#can we talk about kit connor's acting here? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

robinofgothamcity · 3 years ago

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♡ "the next time i see you, it'll be in hell" / "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me"

♡ pairing: connor kent (superboy/RotS) x fem! reader

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / i was listening to 'esa hembra es mala' by gloria trevi so if you do speak spanish, that's a song rec while you read this fic. if you don't, listen to 'hermit the frog' by marina instead!

"connor please, you're giving ME a headache and it's only seven in the morning," his friend, jake, spoke as his hands covered his face, "wait, shut up, who is that?" connor asked, seeing you with a few friends.

jake sighed, "that's ( your name )," he spoke softly, "she's friends with everyone here. some like her, some can't stand her. it all depends on how she feels with you." you were schools resident 'popular' girl and had a bit of a following among your class.

"i'm gonna go talk to her," connor said. his friends eyes widened, "connor no!" jake screamed, grabbing his friend and pulling him back, "she's a complete bitch, don't do it!" jake exclaimed as he could tell that everything he was saying was going over connor's head.

you fixed the newspaper that had superboy's face plastered on the cover, "i just think that superboy could beat robin if i'm being honest. PLUS he's attractive because you can actually see his face," the day old conversation between you and your friends about who was the better sidekick struck up again and anyone who knew you knew how much you adored superboy.

"hey ladies," you turned to look at the boy, confused on who he was as you had never seen him around school. you gave him a small smile, "uh, hi?" you asked, "do i know you?"

the boy who approached you was wearing sunglasses which threw you off considering your school didn't allow anyone to wear them inside the building. you looked to his other friend, recognizing him as someone you had in your Calc class.

"just wanted to introduce myself, i'm connor," he said, giving you a sly smirk. you shook his hand, half awkwardly, "please i'm ( your name )," you replied as you saw the way connor gave jake a wink, "is there something you wanted or?" you asked again, not knowing why he was still here.

"no, just wanted to say hi to my future girlfriend," you let out a laugh, catching everyone off guard, "please, as if," you replied as you grabbed your friends and walked away, kind of taken back by the new boy.

"he was kinda cute," one of your friends said as you rolled your eyes, "uh, not really? kinda weird if you ask me," you replied, looking down at the newspaper, "well, i'm going to class, see ya," you said, walked towards your AP Lit class.

you sat down in the front, immediately talking to the friends you had in the class. it wasn't even five minutes later when connor entered the class, immediately smirking when he saw you. you growled, instantly annoyed at his expression.

"ah, so you've met the resident new boy?" you nodded as your friend giggled, "he's really nice. made more than a friends already," she said as you shrugged, "okay and? he had a lot of nerve coming up to me and telling me i'd be his future girlfriend," you replied.

she let out a belting laugh, "yeah, he told meghan from fifth period the same thing," you saw connor walking up to your desk and before he could make himself comfortable next to you, you instantly put your leg on the chair, "don't even think about it," you said, not even looking at him, "the desk in the back is available though," you smirked as you watched your teacher roll her eyes at your attitude.

connor bent down to your level, "don't gotta be so hostile, sweetheart, i know you like me," he whispered before getting up and leaving.

your friend, looked at you, laughing at disbelief at both of your attitudes. you rolled your eyes, trying to pay attention to the discussion as you could feel connor's eyes on you almost the entire time.

throughout the weeks and going into months, your relationship with connor didn't change. he arguably became the biggest pain your ass from the beginning of the day until the final bell rang. he managed to befriend a few of your friends which meant that you were around him at times.

you sipped your coffee as you were reading the newest article on superboy, "ah, ah, ah, what do we have here?" connor asked, taking the magazine from your hand, "superboy fan, huh?" he scanned the cover, a smug smirk coming onto his face as you snatched the magazine back.

"yeah, someone who's actually useful in life," you replied as he walked with you to your locker. he had never saw the inside of it and taken back by the amount of photos you had....of him, "aww, don't be that way, sweetheart! maybe one day superboy will actually give you a chance," he joked.

your annoyance instantly shot up as you slammed your locker and walking away, "see ya later sweetie!" he screamed. you stopped in the middle of the hall and flicked him off, "the next time i'll see you, it'll be in hell!" you yelled, storming off to class.

you walked into class, sitting down as your friend, henry, walked up to you, "hey babe," he said, a warm feeling crossing your face at the term of endearment, "hey henry, what're you up to?" you asked, seeing him looking at you, a bit nervously now.

"i was wondering if you were free-," before henry could say anything else, connor walked up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. he had heard the conversation between the two of you and knew exactly where it was heading, "uh, she's not interested, better luck next time," connor stated, surprising henry with his sudden angry attitude.

henry knowing he didn't want to risk the chance of getting his ass kicked walked away from the conversation as you stared at connor with rage in your eyes, "what do you want?" you seethed as you saw connor's smirk playing on his face, "you weren't actually entertaining him, were you?" he asked in disbelief, "i literally hate you with every ounce of my being," you blurted, finally sick of connor's attitude.

his mouth hung open as you got up from the desk, "do me a favor and PLEASE leave me alone, that's all i ask," you stated as you walked out of class and deciding to ditch for the rest of the day.

"told you she was gonna blow up," jake informed as he sat down in his seat, connor still standing in place, taking in everything you had said. he knew he was being a bit of an ass but he didn't know you were that angry with him.

connor knew he had to make this up. he genuinely did like you and he didn't want to ruin his chances with you because of his shitty attitude. throughout the class period, he picked his brain for ideas until sirens went off in his head.

SUPERBOY.

he knew you were practically in love with his alter ego and he knew he could use superboy as a way to persuade you into giving him another chance. that is if he played his cards right.

you reluctantly showed up the next day, trying to avoid connor as best as you could. you were talking with a few friends, gossiping about the fight that superboy and robin had against a few low level villains in metropolis last night.

"hey, look at connor," jake whispered, seeing his friend practically beat up. you were taken back by his appearance as he had a few bruises on his arms and legs, "are you okay?" jake asked connor.

connor shook his head slowly, his body still recovering from the night before, "what were yall talking about?" he asked, trying to redirect the conversation. everyone looked to you, "someone was gushing about superboy, so please, if you'd continue," meghan said playfully.

"oh shut up, like you don't have robin posters all over your room," you retorted as you watched connor struggling to stay upright, "all i'm saying is that superboy remains the best sidekick there is. did you see the way he walked out of that fight scratchless and look at robin, he nearly died," you continued.

meghan instantly retorted as you noticed how eerily silent connor had became. you turned over to him, about to say something sarcastic towards him until he flopped on top of you, passing out completely. you looked down at him, "connor?" you whispered, "hey connor, wake up," you whispered, shaking him a bit.

"take him to the nurse!" jake yelled at you as you grabbed connor by the arm and pulling him against you, "fuck off, he's heavy as hell," you breathed, trying to steady his weight against you before walking slowly towards the nurse.

you made the walk to the nurse but by the time you made it, connor had woken up, "don't take me to the nurse, please," he whispered, "what are you talking about?" you exclaimed, "you clearly aren't okay and you don't look okay either," you added on.

he steered the two of you to the family bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, "clean me up here, i really don't want to be questioned right now," he said, nothing cocky or playful in his voice. you sat him on the toilet, bending down to clean his face first, "hey, is everything okay....you know at home?" you asked.

he laughed, shaking his head, "these injuries aren't from my guardians if that's what you're wondering. i kinda got into a fight last night," you stared at him confused, "did you lose or something? these injuries look horrible," you replied.

"course i did, just took a nasty beating before i won," he said as he flinched at the rubbing alcohol hitting his arm. you muttered a sorry as you put a band-aid on a few of his cuts, "listen, i wanted to say sorry for acting like a prick," connor muttered a few minutes later.

you were taken back by his apology, "i knew i was being an ass but please don't take this as me joking but you're actually the best thing that's happened to me since i transferred," you remained silent, not knowing to respond as you put the last band-aid on his knee.

"and if i could have a second chance, that would be super dope, ya know?" he tried to say without sounding nervous, "you better not be joking, kent," you threatened, putting your finger on his chest and shoving him a bit.

connor flinched back in pain as you muttered a sorry, "i'm not joking, i'd really like to take you out for coffee sometime," he asked as he grabbed your hand and gave it a kiss. you agreed as you responded with a kiss on his cheek, "also, i had this lying around my room and figured you'd like it more than i would," he dug into his backpack and gave you a magazine.

your eyes widen seeing what it was. it was the magazine that superboy first appeared in and you had analyzed a few signatures of his to know that it was his signature on the front, "did superboy sign this?" you practically tried to contain your excitement as you ran your finger over the sharpie.

connor nodded, "i met him one time after he saved a few people in metropolis last year and got him to sign the magazine. i figured since you like hm a lot more than i do, you'd take care of it better than i would," overwhelmed with excitement, you grabbed connor by the neck and kissed him.

connor was taken back by the sudden kiss but awkwardly responded with another kiss as you held the magazine close to your chest, "i can't thank you enough for this connor," you whispered, your lips still on his a bit. he chuckled, "just meet me at the coffee shop near the school and that'll suffice," he replied, giving you another kiss before slowly getting up.

"now lets get to our second period before we get marked truant again," he grabbed your hand and held it as softly as possible, "you know how much shit our friends are gonna give us, right?" you said, laughing a bit. connor nodded, "nothing we can't handle," he replied as he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

#dc x reader #dc imagine #dc #superboy x y/n #superboy x reader #superboy imagine #connor kent #connor kent imagine #connor kent x reader #connor kent x you #comics

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petersaysthings · 2 years ago

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On Kit Connor’s Coming Out

Hello, people of Tumblr. Tonight, I’m emerging from exile for a few minutes--minutes that SHOULD be spent banging out the first chapter of my novel for #NaNoWriMo, but here we are--to talk about Kit Connor’s coming out. Firstly, let’s get the obvious out of the way.

No one should ever have to come out like this. Ever.

And as a gay man who has always been an introvert, and thus bullied relentlessly throughout my elementary, middle, and high school years for “acting gay” long before I myself even knew my own sexuality, I can relate all too well to the kind of pressure Kit was facing, never mind him being a celebrity (an added pressure I hope to never know and cannot fathom having to handle).

Judgmental people assume they know things about you just because of what they see on your online profiles, what your personal interests are, the way you dress, the way you walk and talk, whether you’re extroverted or introverted, how extroverted or introverted you are, etc. All of these things become tallies in their minds. And because they can only see what’s public about you, they feel entitled to find out other things to confirm their own biases and feel validated in their pressure.

Honestly, no wonder people are still scared to come out in 2022.

Especially because being online literally all the time has not only become a major part of our existence, it has also massively lowered inhibitions, empathy, and the capacity for tact when we sit behind a phone or computer screen on social media too often. This has been proven through valid research and countless studies. (On a side note, there’s the wave of transphobia going on here in the US and abroad too, which I won’t get into, but politicians and conservative reactionaries have certainly added fuel to the fires of online drama.)

I recall seeing a Tweet back when this whole debacle started, which I can no longer find unfortunately, in which someone had said “it’s not bad to want validity in stories. If it came out Kit was straight, a lot of LGBTQ people would be mad, so he should save them the trouble and just come out already”.

A lot of LGBTQ people would be mad. Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me?

Raise your hand if you’re mad at Kit right now. Anyone? No? Thought not.

So I cannot even begin to express how toxic, damaging, and enabling of hate that kind of view is. As if he’s directly responsible for the angry reactions of so-called “fans”. As if hate crimes could be justified against the unlabeled simply because they will not disclose their sexuality for validity points. What the fuck.

Look, part of me understands. People want validity, and it’s nice when we get it. They want to know that the portrayals of the queer heroes they look up to and take refuge in are coming from a place of honesty. That not only are their favorite characters just like them, the actors are too...right? NO.

That’s where self-professed fans need to take a step back and realize the difference between television and reality. Because unless you personally know these actors or their families, no member of the general public is entitled to any revealing personal info about them at all whatsoever. PERIOD. THE END. Have a thin mint or something and stop being a literal stalker.

We’re lucky to know what these actors do share, we’re even luckier when they interact with us, support us, say things that keep us going, and make life a little more bearable for everyone. But sadly, we probably just lost any further chance of that light from Kit.

All because a certain toxic subset of people who called themselves Heartstopper fans couldn’t be bothered to grasp how traumatizing Charlie’s coming out was, or Nick’s very real fears about how his life could negatively change if he came out.

I can only hope those “fans” know now, and for the sake of any other unlabeled LGBTQ+ people, I hope this shameful incident teaches you to treat everyone else you meet online with the respect and dignity you failed to afford Kit Connor. And perhaps seek psychological help if you haven’t learned anything at all, because once again, you were never entitled to know a single fucking thing.

Now that I’ve spent a good hour on this, I’ve got a novel to write.

Until my next post, I wish the rest of you well. ☺

And to the undisclosed, remember that Pride doesn’t have to be a formal public declaration. It can also be a private, personal thing that you should absolutely throw a one-person party for. Order your favorite foods, buy a new piece of clothing or jewelry, do something nice for yourself. Because you’re awesome. You’re beautiful. You’re valid. You’re loved. I accept you. 🌈

#Kit Connor #Heartstopper #Alice Oseman #LGBTQ #LGBTQIA #Coming Out #PRIDE #queer #queer representation #bisexual #Joe Locke #yasmin finney #gay pride #gay community #hstwt #twitter

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blue-mood · 2 years ago

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Venting on Kit's situation

First of all, as an unlabelled person, I'd like to say fuck you to all the people who do not understand boundaries and how to respect one's privacy.

Summary of the situation

As you may have already heard, Kit Connor came out publicly yesterday, after months of online harassment about his sexuality.

A few months back he had made a statement about it saying:

"I mean, for me, I just feel like I'm perfectly confident and comfortable in my sexuality. But I don't feel the need to really — I'm not too big on labels and things like that. I'm not massive about that, and I don't feel like I need to label myself, especially not publicly."

(Source: "Reign with Josh Smith" podcast)

He did not want to keep addressing the topic of his sexuality nor have anyone else speculating anymore. He was basically saying that he wanted to stay unlabelled and that his sexuality is his business.

However, as things go, the internet did not shut up and kept speculating. A few months later, here we are.

Reflecting on it...

Let's dedicate ourselves to reflecting about this for a little bit. Because clearly some of you need some inner guidance. I am not going to lash out anymore because the damage has already been done, and all we can do is trying to prevent it from happening again.

Q: Why is it not ok to assume a person's sexuality?

Have you ever asked yourself why people come out? Let me assure you that they do not come out just for the fun of it. In actuality, coming out is quite the opposite experience for a majority of people in the community. It requires a lot of planning, and for things in one's life to be stable enough, in case things go south. People get disowned and/or abused, they are more prone to hate crimes and injustices, they tend to be ostracised and isolated, and more. But it's something that for a lot is necessary. Celebrating one's sexuality and pride is also an act of activism. It's a protest against heteronormativity and queer hate, and for queer rights. We need to be loud because otherwise nobody will hear us. So coming out can be a very important part of one's life journey (if they ever feel like they need to do that), and taking that moment away from them is just cruel. Especially when we still live in a world where coming out is not guaranteed to be safe. Assuming a person's sexuality is wrong because you are putting pressure on them and rushing them to come out. They might still not be sure about their own sexuality, or they might just not want to label themselves or talk about it. So, the point is, a person's sexuality is none of your business.

Q: Can people queerbait?

Let me say this once and for all: NO! In simple terms, queerbaiting is a marketing tactic used by companies and industries to reach a queer target audience, to get them to consume their products by means of pretending to provide queer products or contents, but failing to actually do so. A person can lie about their sexuality, for whatever reason, but that is NOT queerbaiting. In regards to Kit's situation, he had never stated his sexuality before and had never misled people to believe otherwise. He just wanted to stay unlabelled.

Conclusions

I think that a lot of people have gotten too comfortable with how the world works now, in regards to coming out and being queer. Let me remind you that coming out is "unnatural". We should not have to come out in the first place, and the only reason we are doing that is so that people will not just assume we are cishet, so that we can find a community, or to show that we are ok with being ourselves in a world where many hates us. At the same time, not wanting to come out is valid as well. You are not entitled to knowing who a person is attracted to, especially if they are not the ones who decided to tell you. Everything that you know about how things work in the LGBTQ+ community is a consequence of the fact that we are not able to just be ourselves without leaving a mark, distinguishing ourselves and fighting for our rights. So forcing someone to come out just feels like you really don't know how the world works and have absolutely no regards towards that person or the community.

The sad thing is that this happened to the majority of the Heartstopper main cast and it's just unjustifiable. With all this being said, I really hope Kit finds some peace at last, and that this situation will never repeat itself again.

#kit connor

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connorandersons-blog · 4 years ago

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RK1700: Connor gets bullied & protective Nines?

Ok, so there is the obvious warning for bullying, but Connor also kinda gets the shit beat out of him, so there's that. Hope you enjoy!!

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No matter how hard he tried, Connor wasn't the most liked in the station. He tried, he really did, but a lot of the humans weren't exactly happy with the androids. The public in general was more positive but that didn't mean everyone would like them. Hell, most of the people who supported them weren't in Detroit.

The one person he expected to be a dick to him wasn't. Well, not directly. He avoided Connor and acted almost emotionless when they did have to interact.

Connor was sure it was a mixture between Connor having beaten his ass in the evidence room and Nines.

Nines had been assigned to Gavin and seemed to have taken it as a personal challenge. He was beyond intimating and Gavin seemed to shrink away from him more than try to sass or talk back.

He'd gotten apologizes from a few officers but after it got them almost outcasted, people stopped. Hank didn't care about others, he stuck by Connor. Not that he was even that close. They trusted one another but they weren't as close as Connor would have liked. He knew it would take time, Hank didn't want to get close to someone else again.

Connor was basically alone. He hated it. He hated the stupid humans and their mean words. He hated their sneers and he hated himself for putting up with it.

He didn't want to fight back. He hoped he could be like Markus, somehow win them over with respect and pacifism. But it just seemed to make everything worse. What was he doing wrong?!?

What was even worse was the insults. They knew how to get to Connor, what words to say to make it actually hurt. They would say things they didn't even believe if it meant getting at Connor.

Like now.

"How many did you kill? Huh? You were here for a whole damn year before all this shit went down. How many didn't you murder?" Officer Laurens sneers and Connor ducks his head.

He was trying to get a coffee for Hank, hoping him doing so would improve their relationship. He opened his mouth before closing it. He knew how many. He could never forget that, not ever.

He had arrested 112 androids which he knew now lead to death. He had killed 15 himself. Exactly 127 in all.

"Aww, the poor 'droid is upset!" He laughed before pushing past Connor and back into the bullpen.

Connor bit the inside of his cheek, willing the tears away. Sure some of the androids actually deserved to be caught but they didn't deserve to be dissected like animals. The other androids didn't deserve the fear when Connor's name was muttered under their breath.

"Connor, may I have a word?" A voice calls out and Connor jumps, sloshing the hot coffee onto his hands.

"Ow! Fuck," he grumbled, putting the cup down and moving to the sink to run his hands under the cold water.

Nines walks over and stands next to Connor, his hands clasped behind his back. "I apologize for startling you and therefore causing you harm, that wasn't my intention."

Connor stared at the water flowing over his hands. It didn't pool, it didn't linger. It avoided him just as much as everyone else did. "It's ok… probably deserve it anyway." The last bit was mumbled but Nines probably still heard it. He was better than Connor in every way.

"I don't agree, you don't deserve any of the treatment you have been receiving. Why haven't you stood up for yourself?" Nines asks, pulling Connor's hands out of the water and reaching above to the counter, grabbing the android first aid kit.

Connor let his hands be taken, eyes never leaving the floor. "I don't see a reason to. They are right, I did kill our people."

Nines stayed quiet for a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours as Nines started to treat the burns. "Yesterday I had to shoot an android that raised a weapon to a suspect."

"It's not the same." He mumbled. He remembered each face, every single name, and every single voice.

"An android I arrested has gotten the death sentence. Markus himself has shared about the junkyard and what he had to do to stay alive. If you disobeyed your orders it would have led to you being deactivated. I know for a fact Markus does not blame you or even see a reason to and neither do I." Nines then covered Connor's hand with his own. It was oddly intimate, this was more contact than he ever had with Nines before.

Connor didn't want to argue because he didn't want to prove himself right and have Nines hate him. "Ok." He simply said, not giving in on his views of himself, but hoping to end the conversation.

Nines stared at him for what felt like centuries before moving away. "Again, I apologize for startling you. If you need reassurance I am here."

Connor bit the inside of his cheek but nodded. Like hell, he'd go to Nines to simply complain about jerks. He should be strong enough mentally to handle it, but everyone seemed to know he wasn't.

It was a month later when it all escalated. Connor had gone to the parking deck, finishing up a day's work and ready to get home when he was ambushed.

He easily identified five men, all worked at the DPD alongside Connor. These were the same men who tormented him, but it seemed they had only just been warming up.

Oliver rained blows onto Connor as if he meant to smash him into the very earth and Laurens and Max did the same, the other two held Connor down. Did they think he'd fight back? Each didn't just want Connor dead, they wanted him smashed, obliterated, nothing left to even recognize.

He simply tried to curl up, protect his head and thirium pump at all costs. Each hit sent a jolt of pain through him, and he wanted to call out for help but knew no one would come. Most would simply look the other way. His stomach ached, his arms lost tension and his legs began to weaken. He couldn't hold on much longer, the taste of his own blue blood was strong in his mouth.

Then there was shouting and the kicking and hitting stopped. He cracked one eye open and saw Nines easily restraining Oliver first.

He easily twists their arms causing them to scream in pain before he let them go. They all scramble away, terrified of the murderous look on Nines face.

Connor would be terrified too if he was going up against Nines. But then Nines was crouching down in front of him, his face morphing into one of concern.

His face wasn't too bad, just a cut above his eyebrow, the scarlet blood flowing into his eyes. It was his body that was damaged and left him shaking. He was lucky they didn't break anything but it was damn near close.

Nines' eyes scanned from one injury to another, taking in the gore that was Connor's body. Then he very gently picked him up bridal style and carried him to be able to sit against the wall.

"I'm sorry I'm so weak" Connor whispered, wincing at every small movement.

"You are attacked because you have self-restraint, not because you are weak. I will make sure no one ever touches you like that again." There's so much conviction in his voice that Connor can't help but believe him. Nines would keep him safe.

"Oh, so people can touch me in a different way?" Connor tried to tease, his smirk looking more like a grimace.

"No, no one can touch you like that either." It was mumbled as Nines started to make sure the healing process was kicking in, but Connor heard.

Well, that was certainly interesting and he couldn't seem to stop talking even if he knew he'd regret it later. "And why not?"

Nines looked up, the corner of his lips upturned but Connor saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Because that's my job."

"Oh," he breathed out. He simply blinked at Nines, knowing he had a deep blush on his face. "Ok."

He was definitely not opposed to that idea, he simply never thought Nines would want that kind of thing, romantic or otherwise, with Connor.

Yet, the gentle way Nines reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of Connor's face said otherwise. He leaned into it, letting his eyes flutter closed. He felt safe. Safer than he ever had before even with having just been beaten to a pulp. Being near Nines always made him feel so safe.

"Let's get you some thirium then later we can perhaps talk more." Nines didn't move away, keeping his hand gently cradling Connor.

"Yeah, yeah I'd like that."

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hookedontaronfics · 5 years ago

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Honky Dancer series - Chapter 8

Chapter title: Consequences Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Trigger warnings for a subtle mentions of an eating disorder and some medical drama A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, and it’s quite dramatic. The chapter bears its name well; you cannot outrun the consequences of your actions, as our beloved Juliette will soon find out. I hope you enjoy this emotional ride! X

Night shoots, I quickly learned, were a special sort of experience. Most of us had tried to nap before the call time, and we were all standing around clutching cups of coffee, full of caffeine and running on adrenaline. The choreography for “Saturday Night’s Alright” required every dancer that was hired, and a cast of extras simply to fill the background too. The amount of crew and the rigging required to give the number an expansive feel also added to the sheer number of people on set at the moment. The volume level was almost too much, with everyone chatting excitedly.

I was standing with my usual group, minus Markus, who was giving me an extremely cold shoulder by not acknowledging my presence at all. I couldn’t blame him, though; I’d told him to never talk to me again, after all. But now that it was the next day and my simmering anger had dulled, and I’d managed to smooth things over with Taron, I wondered if I hadn’t acted out too irrationally. Blame the baby hormones, I thought ruefully to myself.

Being on that carnival set, amongst the twinkling lights and magical atmosphere, made us feel like we were transported somewhere else. And I certainly hoped that effect would come across on film when it was all said and done. My favorite part was the massive Ferris wheel, ablaze with color. I spotted Taron, talking animatedly with Dexter, and when he looked over I gave him a small wave, which he cutely returned.

“Ugh, adorable,” Leah commented, making me smile behind my coffee cup lid as I took another sip. After what felt like a waste of an hour, we were finally called into place. We discarded our coffees and dumped our jackets and bags and went through last-minute costume checks, the costumers nit-picking over the littlest details, adjusting collars here, snipping stray threads there. We had already been walked through some preliminary blocking, but now that the cameras would be turned on, we all wanted things to be as perfect as they could be. The less takes we all had to do for each beat, the better.

Still, that constant ripple of excitement and thrill ran through all of us and kept us going as the nightly hours wore on. Watching Taron in his element really felt like a treat though. How he managed to turn that energy on and maintain his performance level take after take after draining take was mind-boggling, really. And whether he was tired or not, he never showed it, and he stayed positive and kind to everyone around him. But even though the work itself was exhausting, I still loved everything about it.

The track itself was phenomenal, and Taron’s vocals were strong. I never got tired of listening to it no matter how many takes we did. Giles Martin was a genius, keeping the original integrity of the song but building segments of the different musical influences that Elton had been exposed to and incorporated into his music over the many years, and those flavors had also been used in our dance styles. The choreography was engaging, energetic and exciting, and being a part of this musical number certainly felt like being a part of something much larger than ourselves. The sequence was a crucial part of the storytelling, and needed to feel as youthful and adventurous as Elton’s life was during that time.

I had to admit that I was more than happy when they finally called that night’s filming to a close, as the first creep of dawn was just beginning to tinge the sky. I felt the exhaustion and soreness in every fiber of my body, and blearily changed out of my costume, located my bag in the pile, and wearily made my way off the set and toward the tube station before realizing someone was calling my name. I whirled around, nearly knocking myself off my own feet as I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Juliette! Hey, wait up,” Taron said, jogging over to me and sweetly brushing his fingers over my cheek, still somehow not looking exhausted. “Clara’s with her dad and your mum has Troy. Can I just drive you over to my place?” he asked, and I was so tired I didn’t bother arguing, and nodded instead, letting Taron slip his arm around me supportively.

“How are you not completely exhausted?” I grumbled.

“Well, I’m not pregnant, so that helps,” he quipped lightly. “But I’m also just used to it, I think. Not exactly the first night scene I’ve ever been in.”

“I can think of a few,” I smiled. “Bit of a fan of your work, here,” I teased lightly.

“Well you nearly have to be, now that you’re dating me,” he smirked back, and I cracked a smile despite my exhaustion. I sank gratefully down into the plush of the car seat, fighting off falling asleep right then and there. The last thing I needed was Taron taking it upon himself to carry me to bed, as sweet of a gesture as that would be.

“I think today went well,” Taron spoke into our tired silence.

“Really well, at least on our part. It’s always one thing to rehearse a dance. It’s another to see it in the place, in the world so to speak, the lights and colors and costumes. Something about that just made everything feel much more real today,” I replied. “And you… You totally killed it.”

“I don’t know if I killed it, but I wager I gave it everything I had,” he smiled, looking over at me.

“Well, I think, from what I’ve seen, you’re carrying this whole damn thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in the way he did when he felt humbled by something.

“Well I do,” I smiled, more to myself than anything.

“I am so ready to crash,” he yawned when we finally pulled into the drive and parked.

“You and me both,” I sighed wearily. We made our way inside, and I realized oddly that I hadn’t been in his home for a fair bit. It felt just as cozy as before as he led me to the bedroom, pulling me to him for a couple of sweet kisses before we both got ready for bed, too tired for anything more. He did his best to try and block the morning sunlight creeping across the floor, able to darken the room a bit, and we curled up together and were sound asleep within minutes, my brain for once too worn out to keep me awake.

The baby, on the other hand, had other ideas, waking me up a few hours later. I stumbled to the bathroom and wretched, hardly anything in my stomach to get rid of. I groaned slightly and splashed water on my face before returning to my slumbering boyfriend. I checked my phone briefly, scrolling through social media mindlessly, waiting for sleep to find me again, but hunger found me first instead.

I got up and, still too exhausted to make anything else, popped some bread in the toaster oven, rapping my fingers on the counter as I waited for it to be ready. I smeared some butter on, then took a few bites, chewing slowly, my hand resting on my belly. But then the part of my brain that worried about calories kicked in, and I found I couldn’t eat another bite. I tossed the rest of the toast in the trash and reminded myself I needed to stay away from carbs as I returned to the bed, not entirely satisfied but at least my stomach had stopped gurgling uncomfortably.

“Mmmm,” Taron murmured next to me, turning over and sliding his arm over my waist and nuzzling into my neck. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, cracking his green eyes open and looking at me.

“I got sick. And then I got hungry,” I smiled, as his eyes drew down to my stomach, his fingers splaying out under my sleep shirt and caressing my skin there sweetly.

“This will be worth it in the end,” he said gently, kissing my forehead. “Try to get some more sleep. Tonight will be difficult if you don’t.” I nodded at that and tried to let him soothe me back to sleep, and I eventually did end up drifting off again.

We woke with enough time to shower, make some dinner, and watch a little telly together before heading to set and doing it all over again. The second night seemed a little easier, but maybe it was just because I knew more of what to expect, the lag between scenes, the flurry of activity, the massive rigs swinging around and being readjusted constantly, the dead space where we had to try and keep our bodies warm, the constant makeup and costume retouches, the attempt to keep our energy up through the slog of what felt like a 14-hour night. We had fun with some bumper cars and there might have been more horsing around than actual dancing during that sequence.

The next two nights felt a little more laid-back, as a bulk of the large group shots were already done. The transitions into and out of the scene, with the bar and with Kit Connor, who played the mid-aged Reggie, were the focus of those days, so I spent more time sitting around than anything else, but that also gave me time to be curious about the behind-the-scenes machinations of putting a movie together. I found it completely fascinating, so different and removed from what I did on the stage when I danced professionally, a completely different set of lingo I didn’t quite understand. What was a grip? A racking focus? A polarizer? I had no idea, but hearing people talk casually about the technical aspects made me feel curious to know more.

Needless to say, I was grateful when night shoots, at least for that sequence, were done. It was kind of saddening to see the carnival get dismantled, but of course it had only been put up for the film and I knew that. I had to return to my own crazy schedule, my daughter and my own students and trying to balance that with further rehearsals for “Bitch is Back” and time with Taron as well, though the next few nights he spent at my home with me. It wasn’t even a conversation we had, he just showed up every evening, joining me in making dinner and helping Clara with her homework and walking Troy and just generally filling a space in my home I hadn’t realized had been empty. Eventually I thought it was high time he had a key, so I made it a point to make a copy and give him one.

“You’re in the special group of people who gets one of these,” I giggled as we cuddled on the couch together, long after Clara had gone to bed.

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And just how many people get a key to my girlfriend’s abode?” he chuckled.

“My mum, of course. Zayn, just in case something came up with Clara. Now you…” I smiled, as Taron flipped the key around in his palm slightly. He seemed a bit reserved about it, but then he’d been a bit reserved the past few nights. I chalked it up to just being knackered from night shoots until he sighed slightly and spoke my name in a hesitant manner.

“Juliette. I really need to ask you something,” he said, his eyes focusing somewhere just above the crown of my head.

“Anything, T,” I replied, even though a cold knot had formed in my stomach.

“Markus pulled me aside the other day and um, he wanted to pass along a few… things.” It was just like Markus to try and fuck everything up for me, even if we weren’t together. Even if I’d thoroughly ended things. Why could nothing in my world stay perfect, ever? I swallowed past the lump in my throat, willing my voice to not shake.

“I’m sure he wasn’t doing so out of the kindness of his heart,” I said coldly.

“Of course I took things with a grain of salt. We haven’t exactly had the best history, Markus and I, all things considered,” he said, finally focusing on my face, but the look of hurt that knitted his brows caught me off guard. “But he told me that you two were still together, that you slept with him again, when you had told me you wanted to be with me. When you were supposed to have broken up with him. And you never told me about that, and your nonadmission might as well have been as good as lying to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly.

“I… I’m so sorry,” I tried, my brain still processing what he was saying to me.

“I’ve been wrestling with this for a few days, whether to ask you about it or not. Whether to strike a divide between us or not. I’m forgiving, but relationships have to be founded on trust and communication, neither of which you’ve given to me, and that hurts.”

“I tried to break up with Markus. I tried to tell you that I failed. I felt so...humiliated and… ashamed. Of my history, of my weakness, of this shitty pattern I’ve never been able to get myself out of. I never meant it to hurt you, so I thought I could protect you from… me,” I said, stumbling over the words, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You have to believe that, please.”

“I believe you, it’s just a misguided principle, really. Relationships sometimes hurt. Sometimes you have to be raw, and open, and vulnerable, and ugly in front of the other person, and sometimes that makes them hurt for you, because they love you. I want to accept your flaws, your imperfections, but I can’t do that if you won’t open up to me. I can’t do that if I can’t trust you to be honest with me. I can’t do that if you try to protect me from the difficult, painful bits. I can’t do this, if you won’t extend that to me,” he said into the dead silence of the room. My heart was near pounding out of my chest and I felt the need to get sick.

“What are you saying, Taron? Are you breaking up with me?” I asked softly, tears already threatening in my eyes.

“I just need...some time. To think. To know where I stand. I am hurt, and you’ve got to learn that there are consequences for your actions. But I’m not leaving you, no,” he said as evenly as possible. “I told you I loved you, through the hard times too. I stand by that. I just need you to try and earn my trust back,” he said softly, brushing his fingers lightly over my chin.

“Okay,” I sniffled slightly, feeling the shame burning in my chest.

He leaned over and set the key on the coffee table, the clink of the metal against the wood top making me cringe slightly, before he stood up and turned to me.

“I’ll see you around at the studios. We’re not going to be strangers. But there is this wedge we need to deal with, and I hope you can understand that.”

“I created it,” I said, a couple of tears rolling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t pity myself; I had done this. I had turned Taron away from me, yet again. I had made a muddled mess out of something that should have been good and pure.

“Hey, no need to cry. We will work through this, alright?” he said, tipping my chin up to look at him, but his face was fractured into a thousand tiny pieces through my tears.

“Why would you want to? Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” I asked, pulling away from his touch, his arm returning to his side awkwardly.

“I was, at first. But I try incredibly hard to not act out in anger. It never leads to anything good; it tends to cause more problems than it solves. I also know that even while you had promised to choose me, you really hadn’t, not yet. I wanted to believe I’d be enough to convince you...” he trailed off.

“Fuck, of course you are, T. You’re the best thing that’s ever really happened to me. And I keep trying to ruin it, so maybe you’d be better off without me dragging you down,” I said harshly.

“Stop, stop. I won’t let you talk about yourself that way,” he said, kneeling down in front of where I sat on the sofa, directly into my line of sight again. “Your self-loathing won’t help anything. Please see that.”

“Maybe I’m one person you can’t fix. Maybe no one can,” I said shakily, and Taron sighed deeply.

“I hope this feels better in the morning, but going around in circles on it with you all night won’t help either. I’m going to take my leave, and you should get some sleep, and we’ll figure out how to move forward together. That is, if you still want to.”

I couldn’t give him an answer so the silence between us yawned open until he stood up and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before gathering up his jacket and letting himself out the door. I’m not really sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing, thoughts whirling around my head. Time passed me by unnoticed until Clara padded barefoot into the room.

“Mum?” she asked, and I startled back into reality.

“Yes dear?” I asked, trying to push back the edges of darkness I felt threatening to overcome me.

“I got sick in my bed,” Clara said, starting to cry.

“Oh, honey,” I said, instantly sweeping up off the couch and going to attend to my sick daughter, cleaning the linens and giving her medicine and crashing in my bed with her that night, her feverish little body shivering next to me as I held her tight. At least I had this; I could look at my bright, inquisitive, beautiful daughter and know I had a hand in bringing her up in this world, hopefully teaching her how to avoid the pitfalls I’d fallen into in so many ways. I was grateful she was still young, that boys still had cooties and she was still years from her first kiss, her first love, her first heartbreak.

By the time the morning rolled around, neither Clara nor I had gotten much sleep, as much from Clara’s illness as from my dark thoughts. I called my mum to see if she could watch my sick kid while I went to teach classes and later Rocketman rehearsals, and of course my mum was all-too-kindly available to come over. I tucked Clara in her own bed, glad that her fever had come down overnight, and called school to tell them she wouldn’t be in that day while I waited for my mum to arrive. I made some coffee, desperate for the caffeine boost, and when my mum finally made it across town I blearily stumbled through my day.

I couldn’t help glaring daggers at Markus’ back during rehearsals every time he wasn’t looking, which was most of the time, but I knew that was petty. It certainly wouldn’t make him apologize for ratting me out to Taron, and it wouldn’t take back what happened between us either.

By the time I got home I was completely exhausted, but Clara was feeling better and I couldn’t just crash out, even if my mum offered. I shook my head, telling her she’d done enough already for me, and sent her home with a thank-you pound note she tried to protest but I slipped into her purse anyway when she wasn’t looking. I ended up tossing a frozen pizza in the oven, but found it difficult to choke down the calories, while Clara didn’t seem to notice how little I ate as she chowed down on her slices. We watched a movie together, and I admittedly might have nodded off a few times, the Disney songs drifting in and out of my dreams.

I was so happy once Clara was tired enough to put to bed; I even skipped a shower just so I could faceplant in my bed that much quicker. I missed Taron’s warmth next to me as I pulled the blankets tightly around me. He promised we’d be okay, but what if he found more reasons to stay away from me in this temporary absence? What if he didn’t really miss me all that much? What if I was the one that was unlovable? I shivered slightly under the covers, the darkness creeping even closer than it had before in my mind, threatening to take over as I sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

That darkness that resided inside my brain manifested itself in my attempt to control my calories; every little thing I put in my mouth had to be accounted for, and controlling my diet seemed to help me calm my nerves. Even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control, this one thing I could have total control over. I had exactly one scrambled egg white and 8 ounces of a protein shake in the morning, a 150-calorie protein bar at lunch, a handful of plain unsalted nuts for a snack to sustain my energy, and usually made some fish and vegetables for dinner. Eating for two was an absolute myth; I was religious about my prenatal vitamins and making sure the growing baby inside me was still getting the crucial building blocks it needed. But overeating wasn’t going to help either of us so I stuck to my routine, obviously varying things up for Clara so she wouldn’t be bored or wrinkle her nose up at my dinners.

Over the next couple weeks of classes and rehearsals, I started to see an instant change in my arm and leg tone, and that made me at least happier. I had been needing to lose that unnecessary weight for years, and even if I couldn’t stop my belly from getting bigger, I could stop the rest of me from following suit.

As we headed full on into the summer months, the weather grew hot and sticky, as London weather was wont to do. We’d been rehearsing the Broadway musical-style choreography for “Bitch is Back” for a while in the studio, but were finally taking rehearsals outside, into the back lot to do some initial blocking. Taron was of course there, sporting some mockup cardboard wings that looked completely ungainly to manage. But somehow he did, as we danced our way through the piece and Dexter showed Taron and Matthew Illesley, who played the youngest version of Reggie, how the scene would operate.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, down my arms and legs, dripping off the edge of my nose. We were all allowed to wear our sunnies since it was a rare bright day in London and we weren’t officially filming yet. But when the production was able to secure the Pinner Street location, we would all need to be ready to go, so putting in this work now was important. They made us take a lot of breaks, providing Gatorade and water in massive jugs to keep us all hydrated, but I was beginning to feel rather sick to my stomach and had to fight through the nausea for the rest of the rehearsal.

Seeing Taron there, being so close to him and yet feeling far away, was painful. He acknowledged me, but it was mostly in a professional manner, and I could feel the difference in my bones. I wanted nothing more than to have him scoop me up in his arms and hold me to him, but that reality had been shattered. There are consequences to your actions, Juliette, the words popping into my brain and making my heart ache. I couldn’t run from those consequences; the only way to move forward was to accept them and move through them.

But how was I going to be able to prove to Taron that he could trust me, when we weren’t even spending time together? What grand gesture could show him how much he meant to me? I wasn’t really sure, and these thoughts hounded me throughout the day.

The next few days were much the same, the temperatures staying sticky hot and making me feel worse for wear. Pregnancy and heat did not go well together, and I found myself taking a few more breaks than everyone else, coming up with some lame excuse as I hadn’t told anyone on set I was pregnant. Only Taron and Markus knew that, and well, we all know who actually did his part to check in with me, concern written all over his face.

But then rehearsals suddenly ground to a halt, and we were left in a strange holding pattern as the production moved onto other scenes, keeping to its schedule and of course keeping Taron very busy. We had a couple short rehearsals to keep the choreography fresh in everyone’s brains, but there wasn’t much else for us to do. I focused more on teaching my classes, texting off and on with Taron when he’d ask how Clara was doing.

<She’s got a recital next week, if you’d like to go. She’d probably like that; she’s been wondering why you haven’t been around as much. I just told her it was because of work.> I responded one evening.

And be there he was, dressed in a sharp navy suit coat, a white shirt underneath, and pressed slacks, looking as handsome as he ever did. Sitting next to him was almost intimidating, stealing glances at each other, sharing awkward smiles with each other as we waited through student after student, some well-practiced, others not so much, waiting for Clara’s turn.

When she got up on the stage, I could hear a bit of an audible gasp from the crowd; my opinionated little girl had chosen to don a sequined, sparkly pink jacket over her recital dress, and she had on a pair of star sunnies too, “just like Elton!” she’d declared when I’d tried to convince her otherwise.

“That’s our Clara,” Taron grinned over at me with a chuckle, before looking down at my hand and slowly taking it in his. I sucked my breath in slightly, still staring straight ahead as Clara took a seat at the piano. “You look beautiful today,” he whispered in my ear, taking in the light summer dress I’d chosen.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing over at him, those dimples of his causing my heart to flutter again. That special thing we had, it wasn’t gone by any means. We sat through my daughter’s songs, Clara gamely making it through Bach and Debussey with only a few stumbles, before getting to play a chosen song. And of course she’d chosen “Your Song,” playing it with gusto to much applause and appreciation from the audience. She gave an enthusiastic bow after her performance and skipped off the stage, returning to us excitedly as we were still clapping for her.

“Lovely job, sweetheart,” I said happily, giving her a huge hug.

“I think Elton himself would be very proud,” Taron added, making Clara grin so big she was showing off her toothless gaps.

“Yeah, if only he’d been able to watch it,” she sighed, making us both laugh.

“He’s a very busy man, but maybe some day you could play for him,” Taron said, as I playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t promise her that!” I hissed slightly under my breath, but Taron waved it off.

“I’m sure I could get it arranged,” he said, as Clara fairly begged Taron to stay around for dinner. He obliged, and it turned into a really decent evening, the first one I felt I’d had in a bit, even after Clara commented “ewww, fish again?” when I served us dinner. He stayed long enough to tuck my daughter into bed, but said he probably shouldn’t wear out his welcome, though we lingered too long at the doorway, unspoken words and feelings passing between us.

I was actually at the academy when I got the phone call that the Pinner Street location had been secured, and that we’d be needed on set within a few hours. I scrambled to get my afternoon classes covered and made sure mum could pick up Clara from school before heading over to the studios, arriving just in time to get through hair and makeup. We changed into our costumes and were all boarded onto a shuttle and driven across the city, dropped off on a suburban street where crews were already busy setting up rigging for the cameras.

The place was an absolute blur of activity as us dancers huddled in the shade of some trees, trying to stave off the bright sunlight. We used each other to stretch and warm up, a steady hum weaving through the shimmering air as directions were shouted loudly, people running frantically to and fro. I hadn’t imagined this much chaos as the rest of the production had always been incredibly orderly. But I supposed this could happen with locations in the streets; it probably was a pain in the ass to secure city permits to shut entire blocks down for filming. When the city gave you a window of time, you had to spring into action; there would be no dragging feet here.

This sequence, of course, was an important element of the story that brought Taron into the picture as a sort of segue from rehab into his childhood years. It involved the other patients in rehab and the counselor, a brass band, and Taron in a bright orange neoprene Elvis-inspired devil costume with massive wings. The first time I saw him in it I nearly tripped over my own feet. The costume left very little to the imagination, but it was also somehow fitting to the vision of Elton that Dexter and Taron had created for the film. Elton at times played the devil, but he could also be the angel, and in many ways he was neither and both at the same time in his own story.

I loved the energy of this part of filming; the heat, not so much. The makeup crew constantly had to step in and powder us all between takes, and I’m sure our costumes weren’t going to smell very nice by the end of it. The filming day was kept short, as there were heat advisories and the production certainly didn’t want anyone to pass out. The heat sapped the strength right out of my body, and I wondered at how weak I felt as I made my way home, knowing I’d have to fight through the next few days in the same way.

The weakness in my body didn’t really abate the next day, and was joined by more nausea. Even if I didn’t get sick, I still felt turned inside out. I could barely stomach water, but I made myself push it down nonetheless. If my performance suffered for it, no one said a word to me. The third day, the dizziness hit me like a sack of rocks, making me stumble into another dancer and completely ruining the take. I mumbled my apologies and tried to concentrate the best I could. My muscles knew the motions; my brain couldn’t keep anything straight so I tried not to think too much and let my body do the work it knew by memory.

But some things you cannot win against, no matter how hard you fight. Weeks of undereating had caught up to me, leaving me emptied out; spots began to dance across my vision, my skin flushed cold despite the heat, and I found it difficult to breathe. I vaguely thought someone was calling my name, but I couldn’t hear them over the rushing in my ears. The music continued on, but my body did not; I dropped to the ground and stayed there. I don’t remember hitting the pavement, but I came to with my face burning, pressed against the hot surface. I was dimly aware of people gathered around me, and I thought I heard Taron yell at someone to “get these bloody wings off” before bright orange swam into my view.

“Juliette, can you hear me?” he asked as he knelt down beside me, the material of his costume stretching taut over his thighs. I don’t know why my brain focused on that, but I couldn’t move my head enough to look up at his face. The crystals glittered almost painfully bright in the sun as my vision went in and out of focus.

“She’s probably got heat stroke,” one voice said.

“Give her some space,” another added.

“Where’s the fucking medic?” someone else in the throng of voices shouted, my brain picking these out amongst the murmurs.

Did I really look that bad? I wondered, unaware of how crumpled I must have looked. Someone brought over an umbrella and at least shielded me from the sun; someone else tried offering water but I could neither hold the bottle nor swallow when it was poured into my mouth, vomiting onto the pavement instead, a strange thought that I should be embarrassed weaving its way through my brain, too wispy for me to grab onto.

I felt my body being moved as my pupil reaction was checked, my pulse taken, my body fussed over. Words were said that I didn’t understand and then I was being lifted through the air on a stretcher and pushed into the back of an ambulance. I flicked my eyes around at the faces staring down at me, the hands pushing IV lines into my arms, everything blurry and strangely in slow motion.

And then I felt the sharpest pain in my abdomen, making me cry out. I instinctively tried to curl into a ball but the straps held me down, and I started to feel panic rising in my chest as another sharp pain wracked my body. I clutched at my stomach, gasping out something incoherent; this wasn’t right, and I knew it could only mean something terrible was happening.

“Oh god, the baby,” I heard Taron say, his voice sounding too loud and tinny to my ears, my secret spilled out for everyone within earshot to hear.

What was happening to my baby?, I thought, as more hands poked and prodded me, more needles stuck into my flesh, more words were said I couldn’t make sense of. All I could understand was the shivers that shook me, the pains that tormented me, the blackness that threatened to overtake me. The noise was too loud, the siren, the beeping machines, the medics’ voices, the rattling of wheels over roads as we sped toward the hospital, the hush of the cast and crew we left in our wake, growing in a cascading crescendo inside my brain until, mercifully, there was silence.

I began to float into the void, the absence of noise, of feeling, of the physical realm, detached from what was happening to my body. The darkness came up to meet me, soothing me, warming me, easing me into slumber, the medicine working through my veins, easing the fire in my body. And then everything, everywhere, went black, and I was gone.

This is not the end of the story. Read Chapter 9 HERE.

#taron imagine #rocketman fanfiction #taron egerton #taron fanfiction #taron x reader

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kandadiff · 5 years ago

Text

HA Chapter 11: Creepy

--- Its about to get creepy also this is more from Viktor’s POV ---

As soon as he stepped foot back into the hotel room he flipped the sign that rejected maid service and locked the door behind him. Odd enough part of him felt at ease, Kevins words seeping into him, he was right after all, if tehre were to be no repercussions then why nit have a little fun, that was his intention of coming over in the first place.

But as soon as he looked over at my limp body, a wave of shame washed over him and he felt panicky and hot. He moved toward the thermostat as though that was going to make everything more clearer as he lowered it. Honestly, this scenario crossed his mind once or twice but in a very different light. He pictured it more that he would wander into one of the parties I would be invited to and one of the ingrates I hung out with would have left me passed out on the floor or a couch somewhere and him acting like the knight in shining armor would nurse the hangover out of me and we would go back to being friends like once upon a time ago before Zayn or any of his friends tainted my opinions of him and before all my focus lay on Marcel.

He had to do this, how else was he going to compete with the other boys. He couldn’t go against Woo or even Yoongi one on one. No he had to approach this smart - like Namjoon or Kevin would. He had to learn and use what he learned against the others. yes, this was worth it. He turned back toward me, the wave of shame washing over him although it felt like it was less then before.

“Sorry love,” he said as his hand stroked my bare cheek “but I have to do this, for you- for us.” he sat next to me on the bed looking over the 1960′s style turtleneck tea dress I was wearing. Due to the sudden passing out it was a little disheveled and my hat and phone had both fallen on the floor. This reminded him to set an alarm for his own phone. Kevin said only three hours but he didn’t want to risk it. After two hed walk out that door and tuck me in maybe I would think I just took a nap for something. He reached over me and picked up the hat, smiling at the posh design and fixing it before placing it on the night table. He then picked up my phone pressing the ring button on, if Yoongi were to get suspicious where I was then he would need a warning. He placed the phone next to the hat and for a while just stared at me.

The steady rising and falling of my chest, the small gestures my face mad as I dreamed, he wondered what I was dreaming about and if the ‘love Potion’ even allowed dreams. He started to carefully run his fingers through my hair smiling at the purple tips that had almost faded out at the bottom. He liked my hair when it was curly and natural … was it Yoongi that preferred it straight? Is that why I haven’t had it curly for a few months? Or perhaps Negan? The true threat even Viktor couldn’t bring himself to share with the rest of his friends.

He had been suspicious of Negan ever since he came to sub for a month at the school two years ago. He had done ‘research’ about that on his own and while it wasn’t confirmed he knew the relationship with me and the older man was romantic possibly a sugar baby deal... how else would I be able to afford that ring that Yoongi had been wearing. He would never ask for such extravagant gifts when we’d get together. No instead he’d be showering me in gifts - his parents had money and with the promise of grandchildren they would be happy to give him his inheritance early.

As he played with my hair he thought of our future and the things I have wrote and said on the matter, like in my journal. Another wave of shame washed over him remembering when he found my journal while installing the long-range modifier with Kevin just a few weeks ago. Kevin had went into your room and he had gone into mine. Just looking around innocently and the journal had fallen from behind a book on the shelf. He didn’t mean to read it... no that was creepy and wrong. But its not like he was some creepy pervert like Ian or Mark... All he wanted to do was feel closer to me - plan our future so I wouldn’t have to whats so wrong about that? He read about a pheoneom in a science magazine about psychology. The more you mimic a person in certain things or the more you know about a person they will more easily become attached to you. And that was the whole point. So he can plan things out - something he knew freaked me out and it wouldn’t be weird. Yes it wasn’t weird it was smart.

He went back braiding my hair and began to talk about our future half wondering if like in a coma I could hear him, maybe my subconscious will link the ideas and make them stick in my head. It would be much easier that way. “I know you like New York, but that's no place to raise a family. We could get married there have the Gastby Wedding you always wanted. I know how much you want you dad to walk you down the isle but I know how much he doesn’t like me- so maybe we do something else. I would never take away your first dance with him but maybe down the isle is a bit much. He’d never give you up to me.” he laughed finishing one braid and beginning another. “And then we should move to England, I know, I know its always raining but you love the rain and plus our children will have my accent - not that yours isn’t charming - I love it, but imagine four little Malik kids speaking Japanese with british accents. How adorable. Yeah I want four kids, I know I know its ambitious but I am willing to adopt two if we have two of our own. We can even adopt them from Japan. Two boys and two little girls, I love the names Connor and Henry, I liked the name Jackson to but Wang really ruined that for me.” He finished another braid and moved to the next “For girls I know you love the name Marceline but Sara is so classic and beautiful. Okay how about you name one girl and a boy and ill name the other?” He laughed to himself looking down at my sleeping face. “You’re so beautiful Kay,” he let go of my hair, the third braid unfinished and leaned down towards my lips. he placed a chaste kiss on them a flush overcoming his body. He smiled with a new found confidence and went to do it yet again before spotting a deep purple mark on my neck. Due to the sudden onset of sleep that over came me my turtleneck dress that expertly hid the markings came down just a bit and now all the deep purple bruises Yoongi left on my neck were visible. Viktor felt a surge of anger hit him and he quickly turned away from me. He opted to distract himself with the buzzing of my phone. It was a group texted entitled ‘FUNHOUSE BIQTCHES!’ He grabbed my finger pressing it to the home button and unlocking my phone. He scrolled through the messages only half paying attention to them. Most of them just telling Adi to shut up and that she was being to loud and if she didn’t shut up GD was going to wake up.

It took him a few moments before he could look at me again. His eyes stayed glued to the marks and he leaned over me fixing my collar so it covered the marks “I know this isn’t your fault but you can’t let him do that to you.” He was getting angrier and angrier with each word. When he pulled the color up the dress went up slightly revealing the marks Yoongi had left on my thighs. “Disgusting” He remarked yanking the skirt down with such force that he heard a tear in the dress. His anger instantly turned to fear. The dress had a visible tear in it. How would that be explained? Sometimes hotel rooms left sewing kits incase. He dug through the empty drawers of the room and came up empty. “Look what yoongi made me do!” He shouted at me then rushed over fingering the tear. “This wouldn’t have happened if you picked me first. he marked your body like you are some common whore, Youre not - stop acting like one!” He shouted and sighed looking at the timer. He had only an hour left. He looked back at me and pressed his lips to mine again. “I’m sorry, you just make me loose sense sometimes.” He sighed laying next to me.

For the next half an hour he lay cuddled next to me speaking about whatever came to his kind, that was until an idea presented itself into his head. He used my finger to unlock my phone - it had a lot more texted then before not all from the group chat. He saw Negans name on it and had to resist going through that if he was going to have enough time to link our phones together. He saw a few texts from Yoongi and once again had to say no to temptation and set to work.

His alarm went off just as he was finished. Satisfied he pressed the small bird app on his phone. If anyone were to go threw his apps they’d find the one labeled Bird Watching and scroll past it thinking nothing of it. But as soon as he clicked on it. The screen changed to a copy of my screen, every app, every text, every picture - he could see. This was perfect. He took one last look at me and kissed my lips once again. “I love you.” He said before walking out the door and into the elevator.

----

I woke up confused feeling like death. I knew I was in Hotel Dumont due to the patterns on the ceiling but it took a moment for me to remember why I was here. I was here with Yoongi “Oppa!” I called out and immediately felt like vomiting. Did we drink last night? No. I was sober.. yeah I had breakfast. Why did I feel like this? I sat up and quickly grabbed the trashcan by the bed vomiting whatever breakfast was in my stomach out. I groaned, my head pounding and looked around for Yoongi. “Oppa?”

He wasn’t here. I was alone in the room... wait thats right. He left to get Jungkook... then why was I still here? My attention was drawn toward my phone dinging next to my hat on the night stand. I put my hat on the night stand but woke up across the bed? Something was wrong. I grabbed at my phone seeing text after text of people asking where I was and missed calls. I stood up shaky and grabbed my purse and keys.

I barely made it downstairs, my entire body felt like Jello and my stomach turned every time I took a step. A bellhop helped me to my car before another familiar face walked up to us a cocky grin on his face. “Yoongi treat you so well you can’t walk?” Damien smirked “Or where you just waiting for me to come home.”

“Fuck off” I mumbled and his eyes furrowed in concern. he grabbed me from the bellhop ordering him back to work while I leaned on him. “Bring me to my car?” He nodded walking me over but the closer I got the more I knew I couldn’t drive home in this condiotion and so did Damien. So we took a sharp turn towards his hulking black truck. “No I want my car.”

“Fuck off.” He mimicked and helped me into the passenger seat. He hopped in the drivers seat. “What Yoongi dumped you and you got drunk and waited for me? Next time shoot me a text and believe me I would have come over right away.”

“None of that happened.” I said taking his sunglasses from the dashboard and trying to steady my stomach. “Me and Yoongi had a wonderful night.”

“Yeah he tear your dress too?” He pointed as the rip in my dress as he started to drive. I looked down at it, that hadn’t been there this morning... had it?

“No, I don’t know what this is.” I huffed “I feel sick, D. I kept throwing up but I was fine this morning then I had your hotel food!”

“My hotel food is great!” He said defensively “What did you order?”

“Well they gave to to me for free-”

“Free? You brought Yoongi to my penthouse.”

“No dick brain we were on the second floor. Room 221.”

“And they gave you food for free?” he shook his head “Did you say my name?”

“No I tend not to think about you.”

“Then why the fuck would they give a nobody free food?”

“A nobody?!”

“Yeah! When your not with me in there your a fucking nobody.”

“Pull over the car im getting out!”

“Oh shut up im taking you home!”

“DONT TELL ME TO SHUT UP!”

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beanfic · 6 years ago

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Chapter 5

Word Count: 1098

Warnings: None!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

The next morning you and Tyler called for a family meeting.

“You sure you want to do this?” Tyler asked you and you nodded.

“You caused this Ty, so you have to do the explaining.” You were still upset with him lying to you. “I’m worried about how Connor is going to react,” he confessed but you just shrug.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went out and broke the law.” You headed to Westley’s room to go wake him up and feed him breakfast.

Autumn and Connor were already downstairs eating cereal. You and Tyler headed downstairs to join them, and Autumn couldn’t even make eye contact with either you or Tyler. You wondered how much she had heard.

“We’re going to have a family talk, is that okay?” you asked your kids, and they both look up at you and nod. You could tell that Autumn must have told Connor something because he was acting off as well.

Tyler handed you Westley’s bottle, before shooting you a quick look that said ‘are you sure?’ You gave him a quick nod, while you sat down at the kitchen table across from your kids. Tyler took the seat next to you. You held Westley in your arms and started to feed him his bottle while waiting for Tyler to initiate the conversation.

“No matter what I tell you, you must keep it a secret, because if you don’t, it will be dangerous for every one of us.” Tyler started the conversation off on a darker tone, and you looked up from Westley and studied the kids looks. Connor looked mad, and Autumn looked afraid.

“As you guys know, I use to be a creator. I use to make music and play it for lots and lots of people, right?” he asked and both Autumn and Connor nodded slowly.

Tyler took a deep breath and started to fiddle with his thumbs. You rubbed his back with your free arm, trying to calm him down.

“I’ve been still playing shows with Josh.” Tyler let out the breath that he had been holding in.

“What?” Connor asked incredulously.

“I know it’s hard to understand, but it’s something Josh and I needed to do. Our music helps people, and I couldn’t not play music ever again,“ putting emphasis on the ‘not’.

“But you’re breaking the law.”

“Connor, I know, but we are being safe and everything is okay,” Tyler tried to reassure him.

“Are you sure daddy?” Autumn whimpers, on the verge of tears. Tyler held out his arms to invite her on his lap.

He held her close and whispered into her ear, “I promise I will never let anything happen to me, or any of you.”

“I want to hear you play music,” Connor pleaded but Tyler shook his head.

“It’s too dangerous to play in the house. If you were to hear we would have to go down to the Trench and play.”

“Could we go down?” Connor interjected and Tyler nodded.

“Can we!?” Autumn started to get excited. Tyler shot you a look, and you nodded.

“I guess we could.” You switch Westley over to your other arm as Autumn

stood up and squealed with Joy. Connor seemed unsure about everything, but you could tell he was excited to hear his dad play music again.

Around 4:00, you and Tyler got all your kids ready to head down to the Trench. Tyler handed you a roll of yellow duct tape, and you gave him a confused look.

“What is this for?”

“It’s to put on your body so you are safer, remember? The Bishops can’t see yellow.” He explains. You both spend the next fifteen minutes wrapping the yellow tape around your outfits and helping the kids.

You put Westley in a stroller and grabbed Autumn’s hand as you all started to walk towards Trench. Halfway through, Josh joined you guys on the walk.

“Uncle Josh!” Autumn ran up and jumped into his tattooed arms.

“So you all know our little secret now?” Josh shot Tyler a wink.

“I can’t believe you are a criminal!” Connor teased Josh. Josh then grabbed Connor and started to ruffle his hair.

“Yep, and if I go down then you’re going down with me!”

“No!” Connor tried to wrestle back but Josh was much stronger.

“We’re almost there!” Tyler announced. There was this little tunnel that led underground, but there was a huge rock in the way. Tyler moved it to the side, and let everyone in. It was a dark cave that was downhill.

“Do we just follow it down?” you ask hesitantly, and both Josh and Tyler nodded, it was steeper than you were expecting. No wonder no one can hear them play down here.

Josh, who was now holding Autumn’s hand, led them down the cave where it got darker and deeper. “I see a light!” Autumn shouted as this little stream of brightness came into view. As you got closer, the path you were walking on split into a trench-like path, surrounded by walls of rock that you could climb up.

“I see why you call it Trench,” you exclaimed, looking up at the walls on both sides of you. You never knew that there was an actual trench, inside a cave, underneath your province in Dema.

There was a drum kit at the end of the cave and a Ukulele. You stopped and picked up Westley from his stroller, while Connor and Autumn stayed behind with you as well. Josh went up and took a seat at the drums, and Tyler picked up and grabbed the Ukulele.

“The first song I’m going to sing is called Screen.” Tyler started to strum and began to sing. His voice filled the trench and brought goosebumps to your body. You could feel Autumn grab on to your arm tighter, and Connor just stared in awe.

Once he finished Connor ran up to Tyler and hugged him. When Connor pulled away you could see his eyes were wet, which made you get choked up as well.

“The next song I am going to play is called House of Gold!” His fingers strummed the strings on the Ukelele, making the sound ring throughout the tunnel. His voice made you want to melt, and you never wanted to leave to the silence again.

“Josh is so fast!” Autumn whispered into your ear. You watched Josh’s arms blur as they quickly drummed. The bass drum pounded in your chest.

It was nice to hear Tyler and Josh perform once again.

#tyler x reader #tyler joseph #josh dun #twenty one pilots fanfic #tyler joseph x reader #tyler joseph fanfic #tyler joseph fanfiction #twenty one pilots #trench #trench au #dema #nico #nicolas bourbaki #The Creator #beanfic

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i-also-miss-our-talks · 7 years ago

Text

Pancakes with sprinkles? ~ Tree Bros

Hey, cool. Another fic for @softmushie‘s Cotton Candy and Hunters AU. Sorry in advanced for the horribly written ending. I just got stuck and let my fingers type whatever. But other than that, please enjoy!

WC: 2,452

Warning: Self harm, Blood, Suicide mentioned/attempted, Swearing, I think Jared comes up at one point?

Part one

Part two

Masterlist

Also, major shoutout to @helplesshansen who helped me work through my ideas! She is an amazing writer and you should go check out her work!

“Nope! Go fish!”

Evan groaned and flopped back on Connor’s bed. “Connor, for the last fucking time. We’re not playing go fish, we’re playing euchre,” the emo boy explained to his friend.

Connor sighed. “I don’t know how to play euchre, though.”

“Then when I asked you at school, ‘do you know how to play euchre,’ why did you say yes?”

“I thought you said ‘super’ like superheroes! I know how to play superheroes. Zoe and I used to play that all the time when we were little,” Connor smiled and tossed the cards into the air, giggling as they fluttered down on them like snowflakes.

Evan sighed. “Guess we’re done with card games,” he said and handed Connor his cards to toss into the air. He got up and stretched out his arms above his head. “I’m runnin’ to the bathroom. Get a movie or something set up while I’m gone.”

Connor gasped. “Can I get the cotton candy machine in here?!” He started bouncing around like a small child, his colored hair flying all over the place.

Evan couldn’t help the strings that tugged at his heart as he watched his friend bounce around. “Sure,” he shrugged before leaving.

Evan walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He did his business and went to wash his hands, but as he was using the soap dispenser, it slipped off the counter and into the trash can next to it. “Shit,” he hissed and reached in for it, much to his dismay. As he looked in for the soap bottle, a small glimmer caught his eye. He reached down a bit further and touched cold metal. Pulling out the object, Evan felt his heart race at the sight of a bloody razor, stripped from the plastic handle. Evan couldn’t help the terrible thoughts that filled his brain. The first one being is this Connors?

The boy carefully put the razor in his pocket, fished out the soap, washed and dried his hands, and walked out the bathroom. Evan tried convincing himself that Connor, his friend, would never do such horrible acts to himself. But he needed to see it to believe it.

He walked down the stairs, carefully avoiding being seen by Connor, and went into the living room. There, Cynthia was relaxed, reading a novel on the couch. Evan quietly walked over and glanced at her wrists, carful not to disturb her. Thankfully she was wearing a short sleeve shirt, so it was apparent that the razor was not hers.

Evan felt his anxiety start to kick in as he made his way to the garage where he was sure Larry would be. He knocked on the door leading to the garage before entering. “Hey, Mr. Murphy,” Evan greeted and walked over to him, noticing how Larry had rolled up his sleeves while working.

Larry smiled at Evan. “Hey, kid. What’re you doing down here? Aren’t you and Connor having some sort of sleepover?”

Evan nodded and watched him work on a baseball glove. “Yeah, but Connor has to set up his fu-er, fun cotton candy machine so I thought I’d see what you were doing while I waited,” he said, catching himself.

Mr. Murphy nodded and showed Evan the glove. “I’m just breaking in this glove for Connor. We’re doing a father-son baseball tournament at work. So I figured while you two were busy I’d do the hard work for him. Now all that’s left is to teach him the sport,” Larry laughed.

Evan nervously joined in his laughing when he saw no marks on either of his wrists. “Yeah. Okay, bye,” he said and quickly bolted back into the house.

Larry stood in his spot, watching Evan leave. “Was it something I said?”

Back inside, Evan tore up the stairs and knocked on Zoe’s door. As much as he’d hate to see either of the Murphy siblings hurting, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe Zoe cut her leg while shaving and the razor just so happened to pop out of the plastic handle. Yeah. That could happen. Right?

Zoe opened the door and let out a small smile. “Hey, Evan. What’s up?”

“Let me see your wrists.”

“What?” Zoe asked, stepping back slightly.

Evan shook his head. “I’m not gonna fucking hurt you. Just let me see your wrists.” Still nervously shaking, Zoe rolled up the sleeves of her sweater, showing the emo boy that there were no scars. “Shit.”

“Evan, what’s going on?” Zoe asked.

“Shit, shit, shit, no! No, no, no,” he mumbled as he turned away from her door and stared at the blue one across the hall.

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said and shut her door.

Evan felt like he couldn’t breathe. Somehow, his shaking knees walked over to Connors door. He gripped the doorknob with white knuckles and opened it, stepping inside.

Connor smiled brightly at the sight of his friend. “Hey! You were taking so long I was worried you fell in,” he laughed. “Jared told me that one. Hey, you okay, Ev?” Connor asked when he noticed Evans peculiar stance.

Evan closed the door and walked over to his friend, his best friend. Staring at Connor, he gently pulled out the razor, showing it to him. “Connor…”

Connor felt like all of time stopped. His normally cheerful smile was gone and his wrists burned beneath his bracelet and jacket. His eyes, once full of happiness, were now consumed by fear. “You weren’t supposed to find that.”

“Connor, let me see.”

“No one was supposed to find that.”

“Connor, I need—“

“I’m such an idiot. I should’ve thrown it out at school.”

“We need to treat th—“

“I’m so stupid! What the fuck was I thinking?!”

Evan didn’t know how to respond. Connor never swore. He stayed silent, setting the razor down on his dresser, and listened to him rant.

“I should’ve taken out the trash, at least! Agh, I mess up everything! I’m a freak and an idiot! Just a bother to everyone! This is why it should’ve worked! Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Connor turned and punched the wall with every ‘damn it’ that slipped out of his lips. Even when he was done screaming, he kept punching. Even when his knuckles got so bloody you couldn’t see them, he kept punching. Even when Evan wrapped his arms around him in hopes of calming him down, Connor kept on punching. It wasn’t until his knees gave out and he needed Evan to support him that he stopped.

Evan gently lowered them to the ground. He pulled Connor into his lap, wrapping him up in his arms and stroking his hair, letting him cry till his lungs hurt. After a few minutes, the tears stopped pouring and only a few dripped down Connors red cheeks. “Let me see them, Con,” he whispered.

Connor slowly removed his metallic cuff bracelet and rolled down his jacket sleeves. Starting at his wrist, a bright pink line traced down to half way to his elbow. Evan felt his heart stop at the sight. They were new.

“I’m sorry, Evan. I’m so, so sorry,” Connor hiccuped.

“No, don’t be sorry, Con. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Evan cooed. “I’m going to get some supplies to clean these and your knuckles up, okay? I’ll be right back.” Evan picked Connor up and gently laid him down on his bed. He walked out, his heart breaking at the sounds of Connors sobs mixed with painful hiccups. Evan grabbed a first-aid kit, some saline, and a wash cloth from their linen closet before walking back to Connors room. He shut the door before joining Connor on his bed.

Connor immediately wrapped himself around his best friend, begging for the comfort he gave. Evan returned the hug, rubbing small circles on his back for a few moments before sitting up so that he could help his best friend. He first cleaned the blood off of Connor’s knuckles. Evan flinched when Connor let out a soft whimper. “Sorry,” he mumbled and continued. Evan poured some saline onto the wash cloth and turned to Connor. “This is going to sting, okay? I’m not doing it to hurt you, I’m doing it to help you.”

Connor nodded and gripped Evans arm. When he placed the cloth on his busted knuckles, Connor let out a yelp and buried his face into Evan’s shoulder, digging his nails into his arm.

Evan, although in slight pain from Connor’s nails, tried to work as fast he could. He didn’t want him to feel more pain than he already had. Evan finished up and grabbed bandages from the first aid kit. He wrapped them around his knuckles and, somehow managing to not redden his face, kissed the bandages like his mother used to do to him.

Connor smiled slightly at the kiss. He frowned, though, when Evan rolled up his sleeves. “No,” he stated and pulled his arms away.

Evan gently grabbed Connors hand in order to bring his arm back out to him. “I have to clean this, Con. You don’t want this getting infected. It’ll hurt even worse if this gets infected. I’ll be quick, I promise,” Evan explained in the calmest, non-swearing voice he could muster, given the circumstances. “You can hold my other hand if you want? Squeeze it when I put the saline on it so it hurts less.”

The pastel boy nodded and grabbed Evan’s left hand. He buried his face back into his shoulder so he wouldn’t have to watch. Evan quickly, but carefully, used the saline before wrapping his arm up in bandages. He switched hands with Connor so that he could finish the other arm. “There. We’re all done.”

Connor looked up at Evan. “Do we…do we have to talk about it?”

Evan sighed and set the supplies on the ground. “Not tonight. But we will have to eventually, okay?”

Connor nodded and crawled back into Evans lap. He laid his head on his chest, using Evans heartbeat to calm him down.

Evan once again wrapped his arms around Connor. His heart still stung, but he was sure to keep it beating steadily so Connor could relax.

Neither one knew who fell asleep first.

Evan woke up the next morning to a strand of pink hair in his mouth. “What the fuck?” Evan asked. He pulled the hair out of his mouth, not realizing it was still attached to the owner.

“Ow!” Connor yelped and rubbed his scalp. He opened his eyes, taking in the sight of Evans face just a few centimeters from his. “Morning,” he smiled.

Evan also noticed this fact as his heart rate sped up. “Morning,” he said. Before any other words were exchanged, Connors bedroom door was slammed open.

“Good morning, boys!” Cynthia smiled as she walked in. Evan turned away from Connor to face her as the taller boy quickly slipped his arms under the blankets to hide his bandages. “What’re we feeling today? Pancakes or waffles?”

Evan shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. Connor?”

Connor smiled brightly at his mom. “Pancakes with sprinkles?”

Cynthia nodded. “Sure thing! I’ll get right on those. They’ll be ready in ten,” she said before walking back out the door, closing it on her way.

Evan turned back to Connor. “Let’s find you a sweatshirt to cover those up,” he said and got out of bed. He went to Connors closet and looked for the biggest sweatshirt he owned. That way, it could slip over his hands to cover his knuckles and it wouldn't squeeze the bandages on his arms.

Finally, Evan found a big blue one and tossed it to his friend. Connor quickly slipped it on and stood up. “You wanna go get the pancakes now?”

“Sure,” Evan replied. Before Connor could walk away, Evan grabbed his hand. “After breakfast, let’s go for a walk, okay?”

Connor nodded and held Evans hand, walking out of the room and down the stairs. He waved at Zoe who was eating some pancakes at the table. “Morning, Zoe!”

Zoe nodded at them. “Morning.” She looked at their intertwined hands and shot Evan a questioning glance. Evan felt his face turn slightly pink, but didn’t let go.

After an artery clogging breakfast, with a few suggestive looks from Zoe to Evan, the pair of friends went on their walk. They clasped hands while wandering the quiet neighborhood, headed towards the nearby forest trails. As they got deeper into the forest, Evan spoke up. “Connor, can you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Connor questioned, smiling at the scenery.

“Tell me what shit made you think you couldn’t live anymore,” Evan explained.

Connor sighed and stopped in the middle of the trees. He stood silent for a few moments, using Evans hand to keep him grounded. “Just…everything. I’m a freak, Evan. People like me are freaks. Does it sound like a seventeen year old boy should love cotton candy and rainbows and anything cute? My dad is so disappointed in me, my mom calls me her daughter to her new friends, and Zoe…gosh, Zoe can’t even be seen with me anymore,” he explained. Connor wiped some tears from his face, careful not to hurt his already damaged hand. “I don’t even know why you stick around with me. I’m obviously a nuisance, so why keep on hanging out with me? You’re only hurting yourself by staying my friend.”

Evan frowned and, without thinking, wrapped Connor up in a tight hug. “Connor, don’t you ever say you’re a fucking freak again, okay? You’re the most amazing person I know and if no one else in this shitty world can see that, then they don’t deserve to have you, got it?” Evan felt his stomach untwist slightly when Connor hugged him back. “And it’s my decision if I want to be your friend. I don’t give a fuck about what you might think, but you’re my best friend and you’re staying my best friend till the end of fucking time. Got it?”

Connor let out a small laughed and nodded. “Yeah. Got it.”

The pair stood in silence for a few minutes, hugging each other like the world depended on it. Evan was the first to speak up. “If you ever get thoughts like that again, call me, okay? I’ll drop everything I’m doing and fucking sprint if I have to to get you.”

The tall boy smiled. “Okay. Thank you, Ev,” Connor said and pulled away, grabbing Evan’s hand once again.

Evan nodded in response. They continued their walk through the forest, silently, but content in each other presence.

#deh #dear evan hansen #evan hansen #connor murphy #emo!evan #pastel!connor #evan x connor #evan hansen x connor murphy #tree bros #convan #cotton candy and hunters au #zoe murphy #i think those are all the tags i need?#yeah #i-also-write #do you have one in blue?

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qqueenofhades · 7 years ago

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the tangled web of fate we weave: ix

part viii/AO3.

For a very long moment, Lucy struggles to discern what the sensible, rational response in this situation would be. Not that that is remotely pertinent to her actions anymore, but she still has to make the effort. How did Emma know they were here? Has she been looking for Lucy (and Flynn) on Rittenhouse’s behalf ever since the Great Gala Jailbreak? There were certainly more convenient moments to approach her, if so – not here in frigging Philadelphia when she’s decided she can’t do this anymore. But Emma does look genuinely distressed and apologetic, and Lucy’s caretaker instinct surfaces: a student has come to her with a problem, needs to talk it through. After another moment when she wonders if she should yell for Flynn, and decides that absolutely no good can come of it, she repeats, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. It’s a long story.” Emma glances at her diffidently, notices her tears, and frowns. “Are you okay? I ran into you pretty hard.”

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s not – not that.” Lucy wipes her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. “How did you find – me?”

“I talked to your friend Wyatt, back in San Francisco,” Emma says. “On Saturday. Got a flight out, and here I am. Is Garcia Flynn here?”

Lucy flinches. “What – if he was, what would you want with him?”

“I need to talk to him.” Emma shrugs. “Wyatt suggested he might be helpful. Here at the University of Pennsylvania – I think I know what you’re trying to do. Just got turned down trying to access the Rittenhouse collections, didn’t you?”

“How did – ” Lucy opens and shuts her mouth, suspicious instincts flaring up instead. “What, have you been following me? Spying? We talked at the gala, I know you’re one of them!”

Emma raises both hands, then uses them to slowly open her sleek leather jacket and show Lucy that it’s empty. “Easy, princess. Look, no gun, none of that. I’m not here to help Rittenhouse. I’m here because I’m trying to get away from them.”

That, despite herself, catches Lucy off guard. She figured that Rittenhouse’s members were as fanatically devoted to it as any other cult, and sure, there’s probably a job perk or two – money, influence, knowledge, power, the sell-your-soul-for-a-teeny-little-price infernal bargain that goes back to Faustus and Mephistopheles. They didn’t seem like the kind of people troubled by second thoughts, in other words, but she supposes that doesn’t mean that they don’t exist. Just made to conveniently disappear, or forced to shun their entire family – like the “Suppressive Persons” principle in Scientology, where you can’t talk to your loved ones if they don’t appreciate you becoming a marching disciple of Xenu. Does Rittenhouse have a Sea Org? Probably. They must not know about Emma’s desertion plans, or do they?

At any rate, it’s unhappily clear that this is a question beyond Lucy’s pay grade. She really does not want to turn around and walk back to Flynn, especially less than ten minutes after telling him to get professional help and that he was on his own, but if Emma really is here to turn on Rittenhouse, it could be the break that they need. Besides, that old impulse to be nice, Lucy Good Girl Preston, has once more made its reappearance. Emma came quite a long way and took considerable risks to do it. She should at least get a proper hearing out.

Lucy wavers a moment more. Then she says, “All right. Come on.”

Emma walks next to her as they start back down the path, as Lucy tries to resist the urge to ask what exactly Wyatt said about her (or Flynn). Finally, as casually as she can, she says, “So you saw Wyatt in San Francisco?”

“He turned up there, yeah.” Emma glances sidelong at her. “Came all the way to Mason Industries. Seemed pretty determined.”

“Mason – right, you work there.” Lucy remembers that, and telling Flynn while they were hurtling down the dark road. “So he’s still on the case?”

“Looks like it. Also, if I had to guess, behind his bosses’ backs. Freaked Connor the hell out.” Emma laughs shortly. “Then again, Connor – but no. I shouldn’t talk about this here.”

That makes Lucy glance to either side, as if armed Matrix henchmen might be rushing up to apprehend them, but she sees nothing out of the ordinary for a normal Tuesday morning on a busy university campus. It occurs to her to wonder what to do if Flynn has done a bunk or run back to Van Pelt for another go (or to aggressively persuade the librarian to hand over the books and nobody gets hurt), but they round a corner and there he is, still standing where Lucy left him. His never-ending whirl of energy and (mostly bad) ideas and anger seems to have momentarily run dry, as if he never considered that they weren’t going to do this as partners, that he’s, as the saying goes, S.O.L. Then he looks up and sees her walking back toward him, third party in tow, and the expression on his face is almost comical. And then, he apparently remembers where he recognizes Emma from, and it goes thunderous.

“Easy.” Emma pulls open her jacket again. “There. Not carrying. Can you say the same?”

Flynn clearly can’t (Lucy saw him take his gun out of the suitcase this morning), but this at least throws him enough for Emma to take over the conversation first. “Yes,” she says, before Flynn can recover. “You saw me at the Rittenhouse party, I’m guessing, when you had the brilliant idea to sneak in and grab Lucy. Cahill was furious. I think he fired his entire security team. Ruined their stock options, too.”

“Good,” Flynn manages, after another dumbstruck moment, while Lucy is still wanting to know what exactly Rittenhouse stock options are. “Serves the bastard right.”

“I agree.” Emma smiles faintly. “Cahill’s a pompous asshole who thinks he’s a lot smarter than he is. We all could have told him that popping up in your secret daughter’s life after twenty-seven years incommunicado and promising her that she too can join the Evil Empire isn’t a great plan. Is that what you’re doing here? Investigating Rittenhouse?”

Flynn hesitates. He half-puts out an arm toward Lucy, as if to shield her, then drops it. Finally he says grumpily, “Yes.”

“Thought so. Whose idea was this?”

“Mine,” Lucy says, without stopping to think it over. It might be more convenient to let Flynn take the blame for it, since he was the one who dragged them out here (well, he didn’t quite drag, she did choose to come along, at least until he started with the time travel business – perhaps she should warn Emma that Flynn is possibly clinically insane and not liable to be much help, but the words don’t come). “I put the pieces together about David Rittenhouse and where he used to teach, and I thought there might be something here.”

“Clever.” Emma eyes her approvingly, almost in a way that makes Lucy wonder if she’s hitting on her, and if she would mind if she was. “And as a matter of fact, you’re right. There are plenty of Rittenhouse papers here. I could probably get you in.”

“We tried,” Lucy admits. “They wanted an appointment.”

“Well.” Emma shrugs again. “I can deal with that. Well? You in?”

Flynn has been regarding her narrowly, as if trying to find the words for a thought he can’t quite articulate. Then he says, “Why are you helping us?”

“Because,” Emma says, “I have full expectation of being helped in return. As I said to your girlfriend, I want away from them. You’re in the NSA, or at least you were. I’m figuring you can give me something a little more substantial than the witness-protection starter kit that Logan was offering. New identity, new placement, possibly somewhere outside the States. I was thinking London. I’d like to live in London.”

“It rains a lot.” Flynn has continued to watch her carefully. “Not much like California.”

“I think I can adjust.” Emma tilts her chin back. “We could make it look legit. Connor Mason’s from there, after all. He has plenty of satellite corporations and partner enterprises in the City. I could even keep my day job, just pretend to be hired on as a new employee. So?”

Flynn is quiet. Lucy can hear him debating whether to disclose that he’s not really an NSA agent anymore, that his employment status is – to say the least – murky, and that even if he did promise, there’s not any guarantee that he could carry it through. But if that is all it would take – tell Emma to buy an umbrella and start watching Doctor Who, and she’ll spirit them into the Rittenhouse archives – is he really going to do that?

It turns out, indeed, that the answer is yes. Flynn pauses a final moment, then jerks his head in a terse nod and holds out his hand. “Fine.”

Emma smiles, shakes it, and gives Flynn just enough of a look to make the jealousy in Lucy’s chest, just about (but not quite) tamped down, flare its green-eyed snout out for another sniff. Emma is based in the Bay Area, after all – is this who he spent the night with? He seems genuinely surprised to see her, as well as learning that she wants to turn on Rittenhouse, and they’re not acting like two people who had a secret dirty hookup just a few nights ago. But since Flynn has been so utterly obtuse about it, and Lucy is so utterly in the dark, she is scrambling for any clue or possibility, even while reminding herself that it is stupid. Emma gave her a look kind of like that too, after all. Maybe she’s just really excited about getting away from Rittenhouse. Which is entirely possible.

Emma leads the way with a confident stride as they climb the steps of Van Pelt. Lucy wonders what the librarian is going to make of them, turning up hopefully again barely an hour after being bounced the first time, but she doesn’t have to wonder for long. They head inside, Emma asks to speak to someone managerial-sounding, and a balding, middle-aged man with an institutional ID around his neck is apparently delighted to see her. He does look briefly squiggly-eyed when Emma introduces her friends – is Lucy being paranoid, or has he been tipped to be on the lookout for someone matching their description? – but it is quickly smoothed over. Yes, he would be happy to fetch up any boxes they want. Did Ms. Whitmore have something particularly in mind?

For the first time since Lucy walked off in tears, she and Flynn glance at each other, though she isn’t sure what is communicated in it. This is certainly an improvement over their last aborted attempt, and Emma has an air about her that feels as if you should just make it easier on yourself and do what she says. The archivist scurries off to get their boxes, and once they’re in the private reading room, Lucy says, “You must know these people pretty well.”

“I’ve worked my way up.” Emma evidently catches the implicit question in this. “You don’t entirely trust me, do you?”

“It seems a little convenient,” Lucy admits. “That you’ve turned up now.”

“Any more than you agreeing to come out here with him?” Emma turns an amused eye on Flynn, who is once more impersonating a piece of classical statuary. “We all have our reasons for wanting Rittenhouse taken down, don’t we? Trust me, if I was still working for them, I wouldn’t have let you get within sniffing distance of this place. There’s stuff here that even some of the long-term members haven’t seen. Tell me, Lucy, have you ever heard of Nicholas Keynes?”

“No.” Lucy’s startled. “Should I have?”

“You tell me.” Emma arches an eyebrow. “Anyway, he was killed in 1918 – World War I, Saint-Mihiel, France. It was a huge loss for Rittenhouse, apparently. He was some kind of mastermind for them, wrote reams and reams about how to reform the world and redesign humanity in a new image. The kind of eugenics soft-fascism screed that was really popular for everyone until Hitler came along and ruined it. Some of his stuff might be here.”

That sends a cold chill down Lucy’s spine, though she’s not even sure why. She glances at Flynn again. He hasn’t been rushing to bust out his “time travel!!!” theory in front of Emma, so either he realizes it’s cracked, or he doesn’t want Emma to likewise decide he’s too crazy to help. Not that that really seems to constrain Flynn otherwise, given what he’s been busting out on Lucy on a regular basis, but still.

After a few more minutes, the archivist returns with several boxes, which prove to contain some of David Rittenhouse’s original papers. Lucy can’t help a historian’s frisson of delight – she loves old books and obscure archives and handling the documents that people so many centuries before you (or three, in this case) touched, knowing that they survived this long and you’re looking at what they made with their own hands. She thanks the archivist, who sees himself out with half a bow, then shuts the door, and she, Flynn, and Emma start to dig.

Of the three of them, Lucy is by far the most experienced at reading elaborate eighteenth-century handwriting; both Flynn and Emma are quickly looking a little cross-eyed. It’s undoubtedly interesting, if not as immediately enlightening as they were hoping. A lot of Rittenhouse’s scientific and astronomical notes, and sketched models for his orrery, or model of the universe, that’s still in Penn’s collections. A copy of his lecture to the American Philosophical Society in February 1775, which so impressed the founding fathers that they ordered it distributed at the Constitutional Convention. Some correspondence between Rittenhouse and famous and non-famous parties – Lucy catches her breath when she sees one from Thomas Jefferson, even though Jefferson was definitely a jerk. But nothing referencing an Illuminati-esque secret society bent on taking over the world, and she starts to wonder if ol’ Dave Rittenhouse actually had anything to do with it. Maybe it really was a bunch of creepy ideologues borrowing his name and some of his ideas about time and fate.

An hour or so passes, as Lucy keeps diligently searching. Flynn is working on a stack of newspapers, and Emma is turning through a folder labeled J. Rittenhouse, which seems to be David’s son – that’s weird, Lucy didn’t recall him having one, though she doesn’t keep a close track on that kind of thing. Finally, when she’s pretty sure that she’s had at least a preliminary look through everything, she straightens up. “I’m not sure this is it.”

“These are only a few boxes,” Emma says. “The full collection is much bigger. We could keep looking.”

“There has to be something.” Flynn throws down the newspapers rather harder than one should for a lot of delicate historical documents. “This is taking too long!”

Lucy bites her cheek, wanting to point out that if Flynn thinks one morning of trawling through archives without finding what you want is too much, he is definitely not cut out to be a historian. Still, either they can try to read more of this, or they can try… well, something else. She looks back at Emma. “Did Rittenhouse purge these documents? Probably, right? They wouldn’t have kept anything around where some random researcher could find it, even if the odds were low. Is there some other archive?”

“Look,” Emma says. “I am telling you everything I know. I can ask if there are other boxes that the archivist is keeping back, or – ”

“No.” Flynn stands up, knocking the desk. “This isn’t working. We need to try something else. What you said earlier – Keynes, Nicholas Keynes. Where’s the material on him?”

“I’m not sure,” Emma replies. “I only said I thought it might be here, I don’t know if it is. But we need to be careful. I can open a lot of doors, but not all of them. If Rittenhouse gets wind that I’m poking around in the dark underbelly of things, they could get tipped off, and – ”

“Are you going to be useful or not?”

Emma blinks. “Excuse me? I’m the one who came here and tried to – ”

“Yes, well, I didn’t ask Wyatt Logan to give out my whereabouts like I’m some sort of rest home for stray Rittenhouse runaways! So how about you come up with an idea, or – ”

“Wow,” Emma says bitingly. “So I’m only worth having around if I’m immediately useful, not because I’m on the run from an incredibly evil organization that will take both of us down the instant they get the first chance, and I’m already doing everything I can to help you. Good to know. Real winner you’ve got here, Lucy.”

It is on the tip of Lucy’s tongue to inform the other woman that they are not together, that Flynn has been doing everything short of lighting himself on fire to forestall the possibility, but that is also not Emma’s business either way. Instead she says, “Squabbling about this is not going to help. Emma, is there any way for you to see if they have the Keynes stuff without setting off too many alarm bells? Maybe have them bring up another Rittenhouse box, just to be thorough, but it’s probably already been censored.”

Emma considers, then tips a shoulder. “Fine. I’ll go back down and ask. But if something does go sideways, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With that, she strides to the reading room door and lets herself out, shutting it with not-quite-a-bang behind her. That leaves Lucy and Flynn alone together for the first time since she ended it (the professional relationship, if you can call it that) this morning. Did that, and yet look, here they are, back together. As if they can’t escape each other’s gravitational pull no matter how hard they try, as if there is some invisible tether yanking them back together. It’s not clear if either of them appreciate it, or if this “somehow destined toward each other” thing is a hell of a lot more trouble than it’s worth. Lucy could do with being able to walk away from him, just once. See how it goes. Not that the three-odd weeks in which they were apart after the shooting were that great, in the least. But still.

Neither of them seem keen to break the silence, staring fixedly at the far wall. Finally Flynn says, “If she can find the papers on Keynes, then what? Can we just – ”

Lucy holds up a hand. She doesn’t know that she’s surprised that he’s still barreling full speed ahead to what looks like a truly spectacular fiery crash, but she can’t in good faith stand by and let it happen. “Can we back up from that for a minute? For several minutes? This morning, remember, when you came out with the ridiculous time travel thing? Emma works at Mason Industries. You can just ask her. I’m not saying it’s not something that a cutting-edge spec-tech company might try, but. . . Garcia. Please.”

Flynn looks at her for a long moment. There are clearly any number of things he could say to that. Because he’s Flynn, apparently, he selects the least helpful. “So what? This is only possible if it happens with things you know about? Haven’t we established that you don’t? You don’t know, Lucy. So why pretend you do?”

Lucy’s cheeks flame. “That’s what you’re going with? I try to help, I try to take you seriously when you sound more like a paranoid ranting lunatic all the time, and instead of acknowledging this or giving me any solid reason to believe you, you’ll just keep acting like a total – ”

“How is this my fault now? Emma’s here, she’s told you that Rittenhouse are exactly as bad as we thought or worse, so what do you need – an itemized receipt? Or do you never actually intend to believe that I could possibly – ”

“It’s not that I don’t believe Rittenhouse is bad, it’s that I don’t believe – for obvious reasons, I might add – that time travel has anything to do with it, or that you should be working this again when you already almost got killed, or that you’re going to just – you know what. I don’t care. I don’t care. Suit yourself.”

Flynn’s eyes glitter. He does that thing with his tongue that he – well, that he really just should not be allowed to do, especially right now. Echoing her own words deliberately back at her, he says, “That’s what you’re going with?”

Lucy’s flush deepens. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean.” Flynn shrugs. “Considering the looks you’ve been giving me. Or are we also pretending those don’t exist?”

For a moment, for two, for several, Lucy is totally speechless. She isn’t sure what she’s more furious about – that he’s taken note of her thinly disguised jealousy and is using it against her, or that she’s almost pleased he did. Not that he’s being a dick, but that is just Flynn’s everyday, ordinary operation. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet. She has had it up to here, and she takes a step, then another, advancing on him like a big-game hunter. “If by that little crack, you mean that it’s bothered me that you’ve gone to all this trouble to get me to help you, then start acting as if I don’t exist or you can’t say a sensible word to me, then – then yes! Just tell me, just tell me, why you’re so convinced that we’re some sort of – ”

“I’m trying to explain!” Flynn shouts back at her. “I’m trying to explain, but it’s insane, it’s insane, and if you’re just going to act like a – ”

“Act like a what, exactly – or am I somehow the only one in denial about what’s – ”

They’re almost nose to nose despite the height difference, Lucy almost on her tiptoes, head craned back in order to look him in the eye, even as her utterly unhelpful Nice Girl brain chimes in yet again to remind her that she should not be shouting in a library, even one where they are currently alone in the room. Honestly, she wants to reach out with both hands and shove Flynn in the chest, not that she’s likely to dislodge him at all, but it might be worth it to see him off guard, even for a split second. But if she does that, she’s not altogether sure what would happen next. There is too much bottled up between them, and this is as far from the place or time as could be imagined. Yet her exasperation has run over, and she needs to do something more than just shout at him, needs to –

Lucy pushes at him, and Flynn catches her, his large hand almost swamping her slender wrist. It’s clear that he’s not going to get without giving just as good, but it feels like fire shooting down her entire body, rooting her feet to the floor. She wriggles like a fish on a hook, almost whimpers – she’s practically in his arms and his free hand comes up to cup her face and the look on his own – it’s not about goading her, it’s not about scoring points off her jealousy or whatever the hell this nuclear disaster of a human being thought he was doing earlier. He looks as if he’s caught lightning in his bare hands, as if that is why the world turns on its axis and how the stars align, as if he can’t believe he is actually touching her, and nothing about this man makes sense, and yet –

Lucy grabs at his head, hauling his obnoxious skyscraper ass closer to hers, completely out of patience or desire to pretend that she doesn’t want to find out, at least once, what they were about to have on that first night, before everything got knocked off track and arguably has never gotten back on. One of his arms is around her and the other still has hold of her wrist and he lifts her and her mouth is opening, raw and hungry, and –

There is a click at the door as it opens, a marked silence, and a very pointed cough and throat-clearing. “So. . . I should just come back later, then?”

Lucy and Flynn are too entangled to let go of each other immediately, but they try, managing to spring apart after only a belated instant of sorting out whose limbs belong to who. Emma is standing there with a box in her arms and both eyebrows arched as high as they will go, as if it’s a good thing she walked in here if Van Pelt Library did not want its nice old tables banged upon like rabbits. (Not that they would have, but – Lucy’s legs feel weak and she doesn’t dare look at Flynn and her heart is hammering in her ears.) Emma continues to regard them archly as they weakly shuffle several more paces apart, then says, “Well, I don’t know if this is useful or not, but it’s what they had. Should we take a look, or is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

“No,” Lucy blurts out. “We’re fine. We’re ready.”

Emma carts the box over to the table, pulls it open, and they start to dig. It’s old journals and thin sheets of onionskin-fine paper, covered in the same strong, slanting black handwriting. There’s a black-and-white photo of a young man, presumably Nicholas Keynes, in a World War I uniform, holding a blonde baby girl who looks briefly, glancingly familiar, though Lucy has no idea why. It’s poignant to think that he never made it home, went off to die on the killing fields of France like so many other young men. Is that his daughter? Did she grow up wondering what happened to him, or did she always know?

“Lucy?” Flynn says. “Lucy!”

“Sorry.” She jumps. “I’m awake. I – just.” She can’t believe she’s the one asking this, but before she follows either of them any further down this rabbit hole, and since Flynn clearly isn’t going to bring it up, she is going to have to be the one to bite the bullet. Hopefully not literally. “Emma, is Mason Industries working on. . . is there anything you know of about them trying to invent. . . a time machine?”

She cringes even as it’s coming out of her mouth, ready to be laughed out of the reading room, but Emma doesn’t react as if it’s a joke. Indeed, her eyes and mouth both go narrow, she looks as if she definitely did not see that coming but not for the reasons you’d think, and cocks her head to one side. Then she says, “Who told you that?”

“I did,” Flynn bulls in, completely blowing to hell any idea Lucy had about protecting him by not bringing him up (she doesn’t know why, but she’s done it consistently for a while now, and it’s just habit, ill-advised or not). “Well?”

Emma laughs, but with somewhat less humor than previously. “Aren’t you two a pair of eager beavers. Very well, yes. Connor Mason has been working on the prototype for at least the last five years. Probably longer, I don’t know. He used to just be able to send quarks and other sub-atomic particles, but he graduated to vertebrates, then to midsize mammals, and he’s finally gotten to the place where he’s ready to try human subjects. I told you that I did advanced software testing, Lucy. Remember?”

That rocks Lucy almost physically onto her heels. It’s one thing to have Flynn running off at the mouth about a time machine, but to then hear it from someone else – someone who seems, to all appearances, sane, well-adjusted, professional, and with no apparent reason to lie about it – is altogether something else. “I – I’m sorry,” she manages. “You do – is that what you do? Test runs in a time machine? Isn’t that – isn’t that dangerous?”

“Of course it’s dangerous.” Emma seems slightly surprised that she has to ask. “We’ve lost half a dozen people already. Others returned with mental problems, seizures, missing limbs – it’s a regular Dr. Frankenstein’s nightmare lab in there, sometimes. I’m one of the lucky ones, I’m good at my job. It’s something, let me tell you.”

“You’re. . .” Lucy feels choked, faint, reaches out reflexively for Flynn’s arm. “You’re telling me that you’ve traveled through time?”

“Only briefly. I haven’t been allowed out of the Mothership. Just jump back, hold it – I think the longest I’ve managed is two minutes – and then return to the present. One of these days, though, one of us is going to open the door and step out. Probably Anthony, it’s his brainchild as much as Connor’s.” Emma looks somewhat gratified at the effect that this is having on both of them – even Flynn seems floored, much as he’s trying to play it cool. “Actually visit the past. A historian like you, Lucy, you can’t tell me you’re not interested.”

Lucy keeps opening and shutting her mouth, making noises like a stepped-on bladder. Finally she succeeds in, “Why? How can this – surely this can’t be legal?”

“What do you mean?” Emma clearly doesn’t understand. “Was it illegal for us to try to get to the moon, into space? Astronauts died, plenty of them, but the ultimate goal, the success, was worth it. Humans always want to go places they’ve never been before. If they die on the adventure, well, that happens. That’s not illegal.”

Lucy supposes she’s right, but this isn’t like kayaking down the Amazon or trying to climb Mount Everest or whatever else. History is her field of study, her specialty, her love – but it’s in the past, it’s comfortingly solid (at least in one sense), and it’s the reason you don’t wake up some morning and find that all of known reality has shifted out from under you. Things happened one way, not another, and that is just how the cookie crumbles. It might be arbitrary, it might be irrational, it might be – as Flynn said in their argument back in her apartment – scared animals making stupid choices, but they’re still done, solidified, over with. The possibility of messing with that is very, very dangerous.

“Why does anyone need a time machine?” Lucy says at last. “What would they possibly do with it? Rittenhouse – is Rittenhouse planning on. . .?” A creepy cult is one thing. A creepy cult with the chance to control all time and space is. . . not even nightmarish seems to fit. Jesus. Flynn is right. He’s right, he’s not crazy (or at least if he believes this, it’s because someone even crazier has claimed it first). He’s not actively or maliciously misleading her, he’s. . . as insane as this is, and putting aside the entire question of whether it is actually the case, he’s trying to tell her the truth as he sees it. He isn’t lying about this, or at least not consciously. And Lucy has no idea what to do with that.

“I don’t know what they want with it,” Emma says. “That’s Connor’s department, not mine. I just run the tests they tell me.”

“And what?” Flynn growls. “You’ve never told Rittenhouse that your other employer just happened to invent a time machine? When this would be the exact sort of thing they’d kill their own grandmothers to get a hold of?”

“They might know something about it.” Emma’s fingers tap on the edge of the Nicholas Keynes box. “Not from me, though. Connor has all sorts of cozy ties with them, they��ve funded his work for years. Very generously.”

Flynn’s nostrils flare. He turns sharply on his heel and stalks the length of the reading room, then back, like a zoo tiger in a too-small cage. “Brilliant,” he spits at last. “So it’s true. Rittenhouse are about to have a time machine of their very own, and that imbecile Mason is in it up to the hilt. How far is it from completion?”

“It’s in the testing phase, like I said.” Emma eyes him carefully, as if to judge the likelihood that he will burst out of here and go full Incredible Hulk. “It’s nowhere near out of beta. I’ve come back from my test jumps because I’m good. Not everyone does. It has to be at least a few years away from full functionality, we still have to invent half the technology we need to complete it properly. It’s incredibly complicated theoretical physics and mechanical engineering, you can’t just put out an ad on Craigslist for the kind of people you need to work on it. But if we can disrupt Rittenhouse beforehand, it doesn’t matter.”

Flynn stares back at her. His gaze flicks between the box on the table, to Lucy, then back to Emma, as if he’s trying to work something out – what exactly, Lucy can’t be sure, but given his track record, not likely to be anything good. Finally, he whirls on his heel and starts toward the door, without a glance back at the Nicholas Keynes papers he was so adamant that they fetch, and Lucy runs after him. “Flynn. Flynn! Where are you –?”

“We’re wasting time in here,” Flynn snaps. “We’re done.”

“I just went to get these damn things,” Emma says. “Now you’re doing a bunk on me without even looking at them?”

“What other homework do we need to do? I think we’ve heard plenty about who these people are and what they want! You’re the one who’s good at this, if that’s what you want to do. Me, well, I have something else.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” This might be a fool’s errand, but Lucy doesn’t care. She takes a few more steps after him, reaching for his arm, turning him toward her. “Garcia, don’t – ”

He looks at her as if he never wants to stop, as if he is memorizing her. His brow is drawn and dark, his lips thin, his eyes shadowed. It’s as if he has suddenly felt the weight of whatever he has decided on, and is struggling to understand if it is worth bearing. Then, almost gently, he pulls his arm out of her grasp. “Goodbye, Lucy.”

This is an extremely dramatic and frankly, incredibly extra thing to say, especially since Lucy wasn’t even aware that this was a farewell until he did. She stares at him, words caught in her throat, and just then, hears footsteps behind her. Emma’s voice says in her ear, “How about everyone just calm down.”

Lucy would like to point out that she’s calm, she’s very calm – well, she’s not, her mind is racing, she doesn’t quite understand what Flynn was about to do, but she’s not coming unglued. Then she feels the slight prick of something at the side of her neck, which she doesn’t understand, and starts to turn. “Emma, what are you – ”

“Everyone calm down,” Emma repeats. Her hand catches Lucy’s wrist, lithe and strong. Lucy can feel another prick under her right ear, sees a brief glint of metal in the ceiling light and – she can’t look to be sure, but she has the sudden and overwhelming impression that Emma is holding a box cutter to her jugular vein. She can, however, see Flynn’s face, and it’s gone white and frozen. What is – what is –

“Easy,” Emma says. “One thing at a time. You. Flynn. You have a gun on you?”

Flynn’s head jerks up once, then down.

“Thought so. Now, take it out of your jacket and slide it over here with your foot. Very carefully. No sudden moves.”

“Emma,” Lucy manages, feeling the razor-sharp edge of the blade rasp against her skin. This has all turned on its head too fast to be believed. “Emma, what are you – ”

“Sorry, princess,” Emma says. “But I can’t let your boyfriend do what I’m pretty sure he was just about to do. I thought we were getting along. I was really helping you out, you know. Not my fault you decided to be difficult.”

“You’re not here to turn on Rittenhouse,” Flynn says, voice a rasp. “Are you.”

“We’ll leave it up to debate what I’m doing, and for who.” Emma’s tone remains light, offhand. “Not something we need to get into right now. Anyway, as I was saying. Your gun?”

Flynn’s eyes burn holes through both of them. Emma makes a pointed little jab with the tip of the box cutter, and Lucy can feel a bead of blood roll down her neck. Flynn looks like the entire world has gone out from under him, as he slowly undoes his jacket, reaches in, and removes the gun, setting it on the floor and sliding it over. Emma puts her foot on it, never taking her eyes off him, as she can clearly sense that he is waiting for a split-second of distracted attention to try to charge her. She pulls Lucy down with her, using her as a shield, to pick up the gun and stow it in her own jacket, then straightens up. Transfers the box cutter deftly into her other hand and takes hold of Lucy’s as if they are in fact just gal pals, pressing the blade against the inside of her wrist. If Lucy tries to pull away too fast, or otherwise tries something funny, she will open the vein there, and bleed out within a few minutes.

“Well,” Emma says pleasantly. “Let’s take a ride.”

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #timeless ff #the tangled web of fate we weave

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libralita · 7 years ago

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Title: Before the Devil Breaks You

Author: Libba Bray

Summary:

New York City. 1927. Lights are bright. Jazz is king. Parties are wild. And the dead are coming...

After battling a supernatural sleeping sickness that early claimed two of their own, the Diviners have had enough of lies. They're more determined than ever to uncover the mystery behind their extraordinary powers, even as they face off against an all-new terror. Out on Ward's Island, far from the city's bustle, sits a mental hospital haunted by the lost souls of people long forgotten--ghosts who have unusual and dangerous ties to the man in the stovepipe hat, also known as the King of Crows.

With terrible accounts of murder and possession flooding in from all over, and New York City on the verge of panic, the Diviners must band together and brave the sinister ghosts invading the asylum, a fight that will bring them fact-to-face with the King of Crows. But as the explosive secrets of the past come to light, loyalties and friendships will be tested, love will hang in the balance, and the Diviners will question all that they've ever known. All the while, malevolent forces gather from every corner in a battle for the very soul of a nation--a fight that could claim the Diviners themselves.

Rating: ★★★★★

Review:

This was a step up from the last book but there were still some problems. I felt like the Diviners were kind of being brats to Will and Walker. These two are the only people who know what the hell they’re doing and for part of the book they’re just dicking around. But other than that I really enjoyed this book.

Everything was going wrong for the characters. They’re starting to hit their lowest moments and we’re getting ready for probably the final book. I didn’t even mind the back and forth between Evie, Jericho and Sam. It felt natural and not annoying. I like Evie’s interactions with boy guys. This was just a really fun if flawed book in a fun if flawed series.

Why does it have to be a creepy asylum?

“Pack up you troubles in your old kit bag, and smile, smile, smile!”—Page 6

Nopenopenope.

“Not everyone here knows the story, Evie,”—Page 11

Plus we gotta recap since there was like a two year gap between books 2 and 3.

We must create Will Fitzgerald’s School for Gifted Youngsters!

Nothing says friend of the working class like being stuck up snobs.

Sarah Snow and Harriet Henderson, what are they part of the Alliteration Association?

“The Metaphys—needle thing—is all fine and dandy. But what about weapons? What do you have that get rids of ghosts? Is there a Jake Marlowe ghost container lying around somewhere?”—Page 54

Who yah gonna call? Ghostbusters!

Aw, Will and Evie are having a family moment. Evie’s great when she’s not being…bratty.

“Will dunked a cookie half into his cup while Evie watched in fascinated revulsion. She wrinkled her nose.”—Page 67

What? Dunking your cookies into milk is like a standard thing.

“‘I don’t know where he is,’ Sister Walker said with a note of sadness. ‘He left us one day. We never saw him again.’”—Page 68

Heh…about that….

There’s flashbacks to Will’s days in the DoP which was interesting.

“He was a magician involved with the occult. He performed pagan ceremonies in the basement.”—Page 101

I’m sure that won’t be important at all.

Don’t be fire Theta, be light.

150 dollars is 2,046 dollars a week! Jesus Christ.

“‘What you did, that was terrorism.’ Arthur’s eyes flashed. ‘What do you call it when they shoot up our camp with machine guns and terrify the workers? Why does no one hold them accountable? Where are the prisons for them, huh?’”—Page 120

Why technically what they’re doing isn’t terrorism because it’s not for a political goal. It’s incredibly shitty and horrible but probably not terrorism. I’d have to know what Arthur and his brother’s intent were to say whether blowing up the factory was terrorism. If it was to incite terror and for a political goal then yeah. The shooters are inciting terror but not really for a political goal.

Don’t do it Mabel.

“Didn’t you have to break the rules to win against the Devil?”—Page 121

You’re dehumanizing your enemy.

“He was thirty-seven years old.”—Page 159

Oh shit.

Aw, the Bennington ghost is nice!

“Ling moved as swiftly as she could. She touched the credenza gingerly. It was still warm. ‘It’s pos-i-tute-ly solid now.’ ‘You’re using the word!’ Henry beamed. ‘I taught her that word, you know.’”—Page 175

I love Henry.

Protect Conor Flynn? Oh! He’s the drawer!

The crops had turned bad…was that the place that Bill destroyed?

“‘Nearly seven thousand,’ the warden said. ‘The asylum was built to house far less than that. And we’ve only a third of the staff we need. We’ve written to the governor countless times. It seems that no one cares about these poor people except us.’”—Page 189

He’s so slime-y.

Let’s sneak around a creepy asylum. What could possibly go wrong?

What’s going on with James?

I bet the men in the gray suits didn’t burn down the town. Theta did.

Roy is alive? Is this just to make Theta not a murderer? I think that’s kind of silly. I don’t know if Roy will be important but I think it would have been better if Theta had to deal with the fact that she killed Roy. We’ll see what Bray does with him in the next book.

It’s the girl who was kidnapped! Why does Jake have her? Is he using Diviner blood to help Jericho?

“I’ve been injecting her with the purification serum for weeks now.”—Page 232

What the fuck? You’ve been getting rid of her “Jewishness”? What the fuck???

Miriam is talking to Connor?

Sleep over at the ghost-filled asylum! Greaaaaaat!

Oh shit, Father Hanlon must’ve molested or raped Conor.

Evie is acting weird…. Oh shit! She’s possessed!

Oh good, they’re all together again!

And now everyone knows that Theta is a Diviner. Also good job Isaiah for ringing the fire alarm.

“‘I’m an ass.’ ‘Well. That’s true.’ ‘Why you gotta be so agreeable?’”—Page 281

I love Henry.

“‘‘Oh, pardon me, I thought you were my pal, Ling. But now that you’re trying to eat my face, I can see I was wrong about that!’’ Ling grimaced. ‘If I were going to eat a face, it would not be yours.’ ‘I’ll have you know my face is quite edible,’ Henry insisted.”—Page 283

I love these two.

Wait, James’s crew of Diviners were holding hands the last time.

“Evie marched up to Will and slapped him hard. ‘How could you? How could you!’”—Page 298

Oh shit.

Y’all are acting like brats. Just shut up and listen to the only two people who know what’s going on.

“She had to end it decisively. Burn it all down. Make him hate her. That was the only way to keep him from coming back. That was the only way to keep him safe.”—Page 302

UGHHHHHHH! In my 20 years of life I have never once been in a situation where the solution was “make the person I love, hate me” was the solution. NEVER.

Theta, dear, you can’t stab Memphis in the heart and then try to talk to him again.

Who ya gonna call? The Diviners. Doesn’t have the same ring to it as Ghostbusters.

Memphis’s mother made a bargain with the King of Crows? Damn. That’s why she didn’t want Memphis to heal her.

Oh no, Bill-Memphis confrontation.

I’m glad that Theta at least is telling someone about Roy but I don’t know if Evie is the best person to tell.

“The whole quest felt more like an elaborate game designed to keep them busy.”—Page 371

Maybe it is.

“The gift is yours. It has chosen you,”—Page 385

I pretty sure Theta just has this gift because of scientific experiment.

“Jericho had no idea what Marlowe was talking about. It really did sound like something from a fantasy novel.”—Page 388

*coughs*

Jericho is talking to Miriam!

“January 25, 1920. Subject deceased.”—Page 406

They’re all died. Chills.

Bountiful, Nebraska. Isn’t that with the creepy girl from Isaiah’s vision.

Is Miriam in the basement?

Diviners blood. At least he’s not completely killing them…hopefully.

Well at least this whole “making Memphis think Theta hate him” thing only lasted 100 pages.

Chapter 51: Horny teenagers.

So Arthur’s just trying to get dirt on Mabel’s parents for the government and the rest of the Secret Six.

Fight fire with fire and see the whole world burn down.

“Twelve dead children, burned to bones, lying on a field in New Jersey because of one man’s greed.”—Page 459

Actually, I’m pretty sure they’d be alive if you hadn’t…y’know BLOWN UP THE MINE.

Hmmm…maybe Sarah Snow is there to sew the doubt in the public’s mind about Diviners. She’s his propaganda generator.

Before the Devil Breaks You…have sex.

OH NO SAM IS KIDNAPPED!

Isaiah saw a vision of the holocaust. I wonder how much these Diviners shenanigans influences the future.

Oh shit, Mabel died. BRAY THIS IS A YOUNG ADULT NOVEL YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO KILL KIND OF MAIN CHARACTERS!

Sarah Snow died, too. Sucks.

After Mabel’s death happened Fight Song by Rachel Platten came on and YEAH THAT DID NOT HELP AT ALL!

So Memphis, Isaiah and Bill are leaving through the underground railroad. Wonder where they’ll end up.

WILL IS DEAD AND DAMMIT BRAY! YOU GOT ME CRYING! DAMMIT! I’M SO MAD THAT EVIE AND HIM NEVER MADE UP. AHHHH!

Is Connor dead? I doubt he is.

I’m a little disappointed that we didn’t get a check in with Jericho about how he was doing before the book end but eh. Oh, he’s going to be so sad when he finds out Will is dead. He could never explain why he went to Marlowe’s.

#before the devil breaks you #Libba Bray #the Diviners #reviewsdaytuesday #2018 Reviews

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enkisstories · 6 years ago

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The android cemetery (Chapter 8)

A city the size of Detroit never really went dark. Even in the abandoned sectors campfires would lit the night in places not even the CyberLife tower’s corona reached. VETA solid waste landfill , however, was situated a little out of town and only lit in places where it was absolutely necessary. The place gave a citydweller an inkling of what the real night was like. A car slipped routinely into the parking lot, effortless, inconspicuous. After it had come to a halt, the human behind the steering wheel loosened the safety belt, then caressed his passenger’s cheek.

“Wake up, slide-rule”, he said softly.

With a barely audible “whirr” the android on the passenger seat snapped out of energy saving mode. It took it some seconds to re-orientate itself.

“Huh? Where… oh.”

“We’re there”, the human behind the steering wheel announced. “The solid waste landfill.”

“Damn! You just had to say it out loud!”

Of course Gavin would have. That mean streak of his didn’t go away just because he had a boyfriend now. And admittedly Daniel was still calling him a pathetic mortal on occasion.

The deviant didn’t bother with touching anything in the car. He mentally overrode the electronic controls, the belt retracted, the door opened and the seat turned clockwise to make exiting the car easier. Once outside however, Daniel grabbed the door and slammed it shut full force with his own hands.

“What’s your gripe?” Gavin prodded while exiting at the car’s opposite side. He circled it until he stood next to his partner. “The Phillips would not have driven you here!”

“Nah”, Daniel agreed. “They’d probably have told me to walk over here, report to the janitor and mail them a receipt of disposal before shutting down myself.”

“The suckers”, Gavin commented, but in a noncommittal way only. The man meant what he was saying, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Here they stood, in form-fitting black clothes and padded vests. Daniel was also wearing his weighted gloves with the retractable claws and carrying an automatic pistol while Gavin had brought a full burglar’s kit. Because one way or another, they needed a PL600 corpse to put into the DPD’s archive in Daniel’s place. Now Gavin would have very much preferred to skewer a legally purchased pre-owned PL600 from the CyberLife store instead of going through the landfill to find a safely dead one. Only that this would have had led to major relationship stress of the kind the man could not afford again for another three months or so.

Human and android sighed in unison. Their gazes drifted along the security fence.

“Fuck, man…” Daniel muttered.

Gavin reached up and clapped his partner on the shoulder.

“Anytime, Danny, anytime”, he said. “But for now – see that fence segment to our left? That doesn’t look as if it could withstand a determined kick.”

“How convenient that’s exactly what I’m feeling like right now!”

Entering the disposal area the men at first were able to follow a well trodden path. To their left and right heaps of garbage were scattered in the landscape like low hills. Each one was separate and with plenty of space between itself and the next one. Of course that would change later, once they got deeper in.

Daniel kicked a plastic bottle that was lying on the ground. As it flew towards the nearest trash heap it span around. For a moment the “Product of Cyberlife” logo was visible on the transparent plastic.

The sight made Gavin stop for a moment. “Saaaaaay, with all the spare parts and thirium that must have piled up here”, he mused aloud, “the place should be crawling with salvagers. I mean, it’s like money lying around.” The thought seemed to both excite and worry the man. “We should proceed with caution!”

“I guess so”, Daniel agreed. “Also they’ll have guards. I wonder… dodge!”

The next thing Gavin knew was getting shoved towards a trash heap and forced down. Next to him Daniel went into kneeling position. The android’s H&K MP7A7 appeared in his hand almost magically. And thus they cowering right next to where they belonged: the trash (as the DPD officers would have claimed, anyway). Daniel’s hand was steady, eyes focused on something in the distance. They were flickering here and there as if following something that constantly changed its position. And then the human noticed it, too: There was movement between the heaps. A shadow here, the rustle of garbage put into motion by something passing by there… It was probably nothing bigger than an electronic car. Everything else would have produced more noise, too. But even a lone PJ500 on nightwatch could spell trouble with a single phonecall to its base. The trespassers kept hunched behind a conglomerate of no longer identifiable objects, not moving, keeping their breath low, watching…

After a while a lone figure emerged from behind a tower made from broken sinks, bathtubs and urinals. It was humanoid, but walking with robotic movements. Every few steps it paused, giving the impression that it needed to remember what came after “right leg”. Eventually the figure stood still. A LED on its temple flickered – red, out, red out, red… It was an android and now the trespassers also noticed the remains of the uniform that went with that status. They could not read the model designation from their hiding place, but the cap and overall suggested an outdoors worker of some kind.

Daniel sheathed his pistol. He wanted to rise, but Gavin tugged at the android’s vest.

“Don’t! That thing isn’t looking too healthy. What if it wants to explode?”

“Nobody “wants” to explode!” Daniel snapped.

As he broke free and hustled towards the damaged android, the LED went out without coming online again. Since no more act of willpower kept it upright, the android slowly keeled over. It crashed on the ground the moment Daniel reached it.

The deviant knelt down. He got out his phone battery pack and connected it to the port in the back of the fallen android’s neck where it did… nothing. The energy was sucked up by the other system, but with no more controlling instance that told it how to use that energy the mechanism remained dormant.

“I do not know what else to try”, Daniel whispered to nobody in particular. He was alone and had already tried everything in his abysmally thin booklet of android first aid knowledge. For all practical purposes the other android was dead.

“There must be something I can do!” Daniel claimed.

If only he could think harder! Put the computing power inside his own head to some use! But right now he felt as dead in there as the fallen park worker android.

“Something!” Daniel pressed the words out. “There just has to be! Something...”

“There isn’t.”

Daniel felt Gavin’s arms around him, the human’s hands grabbing his own, holding them fast.

“I know this must suck”, Gavin said, pressing the other’s hands tighter. “Mourn if you feel like it, but don’t blame yourself!”

Daniel had to believe his partner. Gavin Reed had been a cop and before that a private eye for longer than the android existed. He must have seen his share of similar crap, Daniel thought. Victims found dead in the streets or in their own homes, people dying right before his eyes, sometimes because they fell to the bullets of his co-workers. Tina’s, probably? Or Gavin’s own? His friend had never talked about accidently or deliberately having taken a life, but Daniel didn’t want to rule out the possibility. Good thing Gavin and Tina combined had the empathy of a mechanical herb grinder! Because otherwise they couldn’t have done that job. And right now it also seemed to be a good thing that he himself had quit, although there were days Daniel was missing policework.

“We cannot let… it lie around like that”, Daniel eventually decided.

He looked around, located a turned over armchair and dragged Gavin behind him towards it. The human put it up again, then they moved the shutdown android into the seat. That way, Daniel argued, it would have an easier time getting up should it come to its senses again. Gavin said nothing at first, going along with whatever his partner seemed to need for his mental balance. Only when Daniel asked him to check whether there was still a little thirium in the bottle they had found earlier and get it for him, did the man protest: “What’s next? Leaving our phone number?”

There was no need for that, Daniel knew. The Underground Airline’s contact code should be hidden nearby in some advertisement of VETA’s, the company that managed the landfill. Connor had planted it there, right after the organization had formed. But that particular bit of information wasn’t something Daniel would have entrusted Gavin with. Although the detective had laughed away the network’s existence upon discovering it, there was no telling how he would react to learning more details about the scope of the whole operation. At the moment the detective was all “out of sight, out of mind”, off to Europe with the deviants and be done with the problem at home! But if Gavin Reed realized that every android rescued by the Underground Airline was another soldier to join Markus’s potentially world conquering army all bets might be off. It was safer to not remind him of the network’s existence too often.

“Why was it still active, anyway?” Gavin asked. He sat on the chair’s armrest, arms crossed and scanning the surroundings with his surveillance goggles. “I mean, normally you turn off a device before you throw it away. Do you think someone re-activated the android on purpose?”

Daniel shook his head. “That’s the normal state of this place”, he replied. “Markus told me as much. Maybe lightning gets the androids up and running again or maybe some of them shut down and get sent here, but they weren’t really dead and regain consciousness. Or some kid wants to be cruel… There are many causes.”

Gavin jumped off the armchair. “You mean our municipal landfill is crawling with half-dead androids?!” he shouted.

“Looks like it.”

“Creepy...! And are they fucking everywhere? Or is there an android cemetery somewhere in this dump?”

Daniel shrugged. “I think they have some kind of sorting system here” he ventured, pointing towards the plumbing tower. “There might be all-android sections. During the recall of ’38 alone there must have been thousands of victims.”

“You think they are still around today?”

“Yes.” Daniel gesticulated around vaguely. “Look around you, Gavin! Most of the stuff here doesn’t look as if VETA goes around to harvest still salvageable stuff often. Or even puts much effort into curating what they’ve got. Human wastefulness is our salvation.”

Gavin opened his mouth only to shut it again. He attempted another start, but this time stood gape-jawed for several seconds. Thousands of android bodies? Thousands of very angry androids with easy access to improvised weapons both of the sharp and the bludgeoning variety? This was Daniel’s idea of a sane way to get a PL600 corpse? At this rate he could just have phoned one and asked it to shamble into town nicely come morning! And who guaranteed them that the androids were not planning exactly that? They had a base, they had the materials and they certainly had the brains. Any morning now a fucking army of android zombies could pour into Detroit! This was worse, much worse, then any of the job stealing shit the man had dreaded all those years.

Frantically Gavin looked around for a handy hydraulic press or a shovel dredger. When a quick scan of their immediate vicinity didn’t yield any such mechanism of mass destruction, the man shrugged.

“Let’s look around for a PL600 other than you”, he resigned. “That’s what we’ve come here for, after all.”

“Yeah.”

#non sims #sims4 dbh partfive #detroit become human #sims4danielgavin

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