrified. What did he do to people that found out his secret? Kill them?

******************************************************************************

Your anxiety wasn’t helped when you heard the doors lock with a click.

“Wh-wh-what are you planning on?” you stuttered.

“Easy, (Y/N). I just want to talk and don’t want you storming out on me. We’re gonna have a talk and I’m going to explain everything.”

“Okay,” You couldn’t stop shaking. You wished you’d bought pepper spray, but your fears were calmed a little as he placed his large hands over yours.

******************************************************************************

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never think of hurting you, please don’t be so scared of me,” Remy insisted, his eyes soulful and pleading. He really seemed to mean it.

You just nodded.

“I was born in the time of Pharoh when Egypt was the ruling power. A scholar took me under his wing and raised me, but was killed in battle. I was trained to fight, but because of my eyes and powers, the Pharoh Rama-Tut tried to have me assassinated, thinking I’d take over. I didn’t have any desire for prestige or kingship, I just wanted to live my life out and die as normal, but we don’t always get what we want. That’s the secondary part of my mutation; I live a long time. Maybe forever, I don’t know. I do know that I’ve forced myself into isolation and it’s getting boring. I gave you that picture on purpose, hoping you’d be curious enough to find out my secret. You’re cute and sweet. I meant it when I said I wanted to get to know you, and I want you to know me as well. No secrets. But there’s something else, and I don’t want you to get angry,”

“Oh, what? My manager is in the trunk because you’re out to stop bigotry?” You scoffed. You’d gradually stopped shaking, feeling better. Safer with him.

“I tried to save people, but I couldn’t save everyone. Women and children have died in my arms. Men hunted me down for what I was, even when I was trying to do the right thing. The best thing. To help and save others. I’ve made mistakes and people got hurt, people died. I just don’t want that to make you see me differently,” Remy said, “Someone else did once. Renay LeFluer. She never forgave me.”

“I’m not her, Remy.” You tentatively touched his shoulder, “I get it. You can’t save everyone. No one can, not even superheroes. You can trust me too.”

Silence.

“Thank you, (Y/N). I’m glad we understand each other but are we on the same page? Would you like to go out with me?” Remy asked.

“I’d love that, Remy. Now?”

“Tomorrow night,” Remy said, “You’ve had a long morning and it’s only Saturday. The place I have in mind is upscale, so you have to look your best.-Not that you aren’t cute now.” He brushed some hair out of your face.

“I’ll look forward to it,” You smiled.

Remy took you back to your car. You had many questions but didn’t want to bombard him all at once. That could wait until you saw him again.

TO BE CONTINUED

#gambit x reader #remy lebeau x reader #AU fic #Alternate Universe fic #story imagine #MCU #X-Men imagine #MCU imagine #thousands of years old AU #romantic #timeless

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wyofabdoms · 4 years ago

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Undercover I Do - Chapter 7

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: Memories of attempted sexual assault, fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, injury, swearing, soft Javi, feelings, I have no idea how amnesia really works, brief mention of masturbation, Javi reads poetry...did you know that?!?!?...me neither!

Word Count: 4407 (again....Whoopsie!)

Notes: A trip to the office in an attempt to jog your memories ends up revealing more about Javier Peña then you expected. Plus, a trip to the farmer's market knocks some things loose and a thunderstorm brings you and Javi closer.

Read on Ao3

It had been a week since you’d come home from the hospital.

During that week, there had been so little success in regaining your memories save for those brief hopeful moments with Javi the previous weekend. Javi had done as much work from home as he could this past week; when he did have to go in to the office, he usually returned with stacks or boxes of paperwork, spreading out on the coffee table or in the kitchen like now, grumping that he didn’t want to leave you on your own for too long if he could help it. The time in the alone stretched on endlessly and you always felt a jolt of happiness when you heard the key in the lock and your husband strode in on a cloud of cigarette smoke, faded aftershave and cologne with (more often than not) a frustrated scowl decorating his handsome face. You always took note of how that scowl slipped from his face when he greeted you, though, and that moment always made you smile.

The previous day you’d joined Javi at work for a short while. You had discussed at dinner the night before that maybe more familiar surroundings would jar something loose...after all, Javi had said, the two of you usually spent more time at the office than you ever really did in your apartment. You eagerly agreed. If nothing else you were excited for a change of scenery.

It had been more awkward than anything, really and you were disappointed that nothing short-term had seemed to come back to you. Feistl and Van Ness had both greeted you warmly, inquiring as to whether you’d gotten the flowers they’d sent. Both younger men had kindly remarked that you looked like you were doing well and then proceeded to lapse into an uncomfortable silence, glancing from one another and then Javi before quickly scurrying off to complete some menial task. Dixon had found you as well, and had seemed a bit on edge when she had made small talk with you. You simply chalked it up to stress, but you had seen her pull Javi a short distance away and speak furtively to him, clearly irritated with something he had said or done. Javi’s brows had lowered over his dark eyes when the older woman had moved away and he had ushered you into his office, telling you he needed to pop into a quick meeting...shouldn’t take more than fifteen, twenty minutes and did you want to wait here or should he get a car to take you home?

You’d been happy to settle yourself onto the worn leather couch, but as the time ticked by you grew antsy and started pacing around your husband’s office, tracing the pens on the desk, sitting in his chair and twirling in it absentmindedly, aimlessly gazing at the maps and photographs on the walls and bulletin boards. As you wandered, the corner of your jacket caught on something on the edge of the desk, pulling it off and sending a stack of papers fluttering to the floor. You cursed, then bent to re-stack the papers, hoping they had not been in any kind of order. You saw a thin, navy blue book also on the floor and reached to pick it up.

Rumi: The Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing

You were struck for a moment: what was Javi doing with a book of love poems at work? You sat down in his desk chair again. Flipping open the small book you noticed a name written neatly in a woman’s handwriting on the inside cover: Sofia Flores

A small piece of paper, worn with time was tucked between the cover and the title page. You carefully open it and read a small message in the same writing as the name:

Even though this marriage didn’t work out, my sweet Javi, remember: I will always love you. Xoxo

Your stomach clenched. “This marriage” hadn’t worked out? You felt like your mouth was suddenly sandpaper and you started to close the book and place it back on the desk when another loose paper fluttered out from the middle pages...one of many pieces of paper stuck there you realized as you flipped to the middle of the book of poetry, finding two with corners dogeared. Two poems on opposite pages bracketed a small collection of what appeared to be newspaper clippings. The first poem read:

“Lovers find secret places inside this violent world where they make transactions with beauty.”

And:

“I want to see you. Know your voice. Recognize you when you first come ’round the corner. Sense your scent when I come into a room you’ve just left. Know the lift of your heel, the glide of your foot. Become familiar with the way you purse your lips then let them part, just the slightest bit, when I lean in to your space and kiss you. I want to know the joy of how you whisper “more”

Your breath caught at the simplicity and beauty of the poems, and it made your heart ache that your husband even possessed a book of poetry, much less one filled with such lovely words. You started to look through the clippings flattened between these two poems and were surprised when you noticed they all seemed to be about you.

There were five total: one from what appeared to be an interoffice newsletter highlighting your work as a successful agent in a mostly male dominated field. The short article included a photograph of you taken several years ago when you had graduated from Quantico. The other four were in Spanish and had clearly come from local Bogota papers. Each had grainy black and white photos of you (and two with Javi along with some other DEA agents) at different locations around the city taken during the last two years as you had worked to help unravel the mess that was Columbian drug trafficking. In one, you and Javi and Feistl stood together surveying a map spread on the hood of a Jeep, most likely either pre- or post- op. In another, you were escorting a minor drug crony from a building, his hands behind his back, your hand firmly on his shoulder and your torso covered in a sturdy tac vest. The others were similar and at the bottom of the small pile of clippings, you found a polaroid photo.

It was another picture of you, but in this one you were sitting amongst a small group of co-workers. Despite the others in the picture, you were framed at the center, clearly the focus of the photographer. You remembered this night from over a year ago: It was Van Ness’’s birthday and you and several other colleagues had pitched in to buy him a Polaroid camera like the one that would have taken this picture. It had been a good night out, a fun dinner with margaritas and beer flowing. As everyone got more silly and giggly and loose, the camera had been passed around and each person had taken a turn snapping a photo. You vaguely remembered glancing across the table just as the snap from this photo being taken had reached your ears and noticed Peña lowering the camera from his face, removing the picture from the roller as it slid from the device, growling something to the person next to him as he passed the camera. You hadn’t thought anything of it, thinking your partner had just taken a wide shot of you and your colleagues across the table. All of the photos had been collected at the end of the evening and presented to Van Ness, who had spread them all out on the table for everyone to giggle and admire one another’s silly faces and poses.

The realization struck you that your husband must have kept the photo he had taken that night, a photo with you at it’s center. It was worn, smudged along the edges and showing creases and a small tear in one corner. Clearly it was handled regularly.

“Hey.” The gruff rasp of your husband’s voice startled you and you looked up at him guilty. “You ready to get outta here…?” He stopped short when he saw the book in your hand, the clippings on the desk, the photograph in your other hand.

“I’m sorry!” Your first instinct was to apologize; clearly this wasn’t something he wanted people to see. “I didn’t…” You quickly moved from being apologetic to feeling tears well up in your eyes as you remembered: “even though this marriage didn’t work out”...from “Sofia”. You looked up at him. “Javi?” You could only choke out his name by way of question.

Javi’s face transformed to worry when he heard your voice say his name. He moved quickly to crouch next to you in his desk chair.

“Hey, hey...it’s ok. What is it? Whatsa matter?” He put a callused hand along your cheek, searching your eyes for an explanation. You could only look back down at the book in your hands.

“Is our marriage over?” You asked him, tears starting to fall. His brows came together in confusion and he spoke softly.

“What? What do you...what do you mean, sweetheart?” You flipped back to the front cover of the book, smoothing out the note from “Sofia”.

“Who’s Sofia Flores?” You held your breath, waiting for him to look guilty, ashamed, abashed at being found out, but you saw realization flutter across his eyes and his face relaxed; he released a puff of air...almost a small laugh, and he stood, leaning carefully on the desk next to you, wiping a hand across his face.

“No. No, sweetheart...it’s not what you think.” He looked at you for a moment, studying you carefully. “Do you remember...do you remember me telling you about Lorraine?” You nod and the next instant, you feel relief come over you. Lorraine: his former fiancé back in Texas. He had told you about her once, one late night at the office when you had both sipped a little too much whiskey and started swapping stories about miserable past relationships. Lorraine: who had always put him down, made him feel like he was never good enough, a piece of shit, who demeaned the things he had found interesting. You had never met the woman, but you remember feeling that night like you had never hated anyone as much as you hated her for treating Javi so poorly. You also remember thinking to yourself that night how incredibly wrong someone could be about another human being. But then again, you hadn’t been engaged to Javier Peña….yet. Javi sees it click in your face and continues.

“Sofia Flores was my mom. She gave me this,” he gently takes the book from you, “right after I left Lorraine...right before I came here. She taught herself English with this.” He held the book up, pride sparking behind his eyes at the memory of his mother. You nodded, remembering him telling you how she had passed during his first few months in Columbia; it had been sudden and he hadn’t even known she was sick until it was too late. He hadn’t been able to get back in time to say goodbye…You noticed him swallow hard as he saw the articles about you spread on the desk.

“What about…”you gesture to the clippings, the photo in your hand. “What about all of these? Why do you have all this stuff about me stuck in here? Why don’t you keep these at home?” He looked uncomfortable for a moment, like he was caught at something somehow.

“I, uh….I just...I had ‘em tucked away from...before we were…” He stopped himself, seeming to think carefully about what to say next. Then he looked from the articles to you and then away again, almost shy. “I guess...I had a little crush on you when we were partners and...I just never took ‘em out of there after...things changed.” He took the photo from you, looking at it for a moment, then back at you; for a moment he looked like a little boy waiting to be yelled at for breaking a window with his baseball. You smiled up at him and his face relaxed, returning the smile with a small one of his own. He cleared his throat and straightened from the desk, returning the articles and picture back to their spot in the middle of the book and quickly depositing the book into a desk drawer. He held his hand out to you and pulled you to your feet. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, taking a step closer to him and keeping hold of his hand for a moment when he let go. He looked surprised by your closeness, then smiled down at you again, carefully. You stood on your tiptoes and carefully kissed him; a chaste, quick kiss lasting only a moment or two, but you felt a current dance between your connected lips, like sparks from an incorrectly attached jumper cable. His eyes stayed closed for several seconds after you broke the kiss and settled back onto your feet; you smiled at how in awe of the taste of you he seemed to be. Your smile turned into a grin when he opened his eyes and met your gaze, smiling softly back at you. “I’m starving, actually.”

You slid your arm through your husband’s as the two of you left the office and headed for a late lunch.

****

You’re a fuckin’ moron, Peña! Javier had thought to himself instantly when he had walked back into his office and seen her sitting at his desk with the Rumi book in her hand. He’d panicked when he’d heard her say his name and seen the tears in her eyes. He’d quickly realized the confusion and had breathed easy knowing she hadn’t been angry with him.

Once more he felt like a creep when he realized she had found the articles and picture he had kept tucked away inside it. He saw her everyday in clearer situations: her beautiful face on the phone, tongue between her lips, determining if a tip is legitimate; listening through headphones as she giggled trying to seduce an informant; watching beads of sweat drip down her neck and the sound of her heavy pants after she’s finished running down a narco in the dusty streets.

He’s not proud to admit that he has thrown his imagination to any one of these memories on the occasion when he would not seek out a woman to distract him and he had instead unbuttoned his jeans and pumped himself to the thought of his partner. That seemed to have been happening more and more in recent months, but he hadn’t ever used those photos for THAT.

He kept these for the even more frequent occasion when he would close his office door, stare at her face and reread one of those poems for the millionth time, feeling when he did a balloon expand inside his chest with yearning for her...aching to hold her close to him and whisper those lines in her ear; truths about how he felt about her.

Now, he refused to acknowledge how much it made his heart sing as they walked through the outdoor market a few minute’s walk from their apartment. They had returned home and had lunch, no new memories having made an appearance with exposure to their place of work. She had been frustrated by and he had suggested they go for a walk, get out of the apartment some more...it was a beautiful day after all.

Now, they wandered past the tables and stalls of brightly colored pineapples, papayas, bananas, peppers and avocados, stopping occasionally to buy something for dinner or pausing for her to admire a woven bag. She spoke Spanish to the merchants easily, a good sign, he thought, that her long term memories were strong.

He discreetly admired his partner’s profile as she stopped to look at a bright display of flowers, enquiring about price from the kind, toothless, stooped older woman manning the stall. She paid the lovely worker and put her nose to the large white bouquet of petals and Javi felt his heart nearly stop.

She was so beautiful.

...It took him a moment to realize something was wrong, but when he noticed her stiffen and her brow furrow, he was next to her in an instant, his hand on her elbow, quietly saying her name. She looked at him...but didn’t see him for a few moments, her gaze was elsewhere, seeing something else. He knew she was remembering something.

“I remember…”she started, blinking her eyes and looking back down at the flowers in her hands. “Plumeria…” she said quietly. “I remember we were next to...a swimming pool? You and I? It was nighttime.”

Javi knew exactly what she had remembered. He gulped, saying nothing, not wanting to distract her from remembering. She continued following the thread of memory the scent of the flowers had unlocked.

“We were…” Her face flushed suddenly and she glanced up at him, then away again almost immediately. “...together. You...had me up against…” she gulped, the blush in her face turning a deeper scarlet. Javi remembered, too.

They’d made an early exit from Ortiz’s dinner party; she had feigned a headache. They had believed Ortiz’s lab was beneath his pool, the entrance through the pool house in the back of his home. While everyone else had been occupied with the forth course and an unknown number of drinks, the two of them had slipped back around the premises, creeping along the sparkling pool, trying to find some clue to get them into the lab, something they could use to get a warrant.

Javi had heard the noise from the guards making their rounds first, and he had yanked his partner by the elbow, pressing her back up against one of the plumeria trees, shoving one knee between her legs, gripping her ass with one hand and holding her head carefully with the other as he shoved his mouth against hers. She had fallen into the ruse seamlessly, recognizing instantly what he was doing. Her hands gripped fistfuls of his hair, one leg coming up to wrap around his waist, drawing her skirt up and giving his hips more access to the space between her legs.

Even though it was only pretend, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from growing hard...being so close to her sex he had found himself grinding himself into her without thinking, eliciting a small moan from her mouth. He had torn his lips away and begun devouring her neck, making her gasp into the thick, flower scented air and signaling their location to the guards. He had snaked his hand up the front of her dress and pulled down, releasing her breast to the cool night air. She had pulled his head down and thrust her groin along the hard outline of his cock and he had gladly taken the pert nipple into his mouth, relishing in the sensation the soft pebble made between the gentle ministrations of his teeth.

“Perdón por interrumpir, Señor Sanchez,” The two of them had sprung apart, reacting to Javier’s pseudonym, playing up the caught couple. Despite the act, though, Javi had looked at her as she’d straightened her dress, running a hair through her hair and he couldn’t help admire her swollen lips from his kisses and the flush on her cheeks. He had seen something in your eyes, reflecting what he felt himself.

That hadn’t been all fake.

“I...I don’t remember anything other than...us...against the tree.” Her voice snapped him back out of the memory; she was staring at the flowers in her hand sadly, grasping for more of the memory.

He didn’t particularly want her to remember what had happened next.

That night they had been found out. They had been followed back to their “home” and both beaten, separated for a time in different rooms. He had heard her yelling and had heard over and over the sound of crashes and fists and palms meeting flesh amidst the sounds of the same happening to him. He had shouted, too, wanting her to know he was still there, he was still with her, they were still in it together. Later, after the sicarios had given them both a rest, they had been reunited when they were dragged into “their” bedroom and secured to their respective places, whispering to one another, made to wait through the dark hours of the early morning...until Ortiz’s men had returned when the sun had come up.

The rest, he didn’t want to think about.

“Well…” His voice was gruff from the thought of how close he had come to losing her that day. “That’s something. That was...recent...just a few weeks ago.” She looked at him curiously, clearly able to see that he was reacting differently to the memory of them kissing passionately beneath a plumeria tree. She said his name, a question filling the sound. He looked at her and forced a small smile. “That’s good.” He said quietly, reaching for her hand. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

Javier laid awake in the darkness of the living room, trying not to think about that night again for the millionth time. The blanket was scratchy on his bare chest; he kicked it off of him and lay there, listening to the sound of the pounding rain outside, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the apartment, thunder crashing and rumbling loudly. He hated that he would always have that memory of her, calling out, yelling in terror and panic.

He sat up….had he dozed off? He thought he had heard her screaming his name again, just like she had from the other room that fateful night.

Then he heard it again.

“JAVI!!”

He was down the hall and next to her on the bed faster than he could take a breath. She was curled in a ball, the covers soaked from sweat and kicked off of her, shaking furiously. In the light from a flash of lightning, he saw that her eyes were closed tightly, her face contorted into a terrified mask. She was having a nightmare...

...and was calling out for him.

He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders, gently nudging her, not wanting to frighten her more upon waking, but wanting desperately to rescue her from the terror of her dream. She screamed as she bolted upright, nearly knocking her head into his. He gripped her shoulders firmly as her arms flailed out around her, fighting against him.

“Heyheyhey...easy, it’s me….its just me. It’s Javi.” She recognized him after a moment, and he continued to murmur that he was there, that she was ok, that he had her, that it had just been a bad dream; she flung herself into his arms. He held her against him, soothing her, whispering to her like she was a child, feeling her body shake. He felt warm, wet drops on his chest and knew she was crying. He gripped his arms around her more tightly, trying with all of his might to will her peace, a feeling of being safe.

They stayed that way for a long time, him stroking her hair, murmuring into her ear, rocking her gently against him. Finally, he felt her take a shaky breath and she whispered against his chest:

“It felt so real. I was tied to a bed and...there was a man...he was trying to…” her voice choked into a sob once more and he felt the tears start to wet his chest again.

“Shhhhh….shhhhhh. It’s ok.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, cigarettes, fear...memories. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” He buries his face in her hair and breathes her name. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ve got you.”

More time passes. Her breathing settles and her tears dry, but he continues to hold her. He feels the tension in her body release itself, little by little and she takes a deep, shaky breath before pulling back to look at him. The room is still dark and the rain still pours down outside, but the thunder has passed, is getting softer.

“It was just a nightmare.” She whispers, almost to herself.

He can’t bring himself to correct her; that it was a memory. Not tonight, he thinks.

She’s staring into his chest, appearing to think about something carefully. He moves to unwrap himself from her, to settle her back into bed, but she grips his forearms firmly, stopping him from pulling away.

“Stay.” She breathes and he almost doesn’t hear it. He thinks for a moment, telling himself he shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea. But then she lifts her eyes to meet his and in the near darkness he sees them sparkle and she whispers: “Please. Stay with me.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just carefully bores her backwards until she’s lying on her back, her head on her pillow. He hovers above her, gazing down at her like a lover...like a husband might do before kissing his wife and bringing her to ecstasy…

...He shifts himself to lie next to her, behind her and he pulls her back against his chest, feeling her legs move to tangle with his. He reaches down to straighten the sheets and pulls them over top of both of them, then wraps his arms around her. He listens to her breathing get heavier and slow and he’s sure she must be asleep. Just as he thinks about closing his own eyes, she turns and rolls to face him, wrapping her own arms around him, too and burying her face in his neck. He’s sure she can feel his pulse pounding frantically, but she simply sighs softly, her breath skimming across his skin. Her breathing slows and deepens once again. She’s asleep.

Javi sighs, remembering the taste of her lips during that sweet, innocent kiss in his office earlier that day. Closing his own eyes, he buries his face in her hair, drifting off to sleep with the weight of her in his arms.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

#javier peña x reader #javi #narcos #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #undercover marriage

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brokenjardaantech · 4 years ago

Text

absorbance of the deep (chapter 1: first contact)

written for a mermay prompts challenge. my prompt is ‘monochromatic.’

rated: M

relationships: simarkus, simon & josh & north, simon & daniel as twins

summary:

simon was the quiet son of a lighthouse keeper in a small seaside village. his other half was the sea. no one knew exactly what was happening, but he had his friends, he had his twin brother, he had the ocean - and to him, that was enough.

also on ao3

---

It started long before Simon was aware of his connection with the sea.

Back then, he was still loved by his parents. Back then, he was still blissfully unaware of how different he was from other people.

Back then, someone still cared when he went missing.

He of course had no recollection of the incident himself, being a baby when it happened, and all he knew came from his twin brother’s retelling of the event which he had learnt from their parents who decided that Simon’s lack of speech meant that he didn’t understand words at all even though he spent most of his time at home doing his own work or reading books reserved for people older than him. ‘Hag put us on the goddamned floor,’ Simon remembered the quiet fury of his twin brother as he paced in their shared bedroom. ‘God knows why she would do that. You could barely crawl, and either she forgot to fucking close the door or you somehow managed to open the fucking thing on your own, the next thing she saw after finally finishing cooking lunch was that there was only me, the door to the pier was open, and you were gone. They thought you were gone for good.’

Simon remembered turning his gaze towards the small stack of paper he was holding and rubbing the corner of. It was a copy of the newspaper article from the day he was found on the beach completely soaked in saltwater but very alive, one that took over most of the pages of the large sheet of inked newsprint they call the local newspaper found in the library and therefore required a few sheets of normal paper to photocopy the entire thing double-sided. Little Simon rescued from the beach! was printed at the very top below the name of the newspaper, and the article documented not only the facts - despite the sensationalised title - but also included a lot of interviews of the search and rescue team which seemed to care a lot about his survival and whereabouts, most of which Daniel and North firmly believed to be no more than a show. Simon believed them because he was never a good judge of people’s intentions.

‘Half of the town thought you were really dead, the other half kept searching just for you to be washed up the beach in the middle of the fucking night and being discovered only the morning after,’ Daniel continued talking and pacing, and Simon had to look away because the movement was making him dizzy. ‘The rest you can find in the article. I’m not gonna waste my time reading aloud.’

Simon grabbed the worn dictionary, flipping to the pages with the words he wanted to convey and pointing his finger at them. but - how - about - dad - and - mum?

‘No fucking idea. Dad said Mum was hysterical.’

The rest Simon forgot because he was tired and he hadn’t been paying attention, and he supposed that it didn’t matter anyway because they stopped caring when he grew up from the easy, quiet baby to the too-quiet toddler who wouldn’t play with other children and scratched his own arms when things became too much. At first, the other children he went to school with left him alone with his sticks and stones which he assembled into shapes resembling the marine animals he remembered from the worn picture books in the kindergarten’s library. He didn’t necessarily understand the words, but the pictures were soft, the fishies were cute, the soft edge of the cardboard felt good in his hands, and they reminded him of a home he yearned for but never had, his obsession with the ocean starting when he was young. It was during these quiet times that another boy of his age approached him.

‘What are you doing?’ the other boy asked. He was dragging a bag filled with books behind him.

Simon flipped his own book open until he found the page of the octopus he was trying to recreate with his collection of seashells that he found on the beach and a few sticks he found on the dirt in the garden behind the kindergarten, pointing first at the specific octopus he was assembling (there were five of them, he counted), then at the imitation on the ground. He hoped the other boy understood what he meant. He wouldn’t want him to scream in his ear and make them hurt just like the others. For some reason, they thought it would help him hear them better while in fact it was doing the exact opposite. He could hear them well enough; he just didn’t want to speak.

‘Are you building the octopus?’

Simon nodded.

‘May I watch you?’

Another nod, and the two of them sat on the same piece of log as Simon bent down once more to rummage in his collection of pebbles and seashells to complete his octopus, this time with an audience consisting of one single boy already a bit taller than himself. Halfway through the recreation, his companion retrieved a book, one with the same thickness but thinner pages and much more words, but Simon, engrossed in his project, didn’t seem to notice at all, having been sucked into his own world and become completely oblivious to his surroundings, and he only straightened himself as much as his uncooperative limbs could after the octopus was complete. Josh noticed it and put down his book just to be swatted by Simon’s flailing hand that felt like, ‘Look at my work.’

And to two boys, it was a work of art. With dirt as his canvas and random pebbles and sticks and leaves and seashells as his palette, Simon somehow manages to fit them together into a puzzle more detailed than the drawing he based it on, the different colours of nature somehow managing to form a harmonious combination of browns and whites and oranges and green. ‘It’s pretty,’ Josh commented. ‘I like it.’

Simon’s face blushed pink. Tilting his head to one side, he seemed to study his artwork intently for a few seconds before struggling with the zippers of his backpack as if he wanted to open them, and when it was evident that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish the task himself, Josh offered to help him, and he unzipped it quickly just for Simon to snatch the bag back and scoop every single piece of nature he used to construct the octopus with inside.

‘What are you doing?’ Josh was shocked, but still he zipped up the bag because he didn’t want the contents to spill out. He would be sad if one of the seashells got lost.

Simon hopped off the log he was sitting on and dragged the backpack behind him instead of putting it on. A few steps towards the other side of the park, and then he turned around, beckoned the other boy to follow him with a wave of his hand, his blue eyes still glued onto the ground.

‘Where are you going?’

Simon pointed towards a familiar direction.

‘You’re going to the beach?’

A nod.

‘Okay. Let me pack up.’

By ‘pack up,’ he meant carefully placing his book in his bag, and soon the two boys were dragging their respective bags behind them on the road as they walked to the beach on foot unsupervised by any adults. The sky was a greyish white, the wind was strong from the upcoming rain, the sound of the sea lapping the shore was particularly loud from the silence of the village and the strength of the waves, but all the signs indicating a worsening weather were ignored, Simon determined to go to the beach and Josh too curious to back down from accompanying his potential new friend. Walking was easier when the ground underneath their feet finally changed from asphalt to soft sand, and their tiny footsteps were erased by twin tracks their bags left behind. Simon sat down abruptly just before they reached the line where dry sand gave away to wet.

‘What are you doing?’ Josh asked even though he was already sitting down.

Simon merely pushed his backpack towards the other boy. It took him a few seconds to interpret the action, but Josh got it quickly enough and unzipped the back for him. Simon then poured the contents onto the dry sand, casually shoving the bag to one side and then started reconstructing the octopus once more, and Josh was confused; if the boy wanted to make it on the beach, why didn’t he do it here directly? Why practise in the park first? But he also knew that he probably wouldn’t get an answer from the other boy so he watched the octopus materialise piece by piece instead.

Until he noticed something strange about the ocean.

See, even though they were literal children, they grew up with the sea in their view at all times, and they knew its personality and temper well. When to avoid the shore, when to avoid going out altogether, when to prepare for the worst - they learnt to watch for the subtle signs and act accordingly. But nothing, not from parents, not from school teachers, not even from teenage babysitters, could have prepared Josh for the sight of the sea lapping higher and higher around them while the sand within their ten-foot radius stayed dry as if there was an invisible dome surrounding the two of them. He turned inland and saw the tide converging in front of him, the space around his bookbag staying dry on its own, and he sought out the other boy because he was horrified, he didn’t understand. The wind was picking up. If they didn’t go now, the sea would swallow them.

‘We have to go!’ he says. ‘I don’t know what’s happening, but if we don’t, we’ll die!’

Simon continued to piece the octopus together on still-dry sand while being completely oblivious to his worsening surroundings. He didn’t seem to hear Josh at all.

‘C’mon!’ Josh tugged on Simon’s arm and received an impatient smack. ‘We need to go!’

Do not disturb him, human. Leave the devout alone.

The voice, deep and all-compassing and earth-rumbling, was as shapeless as the shrinking dry circle around them, and Josh didn’t understand, wasn’t sure if he wanted to understand. All he wanted to do now was run, but his way back was already blocked, the tide having crept up to them while the boy was trying to convince his companion to go with him, and now it was so far up that it would be impossible to escape unless he threaded through ankle-deep water. His books would be ruined.

I can provide a safe path out. But do not look back, human, or accept the consequences.

Those would’ve been big words for normal children, but Josh wasn’t normal, having read through the entire kindergarten’s library and had started inhaling the books in the small public library they had, and words were at least something he understood well; one moment he was surrounded by dark waters, and the other there was a path directing him to his bag of books and up the beach to the road, to safety, and he didn’t hesitate to run towards his bag and dragged it up the beach until he was running up the hill, the sound little feet hitting asphalt overwhelmed by the howling wind and raging sea. He spared a look back and discovered that his companion was gone, most of the beach having been swallowed by the rapidly-rising sea level.

He abandoned his new friend and he didn’t even know his name.

Horrified by his own actions, tears rolled down his cheeks as he slowed down his normal walking speed and went back to the kindergarten on foot where his teachers were waiting at the door. ‘Josh!’ one of them rushed forward and wrapped his arms around him. ‘Where were you?’

‘At - at the beach,’ he sobbed. ‘There - there was this boy with me and he’s gone!’

‘Another boy?’ a crackle of thunder, and their conversation was interrupted by a crackle of thunder. They hadn’t even noticed the streak of lightning tearing through the clouds because it was still bright, the clouds were not heavy enough to form anything other than a light rain, but it wasn’t like they cared about the inconsistencies between this rainfall and what they normally experienced anymore; all that mattered right now was that the weather was worsening, there was a child missing, and said child’s twin brother was currently -

‘WHERE IS SIMON?’ Daniel came blundering through before any teachers could grab him and clamped his tiny hands on Josh’s shoulders. ‘I’m asking you: where is Simon?’

Simon? Was it the boy’s name? Josh couldn’t think clearly. He left Simon to die. He was sorry.

‘He was at the beach,’ he didn’t know why he wasn’t screaming like the others, but as the first bucket of rain poured down the sky, he could imagine the waves sweeping Simon away, dragging him into the deep alongside the octopus he spent so much effort creating, all evidence of his existence gone, gone, gone -

‘The sea took him.’

o0o0o

In reality, young Simon was doing much better than he thought; in fact, the place he ended up with was so good that he didn’t even want to go back on land, let alone with the civilisation living on it at large, the experience edged into his mind so vividly that he can revisit it whenever he wants to even in adulthood as long as he closed his eyes. With Josh gone, he and the ocean could finally be alone with each other, and he let the waves cover him, an invisible barrier protecting him from the cold water and preserving enough air to keep him alive. He blinked, tilted his head to one side while the wave on top of his creation seemed to hesitate to touch it, holding his breath as the ocean judged him.

Don’t worry. Everything you made that doesn’t hurt us, I like.

He didn’t know what it meant back then, his mind too young to comprehend a promise as solemn as that, and neither did he know who ‘I’ was and whom ‘us’ was referring to, but looking back, it was part sincere reassurance and part lifelong vow despite, and now that he knows everything, he was glad that his love started early; it made growing up less lonely and terrifying; and despite his lack of understanding, he was immediately soothed, and he felt himself relax on the pocket of dry sand, clutching his open backpack and caressing the fabric because he thought it felt pleasant to his fingers.

I’ll give you something even better.

At last, his octopus was swept away by the waves, his offering accepted by the other half of himself that he didn’t even know existed back then, and there was no fear in his heart when the ocean enveloped him, surrounded him, carried him to the depths where everything was blue because no other colour could reach that deep. He found himself liking the colour; it wasn’t complicated like the kaleidoscope of life on land, it didn’t send needles into his eyes like the sharp reds and oranges the fishermen used to paint their boats so that they could be visible when they were out at sea, it wasn’t complicated like the subtle blue of the sky when it wasn’t covered by the clouds. This was raw, simple, the only wavelength that the ocean allowed to reach him among all others, so it must be the colour of protection as well.

He didn’t know all of these, back then, but these are some of the conclusions Simon arrived at after years of sharing his life with the ocean. What he did know was that the deep blue was a pleasant colour, one that calmed him down so much that he wanted to go to sleep right there on the soft sand of the seabed.

Sleep well, starlight.

Unbeknownst to him, his other half was still wide awake protecting his land-dwelling counterpart. The current changed to maintain the temperature of the tiny body at the bottom of the sea, the sea animals were instructed to stay off course so as to not disturb his slumber, and the earth also slowed down in case the pressure would become too much and frighten the fragile heart of a human child. It also got to work, finishing millions of years worth of progress in mere hours to create a safe haven for Simon, and he was carried there so gently that not once did he stir while he rode the waves without him knowing, and when he woke up, he was lying on a bed of soft but dry moss located in a cave of stone walls and soft sand. His parents and his twin weren’t there to urge him to wake up so he basked in the warmth that seemed to radiate from the pale sand as he listened to the sound of running water nearby. He would discover upon his second visit to the cave that it was the murmurs of an underwater stream feeding a hot spring near the end of the cave.

Time to get back, starlight.

He wasn’t in the position to judge or protest so he let the sea carry him back to his home on the surface. He couldn’t quite swim in the ocean yet and had a tendency to walk back into the water no matter how much inland the waves placed him; eventually they settled on putting him back on the pier outside his parents’ house/lighthouse, and although it was too close to the surface civilisation for their liking, it at least kept young Simon out of the water at last because he remembered jumping off the pier on his own and then landing into the water with his stomach first and the pain wasn’t something he would want to repeat. It was dark still when he was sent back to the surface and he didn’t want to be away from the sea yet, so with his tiny feet dangling off the side of the pier, he lay on the wood for hours watching the stars twinkle in sync with the dark waters kissing the beach glowing silvery in the moonlight, and then having to close his eyes as the sun painted the horizon a fiery orange and the clouds a deep purple. The sea stayed the same, however, the greyish-blue waves too choppy to glisten under the sunlight. The wind picked up as the land absorbed the energy from the sun and started heating the air, and that was how his parents found him: unconscious at the edge of the pier behind their house, a soft breeze smelling of the ocean feeding the fire burning what remained of his mind away.

#simarkus #dbh simon #dbh josh #dbh daniel #dbh #detroit become human #detroit: become human

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tartagilicious · 5 years ago

Text

spoken love > gavin, mlqc

→ Pairing | gavin x reader

→ Genre | angst w happy ending

→ Word Count | 9555

→ Warnings | tw; kidnapping and mild torture, + general heartbreak/feeling like you’re not good enough + the fluff at the end might give you cavities

→ Songs | orbit by hwasa and stefan’s theme by michael suby

→ Note | this plot took all of my brain cells to put together rip but at least I’ll be able to start working on requests again :) and yes, I love harassing victor in these for some reason. the poor boy deserves to be the one to win mc’s love 😔

@n3verending16

Flowers don’t bloom in the dark. Biologically, it’s impossible, but there are other factors that weigh in — things that stunt its growth just as greatly. It’s quite an open ended question, but this time, perhaps simply, the flower just felt as if growing any more was useless without her sun there to see it.

Call it a personal bias, but you think that must be it. Because as Gavin utters the very words you dread to hear, you feel as hopeless as a flower cut off from the sun.

“___,” he sighs. And it’s pained — too pained for someone who has just single-handedly snapped your heart in two. “I’m sorry. But it wasn’t something I could keep from you forever.”

I don’t love you anymore.

The words echo in your head so forcefully that you barely register Gavin’s voice. His apology only goes in one ear and out the other, much to both of your dismays.

“...I don’t understand.” Your voice is flat, but you know it’s only a matter of time and how particularly strong you’re feeling today until that breaks. “Why all of the sudden...?”

Gavin bites his bottom lip, as if holding back something before he only fesses up a shrug in response.

“I’m sorry.”

He sounds sorry, but you know from the bottom of your heart that there’s something underneath it. Gavin, a boy you’ve known since high school, who would always keep an eye out for you, who always picks you up and flies you home, who is always the first person to be there for anything -- is someone you know just as well as you know yourself.

“I don’t want to hear that. Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Your voice raises slightly with irritation, but in lieu of your unclear communication Gavin only stands and takes it. Like he should, you think, but you know that you don’t want to yell at him. He doesn’t deserve that — he never will.

“I really am sorry.”

You‘re at a loss for words as he shifts past you and silently lets himself out of your apartment.

Stay safe.

You frown as you whip around to the closed door, recalling the words he’d whispered to you when walking out. They fill you with a hopeless sense of dread and irritation that you can’t possibly manage to keep at bay for long.

And your frustrations do quickly surface — in the form of hopeless tears, with soundless sobs sneaking out of your throat that have you crippling to the floor.

That was almost 3 months ago.

By now, you’re not over it. You’re not over it in the least, and you’ve never lied to yourself or anyone else about that. That doesn’t mean it’s any less harder, but denial is simply just another fruit that you’re not willing to pick in the end.

Because there are already plenty of other nights that fill in the absent spots that denial leaves. Times where you’re too empty to eat, when you’re too lonely to sleep, and plenty and plenty of nights where your sadness tries to blame Gavin for your troubles — but, you can’t. The part of you that still believes something isn’t right just can’t bear to.

And so, you spend every moment of every sorrowful minute reminiscing, even if every single one of them is not your choice.

You don’t want your heart to drop into your stomach at the mention of his name. But it does. You don’t want to let a single person control your emotions like this, but you do. It’s meaningless to even claim that you want to feel this way, but it’s all too worth it to be the only one that knows you at least deserve better than your worst.

You want to get back to working at your best. You want to enjoy your favourite things again. All you want — all of it’s just out of reach for now. But, without him, without the reason that had torn you apart, you fear it’s impossible.

Yet, ironically, he was the one to teach you that nothing is impossible. He taught you that anything you chose to put your mind to, you could do, and now, you’ll be trying to use that very advice to piece everything back together.

Starting with him, of course.

There’s, of course, still that aspect that sticks out to you as wrong; something you haven’t been able to shake even after months of general, yet still mutual, silence on the subject. Whether it was the hesitance in his eyes or the sadness in his voice, you refuse to believe that it’s the end of the line. Especially considering Gavin’s own personality in regards to you -- it had always been in his best interest to keep you in the safest hands, even before you began to see each other as more than friends. So, it’s not as if you can completely rule out that possibility yet.

But, Gavin is like a lock. And sadly, it’s one that you lost the key to long ago.

Every time you encounter him, whether he flies you home, or helps you with a detail concerning something at work, he’s nothing but friendly and lithe in the ways he interacts with you. There’s little evidence of the hesitation you could’ve sworn that you saw that night, and it discourages a certain part of you greatly.

Still, you don’t want to give up. You feel like doing that would be like casting it to the side -- or more accurately, labelling the situation as plainly unimportant. And no matter what, that isn’t true. You want answers more than anything; concrete ones that won’t leave you with a bad taste in your mouth anymore. Answers that even if you didn’t like them, they settle your questions all the same.

Yet, you can’t help but feel pressured to.

Time after time he ignores the unsaid words floating in the air above you, and smiles without pain even when it’s obvious that you do.

maybe I was wrong?

You think hard to yourself one afternoon, right after Gavin had just dropped you off at home; unincidentally, of course. You can’t think of anything else, really, but the heartbreaking possibility that you’re concerned over nothing and Gavin really has just fallen out of love as he said haunts you more than anything else ever has.

That night spent alone is by far the worst.

But unbeknownst to you, a certain someone’s nights vary little.

Gavin feels tremendous regret. It’s a gnawing, aching feeling to know that while not only he lied to the love of his life, he is by no means closer to solving the problem that forced you apart. Three months have passed with only average progress on the particular case, and without you by his side, he can’t help but feel anxious every step of the way.

He feels time and time again the urge to tell you the truth, even if you choose not to accept it. And not just for himself -- but also for you. The way you’ve changed over time is terribly obvious to him if no one else.

But you aren’t a switch he can turn on and off at will -- your happiness is relative to only yourself. He just finds himself wishing that if not him, at least you could find the opportunity to live happily without him for now. He sees the way the emotions in your eyes rise and fall whenever he interacts with you. And though it gives him little insight into what goes on behind closed doors, it makes him feel bad all the same.

Because he knows it’s his fault, and wants nothing more than to get things over with so he can tell you the truth you deserve.

And finally, one day he realises that he might be closer than he thought.

“Gavin.”

He looks up to greet the man who’d just walked in, but thinks better of it when he sees his expression. This particular case had been handed to Eli first, as it fell more under his category than Gavin’s, but was extended out to him in lieu of progression.

That much alone told Gavin that this mission was unlike any he’d done before.

Usually, missions take mere days to complete -- up to about a week at most, but this one has been stretching on for months. It makes him anxious when he thinks about how long Eli had been at it before him, but all Gavin knows he can do nothing more than try his best to shorten it.

“What is it?”

“I think you should see this.”

A newspaper, dated to only a few weeks ago, is tossed on the table in front of him. It doesn’t really look to be anything special, with the headline only referencing business moguls and trivial local news rather than information they’re looking for. But, just as Gavin goes to open his mouth, he notices an article on the bottom of the page. It’s small, barely even noticeable, even, but the moment he reads the first words his eyes widen.

His eyes flicker up to meet Eli’s, who’s standing there with a small smile on his lips.

“Is this--?”

“Yep.” Eli nodded. ”Good thing I actually stopped to read it this morning, huh?”

Gavin’s lips curve up into a distracted smile, his attention returning to the newspaper and ultimately the little article about a missing persons case -- one of the very same they’ve been following. Listed under a few incidents is a woman’s name and information -- all average details such as height and weight that would inform anyone in the public of any specifics.

It’s nothing that they haven’t already uncovered, but there are certain details in the article itself that strike him as odd.

“Time and place of abduction.” Eli fills in the blanks before Gavin can even find the words to speak. “Whoever wrote this article somehow managed to get a hold of the cctv footage from that night and put it out to the public.”

“Spiteful of them to do that,” Gavin mumbles, his grip around the newspaper tightening and loosening with every absentminded flex of his hand. “Especially when we’ve been trying to get it for months.”

“I don’t know, but, let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe they were just lucky.”

He turns to Eli with a dubious look on his face. “The footage is protected under the ownership of the residence, and not to mention, the permissions you need for it can take months. There’s no way they were just lucky.”

“Look, fine. I agree, okay? It shouldn’t have been possible, but here we are.” Eli shrugs, cutting the argument off even as there was more hanging in the air. “What if they just got special permission from the courts or something? Isn’t that possible?”

Gavin shakes his head. “No way. These processes take a while no matter the circumstances, remember?”

“Fine, then let’s find whoever put this article out and make them tell us how they got their hands on all this stuff.” Eli obviously can’t hold back a smile any more, patting Gavin on the shoulder a bit too lightheartedly for the other man’s taste. “Maybe we’ll be a little closer to finishing this all if we do.”

Finishing.

Gavin turns the word over in his head what feels like a hundred times, but no matter how he looks at it, it’s good -- really good.

He stands up and ceremoniously returns his partner’s smile. “Okay, then let’s do it.”

But, before they even have time to breathe, a new setback finds its way into their plan

“Wait.” Gavin does a double take when, hours later, Eli finally announces the company responsible for the article.”That can’t be right, it’s--”

Eli interjects with a sigh. “___’s company. I know.”

“It’s a production company, though. They don’t do articles and stuff, do they?”

“It’s not uncommon for companies like that to have different departments or whatever.” Eli shrugs. “And the article in question would check out, I guess, considering how close they are to the street with the cctv we’re trying to get.”

“But last time I talked to her, she wasn’t doing anything like that…”

“When was the last time you talked to her, then? Maybe it’s just a recent change or something.”

Eli asks the question nonchalantly, but is really none the wiser about Gavin’s situation than he was when everything began months ago. And so, the words do nothing remind Gavin of memories and mistakes, sending an involuntary strike of pain through his chest.

When was the last time I talked to her?

Not long ago, he thinks. Not long ago at all. He remembers distinctly all of the times he had encountered you on the street, or the times he’d flown you home after a carefully acted day out.

But when was the last time he’d really talked to you? Held a normal conversation?

He finds himself squeezing the hem of his shirt, so hard that his knuckles begin to fade into a sickly white. It’s like a punch in the face to realise something so late, but he can’t help but consider it a bit of a blessing to even recognise it in the first place.

“You know, this makes it easier if it’s just ___.” Eli interrupts Gavin’s downspiralling thoughts, resting his chin on his hand as he says, “We can just ask her about it face to face, then we don’t have to bother with the paperwork for requesting an official interview.”

And around an hour later, that’s how Gavin ends up in front of your company’s doors, cursing Eli and his cluelessness.

He swallows the ball of nerves in his throat and fidgets with his hands for a moment, but he knows that he can’t stay there forever. Everyone around him moves unabridged and casually, whether it be while talking on bluetooth or out on a late afternoon jog. He may not be the only one around that’s stuck in the past, but he sure is the only one taking time to dwell on it.

He uses that much to prompt himself inside.

The inside of the building is just as he remembers it to be, if not the same as it was months ago. It’s the little things he notices, like the familiar fake plants sitting in the corner of the waiting room, or the painting hanging on the wall that you’d mentioned was a gift from your dad a few times.

He’s relieved at least one thing is still familiar.

“Hey stranger. How can I help you?"

Gavin instinctively turns towards the voice, his eyes momentarily widening when he sees who sits behind the reception desk.

"Anna? What are you doing up here?” He gives your friend a polite smile as he makes his way over to where she sits. “Where’s the receptionist?”

She sighs, shaking her head. “He quit a few days ago, so your girlfriend put me up here on duty.”

Gavin pulls his lips into a thin line, trying to hold back his surprise. She didn’t tell them?

“Um, anyway, speaking of ___, where is she right now? I need to talk to her." He changes the subject as quickly as he can manage, and thankfully, Anna doesn’t seem to notice that was the intent.

“Right now? Should be up in her office finishing paperwork.”

“Okay, great. …Do I need a pass or anything?” He asks this, but regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. They're suspicious, of course, and it’s a dumb question regardless.

Anna gives him a deservedly strange look.

“Um, no, of course not.” She tries to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere with a laugh. “Just go. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

“Right,” He laughs nervously and briefly giving his thanks, steadily walking towards the direction of the elevator. When he steps inside, though, he lets out a long sigh. The previous awkward interaction left an embarrassed sting in his chest, and the familiar oncoming heartache of seeing you again will no doubt only add to it.

So, he spends the entire minute of the ride downright terrified.

It’s not like everything is magically resolved when your door opens either, though. The moment he hears your voice acknowledge his presence from inside the office, it’s appropriate to say that his heartbeat doubles -- or even triples, in just seconds.

But contrary to what he expects, your eyes still light up upon registering his face. He doesn’t understand why you’re happy to see him, but he welcomes it regardless.

“Gavin! It’s nice to see you.” You give him a friendly smile, but the all-too familiar feeling of anxiousness still lingers in your expression.

Startled, he just smiles back as he says, “Yeah, likewise. How are things here at the office lately?”

“Ah,” You sigh out a laugh. “They’re fine, but I’m sure you’ve already heard from Anna that our receptionist just quit. It won’t be hard to find a replacement, but it still kind of sucks since he was responsible for coffee runs.”

Gavin winces novelly, playing into your slightly joking tone. “That does suck. Who’s been going instead, then?”

“Minor offered, thank god.” You smile, a sliver of joy finally peaking through your tired eyes.

“That’s good.” He nods, slightly relieved at the sight. “I wanted to ask you, though, I saw an article in the paper that said it came from your company. Since when have you thought to put articles in the paper? I never heard anything about it from you, so--”

You interject, “Articles? We don’t write articles. That’s not the type of company we are.”

He blinks.

“Your company, though--” Gavin fishes his phone out of his jacket, where he pulls up the article in question. “This traces back here.”

Your brows furrow as you lean forward to read the screen in his hand, unaware of the way his face begins to heat up when noticing your concentration. On the other hand, he’s very painfully aware of how your brows twitch as you read it over, and even more so to the way your lips twist in apt concern.

Gavin spits out an explanation in place of the straining silence, and you nod along, though you take in every word at half its worth due to your own racing heart.

“We have basically no contact with the owners of that building, so we wouldn’t be able to get the footage either even if we wanted to.” You explain steadily, hiding your nerves in the squeeze of your knuckles beneath the table. “I don’t remember giving anyone permission to even write something like that, anyway.”

“Would someone else have given permission, then? Or, alternatively, do you think someone put it there for any other reason?”

“I can’t think of another reason, but there are definitely other people in the building who can give permission to employees, of course. “ You push a laugh. “I’m not the one sole source.”

“Anna can do almost everything I can, so maybe she did. Try her next.”

With that, the conversation trickles off weakly. It’s unbearable to do so, but Gavin leaves the room with a clambering heart. He has no doubt that things ought to be difficult if this is what he’ll be returning to, but still saves face for the chance that everything will turn out okay.

And around an hour later, he exits the building carrying all the information he needs.

“Eli, the guy’s gone and quit.”

His partner looks up at him with locked brows when he returns to the STF. “Our article writer?”

Gavin purses his lips and goes silent in thought, but it’s all the answer Eli needs. Gavin’s chest is heavily wrought with regret and disappointment that spans over multiple reasons, but he merely shakes out his shoulders and takes a seat down next to the other man, concealing his face in the way he always has.

Eli only turns a blind eye to Gavin’s front.“I guess that’s just our luck, but it’s still okay right now. Did you get any details about him?”

“Yeah, I managed. I’m not completely sure they’re real, though.”

Gavin hands Eli the small slip of paper that Anna had scawled the man’s information on and explains as he reads it over.

“Anyone else probably wouldn’t get anything out of this,” Gavin says, referencing only the name and phone number of the man in question written on the paper. “But since we’re here, we can probably do something with it, at least.”

Eli nods along as he speaks, and upon skimming the information, a pleased smile curves at his lips. “At least? We’ll have to run them, but it seems viable enough to me -- maybe even enough that this can finally give us the info we need to close the case.”

He returns a smile at the thought.

“I hope it does.”

Gavin’s mind brings him back to a few hours prior, where he watches himself trip and stumble over himself around you through the pitiful eye of his own memory. It takes a lot of him not to frown outwardly at his mistakes, but little to gain the determination needed to fix it. What happened then, that’s not how it’s supposed to be, and he knows it.

The memories switch to happier times when his heart finds it in him -- the starry and clear night he finally kissed you on the ferris wheel, the buzzing warmth of your arms around his torso when he goes a strategically fast speed on on his motorcycle, and of course, the moments where all he can see is you smiling in front of him, looking just as delighted as you always have been.

It’s just out of his grasp, but Gavin finds himself hoping that it’s still in his reach.

Because, in his mind, nothing is truly unattainable. And that philosophy goes for everything, but is most virtuous when it becomes the bearer of good news.

“Everything about this guy checks out for now.” Eli says this from his spot at the database station days later, turning his head over his shoulder to where Gavin is checking the contents of his utility belt from across the room. “So, I’m not sure that much precaution is necessary, Gavin.”

The other doesn’t even look up at his remark.

“Better safe than sorry. You know that.”

Eli just laughs and nods, obviously in a good mood regardless of his partner’s hesitance. “Ok then, whatever you want.”

Gavin gives him a dubious look, but otherwise goes back to his business.

“It’s not like we have much to expect, anyway.”

But, whether or not you expect something doesn’t deter fate. It seemed easy enough at the time, anyway -- so there was no reason for Gavin to doubt their plan even as he walked up to the man’s presumed address.

He eases into the situation by knocking on the mahogany door softly, calling out with what Eli had long called his ‘business’ voice.

“Police! Is anyone home?”

Gavin notes a candle in the window out of his peripheral vision and instinctively furrows his brows. Whoever’s here, the perp or not, it’s clear that they’re at least not one step ahead of him.

So, with that in mind, he makes the split decision to try the door. And much to his surprise, it opens without a lick of trouble, even the hinges not making the slightest sound. He purses his lips slightly as he comes face to face with the dark entryway he was expecting, yet still chooses to silently draw his weapon before stepping into the building.

And the moment he locates a pair of eyes in the dark, he knows his decision to do so was correct.

He clicks his tongue with the shift of the safety lock, his expression instinctively hardening even though he’s sure that the person can see just as much as he can.

“Come out with your hands up!”

Gavin’s voice doesn’t waver, but neither does the faceless figure in the dark.

Multiple sets of footsteps echo throughout the entryway, but Gavin doesn’t let them make a show. His eyes stay locked on the same unblinking ones that had drawn him in, and cocks his gun as if in warning.

Maybe they actually are one step ahead.

“I’ll say it one last time -- and that goes to anyone in the room. Come out with your hands up.”

His voice is cold, and if it were ordinary people standing around him, perhaps they would have listened. But, the thugs surrounding him have little in common with the regular citizen, most startlingly obvious in the weapons they hide sheathed in their belts; daggers engraved by the agency they belong to:

BLACK SWAN COLLECTIVE

The last thing Gavin can recall is the sharp pain of someone thrusting the handle of one of the said weapons into the back of his head, immediately sending him into a darkness he tried so hard to avoid.

Maybe it’s futile, useless even, but as everything goes black, he can’t help but think of you.

“You aren’t seriously planning on wearing that, are you?”

You look back at the exasperated voice that interrupts your shoot preparation, the recording equipment in your hands shifting slightly with your deep sigh.

“Victor, it’ll be hot once we’re on set, I promise.” Sending him only a brief smile, you continue to wrap the cords up. It’s quiet long enough that you naturally assume he’s left, but a few minutes later, you feel a presence at your side taking the last microphone and starting to mimic the same process you’ve been at for what feels like hours.

Victor takes in a near silent breath as he places the microphone in its case, zipping it shut with such familiarity that it momentarily muddles your brain. It’s been almost two years since you’d met him for the second time, walking into his office only to meet his cold voice and fearsome business methods. You’re subconsciously glad that you’ve gone through so much together, albeit tough, because your relationship has moved far because of it all.

“...I’ll grab a jacket before we leave.” You look up and flash another smile at him, but this time, you try to make it seem like you mean it. He seems to notice your hesitance regardless, but the look in his eyes still lifts slightly as he nods wordlessly.

The location of the shoot itself isn’t very far-close enough that the transportation won’t be taxing-but the stakes are still high nonetheless. A reputable American fashion outlet had reached out to Anna around a month ago asking if your company would consider filming an episode featuring some of their pieces, and even without asking you first, she had accepted in a heartbeat.

You couldn’t be mad at her for obvious reasons, of course, but you almost considered thanking her for a separate reason, too -- because it somehow seemed to line up on the perfect date.

It’s a hard pill to swallow even as you think about it, but today, the date of the shooting, is your and Gavin’s would-be year anniversary.

Without this shoot, there’s no doubt in your mind that you would be sulking at home otherwise, halfway through your second or third depression nap of the day. But instead, here you are, conversing quite normally to Victor and feeling a little less hopeless than you expected.

Your mind momentarily flickers to him, though, as if habitually. You can only imagine what he’s feeling like right now, sadly, but you still can’t help but pray that at least a fraction of him feels the pain you do

“___!”

Then someone calls your name, and suddenly, you’re back to work again.

One of the main focuses of the episode for your team is the outfits people on-screen wear, of course. But otherwise, the episode itself features a local meteorologist aiming to spread more information and awareness about the conditions of the recent continuous snow. It may not be known to be directly related to superpowers as of now, but as the producer of Miracle Finder, it’s your job to find miracles, and not only those of the supernatural kind.

“Okay, Victor, let me know when everything on that side is good. I’ll check over here.” You say this and wait for nothing more than a nod before going ahead and double-checking with all of your employees that stand ready to record.

All of your operations for the day seem to be going smoothly, so you shoot a quick thumbs-up to the main cameraman. As soon as your arm is back down at your side, though, you notice your phone buzzing from the pocket of your jacket.

Anxiety habitually runs through you as the screen lights up with a blocked number, unwillfully taking you back to all the times you’d been directly contacted by the unknown officers of Black Swan. It startles you so much that you think about letting it ring, but in the last moments, you decide to pick up.

You release a short breath of relief when an automated voice reaches your ears, and you even find yourself feeling a bit dumb about freaking out over nothing. Yet, while you think, a few words the robotic voice says catch your attention and send your heart into another panicked frenzy.

a wind evolver.

You bite down on your lip subconsciously, hoping that you heard wrong.

The voice says an address with its now eerie-seeming tone, and you squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can when the line cuts off without warning.

It’s a prank call. You think, not noticing the way Victor’s eyes finally find your worried ones from across the room. Gavin’s completely fine.

You stuff your phone back in your pocket with a resigned huff, a sour feeling settling deep in your stomach the longer you just stand there. Certain possibilities begin to habitually fly through your mind at a rate where you can barely discern them from one another, but each one leaves you with the same aching in your gut -- the same aching that has saved you so many times.

So, you take your phone out again and dial the number you know by heart.

The line’s continuous ringing suddenly seems ominous, and somehow worsens when you’re greeted by Gavin’s voicemail. But, you don’t want to give up just yet, so you find another name in your contacts that could potentially help.

Eli and you don’t communicate often-at least, not much outside of the times you see him-but he had given you his number soon after realising how close you were to Gavin, only just in case. You didn’t think there would ever have to be a ‘just in case’ scenario -- at least, until now.

Thankfully, he picks up after the first couple of rings, his familiar voice bringing a small smile to your face.

“Hey Eli,” You return, your smile growing slightly at the soft sound of recognition he lets out.

“___!” It sounds like he sits up straight before continuing. “It’s nice hearing from you. What’s up?”

You take in a hesitant breath before starting. There’s still a small chance that you’ll be asking baseless questions, and as embarrassing as that might be, you know you’d rather take it than the alternative.

“Well, it’s something with Gavin.” You say. “I just got this weird phone call saying something about him, and now I can’t get a hold of him. Is he with you?”

Eli doesn’t respond for what feels like a millenia, but then, the soft sound of a keyboard fills your ears, so you opt to wait patiently. He unabashedly picks the phone back up a few seconds later and sighs.

“..Do you remember what the phone call said?”

You recount the automated voice’s words and wince at how Eli curses under his breath. If anything, you know it’s at least not a good sign.

“What? What is it?” Dread spirals through your chest as you ask, habitually expecting the worst.

“Gavin went on a mission last night. He told me he’d get in touch when he finished, but he hasn’t yet.” You can almost hear him contemplating from across the line. “___, thanks for calling, but I’ve gotta go now--”

“Wait!’ you quickly interject, garnering the interest of a few production crew around you. But, you pay no mind to them. “Let me come with you.”

“What? No, ___, you’re not coming with me. Gavin would kill me if I got his girlfriend hurt!”

“Eli,” You sigh, a fingertip’s length away from sitting down to massage your temples. It seems that Gavin had chosen not to tell his colleagues about your breakup as well, but that doesn’t help the massive headache it causes every time to explain when someone catches on. “Gavin and I broke up 3 months ago. And now that that’s out of the way, I’m meeting you at the STF in 20 minutes, and if you aren’t there, I’m going to that address myself.”

He’s silent for a few moments before he lets out a reluctant agreement, only to peg on a few rules at the end that you just nod to.

“...20 and that’s it. Any more and i’m leaving without you.”

“Then I'll be there in 15.” You challenge, unable to contain your smile when you hear his resigned laugh.

“Then I’m counting down, ___.”

You say your goodbyes and hang up the phone, quickly thinking to find Victor. It’s unethical to leave during the middle of a shoot and you know he’ll give you crap for it, but you pray that the case of emergency will balance him out, even if it’s just a little bit.

You whisper his name until you’re able to wave him down, unable to help your nervous smile as he approaches you.

“___? Why aren’t you over there monitoring those--”

“I’m really sorry, but there’s an emergency that I need to--”

You cut yourself off when you notice Victor’s surprisingly unreactive face.

“I need to, um, be there. To help with it.”

Victor’s sigh feels heavier than usual as he crosses his arms, hitting you with his signature dubious look. But, the words that come out of his mouth aren’t at all what you expect.

“You look like you’re expecting me to decline something I have no right to keep you from doing in the first place.”

His words take a few moments to process in your jumbled brain, but before you can even react, he begins to shoo you away.

“That means go, dummy.” A soft laugh escapes his lips as his expression begins to melt. “I’ll tell your coworkers, just try to hurry back so I’m not blamed if something goes wrong.”

Your face perks up at the unexpected but appreciated development, shifting with a wide grin as you thank Victor as many times as possible before slipping away. While you weave your way through the distracted crew members, your phone mimics a lead weight in your pocket-- something that’s almost painful to ignore

But you only keep walking, putting on a brave face and praying that Gavin is okay.

“Nineteen minutes, ___.” Eli tells you this as soon as you hurry through the STF’s doors, tapping his smart watch with a familiar smile. “What happened to that fifteen you were talking about?”

“Shut up,” You scoff, unable to hold back your smile as you shake your head. “Would you really have left without me, anyway?”

“You know the answer already. But enough about that, come with me and I’ll catch you up a bit before we head out.”

You descend into silence as you follow Eli to the research room most frequented by the duo over the past few months, listening to the man skim over the events prior while somehow still leaving no semblance of a detail out. It’s faster than you expect, his explanation, yet it leaves you with very little gaps in the story between Eli’s and your own accounts.

“But, ___,” Eli begins as he picks up his jacket, meeting your eyes with such intensity that you almost flinch. “Make sure that when we’re there, you stay behind me no matter what. If they took Gavin down…”

He doesn’t need to finish.

“Yeah,” You choke out softly, berated by the hazy image your head provides of Gavin being so easily overpowered. “I will.”

Eli gives you a small reassuring smile before leading you out of the room, checking that every piece of his equipment is on correctly as he walks. An involuntary chill runs down your spine at a catch of his expression -- his usual carefree smile replaced with the solemn air that you would expect from an officer.

And you don’t like it one bit.

Gavin’s eyes shoot open, drawing a sharp gasp from his lungs as he slowly begins to regain consciousness. But the crackling sensation that floods his chest cuts him off before he can even so much as catch his bearings, begetting an irritated wince from the already tired man.

His vision is clouded by not only exhaustion, though, as the room is also dark in what feels like an unreasonable manner. Absolutely nothing is clear, whether it be what had happened beforehand, or even what lays a few feet in front of him. But in the meantime, another sharp pain forces him to look down and find out.

Rope burns his wrists as he twists his hands, trying to gauge a location for the extreme pain that has suddenly popped up. Gavin curses under his breath as he looks at the gruesome beds that used to hold his fingernails, snippets of memory coming back to him as his eyes rake over the beaten skin.

“You’re in no position to protect her anymore. Give up.”

A curt voice had induced Gavin to look up hours before, glaring into the tepid eyes that already stared back into his own.

“Ya hear that, pretty boy?”

The second and last black swan officer in the room had leaned over slightly as he engaged Gavin, but stood up straight again when the first gave him a subtle yet strong look of warning.

Gavin was silent throughout the exchange, though in his mind, he knew they were talking about you. Black Swan’s interest in you had all but lessened in the recent months, much to his and the STF’s displeasure. Knowing that they were after someone so powerless but not having the slightest idea why -- that scared him beyond belief.

“Your silence will change nothing,” The first man said, calmly re-buttoning his long coat. “Wind evolver, I’m afraid this is it for you.”

Gavin squeezes his eyes shut upon recalling the interaction he’d tried arduously to forget, inadvertently biting his lip so hard that it disturbs the blood already dried there. Disappointment and pain go hand in hand while flaring through his chest in equal measures.

He even briefly considers using his evol despite how little energy he has left, but is painfully aware of what it would take to escape if he did.

So he stays still, his mind racing far too much to notice the pain. Because even if he should, it’s not him that’s he’s worried about --

It’s you.

Meanwhile, seemingly worlds apart from the danger Gavin perceives, you sit in Eli’s passenger seat, safe and sound yet fueled by the vehicle’s general silence. A part of you thinks that you should be scared, but only because you know it wouldn’t be refuted as much as if you said how you really feel.

It’s not necessarily wrong to be determined, though. And because you’re sure that if your roles were reversed, Gavin would think the same, you don’t ponder on the subject any longer. There’s no use in worrying about something you’ve already set your mind to.

And your intuition proves to be correct.

Upon arriving at the designated address, Eli immediately comments on how normal everything looks, and you can’t help but nod your head in agreement. It’s a small traditional style house that you stop in front of, yet to have signs of people inhabiting it other than the few candles to be seen behind some of the shaded windows -- too ordinary for a place that supposedly serves as a lockhouse for Black Swan

“...It doesn’t really look like anyone’s home.”

“Good. Let’s just hope the bastards have left so we can get in and out, then.” Eli says, squinting at one of the windows while noiselessly drawing his gun. “We don’t want to spend any more time here than we need to.”

Eli wastes no time after you hastily concur, very obviously ready to stay true to his words and making quick work of the lock. The entryway is small and homey, but it has an odd smell to it -- one that’s familiar, but not so much so that you can directly pinpoint it.

It sends an involuntary chill down your spine just thinking about it, though Eli says nothing about it, so you choose to do the same even if it’s difficult. He’s too busy surveying the area to notice your hesitance anyway, and you don’t blame him. If your sources are correct, Gavin is somewhere nearby. There’s no time to be distracted, no matter the circumstance.

With that in mind, you force all of the bad premonitions away and focus on the matter at hand -- and the fact that Eli is looking more sceptical with each passing second. It’s understandable, how his eyes flit around uneasily enough for the both of you combined, but you feel yourself getting impatient just watching him.

“Eli…” You mumble, elbowing him and giving him the liberty of pretending not to notice when he flinches. “Let’s start looking.”

His gaze falls to meet yours, and after a moment of thought, he nods. “Fine. Just stay close, okay?”

You don’t have any qualms with that.

Following Eli around as he checks each room is an unexpectedly stressful job, not knowing if Gavin lies beyond the doors until you get the chance to peek inside yourself. The call you’d received earlier burns hot in your memory each time you do so, the voice’s words of warning towards a so-called wind evolver damning.

It’s a scenario you don’t want to delve into, but is unfortunately a reality you have to be ready to accept.

It takes a few attempts to locate the right place, though it’s all-too easy in the long run; almost worryingly so. But even so, that doesn’t stop you from nudging Eli aside to see the scene better for yourself.

The smell you’d noticed at the entrance is potent here, and with a scrunch of your nose, you finally put a name to the hazy smell. It’s the same one you’d become acquainted with after spending so much time in the hospital months back, and while grotesque, it’s almost intimate in the way you remember it.

Narcotics; the pills and liquids you were given to ease your pain each day and night, hang in the dense air.

Tears fill your eyes as you make your way over to where Gavin sits abandoned against the wall, uncertain of where to start. Bruises litter his exceptionally pale skin almost to the point of disfigurement, and the parts of his hands that are visible from where you crouch down show the empty beds that used to hold his fingernails.

You’re afraid to touch him.

Eli comes up beside you, his hurried footsteps conveying the worry you both feel. But unlike you, he has little problem in taking action immediately, taking Gavin’s wrist and feeling for a pulse.

He doesn’t speak, but Eli’s expression tells you enough.

You take your leave quickly after, relaying Gavin to the nearest hospital and tearfully handing him off to the startled nurses. As you sit, Eli takes the opportunity to fill in the doctor assigned to Gavin, even showing his badge to stress the severity of the situation.

The entire ordeal takes days.

Life all but goes back to normal afterwards, your schedule ultimately flipping on its head with the man you love unconscious in the hospital. The rounds you make to visit him are constant enough that you even acquaint yourself with some of the nurses that frequent his room in the time you’re not at his side.

But even they are incapable of soothing your worries.

Gavin feels nothing but sparkling white pain. Whether it’s burning or freezing to the touch, he can’t tell, but it’s an awfully persistent sensation. It’s confusion personified, and like quicksand, he finds himself unwillingly drowning in it. It’s similar to the lights he sees when he first opens his eyes again -- washing everything out with little effort.

Gavin’s gaze adjusts to an unfamiliar ceiling in due time, and soon after, his ears catch up to pick up the faint sound of a beeping heart monitor. Copious amounts of his senses return to him at once, launching him into a coughing fit that makes him very abruptly aware of the warm presence at his side.

They call his name, though their voice is hardly distinguishable.

But, then they reach out and cup his cheek, delicately rubbing their thumb over the shallow cut that lies there. The intimate touch is unmistakable from then on, the way it caresses his skin familiarly soothing him.

“___…”

Your name leaves his lips in a single pant, his eyes squeezing shut as his coughing suddenly begins to cease. You almost find yourself holding your breath as you look on at him, waiting for another sign of life.

And soon enough, his eyes begin to open again, slowly focusing on your face from where you lean beside him. Gavin’s lips turn up in a small smile, and he makes no attempt to hide the affection that oozes from his gaze.

“___.” He repeats your name, his emotions stretching out control as tears come to his eyes. A thousand things flash through them at once, baring both things you expect and things you don’t.

“...Are you okay?” You ask hesitantly, your hand shifting to cup the side of his head as you study his expression. “Does something hurt?”

Gavin only smiles in response, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes as his body shakes silently. You stare at him for a moment, at a slight loss of what to do when you realise you can’t distinguish whether he’s laughing or crying.

“I’m so sorry, ___.”

You don’t understand.

“What?” Your brows furrow as tears begin to prick at your eyes yet again. “What are you apologising for? None of this is your fault..”

Gavin shakes his head, inadvertently cutting you off.

He lets his hand fall back down to his side, allowing you to see his puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You can only stare at him as he continues to avert his eyes, ultimately surprised at his uncharacteristic outburst.

“I thought limiting our contact would help keep you safe.” He weeps quietly, his cheeks flushing from what you assume is a healthy mix of embarrassment and emotion. “But I caused us both so much pain. Every day I was held back by the possibility of messing everything up and never being able to see you again…”

Your heart flutters and drops all in the same motion.

I was right after all?

The memories recall moments stretching back to months ago, to all the moments you spent doubting that everything was really done; that you were really expected to move on like nothing was wrong. But hearing that your suffering wasn’t in vain somehow makes it seem like it was all worth it in the most twisted way.

“But look at you,” You interject softly, releasing a stagnated breath as Gavin looks on at you. “You’re here, next to me, and Gavin -- I won’t leave you. You won’t mess up, and everything will be fine..”

Your words fall out little by little as your eyes well with tears, but every single one is wiped away by the hand of the man in front of you.

Your reach up and place your hand over his. “I promise.”

Things are not all well, and little is fixed when you leave the hospital for the night. But somehow, you still feel like it’s just enough.

Gavin arises hours later feeling like his body is full of lead, unable to even open his eyes enough to focus on the dull light of the setting sun. But it’s with that alone does he realise that you’re no longer asleep next to him.

It makes him anxious in his delirium to think about how you’re probably home well by now, doing a face mask and scrolling casually through social media despite the unceremonious hour. You’re in the perfect spot for someone to take advantage of, namely referring to the Black Swan officers he’d recently become acquainted with.

But you’re blissfully unaware of his worries, making your way back home without an inkling of similar emotions in you. If anything, after months of your future appearing gray and blurry, the unexpected clarity of the situation eases something in you.

It’s a relief how lucky you’ve been.

Gavin’s thoughts go to the same concept as he pulls the thick hospital blanket off of himself, lips twisting into a thin line. It’s a miracle you’ve both managed to get so far -- and luck, unfortunately, only stretches so far.

It’s easy to get his original set of clothes back from the nurse, who seemed weak in the knees from the moment he approached her. The shirt smells distinctly of bleach, though his head feeds him the putrid scent of his own old blood regardless of how well it had been scrubbed out.

Getting out is the harder part. While the on duty nurse had been kind enough to slip things like his phone and badge back into his pocket, it was hell convincing the receptionist to let him check out even when he opted to show them his badge. Though eventually, with his name and number written down haphazardly on a loose scrap of paper, he’s given tight permission to leave temporarily.

The night air sends a chill down Gavin’s spine, and the quick change in temperature has the bandages covering his body sticking awkwardly to his skin. He tries to alleviate the discomfort, but the air currents feel odd in the way they swirl around him, somehow unfamiliar in the few days he’d spent locked away.

Though he shakes this away, writing it off just as he has hundreds of times before.

It’s harder than he expects to fly the short distance to your apartment. His healing wounds give way to a slight headache that only interferes more with the air around him. When he drops himself on your balcony, he practically has to lean over to catch his breath.

Gavin’s brows twine delicately together as he clears his throat a final time, straightening up and making sure there’s no sign of his trouble before knocking on the glass.

He smiles when he notices you padding over in your slippers through the sheer curtain. You seem casual enough that it lets him release a breath, relieved that his worries were for nothing. But then you suddenly open the door, catching him off guard once again.

“Gavin?” You’re rightfully shocked at his sudden appearance, the moonlight lining his quickly drooping figure in silver. “Why are you here instead of the hospital?”

He sighs gingerly, averting his eyes with a sheepish smile.

“I… was worried about you.”

You purse your lips lightly, your eyes going up and down his injured body. It’s hard not to notice the way he stands unevenly, no doubt to hide his limp and alleviate the pain in his torso -- but that much shows in just the way he slouches.

As if on cue, Gavin fumbles, letting himself come down into your waiting arms. His breathing is hard in your ear as you stroke the back of his head, cutting down a bubbling sigh in your throat.

Of course he came to check on me.

“You can barely stand, Gav. What were you thinking coming all the way here?” You lean back to see his tired face and chatsey him gently. “You need more time.”

“I was worried about you, ___.” He reaches up hesitantly to stroke your cheek with his thumb, silencing you for a split second as you watch him.

Gavin’s voice is raspy, showing not only his fatigue but also the pain he tries so hard to hide. “Can you allow me that much?”

You pull your lips into a line and look over his face. His eyes search yours simultaneously, but for what, you aren’t sure -- a sign of forgiveness? Leniency? You only know that whatever he wants to find, he probably won’t.

“Why would you be worried about me?” You ask, brows coming together in a delicate sign of frustration. “You were on the verge of death only days ago!”

He lets his hand fall from your cheek as he exhales. “I know. But your name is passed around a lot when it comes to the black swan officers. This time was no different.”

You don’t respond.

Gavin takes your silence as an opportunity to continue. “So, I decided that after my evol leveled out, I would come and check on you. Just to be sure.”

“But what I don’t get, is why you couldn’t wait?” You say, your eyes narrowing slightly as his ajar mouth closes slowly. “You’re nowhere close to being healed. And if you were that worried, I’m sure Eli or someone would’ve--”

He interjects, his eyes darting away. But you don’t miss the way they soften. “Because I owe you this much, ___. I hope you can understand what I mean.”

You do. The things he had said when he first woke up in the hospital, about the situation and the pressure he hoped to alleviate, it all connects back to where you stand now. So, as much as you hate to admit it, Gavin isn’t completely in the wrong for coming.

You nod, sighing in renouncement.

“Yeah. Yeah, Gavin, I do understand. Sorry.” You say it a bit reluctantly, your eyes shifting down until Gavin catches your face in his hands again.

His lips turn up in a small but attractive smile as he nods. “Hey, don’t apologise for being concerned. I love you for caring.”

You could almost swear that you’re hearing things, but looking up into his eyes, you know you aren’t. Your eyes narrow again, but this time in a more goading manner.

“What’s that?” You hum quietly, smiling up at him as the distance between you slowly begins to close.

Gavin gives you the charming smile you missed, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. “I’ll say it as many times as you want, as log as you never forget it.”

The kiss is soft and slow at first -- as meaningful as it should be, but it steadily transitions into what you’ve been holding back since the moment you met eyes again. His hand shifts languidly to cradle the back of your head, augmenting the already rising feeling in your chest.

His hands mould to you as time drags by, seemingly slowing down in your interaction alone. It makes you happy knowing that some semblance of your buried attraction is still eager to pop out again.

Everything passes by quickly after that point, to the moment you’re standing inside again, pulling away from him.

“Gavin, it’s late, you need to rest.”

He looks at you with a boyish glint in his eyes, his lips twisting slightly.

“Let’s stay up later.”

You step aside to pull back the covers on your bed for him. “But it’s sleep! You know, that thing you need to function--?”

He cuts you off by pulling you back up for another kiss, laughing with you as you ultimately decide to return his affection. But, then he catches you by surprise and lifts you into his arms.

“Ok!” You squeal in delight as you’re dropped right down onto your open bedsheets, your hair splaying messily around you. “Five minutes, that’s all!”

“Ten!”

The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them. But, one of the best is when you earn them back.

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