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greenorangevioletgrass · 8 months ago

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fever pitch (b.b.) - part three

previous part | series masterlist

soundtrack: don't blame me - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and bradley spend the night, but the road to heaven is full of obstacles; some are external, others are self-inflicted. warnings: language, public scrutiny (will be a recurring theme in this fic ha!), bradley is a stand-up guy all round, fluff, smut (d/s elements, praise kink, bit of a bratty side?, fingering, oral [f receiving], dirty talk, size kink, bradley is PACKING, protected sex) notes: i'm back! life has been crazy since i posted the previous chapter, but i just wanna say thank you so so much for your patience and your kind words about the fic so far! big shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse and @teacupsandtopgun for being absolutely GEMS in brainstorming ideas-- this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for y'all <3 happy reading!

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The Langham, Sterling Suite. Ask for Holly Golightly ;)

Bradley smiles at your text, and the cheeky “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” reference. He shoots up a quick reply as he makes his way out to the lobby, fighting hard not to be grinning like an idiot to any unassuming passersby, until—

Click-click-click-click! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

“Hey, it’s Bradley Bradshaw!”

“Oi, Bradley! Give us a smile, mate!”

“Bradley, did you get to meet Y/N inside?”

“Did the boss let you out on a school night, Bradley?”

”How are you feeling about the Sunderland game this weekend?”

It’s a meager distance from the steps of Annabel’s to the curb where the valet has brought out his car, but holy shit. It doesn’t usually get nearly as crazy as this. He’s partied here with Harry Styles, and nobody bat an eye when the guy stumbled out drunk with his left tit out. But maybe it’s because Harry lives in London sometimes, or maybe because he was on a break… unlike Miss Americana on her world tour right now. It makes him pause and rethink how careful he needs to be.

Bradley gets into his car and drives off, trying to tread between the fine line of quick and careful. He can’t help but look over the rearview mirror more often than normal. Fuck, is this how you feel like all the time? He’s no stranger to the spotlight, but rather than the occasional run-ins, nobody has ever been interested in where he went to dinner on a random Tuesday night.

The Langham is barely a mile away, but Bradley sees photographers parked across the hotel with their long-lens cameras and disgusting disposition, and he keeps on driving. Thinking. Restrategizing. Hoping that his vintage aubergine Ferrari isn’t causing suspicion for driving by the second and third time.

He finds a basement parking lot behind the building and pulls up, hoping it’s the right entrance to the hotel. The attendant looks starstruck as he nods and points the way, sending him off with an eager ‘Come on you Gunners!’. And just like that, he makes it into the lobby out of the pap’s sight.

Be cool, he reminds himself, you’re only as suspicious as you seem to be. He comes up to the reception desk, and the girl behind it greets him warmly.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Langham. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Ms. Golightly at the Sterling Suite,” Bradley says smoothly. “Holly Golightly.”

“And who am I speaking with, sir?” The girl looks at him like he seems familiar, but can’t quite place him.

“...Paul Varjak,” he states, unable to bite back the smile. Oh, the thrill of giving out a fake name with the very real possibility of getting called out on his shit.

But she nods and grabs the telephone, dialing into your room. Blissfully ignorant of the pseudonym he just gave her.

Good.

Let this inside joke be the two of yours alone.

The elevator ride up is peaceful—too peaceful that he can hear his heart beating and his palms sweating. Even the carpet mutes his footsteps towards the double door. Before he even presses the bell, a bodyguard opens the door for him.

“Mr. Bradshaw,” he nods curtly. It’s one of the guys from the restaurant earlier. Middle-aged, stout and rather short, sporting a permanent scowl and a vibe that indicates he’s seen some shit.

“Hi. Sorry, I haven’t got your name…?”

“Guy,” he deadpans.

Bradley wonders if that’s his real name or he’s just saying it so Bradley would get off his case, but smiles anyway. “Nice to meet you, Guy.”

Guy hums gruffly and ushers him into the foyer, an identical hallway of the hotel, with a room on each side. “Through here,” he leads him towards another set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, you are full-on freaking out in your living room. Should you get changed? You’ve taken off your heels, but getting everything off feels so premeditated… You don’t even know if he wants things to go that far. Maybe you can break your little rule and bring out the wine for liquid courage? Gosh, nothing feels right. And it’s been so long since you’ve last done this that you’ve actually gone rusty.

And before you get to decide—in the long, wasteful twenty minutes or so you’ve been pacing, you hear a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

You rush over to get the door and there he is, coming out victorious through the hurdles, smiling at you.

“Thanks, Guy. I’ll take it from here,” you dismiss your security a little too quickly, nodding over Bradley’s shoulder. You’re sure Guy is rolling his eyes all the way back to his room over your lovestruck teenager behavior.

But it hardly matters when this man before you is looking at you like the sun.

“Hey, you.” Bradley beams at you from his spot. As if afraid to invade your space somehow.

And so are you. This feels like that night in the garden all over again. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t some pocket of a park you stumbled into; this is your hotel room.

Quiet.

Private.

Safe.

“Come on in.” You let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him the warm foyer light cast golden upon his face. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’ve ditched your six-inch heels, or that there’s no one else, but Bradley looks even taller than you remember him. Broader. More… imposing.

“I’m sorry for taking so long. There’s cameras everywhere and I had to—”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him. It feels rude to ask if he got caught on camera, but at this point, you had to ask. “Did you… Did they…?”

Bradley quickly shakes his head. “No, I took the basement entrance, out of sight. We’re good.”

”I’m, uh… sorry for the fuss.”

”Hey, it’s no trouble at all… Ms. Golightly,” he tilts his head, grinning at your chosen pseudonym.

”Yeah, it changes every time. My last stop in Tennessee, I was Clarice Starling,” you admit, making him laugh. “Although I’m glad you got the reference… Mr. Varjak.”

He simpers, very proud of himself. And with that, he takes a step closer to you. Towering over you. Crowding you with his smile, his scent, his body heat… and neither of you makes the first touch. You’re painfully aware of how his gaze keeps dropping to your lips. Bodies drawn towards each other but tied in place for some reason. It seems like despite all the flirting you did at the restaurant, everything goes out the window once you’re alone.

You’re just two strangers, caught in a thrilling game of push and pull. Too scared to tip over and just… fall.

“Can I kiss you…?” Bradley breathes out. He feels foolish for asking, but it’s the only way to make sure he’s not ruining the entire evening.

But you sigh in relief and nod your head yes, and it gives you the push you need to close the distance from him. You don’t know which one happened first; touching his lips with yours, grasping his arms for balance, or standing on your tiptoes on his shoes. He keeps you there, his strong hands securing your waist.

“You’re making me feel like a kid…” It makes you giggle into the kiss, and he can’t not possibly fall in love with the sound of that—with the feel of your lips pulled up right against his.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing…” Bradley runs his hands down your sides gently. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“All night? You mean you’ve been thinking about making out with me while I tell you my life story?” you gasp, feigning shock and offense.

He laughs again. “Maybe for a moment or two there, I’ll admit.”

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you give him a playful smack on his behind, and there’s a flash of… something in his eyes. A spark, or a darkening. You’re not sure what it is yet, but it sends butterflies into your stomach yet again.

Bradley tucks some loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’m still a gentleman.”

“Really? I don’t believe that…” you sway his hips lightly, “I think you’re very… very bad,” you purr out, your lips barely touching.

He meets you halfway, and it feels like less of a shock this time. You gladly lose yourself in him, knowing you’ve crossed the line now. You finally notice how his mustache scratches your skin in a nice way, how he holds you flush against him, how he just melts into you in the kiss… enshrouding you in his warmth and lighting you on fire at the same time.

Bradley pulls away, barely just. His forehead is still pressed against yours, your noses are bumping, and his breath melding with yours. He licks his lips and you swear you can almost taste it. “You’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman, kid…”

You can’t help but chuckle at the nickname. It’s not one you expect, but it sounds right somehow. “I didn’t invite you all the way here to be a gentleman.”

The twinkle in his eyes darken. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. “Is that right?” Bradley’s hands slide down your hips, finding the swell of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

The air catches in your throat, and you swallow lightly. “Mm-hm.”

Instead, you lead him into the bedroom. Bradley is right behind you, barely a step behind. His hands have found a home on your hips and he seems adamant to stay there for a moment. Insisting to hold onto you because he worries he’ll get ahead of himself before you’re ready. But gosh, you’ve been ready all night and you’re practically twisting your arms around trying to reach the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Come here, I got you,” he rasps, his heart skipping as he drags the zipper down your back. He’s not sure which one he loves more; the dip of your spine that he wants to trace with your tongue, or the way the dress falls to the floor and reveals what’s underneath that prim and proper pink dress.

A tiny scrap of lace held by a black strap on either side of your hips, framing the swell of your ass perfectly.

And he swears, for a split second, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck…” he breathes out.

You can’t turn around fast enough. It might be a good ‘fuck’, but what if it’s a bad one? “What’s wrong?”

Bradley just blinks at you, for no other reason than how your nipples are poking out the side of the skimpy triangle of your bra. And that your lipstick is smeared on the edges from kissing him.

But of course, your mind is already racing from the lack of response and you’re already thinking, oh no this was a bad idea I shouldn’t have worn this—

“Hey, hey…” he sees your face fall and your arms come up to cover your chest and he immediately steps in. Holding you close, hoping to give you comfort. “Is this all for me?”

Oh, shit. Maybe if you close your eyes tight enough, you would melt to the floor. “I know, it’s a little much—”

“No, that’s not what I asked…” Bradley tilts your chin up, making you look him in the eye. “I said… Did you put these on for me?”

Your breath comes up short, and you nod ever so slightly. You don’t even trust your own voice not to betray how much you want him to like it. How much you want him.

“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” He smiles into your lips, kissing you there. Spelling out how he feels with his hands on your ass, his mouth on yours. “Such a good girl…”

That flips a switch in your brain and he can see it. Your eyes go wide, your posture changes, and all of a sudden, you look so… small in his arms. So vulnerable, so beautiful. So perfect.

Suddenly, he’s holding the world in his arms. The sexy little thing you call panties is a pesky little nuisance now, and he can’t wait to get it off of you. His broad shoulders are keeping your legs open, his nose nuzzling your pubic bone as he looks up at you.

Bradley lowers you down on the side of the bed, settling on his knees before you. Committing every inch to memory by touch, from your ankle to your knee, up the inside of your thighs. When he reaches the scrap of fabric at your core, he feels it slick. He smirks. “What do we have here?”

Your face heats up. How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? No words are coming to your head—not when he’s drawing patterns over your pussy, making the lace glisten all over. And when your panties are positively ruined, he draws his hand back and licks the offending fingers in earnest.

And all it takes is a taste to send him into a frenzy.

“Fuck honey, need to taste you…” he murmurs between feverish kisses all over your legs. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, feeling like he’s got you under a spell.

“Use your words, kid.” He grins, playfully biting the inside of your thigh.

The sharp sensation makes you yelp, and you grip his hair in reflex. “Yes, want your mouth on me, please…”

“Good girl, asking so nicely…” he chuckles, satisfied with your response. Then, he pulls you to the edge of the bed. That dainty scrap of lace you call panties is a pesky nuisance now, and he couldn’t wait any longer to get it off of you. With your legs hiked up on his broad shoulders, he dives into you.

A taste, as it turns out, is an understatement because what Bradley does is devour.

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp sharply at the contact.

With one hand pinning your thigh open, he laps you up in earnest, figuring out the many ways he can make you squirm. Time ceases to exist because it feels like he makes you come in no time, but also he’s been down there forever. But he goes on and on and on until his name comes out in a desperate chant of lust and need.

“Bradley Bradley Bradley…” she grinds shamelessly into his mustache now, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation on your part. “Please, I’m gonna…”

“I know, honey. I got you. It’s okay.” It’s an oddly wholesome thing to say in a moment like this, but maybe you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, because sweet nothings get you off.

Your orgasm strikes like a thunderbolt, and you find yourself arching into his mouth. The more you take, the more he gives—or is it the other way around?— It seems like he takes as much pleasure in it as you do. Maybe even more, as he holds onto you as you squirm away overstimulated.

“Bradley… wait.” You grab a handful of his hair, trembling breathlessly.

His mustache glistens when he comes up for air, and he finally (finally!) takes off his suit jacket as he stands up. He eases up on the throttle and lets you breathe for a second. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, watching you spread out like a feast for him. Legs open, bra askew, hair fanned out on the pillow… God, he’s so lucky.

When he returns on top of you, you’re eager to pull him by his belt buckle, but he brushes your hand away. You frown in protest. “But I wanna touch you—”

“It’s not your turn yet, honey,” he chides you teasingly.

“You just had your turn!”

He shrugs, nosing your cheek. “Well, it’s still my turn, so…” Bradley closes the gap again and kisses you openly.

The taste of your arousal on his tongue makes you dizzy, but it can’t distract you from the buzz of his fingers rubbing your devoured pussy, sending shivers down your spine. It’s entirely too much, and you keel over from the contact.

“Somebody’s a little sensitive, huh?” He grins, easing the throttle a little.

“Fuck you…”

“Well, if you say so.” He slides his middle finger in.

“Ohhh… Bradley…” you buck up your hips and moan. But in comes another finger, and you swear it feels like all of him.

He’s wound differently this time, like a man on a mission. With his fingers crooking and stroking your silky walls, beckoning you to come closer, while you grip his shoulders, willing yourself to hold on. But his teeth yanks the edge of your bra to set your nipple free, and his sly tongue finally gets a taste… all resolve goes out the window.

“Come on, honey. I know you got another one in you…” he breathes out, undoing the front clasp of your bra so he can suck your tits with all his might, willing you to come.

And frankly, who are you to say no?

The burst of pleasure hits you from your core to your fingertips. If he wasn’t pinning you down on top of you, you would have probably floated away. But you’re firmly laid on the mattress and feeling everything. Your eyes blink back into focus as you come down from your high.

You pant, staring at him in disbelief. Nobody has ever put that much attention on you in bed before even taking off his clothes. “You got a baseball bat in there or something?”

“Something like that.” He rolls his eyes playfully. Jokingly, you assume.

You take his arm, kissing his wrist, “Can I touch you now?” sticking your tongue out to lick his digits clean of you. Putting on a show as you suck his fingers. “Please?”

He throws his head back and groans. “Fuck.” He can’t resist that doe-eyed look you’re putting on, nor can he resist you undoing his shirt buttons. He can play dominant all he wants, but he knows that the truth of the matter is, he’s all wrapped up around your little finger. “Okay, okay. You win.”

It’s a mess of unbuckling pants, kicking off shoes, and tossing clothes to the floor. Your hand reaches out to trace his gleaming skin, every ridge of his abdomen. You’ve seen the Calvin Klein campaigns and the Men’s Health covers— and gosh, he looks like a dream. But when that thing just springs up to his stomach when he pushes his boxers down…

You didn’t expect him to manifest straight out of your wet dream.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about your baseball bat,” you breathe out, head tilted as you stare at his thick cock. The vein that runs along the side, the way it curves slightly to the right, the length that makes you clench at the mere thought of it… Fuck, it’s pretty.

Bradley chuckles sheepishly. He knows how big it is, he’s heard all the jokes in the locker room, but hearing it from you hits different. “You scared?”

You should be, a little. But without flinching, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “Nah, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Gosh, he loves you. He’ll have to remember not to blurt that out too early. “Okay, big girl,” he chuckles, kissing you one last time before rolling off of the bed.

His sudden disappearance out of sight makes you frown. “Where are you—” you prop yourself up on your elbow, seeing him fish out a packet of condom from his trousers pocket, “Right. Safety first.”

Bradley nods, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on. There’s something so hot about how a man looks just before he fucks someone. “Mm-hm. Gotta make sure we’re both covered.”

“Do I need goggles and a helmet, too?”

He pauses as he straddles your hips. “Maybe next round,” he cheekily quips back. The idea of you wearing nothing but a helmet and safety goggles weirdly makes his cock stir, too. But you’re already lying naked under him, and he doubts that much will deter his hard-on.

Bradley pushes himself into you a little, and your eyes water as you whimper out in a blur of pain and pleasure. And here you thought two of his fingers felt full…

He stops in his tracks, trying to gauge your reaction. He nearly lost his mind over how tightly you’re clenched around him, but he doesn’t want to presume. “Too much?” He asks softly, stroking your cheek.

Your breaths run ragged as you look up at him, almost in awe. “You’re just… so big…”

He laughs breathlessly. He hates to brag, but it’s true. And as much as he’s enjoying the way you flutter under him, he has to ask, “Want me to pull out?” Please say no, please say no, I don’t think I can handle it…

“N-no…” you wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him for dear life. “But I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

Bradley smiles at what has to be the most adorable look he’s ever seen from you. He kisses your forehead in reassurance. “I’ll go nice and slow, okay? I promise.”

Feeling this small and vulnerable so soon after meeting someone would usually set all kinds of alarms in your head. You never know how a guy would take it. But in this moment, nestled in the crook of his neck, among the mix of his perfume and aftershave and his natural musk… all you want to do is stay. “Okay,” you nod softly.

“Let’s try again then, hm?” He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear, “Open up, love.”

With a deep breath, you bite back a whimper as you take him deeper, still not quite all the way in. “Hurts…”

Bradley stops again, his concern fully taking over now. “You sure you want me to keep going…?”

“Yes!” You surprise yourself with how quick and desperate you answered him. Your eyes shut, trying to offset the warmth setting over your cheeks, as you make the dirty admission, “I… I like it when it hurts.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bradley has to remind himself not to come on the spot, because holy shit. He wouldn’t go this hard on a woman so early in the game, but… his head is dizzy from how innocently you said it. He takes a breath to pull himself together. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

The air is heavy. The room is silent. You can hear the shift in the tension as you smirk, “Yessir.”

There you are, you little devil. Bradley simply grabs you by the hips and bottoms out inside you. Your face goes slack while your cunt tightens around his cock, and it blows his mind.

He starts out slow, torturously so. Stuffing himself inside your crevice and dragging himself out, willing you to feel every inch. Every ridge. Until your body loosens up and twists around in the throes of passion. Your mouth falls open, your little gasps and moans coming and going as he pleases.

The unhurried pace is nice for a few minutes, when you’re still adjusting to his size. But now that he’s snug inside you, you’re simply aching for more. Your hips arch up into him halfway, a little more urgent, disrupting the rhythm with a pleasant stutter.

He notices this and smiles. “So eager… what’s the rush, hm?”

You answer with a groan. He has a penchant for asking you questions you can’t answer, this man. “You feel so good, baby…” you murmur headily, hands desperately grasping on him—his arms, his shoulders, his back…

”You feel even better.” He nips at your pert nipple, relishing in your angelic little filthy cry. Fuck, he can feel the exact motion of your pussy tightening for him. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that…”

”Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker onto yours immediately. You’re gonna be the death of him, he swears…

You grab his hair by the fistful, keeping his gaze. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

”Oh fuck—” he doesn’t stand a chance. His body reacts faster than his brain could compute, and he holds your hips flush against his as he buries himself as deep as he can. Every twitch of his cock sends you reeling, and your pussy clenches and unwinds in your climax, following him down from his high to yours.

Free falling, hand in hand.

Bradley rolls off of you and you would complain, if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you into his chest. Thank fuck. You’re not quite ready to untangle from him yet. Not when your breaths still run a bit ragged, as if accidentally catching each other’s. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and it feels unlike your regular out-of-town hookup. No, this one’s different. But not a word is said between you on that for different reasons— each of you holding your cards close to your chest, as close as you’re holding each other.

#nowhere to go but up from here on out folks!!#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

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riveramorylunar · 2 years ago

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Point Of No Return

Pairings: Dark Serial Killer Leonora Lesso x Reader

Warnings ⚠️: DARK THEMES! Stalking, Breaking In, Killing, Blood, Knives, Guns, Mentions of Deaths, Sadism, Possessiveness, Age Difference, Height Difference, Stabbing, Shooting, Lots of cussing, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Violence, Manipulation, Magic Use & Drinking Blood

Pet Names/Nicknames: Sweetheart, Darling, Dear, Hon & Good Girl

Word Count: 3,107

A/N: If you're not comfortable with this fic please do not read this or report it! Just skip it. And I might make a part 2 since I find Serial Killer Leonora Lesso fucking hot!

Stonecreast a small town that was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by lots and lots of trees. You think it would be a safe place when you visit but it's not. Whoever came upon the small town would mysteriously disappear. No traces on how they disappeared were left behind. It's like they just vanished into thin air and were never born. Some rumors say that they disappear by magic. What a stupid idea most people think but to be honest magic is definitely real. Magic is all around us whether we see it or not. The town was completely deserted after many years and was completely forgotten.

Y/N and a couple of her friends were going on a trip when they had gotten a flat tire. They had pushed the car off the road and into the grass. One of Y/N's friends pulled out their phone before holding it up in the air. "There's no fucking service out here" her friend shouted and Y/N groaned. "Of course there isn't where in the middle of nowhere we're completely lost" another friend said as he leaned against the car. "We're not lost" a boy said and they all looked at him. "Where are we then huh" a girl with dark blue hair said. The boy went quiet before huffing. "Why don't you have a spare tire in the trunk you should always have one" Y/N said while looking at the oldest in the group. "I don't know, I didn't think anything of it" she said and Y/N rolled her eyes. "Of course you didn't you never do Annabelle" the boy with black hair said. Annabelle glared at him before shoving him. "Shut your stupid mouth Eric" Annabelle spat out and Eric glared at her. Before they could get in a fight Y/N stood up and stood in between them. "Can we not fight right now we got bigger problems" Y/N said and the two glared at each other before looking away. "We need to find somewhere to stay for the night until we can find a spare tire or get service " Y/N said and Annabelle sighed before stroking her hand through her hair. "Alright let's go then" Annabelle said and everyone grabbed their stuff.

"God my feet hurt how long have we been walking" Dakota said as she dropped her bags. They all stopped to look over at the dark blue haired girl before looking at each other. Annabelle walked over and told Dakota to hop onto her back. "Hey uh guys I think I found a place we can stay" Ryan said and everyone looked at him. Everyone walked over and Ryan moved some huge tree branches out of the way revealing a deserted town. "Ryan I don't think we should go there it looks creepy there's literally no one" Dakota said and Y/N grabbed her bags before walking towards it first. The others looked at each other before following Y/N. "For an abandoned place it looks awfully new" Eric said and they all agreed. Y/N had spotted something moving out of the corner of her eye but when she looked over there was nothing there. "Y/N" Dakota said as she nudged Y/N with her elbow.

They stayed at the motel that was there. It was pretty strange to see everything so nice and clean when there was not a single person there except them. There was even fresh food in the main lobby. "I don't like this at all we should head back to the car" Ryan said and Dakota agreed. "Oh stop it you guys are acting like babies" Eric huffed out as he grabbed a container of spaghetti. "We're not acting like babies Eric what abandoned town would have fresh food and cleaned rooms, for all we know this town was abandoned years ago" Dakota shouted and Eric laughed. Y/N just stayed silent as she ate an apple. Dakota screamed before leaving the main lobby and headed back up the stairs. Ryan quickly followed her leaving the three oldest in the lobby. "God she's such a child sometimes" Eric said as he slammed the microwave door shut. "Eric she technically is a child she's 16" Annabelle said as she sat down next to Y/N who was still quiet. "Why did we even bring her then" Eric said and Annabelle rolled her eyes. "Because she's Ryan's best friend" Annabelle said as she folded her arms. "Why do you have such a problem with her Eric what did she ever do to you" Y/N finally spoke up and Eric glared at her. "Nothing I just don't like her" Eric scoffed out as he took his spaghetti out. "Well that's completely bullshit if she didn't do anything to you, you have no reason to be mad at her" Y/N said as she stood up. Before Eric could say anything Y/N left and went to go check on Dakota. "You're an absolute asshole" Annabelle said as she stood up and went after Y/N. Eric slammed his fists onto the table before groaning loudly.

At night everyone was asleep except Eric since he went outside to smoke. "You really shouldn't be out by yourself in an abandoned town boy" someone had muttered out as they were laying down on top of one of the buildings. The figure was looking through the sniper scope. The figure was wearing a black and red hockey mask with spikes on it. They had cooper red hair and slightly pale skin that was littered with scars of all kinds. They watched as Eric walked down the street while cussing. "Such a dramatic boy" the person muttered out before chuckling quietly to themselves. Dangling from their neck was a silver pentagram necklace. They had black rings stacked onto their fingers and sharp matte white nails. They were wearing all black of course. The person was wearing black jeans and a slightly tight black shirt. They were wearing a black leather jacket and a couple chains hung from the loops of the pants. A knife was held against their thigh by a holder. Guns were strapped all over their body as well. The person waited until he was far enough from the motel before shooting him in the back of the head causing him to fall onto the ground in.

The person stood up before lifting their sniper up and jumping down the fire escape. They started walking towards Eric as they flicked their cigarette onto the ground and stomped on it. They walked over and saw a pool of blood forming under the boy's head making them smirk. They lifted him up before throwing him over their shoulder. The person started walking farther away from the motel until they reached the forest. They walked towards the sound of water before dropping in front of a lake that ended in a waterfall. They dropped him onto the ground with a loud thud before setting their sniper down.

It was the next morning, Y/N and the others were waiting for Eric but he never showed up. "This isn't like him I'm going to go see if he's still sleeping" Annabelle said before she got up from the table and walked out of the lounge. Annabelle came back down a couple minutes later with a frown. "Did you find him" Y/N asked and Annabelle shook her head no. "I couldn't find him anywhere" Annabelle said and Dakota rolled her eyes. "At least we don't have to but up with is mean ass" Dakota muttered out and Ryan held back a laugh. Y/N rolled her eyes as she stood up. Before Y/N could move they all heard the door to the motel open. They all looked at each other before they rushed towards the front. There was nothing there except for a piece of paper. Ryan walked up and grabbed it before reading it. "Leave now or I'll kill you as well" Ryan read out and they all looked at each other before laughing. "Eric come on out stop trying to scare us" Annabelle said and nothing happened. "Eric come out this isn't funny" Dakota shouted and she gulped when Eric didn't. "Uh guys I don't think this is red ink" Ryan said and Y/N walked over and snatched the paper from his hands. "Yeah this is definitely blood" Y/N said and Dakota gulped.

Dakota started panicking and Annabelle was trying to calm her down. Y/N and Ryan were sitting in the main lobby. "What are we gonna tell his parents they'd go insane if they knew their only son was dead" Ryan said as he stroked through his hair. "What are you guys talking about" a quiet voice said making the two jump. They looked up to see Casey standing there looking at them. "What are you doing here" Ryan said and Casey frowned. "What do you mean I've been with you guys the whole time" they said causing Y/N and Ryan to look at each other before frowning. "You need to speak up more then" Y/N said and Ryan nodded. "CASEY" Dakota shouted and ran into Casey before throwing her arms around them. "Casey when did you get here" Annabelle said and Casey huffed. "They've been here the whole time" Ryan said and Annabelle raised an eyebrow. "Of course they have" Annabelle sighed as she rubbed her forehead. "So uh what's going on" Casey said and the others looked at each other. "Eric's dead and we don't know what's going on" Annabelle said and Casey smirked. "Glad he's dead he's always been a complete asshole" they said and the others looked at them. "What I'm just speaking the truth" they said with a shrug.

It was night time now and Annabelle was in the showers while everyone else was downstairs in the lounge talking. The person that had killed Eric broke into the showers and made their way to the one that was running. They took out their knife and ripped the curtain open causing Annabelle to jump before turning around. Her eyes widened in shock and she grabbed something causing the person to chuckle. The person lunged towards Annabelle and smacked the bottle of soap out of her hand. They shoved Annabelle against the wall and put a finger up to their mask. Annabelle was about to scream but the person covered her mouth. The knife the killer was holding pierced Annabelle's spine causing her to scream into the person's hand. They pulled the knife out quickly before stabbing Annabelle in the neck. The person stepped back and removed their hand as they saw blood on it making them smirk wickedly. Annabelle slid down against the tiled wall before hitting her head. They turned the water off and scooped up some of the blood. The person lifted their mask up and licked their fingers clean before sighing. They had the most beautiful striking green eyes that glowed in the light.

As they turned around they spotted blood on their neck. As they were looking in the mirror they heard the door open. The person looked over to see a young girl looking at them. "W-who are you" Dakota stuttered out as she looked at the woman who had blood on her hands and neck. Her eyes traveled to the shower that Annabelle had been using and just froze in place. Dakota saw Annabelle laying in a pool of her own blood. She turned around and was about to run out of the huge bathroom when the door slammed in her face. She didn't dare turn around as she felt tears roll down her face. She wanted to scream but nothing would come out. The woman looked down and watched as Dakota shook with fear causing her to smirk. The woman leaned down as she pressed the blood knife against Her shoulder blade. "Two in one day must be my lucky day" the woman said before chuckling darkly. "Please I won't tell my friends I promise" Dakota sobbed out causing the woman to laugh. "Sorry no can do, you've seen my face" the woman said before stabbing Dakota in the heart causing to scream before she collapsed into the woman's arm not moving. The woman pulled her mask down before lifting Dakota up and over her shoulder.

The door had slammed open and the woman was gone in a flash while the bathroom was sparkling clean again. "Dak-" Y/N stopped herself when she didn't see either the 16 year old or Annabelle. The other two arrived and stood behind Y/N. "Was that Dakota" Ryan said and Y/N nodded. "I think we should leave and go back to the car" Ryan stuttered out and Y/N looked at him. "Let's go then" Y/N said and the three rushed to their rooms and packed. They rushed out of the motel and started running towards the forest. "Stay close" Y/N muttered out and the two nodded. As they were running they heard footsteps behind them. Ryan tripped over a branch and fell face first onto the ground. Y/N and Casey stopped. Y/N ran over and was about to reach him when he was dragged backwards. He started screaming and crying for help. "Y/N we need to run we have to leave him behind" Casey said as they started dragging Y/N in the opposite direction. They heard a blood curdling scream before Casey started running pulling Y/N along. As they were running they had dropped their belongings.

They got to the car and Y/N started looking for the keys. "Y/N hurry it up" Casey shouted as she started pulling on the handle. "I'm trying" Y/N shouted back as she grabbed the keys from the bottom of her handbag. She unlocked the car and opened the driver's door. Before Casey could get in a gun shot went off. The door shut as Casey hit the door blood smearing all over the window. Y/N screamed as she locked the doors. She started the car and drove off going well past the speed limit. As she was driving she saw a figure standing a couple yards in front causing her to hit the break. She hit the figure causing them to go flying making her eyes widen in shock. "Oh god" Y/N muttered out as she was about to get out but saw the person standing up causing her to gulp. The mask the person was wearing was now cracked. The figure held up a gun and Y/N put the handle in reverse before hitting the gas pedal. "I AM NOT DYING TONIGHT" Y/N shouted out as she turned the car around before putting the car in forward. She totally forgot that the car had a flat yesterday but she was worried about that. She screeched to a halt again when she saw Casey standing in the road holding onto her stomach. She got out of the car but when she looked in front Casey wasn't there causing her to frown.

Y/N was slammed against the car door causing her to grunt. "You can't escape this place Sweetheart" the person muttered out and Y/N screamed before elbowing them in the stomach. The grip on the back of her neck dropped letting her turn around and punch the person in the face. When Y/N pulled away she winced and looked down at her hand to see blood dripping down her knuckles. She looked up to see the mask fall off the person's face before she gasped. Even in the moonlight she could see the features of the woman that was standing in front of her with a clenched jaw. The woman looked down at the broken hockey mask before looking back up at Y/N. She lunged forwards and wrapped one of her hands around Y/N's neck. She slammed Y/N against the car as she grabbed both of Y/N's wrists and held them with her other hand. "You're going to regret that dear" the woman growled lowly causing Y/N to gulp. The woman's eyes flickered down to Y/N's bloody hand before looking back up. "That was a really stupid move punching a mask that had spikes on it" the woman spat out and tightened her grip around Y/N's neck.

The woman watched as Y/N's eyes started closing and loosened her grip just a little. "You're not gonna die on me" the woman said before knocking Y/N out. She lifted Y/N up bridal style before walking back towards the town.

Y/N woke up gasping for air before she heard a voice. "You're awake" a woman said causing Y/N looked over to see the woman from before sitting down in a dark red chair holding a glass of scotch in one hand and a gun in the other. Y/N got up and stumbled away from the woman who just raised an eyebrow before smirking. "Who are you" Y/N muttered out as she looked around the room to try and find an exit. " Oh I can't tell you or else I'd have to kill you Darling" the woman said as she watched Y/N look around the room. "If you're trying to figure out a way to escape you won't be able to" the woman said as she stood up from the chair while throwing back the rest of the scotch. She set the empty glass down on the glass coffee table before stalking towards Y/N. "Stay back you psycho" Y/N muttered out and the woman fake pouted. "Ouch that hurt" the woman said before laughing. Y/N clenched her jaw tightly as her eyes narrowed. "Now listen if you do everything I say I won't kill you but if you don't you'll end up like all of your friends got it" the woman said as she towered over Y/N. After a couple minutes of silence the green eyed woman grabbed Y/N by the jaw before tilting her head back. "Do I make myself clear" the woman growled out and Y/N nodded her head. "Use your words Hon" she said and Y/N looked at her. "Yes I understand" Y/N said causing the taller woman to smile before patting Y/N's cheek. "Good girl now I trust you not to do anything stupid or reckless" the woman said before stepping back. "Can I know your name then if you trust me" Y/N said and the woman laughed before tilting her head. "It's Leonora Lesso dear" the woman said before she walked away leaving Y/N alone in the almost empty living room.

#Leonora Lesso x Reader #Lady Lesso x Reader #Leonora Lesso #Lady Lesso #Leonora Lesso my Handsome Dean Of Evil 🔥🪄#Dark Serial Killer Leonora Lesso #River's Stories 📜#Lesbian

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novankenn · 10 months ago

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Unnatural (v2-7)

(Chapter List)

MATURE CONTENT WARNING : This story deals with some disturbing themes. Check the tags. IF any of these are triggers for you or will disturb you... then DO NOT READ!!

Terra still felt woozy from when Jaune, or Annabel, had kissed her forehead. She didn’t understand how, but her mind had suddenly been filled with twisted images, thoughts and desires. She had thrown up all over the coffee table and floor as her mind screamed in agony.

“That is but a sample of the perversion I have cleansed this world of.” Annabel had flatly stated as she stood to the side, watching Terra struggle with the tidal wave of emotions and memories that rolled over her. “You will only remember your revulsion to what you are seeing. Everything else is fleeting and will end soon.”

True to her word, the images and memories faded, but the sick feeling remained. Terra still couldn’t reconcile the apparent fact that Jaune was a murderer… even if his chosen targets were the utter shit of shit. All life was precious, right? Terra tried to push that thought aside as she tossed lien to the cab driver and climbed out of the backseat to stand in front of a rather ratty and rundown looking building.

“But what is a child’s innocence worth?” Terra whispered to herself as she tried to steel herself for her confrontation with Saphron. “I can't think about that right now. I need to see Saph, need to tell her what Jaune is planning.”

Terra entered the dingy lobby and made her way across the stained and thread bare carpet to the reception desk. The rather unkept young man, who sat starting at his scroll, didn’t even acknowledge her aside from pointing towards a posted sign showing rates ranging from hourly to weekly.

“I’m here to see a guest. Room 307.”

“Whatever. Stairs are to the left, and do me a favor and keep the noise down.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Terra clenched her teeth and her hands in anger and embarrassment, as it became clear in her mind what the attendant thought she was. Pushing those feelings down, she went straight to the stairs and taking them two at a time she made her way to the third floor. She wasted no time in locating Saphron’s room and immediately started banging on the door.

/==/

Jaune hidden under a fresh hoodie exited one of the several public libraries that were spaced all about Argus. Using the information Annabel had gleaned from Terra’s mind during the ‘kiss’ he was able to narrow down a location for his target. It was amazing what you could discover when you had someone’s full name, birthday, and a crystal clear image of their face in your mind. The moron had even posted his physical address on his social media.

Keeping his head down, Jaune slowly made his way to his destination. It was an apartment in a rougher section of the city, but Jaune was unconcerned. There was nothing in Argus short of a huntsman or huntress that could stop him, not with Annabel on his side, but just in case he allowed his body to shift, becoming Anna, and enhancing himself further. It was early in the morning when he finally reached his destination.

“You smell it?” Annabel’s question floated into Jaune’s mind.

“I do. He is more corrupt than Terra knew.” Jaune replied in his thoughts.

“Let’s hurry. The sooner we erase this vermin, the sooner mother and Terra can be free of us.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be that way.”

“As do I.”

/==/

Saphron hadn’t wanted to let Terra in, but once she mentioned having been introduced to Annabel, Saphron ripped open the door and hauled Terra into the room. The next hour was filled with some shouting, much crying and a fair bit of swearing. It was only after the tempest of emotions had been released that Terra was able to relay what Jaune as Annabel had told her.

“He can’t!” Saphron choked out, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “He can’t leave me… I won’t let it!”

“I don’t know what to think, this is all insane… but right now I need you to understand I don’t want to lose you, or Jaune.” Terra admitted. “I’ve never been more happy in my life than when I opened myself to both of you… but things need to be explained to me. I want to understand.”

“Help me keep Jaune from running away, please? I can’t lose him, any more than I can lose you.”

“I will.” Terra pulled Saphron into a tight, needy embrace. “I will.”

#Discretion Advised - MATURE CONTENT #rwby #jaune arc #annabel #anna arc (OC)#saphron cotta arc #terra cotta arc #jaune is saphron's son #demonic possession #disturbing content #warning: implied/referenced incest #warning: implied/referenced rape #warning: implied/referenced child abuse

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spilltheteawithme · 3 months ago

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Honestly I’m thought last summer was bad for her with how dm and entity came her and pretty much the silence that followed after the last pap walk last summer but this summer 😬 she set herself up tbh here announcing on ig “here I come!!” With the picture of the movie you would have at least thought she was in it not supporting her supposed boyfriend and looking at pictures and videos before and then during and after Cannes wasn’t at all what she expected and it honestly doesn’t seem like she got what she wanted you quickly see her go from smiling to very tense through out. She deflated very quickly and in the after party photo of her it looks like she may have been crying before she tried to match with him but she wore a dress that you could tell was picked last minute because it should have been tailored to her height and her body type but she looked very lumpy and she practically tripping over her dress (the video of him basically dragging her through the hotel lobby 😬 he looked tense and very pissed) she looked very out of her element and it makes me remember what she said in Malta she never feels welcome at film festivals and you could tell honestly no one cared that she was there at Cannes she was an afterthought and I think that kind of describes what this is with seb she’s an afterthought to him a job. This feels way more for her and to get her name out there and every opportunity has failed because she’s honestly not interesting she’s a mediocre actress at best that’s the best compliment that she will get she’s not really that pretty she’s just blonde skinny with blue eyes which there’s so many woman just like that who are interesting talented and that just puts Annabelle at the back trying to grasp any attention she can get but she can’t hold it on her own

Maybe not crying but definitely glossy eyed...

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rogueshadeaux · 1 year ago

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Chapter Seventeen — Reascendance

6k words | 20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: child death, implied terrorism. Sorta ooc Delsin but just pretend it's his customer service voice

Brent didn’t object when I appeared in his bedroom in the middle of the night — I knew he was awake, he wasn’t snoring. He didn’t even say anything when I took one side of the full sized bed and bundled up in the woven blanket, finally managing to fall asleep. Maybe it was the few years before we moved to Chapman where we shared a twin mattress as toddlers in that one bedroom apartment in downtown Portland, or maybe it was the fact that we entered this world sharing a womb — but I always felt better with Brent close. He’d never admit it, but he felt the same — it was an unspoken agreement of sorts.

We were up all too soon again for exams, of all things, Betty shuttling us to the absolutely miniscule high school and parking in its front lot. “God, how many kids go to school here?” Brent asked, sleep still thickening his voice.

Betty, being chairman of the Akomish, apparently knew. “Well the middle school has about 350 kids and the high school has 270.”

“Middle—“ I cut off, glancing back at the school. “Is this a blended school?”

Betty nodded. Holy shit, I didn’t even know schools were allowed to do that.

Four teachers met us in the lobby, guiding us through a hall that seemed smaller than the one at my fucking gyno. We were taken to a small computer lab in a glorified broom closet, and told we’d take each exam with a break in between. “We provide lunches to those on the free and reduced lunch program during the holiday,” one guy with thick glasses said. “You’ll attend lunch with them at 11:45.”

All this life changing drama and yet I somehow couldn’t escape my AP Lit exam.

But hey, we survived, finishing up just before eleven and told to just sit tight. “You can even play around on the computers if you’d like,” a woman teacher that stayed behind offered, her partners all going to the lunchroom to prepare it.

There was no hesitation; Brent immediately began typing in a news channel’s domain name, and I left my place on the other side of the room to sit beside him.

The march was headlining news, helicopter view of COLE’s remains, which was now gated and its front absolutely covered in little offerings. Couple posters I couldn’t make out, unlit candles, one section completely dedicated to a pile of dinosaur toys. There had to be thousands, all lined up in the street and contesting it enough they had to fan into the corners of the intersections, and there at the head was Eugene Sims.

But no Dad.

That didn’t make sense; he left at 9 at night. He probably got to Portland by midnight, two in the morning if he was more cautious. Why wasn’t he there? Did something happen?

Brent’s leg started going again.

But eventually 11:05 came, and Dr. Sims started forward, leading the entire march with his own group of supporters at its head. It took me a moment to realize I knew a lot of those in the group he walked with; that financial advisor who always played on his PS Vita-lity in the break room, Annabelle. He specifically linked his arm with a woman in all black, and it took me a second to tell it was the mom of that seven year old, the charred remains of that little toy Annabelle made in her hands.

But no Dad.

We were ushered to the cafeteria at some point, something that didn’t really register with me because of how absolutely worried I was. I wasn’t sure if I should say luckily, but the teachers had a television going on in the cafeteria with the same feed, volume turned high, a bunch of kids ranging from sixth to senior in the tables surrounding it, all turning in place to stare at us as we were directed where to sit and handed some tray with cold cut ham sandwiches and baby carrots.

“Hey,” one called, an older boy with hair damn near as long as mine, staring straight past me to Brent. “Aren’t you the guy from the Longhouse yesterday?”

One of the kids, seemingly excitable ‘cause she simply wouldn’t stop moving, confirmed before Brent could even try to. “Yeah! That’s the dude with the wings!”

We were surrounded before I could even blink.

It wasn’t a bad thing, though; the younger ones were absolutely enamored, begging him to pull the wings out and making him act all awkward. There was one girl who immediately began flirting with him and his ears started to turn pink, but he managed to keep his cool enough to say, “Sorry, I’ve uh, got a girl.”

The guy with long hair slid in beside me. “They’re saying you’re Rowe’s kids,” he directed at me, the only one to actually pay me any mind. “That true?”

My first chance at admitting it. “Yeah, we are,” I said with barely any hesitation, the teeniest bit of pride managing to burst through the nausea.

“Jean,” Brent said urgently, shooting up to stand, “Jean, look.”

There was a bit of commotion on the television now; the march had been met with a small batch of Lifeline protestors that broke through the police barrier on an adjoining street, practically rushing forward to meet Dr. Sims and the COLE survivors. He made them stop, letting the mother of the seven year old go and gently putting her behind him, standing tall and refusing to flinch. The cops didn’t look in any rush to aid Dr. Sims either, the bastards. “They’re just gonna let them get through,” I scoffed, not even bothering to phrase it as a question as we walked closer to the television, the group moving with us. Cops around the march didn’t even flinch at the Lifeline protestors, instead eyeing the marchers, waiting for them to move to take action.

“Where the hell is he?” Brent muttered, and I instinctively reached out to grab at his wrist in an effort to stay there. If Dad was in trouble, we’d already know, right? But I mean, how? It isn’t like he could message us, and if something happened with that Archangel thing, wouldn’t the whole point be for no one to know?

I glanced at Brent, who was already looking down at me with the same face. I was about three minutes from stealing a car and driving to Portland myself.

Brent looked back to the television as I felt a tap on my shoulder, a little face full of equal amounts freckles and acne looking up at me. God, was I that small at some point? “Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend?” She asked, giggling.

Oh I wanted to vomit. Did we really look that unalike? “Ew, god no, he’s my twin,” I almost gagged out, going to move my hand from around his wrist. His hand twisted and shot out though to keep it in place, the grip hard.

“They’re not stopping,” Brent muttered, eyes still glued to the television.

The chatter around us died off as they all began to realize there were more important things going on — like the altercation that was about to begin on television. Dr. Sims was losing control of the crowd, who were beginning to shift defensively. A few of the Conduits in the crowd called up their powers, the stagnant hold of sleeves of their abilities waiting to be used. Lifeline was making an aggressive beeline straight for the center, seemingly not intending on giving them any kind of space, and the cops in riot gear surrounding the show readied their weapons.

But off to the side, some hard light overexposed the camera, making the Lifeliners stop abruptly in place — especially as the aura of neon rushed down the side of a building at a speed I never knew he was capable of, the camera’s frame rate catching frozen glimpses of him mid-run. He zipped onto the road and skidded to a stop in the middle of the 10 feet of space between Lifeline and the COLE survivors, the pink and blue neon on his body slipping away into the air with a snap like a lightning bolt. Dad stood, shoulders squared and chest out as he eyed them, challenging them to try and push further.

They didn’t dare move.

Eugene Sims broke away from the crowd, closing that space and meeting Dad there in the middle, a hand clapping his shoulder. Dad turned, the two embracing for a quick squeeze featuring that man-back-slap thing, separating just as the camera tried zooming in on the Conduit emblem on Dad’s back. The anchor was saying something about it being Delsin Rowe, and the kids around us began looking at us again, but I didn’t care — he was okay. He made it there, and was alive.

There was newfound vigor to the marchers, Dr. Sims taking time to lead Dad back to the group of survivors. They hovered there for quite a while, giving the camera the chance to grab that million-dollar angle it was looking for a moment ago, zoomed in only on Dad now as he talked to the COLE survivors. He went to reach out to the mother but paused midair, hands eventually falling back to his side. He was making his apologies.

Lifeline didn’t move this entire time; in fact, when the camera zoomed back out, it showed they were standing stupidly in the middle of the road, wind gone from their sails. Their dumb little picket signs hung at their sides now, and they glanced at each other confused. Now that their theories were proven real, it seemed like they lost a reason to fight at all. Like they lost their cause, the ability to point their fingers accusingly.

I guess that’s why, when Dad and Dr. Sims turned back around to resume the march, the Lifeline idiots gave them a wide berth, moving to the sidewalk and pushing as close to the building as possible. Dad took his place beside Eugene Sims at the helm of the Second Age Movement, only one other person missing from the original trio.

I’m pretty sure I failed my Earth Science exam when we were shepherded back to that computer room, if I’m being honest. There was just so much distractive chatter in my mind that wouldn’t shut the hell up as I tried to remember if oceanic crust is thinner or denser than continental. Brent finished his exam a whole hour and a half later, and we left to find Betty waiting for us with her little Beetle, beaming at the fact that she gets to take us to Seattle — and immediately deflating when she figured out it wasn’t the first time we’ve been there. “We went with Dad to a gala two years ago,” Brent informed her. “Something for COLE’s charity donations,”

She just huffed in a comical way, telling us to get in.

Seattle’s skyscrapers reached higher than Portland’s, and there were so many more here too. It was strange being here with new context to our lives; this is where things changed for Dad. This is where he and Mom met. This is where Dad helped change things for Conduits. Not Delsin, Dad.

Yeah, still weird to think about.

But we got our phones, sitting in the cellular provider’s store and watching the television that streamed the end of the march as Dad, Dr. Sims and everyone else descended on Portland’s city hall. There were a few minutes of stagnant movement, the camera switched from aerial coverage to on scene as amps appeared and a mic was put up. It was normal for Dr. Sims to speak after events like this —he was their Martin Luther King Jr. after all —and sometimes when it was after a tragedy, he’d have survivors or family come up after to state their piece.

So it was surprising when Dad stepped up to the mic first.

Even now, in the throngs of a mall during last minute Christmas shopping, there was a tension to the air as people watched from food court televisions or the screens in here while Dad readjusted the mic a bit. There was feedback the news camera barely caught, and a weird staticky hum as Dr. Sims appeared beside Dad in a puff of pixels, a hand on his shoulder as he took a deep breath to steady himself, thinking hard on how to start.

“For nearly sixteen years,” he finally said into the mic, putting on his smooth and slightly-deeper-sounding lawyer voice, “I’ve gone by the name Damion Rowland, and for ten of those, I’ve worked as a head legal consultant for COLE. But…the rumors are true. I’m Delsin Rowe.”

There were immediate whispers, auditable in the crowd on the television and in the food court on our left. Dad inhaled deeply again, continuing with, “I hid after my fiancée, Abigail Walker, was killed, to protect our twins. The same fear-mongering rhetoric that took nineteen lives yesterday took my children’s mother, and I didn’t want them to be next. So I hid. That all changed last Wednesday when my daughter was kidnapped and my son was shot, all to bring me out of hiding. They…neither of them knew who I was, either. And I know most of you have seen the CCTV footage, so there’s no point in hiding it: they’re Conduits, too. I’ve spent the past few days helping them come to terms with the truth and their powers.

“But my absence shouldn’t have provoked something like this. Nineteen people are dead, and for what? Why?” He demanded, glancing over the crowd, knowing they wouldn’t have an answer either. “Everything I’ve ever feared, nineteen different families get to experience. Right behind me is a parent that lost her son because of this attack. A seven year old boy, Elliot Prue, who loved the Mariners and dinosaurs. She—” he pointed to the mom off behind him, who had the burnt stuffed toy held close to her chest, “—shouldn’t have to bury her son. Our sixteen year old resident, Amelia Soto, shouldn’t have had her life ended before it even began. My assistant should have been able to retire, Not a single person that lost their life yesterday should have.”

Dad paused to reel himself in a bit, visibly upset at the state of things. Eugene’s hand left his shoulder to go to the mother behind Dad, who began to sob, and Dad’s shoulder visibly sagged with the absence. “I have approval from the Portland Police department and the FBI to announce that we know the cause of yesterday’s attack. A dozen people were radicalized by something called Archangel, met through the networking of this group and began planning this attack almost seven months ago. Archangel was also behind the attack on my children, so we’re assuming that the attack yesterday…that it had something to do with me. Whether they thought I’d be here in Portland’s COLE chapter or if it would draw me out, I’m not sure.

“But I’m here now. And I can promise you all that I will do everything I can to help stop these attacks, not just violent shootings and bombs and whatever — but the words and legislation that’s causing all the fear. Conduits are here to stay, people are going to have to make peace with that. Cole MacGrath’s efforts to save those without the Conduit gene came at the price of having to live with us, and it’s time we begin searching for ways to live harmoniously, because it isn’t going to change. No more harassing your neighbors, no more stalking random people. I am going to return to my position at COLE to push back against the Conduit Registration Bill, as well as file suits against the various segregational legislations that’ve been passed recently. We’re looking to expand in fifteen more major cities in America, as well as starting chapters in Canada and Europe and expanding our services. I can only do so much for Conduits, though — it’s up to our government to find ways to bring peace to the nation without impeding on anyone’s rights.”

Dad’s eyes found the camera this news channel was streaming on, and his stare went entirely icy, so harsh that it felt like I was getting reprimanded a state away. “And as for this Archangel thing — I’m only giving a single warning to whoever is perpetrating these attacks. Using low-tier criminals and radicalized conspiracy theorists to do your bidding is weak, and it isn’t something I’m intimidated by. You wanted me out in the open? I’m here. I won’t let you use the lives of innocent people, of my children, to try and, what, scare me? It isn’t working. All you’ve done is piss me off. I’m only going to say it once: back off. Because if anything else happens, and I have to fight back? You’re going to regret ever challenging the one person with experience tearing down organizations like yours.”

That seemed to be where Dad wanted to stop, looking over his shoulder and waiting for Dr. Sims to look up, motioning towards the mic.

The quiet in the mall erupted into chatter, shock and disbelief at the actual Delsin Rowe being back. “How didn’t anyone know? That looks like him,” I heard someone say as they entered a Bath and Body Works, rolling her eyes like there weren't eight layers of complication to the lie. Another person walked past saying, “Rowe’s kids deserved it after all the bullshit he did,” and I had to physically grip Brent by his wrist and drag him away. Thank god he was wearing the beanie so no one would realize his hair changed color.

“Do you two need anything?” Betty asked, spinning to face us. “I know you left home with next to nothing, and I have fifteen Christmases to make up for.” She didn’t even wait for us to answer, just spun back on her heel and said, “C’mon, let’s get you two some new clothes.”

We started to object, but the glare she shot over her shoulder shut us up. She may have been old, but I had no doubt we’d get in deep shit if we continued to go against what she said. She was little, but kinda scary. Like a rabid cat.

She took us to as many discount department stores as possible, trying her best to get as much as she could for us out of some invisible limit she set in her mind. At first it was awkward, and Brent and I fished for the most minimal, low-priced items we could; but the way Betty’s face lit up when Brent found a nice jacket with some soft sherpa lining, and with how she insisted on him getting it…I don’t know, it was sort of sweet. It activated that deep want within me to have a grandmother, someone who’s entire job description was to love and spoil and care about me. Seems Brent got the same impression, because soon it became a sort of family bonding day, Betty learning more about us than we offered in the past five days and taking time to actually ask questions and become interested in everything we did, everything we were.

“Oh, you do art?” Betty smiled when she caught me in the discount art section of a Ross, casually browsing all the upended supplies. “You’re so much like your father. I still have so many of his drawings from his school years, they’re hiding somewhere in storage–”

“You’ve got to show me those,” I laughed.

Looking at the art supplies was a bit of a mistake, because we were both suddenly harassed into getting things we wanted, not just needed. Betty didn’t let me leave that aisle until I had a new sketchbook in hand and a pack of watercolor paints Brent handed to me as a joke, Betty missing the tease entirely and grabbing the set when I chucked it back at his chest, insisting I get it. “Yeah, c’mon Jean, think about how easy it’ll be to use those now.” He smirked, knowing good and well the last time I used watercolors it looked less Van Gogh and more God, no.

“I hope you rust over one day, Tin Man,”

All that teasing dissipated, though, when Brent discovered there was an official LEGO shop on the other end of the mall. I mean, it did from him — I sure didn’t spare him from a few comments of my own.

Everything ended at the same food court we were by when we got our phones, Betty having us put her number in our phones and message her our favorite Panda Express orders so she’d have ours. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” she gasped out, “Your father wanted you to call as soon as you could, I have his number—”

“We’ve got it memorized,” Brent assured her. “We’ll call while you grab food.”

Brent was dialing in the number before she’d left, saying as it rang, “Maybe I should have messaged him first, I dunno if he’s gonna answer some unknown nu—”

“Hello?”

Dad sounded winded, a bit tired in a non-negative way. Like someone does after a footrace or swimming. “Hey, Dad,” Brent greeted, putting the phone on speaker and bringing it close to his ear, motioning for me to move closer so I could hear too. The mall was packed, and because of that, it was loud too.

“Hey, son,” I could hear the smile in his voice, “Guessing you got your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Your sister too? No issues?”

“Yeah, I did,” I said, tacking on a, “How are you?”

“Oh, hey Jean!” Dad’s chuckle was breathless as he said, “It’s something, being back out here like this. Did you see any of it?”

“Yeah, we did. Saw your speech and saw you get there late—” Brent glanced at me and motioned forward. “See you right now, too.”

I looked where Brent was pointing, to a large flat screen television posted on the skylight’s support beam; the news’ camera feed was still, not exactly grounded but definitely not in a helicopter, pointed to Dad as he paced a bit in place in an alleyway, phone to his ear.

But he froze immediately when Brent said that, glancing around. “What do you mean you see me now? You’re not here, right?”

I chuckled, “No, you’re still on camera.”

Dad’s eyebrows furrowed, and he kept looking around, suspicious. “Well that’s great,” He scoffed, annoyed. “Where?”

“Okay so, turn right.” Dad did, Brent immediately becoming confused when Dad’s back faced the camera. “Wait that’s — are cameras inverted?” he asked me.

“No, you’re just an idiot, that’s Dad’s left. Dad, turn around.”

“Wait are they — are they left or behind?”

“Around, do a 180.”

Dad turned in place, and I caught the tail end of an eye roll. “Okay, now what?”

“Whatever’s in front of you, it’s on that, but higher. Start looking up.”

“What, on this building?” Dad asked, eyes trailing up and shooting around. It only took a few glances before his eyes settled on screen, looking directly in the camera’s lens. “Oh, there it is.”

And with that, he raised a hand, pink and blue beginning to swirl around his arm in a bright pulse, and shot the camera, killing the feed. “Can you still see me?”

“No, you’re good now.”

“Good, okay.” Dad sighed. “I don’t want anyone recording our conversation.”

“But there wasn’t audio—” I started, Dad immediately cutting me off as if he knew that was what I was going to bring up.

“Even if there isn’t, they can still get someone to read my lips,” He tacked on, the camera switching to helicopter view, trying to focus in on him in the alley. With a camera so much farther away, his features became grainy as it zoomed in. “It’s — we’ve gotta be safe, now.”

“Yeah,” Brent hummed. I started nodding, taking a moment to remember he wouldn’t be able to see me before throwing in some sound of agreement.

“That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you two about. Have either of you logged into anything online, or talked to anyone yet?”

“We haven’t had the chance,” I shook my head, “Betty’s made this into a whole field trip, this is the first time we’ve actually sat and gotten on them.”

Brent inhaled, “I did. I got on my discord while you were trying on something.”

“Trying on—” Dad sighed, the camera feed catching him bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Betty took you two shopping, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“I shoulda known.” Dad shook his head, laughing. But the sound quickly died in his throat. “If you saw the speech, you heard about Archangel. They’re behind yesterday’s attack, and I — we need to be careful for a bit longer, at least until Eugene and I find out more about them. I know I said you could talk to people and such, but until we know more about these guys, I want you to keep quiet. Don’t log into anything that can track your location, don’t tell anyone where you are.”

“Do you know why they did it?” I asked, admittedly throwing a glance over my shoulder; was it even safe to be out right now?

Dad shrugged on camera, shaking his head. “Not really. I know I made them sound incompetent in my speech but these guys know what they’re doing. And the attackers won’t talk — they brought me in as a last resort to talk to who they think was in charge of everything, and he said something about it. That’s all we’ve gotten out of them so far,”

“But you think it has something to do with you?” Brent asked.

“When the FBI sent me into the interrogation room, we had this whole thing planned where I’d pose as his counsel, see if I could get him to slip up. Guy knew I was Delsin Rowe, even without the vest,” Dad scoffed. “Called me out and said something about how Archangel was going to be happy to know I was returning. I know it has something to do with me.”

I began absentmindedly playing with the aglet on the end of my hoodie’s drawstring. “That’s not good,” I muttered, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious.

“It isn’t,” Dad agreed, “And until Eugene and I can learn more about them, I want you two to stay safe. So far we know none are Conduits, and they’re all lackeys to something bigger — but what is that bigger, y’know?”

“They’re probably just some sort of Lifeline wanna-be,” Brent scoffed, “Bunch of crazies that got too ahead of themselves,”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Dad leaned against a wall on camera, glancing up at the helicopter, “But either way, they had the organizational skills to kill nineteen people. To find me and track Jean in the mall. Crazies or not, I don’t like that they can plan,”

“Makes them stronger.” I threw in.

“Exactly.”

“Dr. Sims — what’s his power, technology?” I asked.

Dad chuckled a bit. “Close — video.”

Right, video. What the hell did video powers entail? Either way, I continued with, “Can he use it to follow any like, online footprints? I don’t really know how the power works but they had to coordinate somehow,”

Dad hummed. “That’s a good point. I know Eugene can manipulate technology to an extent, I’ll see what he can do. Maybe I’ll work with the FBI to see if we can get access to their things under the Patriot Act and look over them tomorrow.”

Brent seemed to catch on to something, the thought in the back of his mind forcing its way out of his mouth as he asked, “Are you still gonna come back tomorrow?”

I could see Dad’s hand come up, making some sort of motion that I only realized a few seconds later was snapping. “I wanted to bring that up, too. I was thinking about swinging by the house and grabbing some things, since we’re going to be staying in Salmon Bay for now. Get all your clothes, grab some other stuff until we decide what happens next. But that’d mean I definitely wouldn’t be back till Christmas Eve.”

Brent glanced at me, and I could see the discomfort in his eyes; there've been times on his work trips before where extra days were added to it, and we weren’t really phased. But now? I really wanted nothing more than to know he was going to be back as soon as possible. But on the other hand, having some of my actual possessions, clothes that fit right and my makeup and the chest that held my art supplies — it didn’t sound too bad.

“Sure, if you want,” I eventually said, watching Dad nod on screen.

“Okay. I won’t be able to bring everything, but I’ll pack all your clothes, and you can send me messages about what you want me to grab.”

A Christmas miracle — we get some of our identity back. “Sounds good,” Brent agreed, fiddling mindlessly with the silicone of his phone case.

“What else are you going to do today?” I asked the receiver, watching Dad kick away at some slushed snow by his feet.

“Gonna go to the hospital, visit the survivors. I have a lot of apologies I gotta give. Margie’s wake starts at five, and I want to be there for Antonio, plus we’re covering funeral costs for all the victims so I’m gonna get together with COLE and hunt down relatives, find out if there’s any next of kin that want things done a certain way.”

Jeez, this conversation suddenly turned bleak. And on top of that, Dad was going to try and crack the domestic terrorists that blew up COLE — was there even enough time in the day to do everything? “But you’ll be back Christmas Eve?” I nearly begged for confirmation.

“Yeah. Promise.”

Next came the goodbyes, promises we’ll check in with him every now and then and a repeated assurance that we’d be together for Christmas. It was such a stupid thing to worry about, but it was the only bit of normalcy I was aching for; our movie marathon full of tales that didn’t really count as Christmas movies if you thought about it, the Christmas Eve taquitos meal tradition that started after Dad nearly burnt down the house trying to make turkey and we had to visit a taco truck. Maybe I could even convince them to bring back Tent City and make a pillow fort out of Ruth’s blankets and the stale bed sheets we found when unpacking. Sure, Brent and I weren’t waiting for the second we could open our presents anymore, but it had to be fun, right?

The time leading up to Christmas Eve felt awkwardly stagnant, kinda like waiting for a doctor appointment planned just after noon; like we couldn’t concentrate too hard on something out of fear that we’d miss our appointment. Like we were waiting for change. I regularly pulled up live news streams to see if Dad would make an appearance just to make sure everything was fine, and when I wasn’t, Brent was browsing the internet to see what everyone was saying. At some point I snuck a peek over his shoulder to see him on Mei’s profile, staring at a post that simply said I just hope you’re safe posted the same day we were ambushed at the mall, and didn’t do much more than squeeze his shoulder when he realized I was looking.

I understood; I found myself on Reese’s profile a few times, thumb immediately jumping to the ‘message’ icon out of reflex before I pulled it back. It was this, the torturous in between, that made the hours pass at a snail's pace, waiting for further instruction. Waiting to see what bits of normalcy we could reclaim.

Dad called regularly, which was a nice reprieve from it all despite how depressing what he was doing was; Margie was cremated, and her funeral was due to be hosted on the second. The young boy, Elliot, got a beautiful burial plot with a headstone in the shape of a t-rex, his favorite dinosaur, all thanks to some charity. He called when in the house to finalize what all he should grab, and only after we hung up did Brent’s face pale as he said, “Oh, fuck, he’s going to pack our clothes,”

“Yeah?” I watched as he laid his head in his hands, confused. Brent already knew this, why was he freaking out? “What’s so bad about that?”

Brent’s hands left his face to rest of the sides of his head as he muttered, “My dab pen is in my bottom drawer,”

“Your—“ I snorted, earning a dirty look from him. “You hid your weed in your underwear drawer? What are you, five?”

“He’s gonna kill me,” Brent said with a resigned finality. “I’m actually going to die.”

“Will me your LEGO collection before you do so I can sell it on eBay,”

Later that day as Brent grappled with his impending death, I stared at the watercolors Betty got me before finally giving in and opening them, turning to the first page of the new sketchbook and staring at it. Watercolor. Watercolor. I could totally do this, right? And if not, I’d just throw it away and act like it never happened.

My inspiration came from those few minutes of peace as I floated in the Puget Sound, staring up at the rippling sunlight refracting off of the water’s surface. I could see the picture almost perfectly in my mind, so much so that when I summoned my water gauntlets, I was able to pull and mix the shades I needed, slowly beginning to layer them on the canvas.

Bleeding art into the page with my powers was something else entirely. Making art felt vulnerable in a soft way, like exposing pieces of myself in flashes; but using water to spread the blue and shade it deeper the further down the page it went, to highlight ripples in the surface of the water and create shining rays of sunlight…it felt sincere. Forthright. Like I was screaming through the canvas here I am, the water Conduit, and I have something I need you to understand! The end product actually looked like what I meant it to this time, no doubt because I had way more control over the display. Kinda hard to fuck up your brush strokes if you’re literally using some form of hydrokinesis on a water based product. Next came the ink, something I added way too early and caused it to bleed a bit, ink blots escaping from the solid black silhouette of what was supposed to be my body and trying to unsuccessfully slip away before sinking into the page. Honestly, though? I liked how it looked. Something about the contrast between the soft watercolor and the harsh ink struck me, even if this picture was technically a failure. I let the page dry and closed the book, vowing to try and do more after the holidays as the clock hit ten at night. I had to get started on Brent’s gift, anyways.

#infamous erosion #infamous second son #infamous #delsin rowe #sucker punch productions #Eugene Sims #fanfiction #infamous oc #infamous 2 #I finally get to mention Cole MacGrath holy fuck #Fetch Walker

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my-head-is-an-animal · 1 year ago

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Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 26 - Mr and Mrs Harding

Living with Wilson was fun, it was like being back in college, House played a few pranks here and there and for a while it was fun, but he always found himself back at Anna’s apartment talking to her about things he could barely remember and having more fun with her than he did with anyone else.

He had just come off clinic duty and wandered into the lobby where Anna was talking to a couple, the woman looked an awful lot like her and the man had striking blue eyes like Anna. She seemed more comfortable talking to the man than the woman and House deduced that they were her parents.

‘Look, I have to do a couple hours in the clinic,’ Anna said, with another air of discomfort. ‘Can we talk about this at dinner?’

She went to walk away. ‘Why do you always do this?’

‘Caroline.’ Her father stopped her mother from making a scene. ‘Let her get on with her job.’ Her father said. ‘Annabelle, we’ll see you tonight and we will be completely understanding of your choice.’

Anna nodded and watched her parents leave the hospital. She sighed and quickly recomposed herself, turning toward the clinic and seeing House.

‘You okay?’ He asked.

‘Yeah.’ She sighed, walking towards the clinic. House took a moment before deciding this wasn’t something to let go.

‘Anna.’ He said, following behind her. She turned around slowly, folding her arms. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

She gestured for them to talk privately in the exam room. He followed her locking the door behind them.

‘I didn’t know they were in town,’ she said, looking like she was on the verge of tears. ‘Dad said they missed me at Christmas, mum was upset that I didn’t call a few weeks ago.’

‘Why didn’t you call?’ House asked.

Anna shrugged. ‘I just didn’t want to talk to them.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because then I’d have to talk to my mum and explain you.’

House frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Anna inhaled and sat up on the exam bed. ‘My mum really liked one of my old boyfriends, he was a nice enough guy and everything, but I was eighteen and it was just one of those flash relationships. Anyway, before I left for my second tour, we went out a few times and my mum decided to stay in contact with him and now she’s under the impression that’ll I’ll go back to England to be with him.’

House felt a little uncomfortable, he didn’t want to think about her with anyone else.

‘I can see your mind working and there’s no chance I’m going back to England for some boy.’ She told him. ‘But the last time I spoke to my dad, he asked if I was happy, I said yes and he’s not an idiot, he asked if I was seeing someone, I didn’t know how to answer and eventually I told him about you. I didn’t go into too much detail or anything. He knows you’re a doctor, he knows you’re a little older than me, that we started out as friends-‘

‘Is friends code for booty call?’

‘Yes.’ She said immediately. ‘I didn’t think my dad needed to know I was having casual sex with drug addict.’

‘Touché.’ House nodded. ‘So, what was your dad talking about? What’s the choice you have to make?’

Anna let her head drop and took a breath. ‘My parents invited you to dinner.’

He felt his heart drop not for the first time. ‘You want me to meet your parents?’

‘No.’ She looked up quickly. ‘My parents want to meet you. I’ve told them I’m not ready for that and I also didn’t think you’d be ready for that.’

House thought about it for a moment. ‘I can… if you want me to meet them… I can do that.’

Anna rolled her eyes and chuckled. ‘It’s not you, I’m not embarrassed or anything, I just… you told me you thought I deserved more than you could give me. My mum is only going to reinforce that and I’m not going to sit there and take that kind of crap and you shouldn’t either.’

‘So, you don’t want me to meet your parents? Ever?’

‘Not never, just… why do you want to meet them?’ She frowned.

‘I want you to be happy and if meeting your parents makes you happy, then I’ll do it.’

Anna took a moment to watch him. ‘Son of a bitch.’ She breathed, shaking her head.

‘What? What did I do?’ House started to panic.

‘You can’t just do things to make me happy, House.’ She exclaimed. ‘I’m not saying do nothing to make me happy, but you have to treat me the same way, you have to tell how to make you happy.’

‘I don’t need anything from you.’

‘Yeah, you do.’ She snapped back. ‘Greg, this is a two-way street, you don’t want to meet my parents, you want to get drunk and play the piano until we both can’t see or walk straight. And that’s okay, but you can’t pretend to just be okay with the things I’d like to do.’

‘You’re angry at me for trying to make you happy?’

‘I’m angry at you for not wanting things to make you happy.’ Anna jumped down from the exam bed and House wasn’t sure what to do. ‘I love that you’re trying to do this, I love that it’s still fun, but there’s a point where we need to find a balance between fun and more.’

He didn’t say anything for the longest time and Anna couldn’t wait any longer to start treating patients. He sat in the corner of the exam room and watched her treating patients for the next two hours, silently.

Anna paused before leaving the exam room, like she was going to say something, but she didn’t say anything and left him alone.

Dinner was about as exciting as I knew it would be, we sat down and my dad was talking about some stuff they wanted to do in New York, that was when I saw House a couple of steps away from my dad and it was too late to stop him.

‘Mr and Mrs Harding,’ he said, my dad looked up and within a few seconds he sussed House out. ‘I’m Greg House.’

‘Yes, Annabelle has told all about you.’ My dad said, standing up to shake his hand. ‘We’re so pleased you could make it.’

‘Annabelle said you had a patient to look after.’ My mum chimed in.

‘Yes,’ House nodded. ‘But I have several doctors on my team who have taken over in my absence.’

‘I see,’ my mum smiled and my dad and I both rolled our eyes. ‘Did none of them have plans?’

‘Mum.’ I said. ‘Let’s just have some dinner.’

She conceded rather cynically and dad got another chair brought over.

‘So, Greg,’ mum went on. ‘How long have you and Annabelle been seeing each other?’

‘Caroline, we really don’t need to quiz them.’ My dad always made the save, in fact he spent most of the evening making saves.

My mum quizzed House and myself to the point where it was nonsensical and House did everything he could to be polite and even answered a few of the probing questions. I drew my own line when she asked about his cane, but he was diplomatic about it.

‘I had a blood clot,’ he said. ‘They had to cut out some of the muscle if I wanted to keep my leg and I did.’

My mum didn’t seem to have much to say on the subject, but she did ask him about his job which my dad and I decided was a safe subject. House got the message and talked a little more about diagnostics.

Suddenly both our beepers went off.

‘It’s Mrs Carter,’ I sighed. ‘She’s going into cardiac arrest again.’

‘That’s the fourth time in two days.’ House said, remembering all the trouble I’d had with this patient.

‘Yeah and I can’t figure out why.’

‘You did an MRI? Echo?’

‘Yeah, they were both clean, we thought it might be cancer, but there’s no tumours, all the tests came back negative.’

‘So maybe it’s not in her heart, maybe it’s in her-‘

‘Pancreas.’ I whined. ‘Of course it is, I’m such an idiot.’

‘How can cardiac arrest be something to do with the pancreas?’ My mum asked, breaking us out of the rhythm.

‘It’s… a long boring explanation,’ I shook my head. ‘The point is, we need to get a closer look at her pancreas and I need Chase to open her up.’

‘You’re leaving?’

‘Caroline, they’re doctors, let them do their job.’

‘No, this is ridiculous, there aren’t any other doctors at your hospital?’

‘None as good as your daughter.’ House said, diplomatically. My parents were quiet. ‘She’s the best cardiologist we’ve ever had and I wouldn’t want anyone else treating my patients.’

My dad looked proud, but my mum was still a little annoyed.

‘I’m sorry, but we have to go.’ I told my dad in the hopes that he could convince my mum and before I knew it we were driving back to the hospital in a taxi.

We managed to get Mrs Carter sorted and the problem was finally found in order to be fixed.

‘Thank you.’ I said once the viewing gallery was empty and Mrs Carter was being operated on. ‘And I’m sorry my mum kept asking you all those questions.’

‘It’s okay,’ House shook his head. ‘I’m sure she was just concerned. Your dad seems nice.’

‘My dad is a tolerater, he puts up with my mum and her crazy ways.’ I sighed sitting next to him. ‘She’s been like this ever since I was first deployed to Afghanistan. Couldn’t stand the thought of me getting hurt, but I couldn’t stand the thought of others getting hurt, my dad talked her around and she eventually stopped getting annoyed about it.’

I could tell House was thinking about what I’d said. ‘You put up with me.’ He said. ‘Maybe you inherited your dads patience.’

I smiled, looking at him. ‘Maybe I did.’ I said. ‘Thank you for coming to dinner, you really didn’t need to.’

‘It made you happy, didn’t affect me at all, your dad seems accepting of us and hopefully your mom will go the same way.’ He shrugged.

‘Here’s hoping.’ I really did hope.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

#greg house #greg house x reader #greg house x original female character #greg house fic #house md

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mordenheim · 2 years ago

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Going Up?

This little tale was the first set in the “Trivial Matters” anthroverse. Familiar but different characters reside here, though all of those in this first tale are unique. ;) Illustration within, care of @goattrain =========================================================== Annabelle blinked up at the towering skyscraper, the red squirrel shaking her head a little as she looked down at the letter clutched in her paw.

"Looking for a chance to move up in the world? Come to 128 Cawthon Square, penthouse floor for your pre-approved interview."

She paused in front of the building, using her reflection in the tinted glass to check her makeup one last time and to fluff her curly blonde hair. She smoothed the lines of her smart, blue business suit before straightening her lucky charm, a red leather bolo tie with a large silver bead as a clasp. She took a deep breath, calming herself a moment before padding over to the door and pulling it open.

A gust of cold air puffed out into the warm sunlit afternoon. She gave a little shudder as the smell of fresh paint wafted over her as well.

"Well, at least the air conditioning works." She thought to herself. The warehouse she had worked in as a receptionist had been sweltering as her skinflint weasel of a boss would never let anyone touch the thermostat.

The lobby was stark white with a few squares of black tile in rows to either side. A large, comfortable looking black leather chair sat in the center of each black square, the twin rows leading up to a receptionist desk.

Here, Annabelle experienced the same problem she often did. As she approached the desk, she knew that her tiny frame was barely as tall as the desk. She stood there for a moment, nothing but the tips of her ears popping over the top of the desk before she finally stood up on her toes and cleared her throat.

"Ahem.."

"OH!" The receptionist, a gray alligator dressed smartly in a black pinstriped business suit and white tie leaned over the desk, smiling and showing a long, curved row of shining white teeth. Annabelle was both horrified and impressed, she had never seen a gator without at least a few yellow teeth. She made a mental note to ask about the dental plan.

"I'm so sorry!" He continued, real embarrassment showing in his expression, "I didn't see you there. What can I help you with today Miss....?"

"Valen, Annabelle Valen." She replied. She had been a little annoyed at being overlooked, but it was sort of understandable since the desk was so high up and the gator did seem genuinely apologetic.

"Ah yes, Miss Valen. Miss Drom has been expecting you! Please, follow me!"

As the alligator stood and strode around the desk, Anna almost felt like she had been dropped into one of the old kaiju movies she watched as a child. She barely came up to the towering reptile's waist, taking a few steps back as she craned her neck up to gaze at the gator in the neatly-pressed suit. He had to be at least eight feet tall, possibly a little more. Anna swallowed hard, her prey instincts screaming at her to run for a moment before she remembered what her mother had taught her. She closed her eyes, balled up her fists, took a deep breath, then slowly released the breath as she relaxes her paws and opened her eyes.

"Are you alright, Miss Valen?"

"Yes, sorry. I just didn't expect you to be so tall!"

He gave a bit of a barking laugh, almost sounding like the croak of a frog. "I get that a lot, actually. Thankfully, I've been told I'm friendly and outgoing enough that our more timid clients don't seem to mind."

"Well that certainly seems true. Thank you for your help mister..?"

"Dolph. Just call me Dolph, Miss Valen."

"Right."

He walked briskly ahead of her, causing her to almost have to jog to keep up with his long strides. Everything was such a bright white that she didn't see the side hallway when she had come in.

The long, white corridor had a thin row of black tiles on both sides. There was a water cooler off to one side, what looked to be a supply closet door on the other, and almost nothing else. Nothing save for a huge, ornate looking gate at the far end of the hall.

Dolph walked her to the end of the hall, pulling the gate open. Inside was a beautiful antique elevator, dark carved oak walls. A pole sat to one side of the elevator, shining steel with brass and copper accents, a lever at the top of a disk placed at the top. The lever pointed to the number one and the numbers climbed up to seventy-four before stopping with the letter P. Obviously the penthouse office was on the seventy-fifth floor.

Standing off to the side was an odd-looking automaton, its gloved hand wrapped around the handle. Its body was covered in a red suit and a red fez with golden tassel was perched jauntily atop its brushed-steel head. The face was simply a blank steel plate with two softly glowing lights for eyes and a slit, almost like a coin slot for a mouth.

"Well, this is unexpected," Anna said a bit breathlessly as she caught up the the receptionist.

"Yeah, well, Miss Drom loves antiques and classic architecture, but she loves modern conveniences, too. So, she tends to combine the two where she can. You get used to it, trust me!" He gave another shining, white smile as he gently guided the little squirrel into the oak box.

"Now, as a bit of a joke, his name is Jeeves," Dolph chuckled, cocking his head towards the elevator operator. "Just say his name, then what floor you want to got to, or in your case, penthouse, and you'll be on your way."

He leaned back a bit, rubbing the back of his head as he closed the gate between them, "Sorry if the trip takes a little while, though.. This old girl does have to go up seventy-five floors after all."

Anna nodded, smiling through the artistically twisted bars at Dolph and waving before the gator turned on his heel and headed back down the hall towards his desk.

She looked around at the inside of the elevator for a moment. The dark wood, carved with images of flowers and leaves smelled of the deep woods. A slight damp, earthy smell penetrated everything, but it was far from unpleasant.

Clearing her throat and feeling a little silly, Anna turned towards the silver robot grasping the control lever.

"Jeeves, penthouse, please."

The eyes of the automaton glowed a bit more brightly as a whirring noise filled the air. There was a soft rumble and a sinking sensation as its hand began to slowly move the lever, causing the elevator to ascend.

After just a few floors, she felt her fur shifting uncomfortably beneath her clothing. She tugged at her bolo tie, loosening it a little, blaming the odd sensation on her nerves.

As the antique box continues to climb, however, the sensations only got worse. She felt trapped in her own clothing, her fur matted to her skin and itching. Her hindpaws ached, squeezed inside of her heeled leather shoes. A wave of vertigo washed over her, making her feel nauseous. She was very glad she had skipped lunch before the meeting, vomiting in the company elevator is not the best way to make a first impression.

Her shoes weren't just uncomfortable anymore, they were downright painful. Sliding one off of her hindpaw, she rested her foot beside it, splaying her toes a bit before blinking. Her hindpaw was both wider and longer than the shoe itself.

Blinking in confusion, she looked around the box and realized that she was starting to look down on Jeeves and her head was still slowly rising. She was gasping for breath, wondering if she was getting claustrophobic until she heard and felt a soft snap and her breasts fell free beneath her blouse.

She backed up into a corner, throwing her arms in front of her chest which caused her suit jacket and blouse to split up the back. Russet fur bloomed through the dark blue cloth on her shoulders as the seams split, the sleeves racing up her forearms, away from her wrists.

She gave a little cry of pain as her remaining shoe burst open at the front, her toes pushing through the stretched and torn leather as the heel snapped off, almost causing her to fall onto the floor. Runs appeared in her stockings, her soft fur billowing through the widening holds as her belt was starting to cut into her waist.

Panicking, her paws flew to her waist, scrabbling at the buckle as it vanished into her soft midriff. A moment later, there was a snap, and a rip as both the belt and the zipper on the back of her skirt gave way at once.

Her eartips brushed against the top of the elevator, followed by the top of her head. Her blonde hair was caught in and tugging at some of the more ornate carvings on the ceiling. This only lasted for a moment, however as her head was pushed downwards, her sleeves bursting into tatters as the strip of cloth that was her skirt drifted to the floor. She let out a little whimper and wrapped her huge tail around herself, trying to maintain her modesty as she felt her panties give way at last, dropping to the tiled floor. She was entirely nude save for her lucky bolo tie which now looked more like a leather choker than a tie. The back of her neck, then her shoulders pressed against the ceiling, causing her to kneel down as she started to panic. Her mind reeled as she wondered how this could happen as it suddenly dawned on her to wonder just how much weight this elevator could hold.

"Oh please, make it stop!" She cried out as there was a sudden lurch, followed by the ring of a bell. The elevator had stopped at the penthouse floor and the ornate gate-like doors slowly rattled open.

She kept her tail wrapped around herself, hunched over as she stepped out of the box that just a moment ago she feared would be her coffin. The room was warm, furnished in dark woods and silvers with a deep burgundy carpet. It was soft and plush beneath her toes as she moved about the room.

She stopped by a wall, blinking as she saw there was a height chart posted on a doorway. She stood up straight for a moment, modesty forgotten in her curiosity. She stepped towards the chart as her tail unwrapped from around her body. Holding a paw atop her head, she saw that if the scale was accurate, she was now ten feet and three inches tall. She gawked at the scale for a moment, there was no possible way she could be that tall, not unless the room she were in was truly massive.

There was a flash of light and a click as she spun around just in time to see a camera on a small robotic arm vanish through a door in the ceiling which hissed closed.

A static filled voice crackled over an intercom set up above a double door just ahead. It was warm, feminine, and deep, a wonderful ladies baritone. In spite of all the craziness, Anna wondered if the voice belonged to a jazz singer.

"Miss Valen. I have been expecting you, please step inside my office."

The doors swung inwards, revealing a room similar to the one outside, but on a much larger scale. The room itself looked to be the size of a gymnasium, still covered with plush carpet and silver accented furniture, but her head was spinning at the scale of everything. Every last chair looked to be a different size while the room itself was dominated by a massive desk that was taller than she was.

The voice from over the intercom boomed throughout the room as a truly gigantic female camel wheeled her way from behind her desk. The wheelchair itself was a marvel of engineering, titanic tires and gears churning and spinning as she approached. She lowered a hooved. two-fingered hand and gently motioned for Anna to climb atop it. The squirrel, struck dumb by everything that had transpired, nodded mutely and clambered up.

The camel gathered the squirrel against her soft bosom, covered in a fine silk blouse, and wheeled herself back to her desk. She lowered her palm down beside a small chair set atop the massive mahogany monstrosity and Anna slid down and sank into the chair, all modesty forgotten as she gazed dazedly around at her surroundings.

"Well Miss Valen, I imagine this must be quite a bit shocking for you, but seeing as you didn't run screaming from the building at any stage, you may just be the type of woman we're looking for."

She smiled softly down at Annabelle, leaning her huge head down so her soft velvet-covered nose was just inched away, "Welcome to Trivial Matters Incorporated and trust me, you have only just begun to move up in the world."

#Macro March #growth #macro #squirrel #alligator #robot #camel #TMI #Trivial Matters Inc

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taniushka12 · 2 years ago

Note

1, 2 for the WIP asks.

1) Give a 5-word summary of this chapter/fic.

"[Spooky/bisexual] motel shenanigans pre apocalypse"

Couldn't decide on the fifth word so any of those would do fjfjfj

2) Give the first line of this chapter/fic.

There was a small motel at the side of the road, a small cabin hidden behind a row of trees and high grass, only known from the wooden board hanging under the light post (whenever the owner didn't take it off for whatever reason).

Trying something new to get out of a writing funk, writing from a lobby boy's pov instead of the main characters (annabelle and martin tma) as they, unawarely for him, wait there for the world to end u_u (while spooky things happen and while he's a lil bit mesmerized by them lmfao)

[wip ask game]

#thank you !!#tani's personal shit

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 years ago

Text

And Eat it, Too - Chapter Nineteen: Apocalypse Party

In which Jon suffers through the dreaded apocalypse party, learns how the Unknowing affected the whole world, makes friends with Oliver Banks, and learns that Michael may be dying...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

I can't really blame Jon for wanting out of this social situation.

(Masterpost including playlist)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Wearing Elias’s clothes, wrapped in Elias’s scent, Jon steps back into the lobby.

The absolute hypocrisy of the apocalypse party slaps Jon in the face like a room-warm fish, and he nearly turns right around and goes to hide in Elias’s private shower.

He might have, if Elias hadn’t come up behind him, put his hand in the small of Jon’s back, and pushed him forward without a word.

They’re all just standing around, chatting, like they don’t actually hate each other’s guts, don’t actually want to grind one another into mulch and claim all the world’s fear for themselves, and Jon must have been showering for a while because everyone has little plates with hors d’oeuvres and little plastic champagne flutes with drinks.

It’s madness.

Jared didn’t bother with a glass. He’s walking around with a full wine bottle, scowling, and it still looks small in his hand.

Jon knows who everyone is, in this place.

The musician? That’s Alfred Grifter, avatar of the Slaughter—who can play his flute and infect people with the need for murder. He looks so out of place; half-bald, with a ratty, old brown suit that drapes around him like ill-fitting skin.

Grifter looks bored. Jon knows he is not bored.

He sees Jude Perry, Arthur Nolan, and Diego Molina, standing in a small, smoking cluster, glaring his way.

Gordon Goodman dragged himself out of his garbage-pile to see who could bring his beloved Corruption into the world.

Annabelle is here, sipping a drink, but nobody seems to see her except for Jon, and doesn’t that just make him feel sane and well-adjusted?

He does a head-count.

There are representatives of all the Fears standing in this place except for the Stranger, the Hunt, and the Buried. Well, and the Spiral; but Michael will come back when it wants.

It’s fine. Michael is fine. Michael is recovering, like it promised, and not in trouble, the way Jon’s gut warns.

Jon can’t consider any other option right now, or he’ll lose it. Just lose it, snap.

There’s a plan, he tells himself, beginning to hyperventilate. You don’t know what it is, but there’s a fucking plan—

To pull the ripcord and get out if Jon screws it up.

He closes his eyes tightly for a moment, willing away the throat-closing terror that he’s already gone too far.

When he opens them, Oliver Banks is standing in front of him.

“Hi,” says Banks with a small smile.

Jon exhales.

Elias seems to consider this good enough, and walks away to snatch a plate away from Peter Lukas and whisper menacingly at him.

He must actually be angry about the poaching, thinks Jon. “Hello. Ah—thank you. By the way. You… I heard you. In the hospital.”

“Glad to hear that.” Banks rubs the back of his head. “Annabelle asked me to do it. I almost didn’t, but…” He shrugs. “I know what it’s like, right in that moment of decision, and… I wish someone had been there to nudge me.”

“To nudge you which way?” Jon can’t help but wonder.

“The way I chose,” says Banks, and either does not care that Jon compelled him, or did not feel it at all. “I’m tired, but… it’s fulfilling. It’s the right place for me. They don’t pick you by accident, you know?”

Jon can feel his face doing something he’d rather it not do.

“Hey,” says Oliver, his eyes very wide. “Um. Don’t.. don’t cry, or… um.”

“This has been an awful day,” Jon confides.

“Successful, though,” says Oliver. “Did you know we could all feel it?”

“Feel… what?”

“When the Unknowing started for real. When they started pulling on you. Jon, it—can I call you Jon? It hit the entire world.”

Jon stares at him. “What?”

Oliver takes out his phone and shows him the news.

GLOBAL AMNESIA BLAMED ON BIOWEAPON, says one.

THE BLANK SPOT: UNRAVELING EARTH’S LATEST, GREATEST MYSTERY, says another.

TERROR GROUPS COME FORWARD TO TAKE CREDIT FOR THE GAP, says yet a third.

Jon rubs his forehead because now that he knows, now that he’s aware, the Eye wants to fill in all the lovely empty spaces with other people’s terror, and—

“Everyone forgot who they were,” says Oliver. “Or struggled to remember. Everyone except for Elias.”

“Oh,” says Jon very quietly.

“Our… patrons… suddenly were getting nothing. At least, if knowledge was any part of what they need. It didn’t feel good.” He tilts his head toward the Desolation trio, who are all glaring at Jon in silence. Arthur Nolan has a small plate. It is smoking. “And even the ones who don’t need knowledge found they struggled to remember anything. I don’t think they knew it would hit them, too.”

At least that explained Jude’s willingness to work with Nikola. As if Nikola would have ever spared anyone.

He does not mind that Nikola is dead.

Jon sighs. “But I didn’t make it happen. Why are they mad at me?”

“Your power made it worse. I mean, I don’t blame you—I get it wasn’t your fault. But I don’t blame anyone for anything, these days.”

He hadn’t even been marked by all fourteen yet when that happened. How much more could they do with him now?

Jon wants to sit down.

There’s nowhere to sit down. “He took out the benches?” says Jon, staring around the lobby.

“I think he took out anything that could be, um. Thrown,” says Oliver. “You’ll notice even the… refreshments… are sitting on shelves built into the walls, not anything loose—uh, Jon?”

Jon winces and grips his head.

Because now the whole world has brand-new horror stories, and the Beholding really wants them filtered through Jon, and Jon wasn’t asking about them, so now it’s showing him what happened when no one knew anything for a few terrible minutes.

There were crashes. Accidents. Explosions.

Death on a scale he can’t fully comprehend.

Children lost and dropped, surgeries horrifically botched, delicate chemical procedures that went all to hell –

“Jon! Hey. Come on, focus,” says Oliver from somewhere in space.

Jon comes back, following the familiar voice, though it is hard, and finds he’s crouched down, hyperventilating.

Of course, he’s crying.

Everyone is staring at him, either openly or pretending to be sly.

Now would have been a much better time for the Buried, he thinks, and laughs unsteadily.

Oliver stares. “I think you may have one of the crueler gods,” he says, finally. “I wouldn’t have said that a few days ago, but…”

“I think you’re right,” whispers Jon. “But I didn’t pick it. I didn’t.”

“Does that matter?” says Oliver in his absolutely profound calm.

“No,” Jon says, because he also knows he could never willingly leave.

He couldn’t even say why, except that it’s the right place for him, too.

That almost sets him off again. He’s shaking.

“Let’s get you a drink,” says Oliver Banks, who is an avatar of death, but somehow so gentle as he helps Jon up.

“How do you do that?” Jon says, trusting Oliver will understand what he means. “Your patron eats fear.”

“Sure. But I don’t,” says Oliver.

That’s important.

That’s…

Jon holds it in his mind, looking at it from all angles. That’s really damned important—

“Jon,” Says Elias-Jonah-Whoever-The-Fuck. “Could I borrow you for a moment?”

“I won’t leave,” says Oliver. “Go on.”

And Jon can suddenly understand why he’d end the world for Oliver Banks.

Frightened at himself, he goes.

“Peter has something he would like to say,” says Elias.

“You have got to be joking,” says Jon.

“Sorry for jumping the queue,” says Peter, utterly unrepentant, and toasts him. “May the best god win.”

A moment of awkward silence: “That’s it?” says Jon.

“That’s it.”

Jon makes a face at both of them and walks away.

Jude Perry gets in his way. “We need to talk. Now.”

Jon puts his right hand behind his back. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh, but you did before, even when I told you to stop,” she says, pouring her usual weird sensuality into the words. “And now that you’re the star, you don’t want to do it anymore? It’s your chance, Archivist.”

“To what, get matching burns?” he snaps.

“To finish our conversation,” she says with so much hate.

“I’m not doing a ritual for you,” says Jon, wondering how many times he’s going to have to have this conversation tonight.

“I don’t care,” says Jude.

And all of a sudden, he knows their plan, and desperately wishes he didn’t. Jon sputters. “I’m not… fathering Agnes Montague for you, either.”

“Why not? Could be fun—assuming anyone could control their gag reflex long enough to touch you, of course. And Agnes would never get tied to some stupid Archivist if she already has powers that match or draw from you,” smiles Jude.

They’d use him to father Agnes, then burn him alive on the pyre of her birth.

It’s not a bad plan, honestly. Fits the demented fear-logic that created Agnes in the first place, and so it would probably work—and it would make Agnes 2.0 yet another step removed from the human factor that had led to her end.

For one second, he is terrified, imagining the pain in his hand, but everywhere, followed by the tiny, hot sparks of Jude’s eagerness to hurt him, to burn him, to watch him break—

And then suddenly, it’s funny.

Jon must be going mad because he laughs. “Do you want a paranoid, weepy fire-messiah? Because that’s how you get a paranoid, weepy fire-messiah. Believe me, my inclusion is not the plus you think it is.”

The look she gives him makes him step back. Her eyes narrow, and he knows she’s seriously considering violating their little cease-fire to hurt him.

He just did it again, antagonized a walking ball of rage and pain again.

“Keep going, Archivist. I’m sure you weren’t done,” she says, low. “When the Lightless Flame takes you, we will make every moment of your remaining existence hell, and your screams will sing her into glory.” And she is picturing the smell of his flesh cooking as he dies.

Jon is saved from replying (running, puking, who knows) by Simon Fairchild, who grabs his arm and pulls him away. “Very nice, thank you!” he chirps at Jude, as though they just finished some wonderful transaction. “Not good company to keep, if you want my opinion, but then… Do you?” He pats Jon’s arm. “You already know everything, yes?”

It sounds like an honest question, not a dig, but Jon is sure it’s a dig. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here, being emotionally assaulted.”

Fairchild thinks that’s very funny.

Jon is more than happy to let the old man get him away from Jude. “She didn’t follow.”

Fairchild smiles. “Fire doesn’t work very well without oxygen, did you know?”

“Not even magic fire?”

“Not hers, certainly.”

There’s a story there, as to how Fairchild knows that, but Jon tries to push it off. He is so tired of trauma, tonight. “Why are they all here?” Jon asks, more to the world at large than Fairchild, but the old man answers.

“To watch you, dear boy, to watch you! It’s not as though we love Elias’ theory—I mean, who wants to share all that power?—but the concept does have merit.”

“Jonah… Elias would have to share power, too, wouldn’t he?”

Fairchild gives him a look that says, Oh, you know! But then smiles and continues the game. “No, Elias is right—the Eye would only benefit from supportive gods running around, bringing fear. It’s the Watcher, after all. He wouldn’t be sharing power at all. To be completely honest, I don’t even know what a world with your Eye in charge would even look like. Just like this? Everyone unconscious and dreaming hell? Who knows?”

Jon knows, and is terrified he’s going to lead to it again.

Then he realizes he’s getting actual, honest answers. “You… you answered me.”

Fairchild laughs. “You poor boy—he really has been starving you, hasn’t he? Not to worry. If we decided to take you on—if—you’d get all the answers you like. We have no reason to hold back.”

Jon swallows. “Mike did. Crew. Um. I… I’m sorry about—”

“About a Hunter who’d been murdering avatars since before you even knew we all existed? Nonsense. That was his own fault for opening the door without checking first.”

That’s a lie. Fairchild is still angry—but he’s angry at Daisy, and only hasn’t acted because he isn’t fully sure who she is.

The old man hasn’t decided if he’s angry at Jon, too, and that feels like a dangerous thing, a ponderous thing, a rage so vast and dangerous that if it turned toward Jon, it might destroy him.

Fairchild pats his arm. “Of course, on top of all of that—to resume our conversation—nobody’s sure if they like you yet. After all, we don’t know how this would work. What if god somehow goes into your body? What if you become a prophet? Would we be stuck with you? All these plans to sacrifice you to make it all happen, and no one can be sure it would even work.”

“‘Stuck with me’ is so bad, is it?” Jon says as dryly as he can (though he still kind of believes that, though the Lonely still tugs at his wounds, though the Dark still digs into them and keeps them wide open).

Fairchild smiles. “You have one of those personalities that people either really love or hate. There’s no in-between for you.” Pat, pat. “I do understand. I’m in that boat myself, you know.”

Answers, Jon thinks in spite of all reason, warming to Fairchild, answers I hate but they’re real, no games, no damnable cleverness—

Michael was right. This is precisely how to woo him. Jon sighs.

Fairchild sips his drink. “I won’t lie—this is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

“You mean when you’re not threatening to throw people off roller-coasters?” says Jon.

Fairchild just… smiles.

Jon has to look away. There are hundreds of years of heartlessness in that smile.

Fairchild chuckles. “It’ll all work out. Why, I lived as a jeweler, a con-artist, a thief, all manner of things until the 1930s, you know. Then I got the idea to steal a wealthy man’s life, and look at me now! I have quite enjoyed myself since.”

“Is everyone here wearing somebody else?” Jon blurts.

“You get used to it,” says Fairchild.

Jon doesn’t think he will get used to it.

“Well, it looks like your next date is here.” Fairchild still hasn’t made up his mind; Jon can feel it. “Do us all a favor and get very drunk. You’ve already had quite an auspicious debut—might as well go out swinging!” He cackles, nods at Oliver Banks, and wanders away.

“Here,” says Oliver, handing him one of those stupid plastic champagne flutes and a napkin.

Jon stuffs the napkin into his pocket, takes the glass. Starts to say thank you. Chugs the whole glass down first.

Nobody makes a comment or a joke about that, which goes to show the evening sucks for everyone.

“You should know that a few of them are actually thinking of trying to force an auction,” says Oliver.

Terror frissons up Jon’s spine, makes his skin tingle, makes his saliva taste sour. “Are you serious?”

“But it’s not going anywhere,” Oliver says, gently. “Everyone here is… doing fine, of course, financially, but—”

“Some of them can afford to finance a gods-damned fear-based space station, and that kind of filthy lucre wrecks the playing field,” Jon mutters.

Oliver smiles. “That, and Elias won’t agree to it.”

Jon makes a disgusted sound. “So what?”

Oliver shrugs. “Nobody here is going to cross him.”

That was deeply unnerving. (Every time he decides to try for you, it works). “I… I meant I wouldn’t agree to it. I’m not a… a prize cow.”

“I don’t think that matters. No one…” Oliver pauses. “It just looks like you’re a mess,” he says, somehow without judgment. “Controllable. You snip at Elias, but of course, you still give him what he wants, like everyone here does. You showed up tonight covered in mud, rescued by the Vast. It’s not a great impression.”

Jon laughs, rubs his face. “Would you believe it might still be one of my better ones?”

Oliver smiles with him. “Sorry, man. That’s rough.”

“Yeah.” Jon peers into his empty glass. “Yeah.”

“In the end, they’re just going to watch you tonight. That’s all,” murmurs Oliver. “They’re deciding if they're going to fight for you or not—and since so many of us are here, it’s not worth fighting now. Tonight’s not going to go that way. You’re safe.”

Jon thinks his definition of “safe” might not mesh with Oliver’s. “Can… can you see who’ll die? If they did decide to fight each other?”

Oliver doesn’t answer.

Which is answer enough.

Two wolves, Jon thinks randomly, one inside me that wants to see them all murdered, and the other that doesn’t want to kill anybody and just wants to hide in Elias’ secret shower.

He wonders if one wolf will eat the other.

He misses Michael.

He wants a door.

Someone pokes him in the kidney that got stabbed, and he spins.

Callum Brodie is looking at him with solid black eyes and an expression no child should ever wear. “Huh,” he says. “You are marked. Deep, too. Weird.”

It’s a child’s voice, a child’s inflection. Didn’t even crack, puberty still working its way through.

But the child is a monster.

And was before Maxwell Rayner tried the ritual to push himself inside that small body.

Jon swallows.

“Maybe,” says Callum, as if answering a question Jon could not hear. “You’d power things nicely, wouldn’t you?”

Jon doesn’t want to know how he’d power things. “Manuela said you’re hundreds of years away from building that much fear again.”

And Callum Brodie smiles. “Not if we use the power of an Archivist to make the whole world remember they need to be afraid of the Dark.”

Jon inhales. “How would you even—no. No, don’t answer. Don’t.” Jon pushes against it, refusing the plan.

“You’ll know, whether you want to or not,” Callum promises terrifyingly, and walks off to go peer with age-appropriate fascination at Gordon Goodman, who looks like he’s made of paper mache, the ends of worms, and an oozy smell.

“He’s decided,” says Oliver quietly.

“He needs a damned babysitter,” Jon snaps, which he knows is absurd, which he knows is childish—

Then he pauses.

Looks around.

Regardless of very specific weaknesses, everyone here has been given horrifying power—and they use it.

They all get their way, all the time.

There’s nothing to stop them.

The only restriction any of them come across is each other, and that’s balanced just enough (Smirke wasn’t entirely wrong) that they don’t try to wipe each other out, because it would mean mutually assured destruction.

What they need is a damned Ragnarok they’d listen to. Have to obey. Pull them in line, make sure they’re not hunting gazelles for sport but for food, keep the damned balance for once.

That is not Jon. He can’t even teach a cat to fetch a toy.

Even if he had that kind of power, he’s not sure he could be trusted to use it well.

They definitely don’t need some damned eyepocalypse, either, he thinks. The Eye didn’t care enough to control anybody. It just wanted to watch.

Jared’s shadow announces his presence. Then his footsteps. Finally, his gurgling, meat-thick voice. “Yeah, this’s not for me. Good luck, Big Deal.”

Jon turns to face him. Looks up, up, up. Does not want to face him. But people are watching. How much has he given away by being visibly afraid of everything?

Too much.

Of course, he’s trembling, and he can’t stop that. “So you don’t want a… meat-world? Meat-ocalypse?”

Jared shrugs. “Eh. Don’t really see the point. Everybody’s already made of meat.” He laughs, wet and greasy-sounding. “Seems this’d mean a lot more shit to take care of, you ask me.”

Jon laughs weakly. It surprises him. “Nobody else seems to think so.”

“Yeah, well, they’re posh, ain’t they? Never had to work for a living.” He spits. Jon ignores it. “Never had to face fuckin’ jail time. Never went hungry. What do they know? Fuck the lot.” He finishes his bottle of wine, thrusts it against Jon’s chest, and stomps off toward the rest of the booze.

Apparently, Jared wants a few more for the road.

Jon shivers, hit with story, with the reminder that Jared was a criminal, that Jared had been an underprivileged child, that Jared had done a million odd jobs to keep the lights on (a mad concept for an avatar), and had never once shown interest in a ritual of the Flesh.

Most of these people had been very successful before a Power picked them. Jared was not.

It made sense he’d have a deeply different perspective—and it seems very, very important that he can have one.

He’s still a bully, though, Jon thinks, looking at his glass in his altered left hand.

Oliver takes the empty bottle and the empty glass and puts them somewhere else.

“Thanks,” says Jon, and looks up. “You didn’t leave.”

“I told you I wouldn’t. How you doing?”

“I think I’m about at my limit.”

“I don’t think they’re done with you.”

“No. No. They wouldn’t be. Who even knows what Elias has planned, on top of—” Jon stops.

In the wall, in the shadows of the darkened public library, is a door that wasn’t there before.

The door is barely visible. It hardly looks yellow. It could have been there all along.

But it wasn’t.

He swallows.

“You look like you’re steeling yourself for something,” says Oliver, and frowns. “Whatever it is, I’m… not sure it’s a good idea.” And his gaze follows something Jon can’t see, something that seems to be attached to Jon’s feet and curl along the floor, something that leads into the library and—

Through that door.

Jon’s heart catches. “What do you see?”

“Something’s dying in there,” says Oliver.

Jon runs.

(part twenty)

#tma #tma au #tma fanfiction #tma fic #jonathan sims #oliver banks #simon fairchild #jude perry #and eat it too

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