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weiiraru · 4 months ago

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clicks and whistles | chapter 2

pairing: ulpianus x fem!oc

rating: 18+

warnings: mention of blood

writing notes: oc is not the doctor, but is one of the med bay doctors bc i said so lol, if there are any errors.... you're suddenly blind (unless it's like utter nonsense).

word count: 2,634 words

summary: suddenly sent out on a small research mission, rhea joins ulpianus with the research team.

Making pained noises while standing up after being on the ground for so long, Rhea beat her lower back with her fist. Having organised a pile of files in the archives for the past three hours, she was surprised she was still able to even stand let alone remain functional having sat on the cold hard ground for those three hours.

"The files are all organised at least in the first cabinet," Rhea groaned as she sank into a chair behind her fellow researchers. She felt as if she could melt into the chair as she prayed that no one called her to get up or move. There was no telling, but she felt she could get a little violent if she were made to. "Gods, the chair feels heavenly."

Laughing quietly, her superior nodded in agreement. "I do not envy the pain that your ass had to go through sitting in the archives. Near everyone here has had that experience so we feel for you. Get some rest."

She nodded and slumped further in the seat to only be disturbed by the vibration of her phone slotted in her coat pocket. After a bit of fumbling and lazy maneuvering, Rhea pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped away at the screen to reveal the message on it which had instantly soured her mood, causing her to groan and slump further down her chair.

"What is it now?" Someone asked, chuckling as they watched her slip and collapse to the floor. "What's caused you to be so dramatic as to melt out of your chair?"

"I've been called to a meeting," the feline whined, her tail lashing in frustration. What did it take for her to just get a second, a measly, little, minuscule, tiny second, to just breathe for a second? And to rest her aching ass. Whatever it was, she was clearly not doing or giving enough to attain that rest. Staying on the ground for a second longer, she sighed deeply before getting up and dusting off her coat. "I'll be back."

With a wave and another sigh, the medic left the lab and made her way through the various halls and elevators to the meeting room she was called to. It wasn't odd for her to be called to meeting rooms by other researchers or medics. She was far too used to it and with her now being part of the Seaborn & Aegir research facility, it was even odd for her not to be in meetings as often as she was.

Yet whatever she thought the meeting would have entailed did not expect to find Kal'tsit there. Scanning the room, she caught sight of a few operators talking to the side of the room with the researchers talking in hushed tones at the table. Joining the other medics, she shoved her hands into her coat pockets and looked between each group of people as her eyes settled on a form in the shadows of the semi-dimly lit room. Almost as if in response to her trying to figure out who it was, the person's eyes opened and instantly locked onto hers. Her eyes widened and she offered a small smile and nod in embarrassment for having been caught staring. What was he doing here?

"I think this is everyone, yes?" Kal'tsit cleared her throat and brought the attention of everyone in the room as another medic rushed in with a quiet apology spilling from their breathless lips while tidying themselves up and standing next to Rhea.

"I have called you all due to a study we wish to perform. This does involve the Seaborn & Aegir facility to some degree which is why the lead researcher of the facility, Soren, is here. As it is with all research in this particular topic, we kindly, yet firmly, ask that you refrain from speaking of it to anyone. Rhea, to my understanding you have been assigned to also work in the same facility; however, your job is of that of a medic, so please prepare accordingly. If you need support please find me after this meeting," Kal'tsit's stern green eyes met hers as she tensed slightly from the attention. As much as she wished to keep it a secret, she was glad that Kal'tsit at least kept it a tad vague. Though Rhea wished she hadn't mentioned it at all to avoid any other possible questions. "For reasons of safety, I have called some operators to guard you as data is being gathered."

The operators in question nodded and offered their greeting to the rest of the group before falling silent to allow Kal'tsit to continue.

"I have also called upon one of the Abyssal Hunters to offer to answer any questions but to also be an extra safety measure as who knows the sea better than they do?" She gestured to Ulpianus who remained unmoving. "Medics and healers. You all have the most experience in treating injuries on the field, but also, to some degree, on how to treat Seaborn inflicted injuries. With where the research is set to be done, we do not foresee anything happening, but we are not idiots to go off in unknown waters without a safety measure. As you will be sent out immediately, please quickly gather whatever you need and head over to the hangar. If there are no further questions, this meeting is adjourned. Godspeed."

As they all filed out of the room, Kal'tsit's gaze remained on the smaller feline, a question lingering in her eyes. Rhea shook her head no before bowing her head and heading out the doors. Her ears pricked as she heard Kal'tsit call to Ulpianus and she could swear she heard her name being mentioned. Thinking nothing of it, she hurried to her room to change.

The instant her door opened, her shoes were flung off and haphazardly shoved into the cabinet as she rushed from place to place in her room to pack her med pack. It had been a bit since she was sent out on a mission as a field medic, but her body moved quickly to neatly and tightly pack her necessities into a small pack. Making a mental note to swing by the medical ward and stock up on a few items, she tossed her lab coat onto her loveseat and clawed at her belt.

"Where the hell did I put those pants?" She muttered as she braided some sections of her hair to keep it out of her face. Opening up each drawer clumsily with her foot, she made a small noise and grabbed it with the same foot, tossing it onto her bed as she finished the small braid and tied her hair up completely. Rhea grabbed the pants and quickly put each leg through, pulling up the garment and tucking her shirt in. She was running out of time. Cursing under her breath, the feline sifted through her closet, grabbing her thick jacket and scooping up her med pack to settle by the door as she brought out her combat boots and got to work tightening each section of shoe string around her feet and shins. She did not envy those who had to wear these shoes daily.

Breathless by the time she arrived at the med bay, Rhea took a second to catch her breath as she listed off a number of items she required to the supplier. With each item came a nod and some typing from the worker who then compiled the list and disappeared behind the front facing shelf to bring the medic what she required. Gods, if she was out of breath from running in the short halls she was able to between the elevators on her way down, she didn't want to imagine if she was sent out to be an operator. She'd fall flat on her face and be killed from a lack of endurance. She just hoped she didn't need to run today. It'd be a certainly interesting yet greatly embarrassing way to present herself.

Arriving at the hangar, she filed into the large helicopter, setting her pack on an empty seat to tighten some of the straps on her pack. Rhea then moved to the vehicle's medical box and opened it, checking it once over to make sure it was properly restocked. Satisfied, she settled in her seat, buckling herself in and slumping slightly as she waited for the rest of the team to arrive. She hadn't closed her eyes for even a half second to rest them when she heard someone board the vehicle. Looking at the doorway, her eyes locked onto crimson ones. What was with her eyes meeting with his a lot these days?

It wasn't often, but here and there she would find him at her infirmary room to do his blood work from her. That was until yesterday morning when she received a message from Aurum, the medic in charge of the Abyssal Hunter, that the hunter would be under her care now. So now she was often crossing paths with him.

"Hello," she awkwardly nodded at him to which he nodded back in kind, settling in the seat across from her. The feline watched the Aegir-Seaborn hybrid take off his hat and loosen his hair-tie to comb back his hair and retie it. She was fascinated with how his movements in even doing a simple task such as tying his hair back seemed to have no wasted movements. Blinking away the instant he put his hat back on, she hugged her pack and tried to get comfortable between it and the seat as the rest of the squad arrived and took their place in the vehicle.

The ride to the location wasn't long and soon they were out stepping through the sand and low waters, weaving through rocks and tide pools as they followed the researchers gathering their data. Rhea stared out at the grey ocean, the loose hairs whipping around her face from the wind. Though it seemed serene, there was an eerie strength to it that made her fear the ocean and it wasn't just because she wasn't familiar with the ocean. As she watched the waves rolling in, her ears turned to the researchers as they gathered their materials and shuffled to move to the next square of wet sand.

It wasn't until she turned that Rhea noticed Ulpianus standing near her. He too was watching the sea, face drawn into a tight frown as he looked out. Turning to look back at the main group, the hunter made a small noise as his gaze turned down to the medic who stood beside him.

"Yeah, we should catch up to them. Would be unfortunate if we got left behind," the feline chirped, following the footprints in the sand that led up to a short cliff that she quickly scaled. Her face scrunched as the wind hit her like a wall once her head peeked over the edge. Her ears flattened against her head as she stood up and dusted off her gloved hands. Though she tried to turn to check on the hunter, she stopped mid-turn to see Ulpianus already beside her. Four-pronged anchor and all.

Moving across the reeds, Rhea stuffed her hands into her pockets, the chill of the wind biting away at her face. Her eyes scanned the reeds that gave way to the wind before crumpling to the weight of her boots. Not a thought passed through her mind as she looked down and took careful steps forward. It was strange that she, a medic who hadn’t spent as much time out on the field, was called to be sent out. Though the area had been scouted out and observed for a while, it still wouldn’t benefit anyone if there was a skirmish that happened. Though she had a steady head on her shoulders that allowed her to keep calm and focus on the task at hand, she was more so worried about her past injuries coming around to bite her in the ass in an emergency or her anaemia in the chance she sustained an injury.

The wind picked up and she zipped the jacket higher up her neck, burying her lower face in the neck of the jacket. She didn’t care if it seemed weird to anyone else, she was cold and was going to do what she could to keep herself warm.

“You must be on edge,” Rhea spoke, raising her voice loud enough to carry through the material of her jacket and the wind raging against them.

Ulpianus turned his head slightly to look at the feline. She looked like a sandpiper chick all scrunched in her coat with the wind grabbing at her hair.

“Being out here and all near the ocean where the lingering threat is just… there.”

At that, the man looked up from her and to the ocean. She watched as his eyes flicked across the waters, taking note of its movements. He only made a small huff and gave a light raise in his shoulders.

“Do what you must, is it?” Rhea turned to face the ocean as well, taking in the serrated waves of grey approaching the shore. She could only imagine the number of details he was taking note of, be it an odd ripple of the ever moving waves or a slight shift in the wind that carries with it the scent of danger. It was incredible to her. How he was able to keep himself sane through all of it was a wonder to her. Then again, the same could be said of her work in managing all the patients put under her care or the number of files and tests that she had to finalise.

The hunter wove his head in a ‘maybe’ response as they trailed along the path following the main group. Rhea’s ears flicked back against her head as a gust of wind pushed against her face. If she wasn’t already leaning to fight against the wind, she probably would have been thrown back. Amusement ran through Ulpianus before confusion ran the feeling over. It wasn’t often he had let the emotion have its course. She was odd. Yet his feet would lead him to her office for blood work though Aurum was the doctor in charge of him before he was given over to Rhea.

“Say, then have you ever felt relaxed–?”

No sooner had the words left her lips had she felt something whiz past her ear and another on her cheek. Her ears flipped backwards as she scanned the area for what she thought was a bug until a burning sting bloomed from her ear and cheek. Jerking her hands up to both her ear and cheek, she brought them back down to see red lightly covering her gloves. Blood. Her pupils dilated as she took in the small damp blots on her dark gloves.

“What–”

“Get to cover! We’re under attack!” Ulpianus bellowed, grabbing Rhea by the scruff of her jacket and pushing her down behind a rock. If it were any other situation, she would’ve entertained the thought that she must’ve seemed to weigh nothing to him, but with the sudden ambush, her mind scattered instantly as she sat there, eyes wide. She looked up at the Abyssal Hunter and a shiver ran through her. His eyes seemed to burn a brighter crimson as they darted from left to right. The muscle on his jaw tightened under the black mask and his grip tightened around his anchor.

It shook her back to reality. This was what he was. A hunter. She was a medic. And at this moment, they needed to get out of here. Alive.

<< Chapter 1 | Masterlist | Chapter 3 >>

#arknights #ulpianus #ulpianus arknights #ulpianus x oc #clickandwhistles

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itsdappleagain · 2 years ago

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WOOHOO! Let's kick off #csweekly!

I think I'll dump all of my thoughts onto one post as we go along...and I have a lot of thoughts so sorry this is gonna be LONG

Firstly, before I start the episode, AAA I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS!!! I haven't actually truly rewatched CS in sooo long

Okay, let's go. Why don't we ever talk about the intros? Like the grabbing of the hat and then later that as part of the black and white/red intro sequence? MWAH.

Chase's headlights illuminate spots on the screen when they turn towards the "camera!"

I love this introduction to the entire show. It really makes us feel like we're part of this mystery, investigating this thief with Chase and Julia (until...well...everything gets directly told to us via flashbacks 8 minutes in..). It tells us everything we basically need to know about how Carmen operates in like 30 seconds.

Let's take a moment to appreciate the art style of this show....oh my gosh. The lighting the texturing the lineless agh its so good

I guess I haven't thought about it for a little while, but I guess Chase slamming on the breaks is supposed to fake us out thinking that he has seen Carmen's shadow. It sets up how idiotic of a detective he is, while Julia is observant and actually makes connections. I really like this early (VERY early) setup to how their relationship is going to work. However, at the same time, the show is really gunning for us to root for Julia when she starts infodumping. Chase is clearly the asshole. I can't help but wondering, though, if the show undercuts the importance of Julia's research by IMMEDIATELY cutting away to something "more interesting" (Carmen) as soon as she starts talking. What do you think?

I like how Carmen just shoots out of the alleyway and looks at them for a solid minute. She's just like 👁️👁️ i mean we KNOW it doesn't take her that long to use her grappling hook. She was just watching them

LA FEMME ROGUE

Chase's damage of cars starts at not even 2 minutes into the entire show <3

anyway

CARMEN'S DRAMATIC CHARACTER INTRO MY BELOVED <3

ALSO another shoutout to the SCORE OH MY GOD RELEASE AN OST CS TEAM

when you think about it does player's character intro ever seem a little clumsy to you? ooh yeah its player glad to hear he's on board girl you've known him for years girl. girl. he's always on board.

i love player's robots and machines everywhere <3

YEAH SORRY. SCORE AND ANIMATION AGAIN WHEN SHE'S RUNNING ACROSS THE ROOFTOPS. FRAMED BY THE MOON? OUGH

she's so unnecessary <3 you did not have to swing that grappling hook around like a whip but im so glad you did girlie

i adore how her usb is disguised like a lipstick as if subtlety was ever her thing ever. like when on earth would someone catch her in the full red coat and fedora and then be like "oh ok well there's nothing suspicious here other than the grappling hook, hang glider, and taser so I'll let you go ok

PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR LIKE YOU REALLY DONT CARE ABOUT THIS RANDOM OTHER SIGNAL THAT COULD GET YOU KILLED

OUGH THE LIGHTING WHEN SHE'S DROPPING DOWN FROM THE CEILING

just. just move. you could have just moved out of the way

her hat bending upwards when she's listening against the fake atrium <3

i love carmen's jokes about player being a little internet cave troll do we ever get more of those?? i feel like we don't and I wish we did. their dynamic is so fun when its just the two of them, which is like. never again

sorry. gina's vocal fry when she says "job." that is all

the elevator gag is actually so funny

imagine not taking the stairs 5-9 at a time. chase doesn't skip leg day smh

i love the feeling of suspense this safe cracking gives us paired with chase running up to arrest her. its fun because she gets to show off and have a lot of fun with him. but at the same time, we rarely get this feeling of suspense again when it comes to confrontations- only big boss battles like Coach Brunt, Shadow-san, and cold weather

chase used his whole entire face to ram through that door

the bag tightening is so iconic i can only be grateful that she does it again later on in the show

chase: ive never had one run AT me before

does anyone ever hear the sound that chase's hair makes when it gets slicked back? because it is a SQUISH. his hair is. so saturated with gel that his hair SQUISHES

i like how it takes chase a sec when she's reading his name from the badge I like to think he thinks he's just THAT well known of an agent that she knows him

i also like that he just stands there for a sec after she grapples through the ceiling like shit now what

free him

carmen is funny i will give her that. she can also FLY apparently because she' jumping like 25 feet no problem

the grabbing of her hat as she jumps off backwards and the backwards smirk and the oh my god im so gay ok

also julia. and the horror on chase's face dhfas

dark carmen let carmen be mean, hot, and speak other languages more and that is why i want her to come back please

chase what in the goddamn fuck

ever think about how chase landing on this car right now eventually led to julia joining acme because i do

WHERE IN THE WORLD IS CARMEN SANDIEGO (TITLE CARD) (THEME MUSIC). YES BARK BARK OUGSHDFH BARK

see chase can be smart but like that one tumblr post he can be blindingly intelligent for a minute a day and he does not get to choose when that is

CARMEN CHANGING AS THE TRAIN GOES BY INTO HER CIVILIAN OUTFIT IS SOOO ICONIC

chase continuing to ruin the car as he drives along and keeps failing is the funniest fucking thing. the comedic timing of the airbag.

THE DOUBT ON JULIA'S FACE WHEN CHASE CALLS HER "JULIA" AND COMPLIMENTS HER KILLS ME EVERY TIME

driving aggressively, of course

chase is responsible for 85% of carmen's stupid nicknames on the wiki and i love him for that

i think its half funny and half sad that carmen doesn't do anything to defend herself when gray aims the crackle rod at her. its a trend with people she thinks she can trust: she still sees him as her brother, not someone who would kill her, stun her, etc.

i love the dramatic dropping of the bag just because gray esentially gave her the equivalent electric shock of rubbing a balloon against your hair

something i dislike about carmen's character is that whenever it matters carmen is ALWAYS one step ahead of whoever doing whatever. they couldn't have had us start off by seeing her as flawed but competent, cocky but still human by having gray track her here. it would have immediately set VILE up as a real threat. but instead its just the girlboss badass gray is an idiot moment. idk

i like how they had to do the match cut but they also had to make black sheep excited so they just had blacksheep go >:) and then as soon as coach brunt used her vocal cords she went :D !!!!

why is the program only one year is my question

where does coach get all of the phones to dramatically smash

black sheep, at this time knowing full ass well that she has a contraband phone when brunt smashes one: U👄U

she said SNATCH

gray laughs with all of his teeth out

they gave black sheep insecurities about her past with gray solely so they could show us black sheep having those insecurities about her past with gray to gray by black sheep

google says it takes roughly two hours to go from poitiers to paris by train. just a fun fact

hang on why was carmen going to paris by train? they didn't even have indonesia scheduled until she got there. why didn't she take zack and ivy to poitiers?? why was their rendezvous two hours away?? why didn't ivy have ANY TIME AT ALL TO GET ZACK A SNACK?? WHY DIDN'T ZACK HAVE TIME TO GET A SNACK

the biggest nesting doll has some weird inconsistency with the burn design- sometimes its there, sometimes it isn't. i wonder why carmen never ever brings it up though?

little black sheep is so cute

actually though these are some of my least favorite parts- the big long flashbacks. in my opinion, it would have been interesting to find out about carmen's past as we went along...maybe through ivy or something, or just little tidbits. like we'd get some basic information- that she used to be with VILE- but we would uncover the details with the detectives and her team. idk. little me when i first watched this show was SO confused by the flashbacks but then again my comprehension for shit is SO BAD. i literally had no clue what was going on

that nanny just standing by as carmen smears an entire tube of lipstick on the walls

LITTLE CARMEN IS SO CUTE

its very interesting how they wash out black sheep's hair when she's in VILE spaces to fit with the color schemes that are such a prominent part of this show.

little carmen was also an asshole wheeze

THEY ARE D I V I N G OUT OF THE WAY guess they learned from notyourpants guy

girl i dont think your legs are supposed to do that

why is the captain just putting claws up like what were you going to do maul her

the poor captain got the short end of the stick every single time

carmen stole someone's wedding ring so true

the crop top with the overalls is my FAVORITE outfit of black sheep's omg

carmen, like every single other teenager, drew giant eyeballs on her papers

absolutely incredible that carmen who has at this point pressed a few buttons on a phone once knows how to text and call no problem

player, calling random places: what is your full name and address please. well i know your address but what is your full name

ALSO player's room accumulating all that stuff in the years that go by is so cute

can you imagine. player just usually gives out his real name and the only reason he didn't this time was because carmen had a weird ass name

"thats a thing" HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT A HACKER IS

also how does she know what right and wrong is

lets imagine for a second player called some faculty phone line or something and professor maelstrom got this ten year old asking to aid the biggest crime network in the world just because he could and also knew nothing at all

kinda cool that they put in the weird...sewer grate or whatever that carmen later escapes out of in the shot where she's on the beach

maelstrom changes hand positions from when he asks black sheep why she requested an audience (hands clasped with thumbs up and touching) to when he says to enroll (villain steepled fingers) and then he goes back to the first on the wide shot

i admire how organically they introduce the names of all the faculty in this scene

appreciation for "the gurl is fehhahhral"

AND THEN HE GOES BACK TO STEEPLE FINGERS

i enjoy how harsh the lighting is in the faculty room. its just white on the characters

i LOVE rewatching these episodes with the lens of shadowsan's REAL motivations mmmm

i also like how black sheep really thinks about shadowsan's words

MAEL WENT BACK TO THUMBS UP CLASPED HANDS ITS ok whatever

why don't the music notes line up with the faculty raising their hands after two or three sob

where does shadowsan even walk off to. is there a door over there or does he just awkwardly scoot off and through the big doors

what the hell are even in front of black sheep's dorms a tennis court??

also i thought those dorms were where her room was where is she moving from

she tied her whole globe up with rope to walk 100 feet

mime bomb being in the background for all of this <3

i like all of the VILE Class's introductions. EL Topo is kind, Le Chevre is a bit dismissive but courteous, and Tigress is...well she's happy until she says her name and then she's a bitch about everything forever and ever

"but were you seeing things from my point of view" actually what other perspective are you giving him here

get rekt aussie boy

so upset they changed this design. the eyeliner, the fluffy hair, the red hair clip. they're so good. she's so cute. all of the young designs are cute actually

they didn't have to animate sheena's ass swaying like that

he's from australia??? really????

i like how gray was just working the soundboards one day and his pay was so bad that he was like "fuck. yeah man I'm breaking every single law. ever."

where the hell did the black on that sheep origami come from. the paper was white on both sides??

shadowsan has the best damn view on the island look at that

cleo's dress. cleo's voice. cleo's

why do they market as an import/export company if they immediately begin training as thieves. why does "villains international league of evil" matter at all

shadowsan has the only class that uses other students. the rest of the classes are main character only. so sad

my favorite part of carmen sandiego is the way they one moment don't allow the characters to say the word kill but in maelstrom's classroom he has human bones and a whole ass brain on display and then they shoot a man dead

no idea how maelstrom dropped his briefcase so that it landed on the other side of tigress's

also i love how they set up some of the two most used concepts in the entire show here: bait and switch and always protect the face

gray is blind we love him for that. she is holding a phone and gas earbuds in.

where did she get earbuds from

point and laugh

so true of le chevre to kick off the stilts the show should have let him win that one, not bs

the poor captain has gone entirely white-haired from this yearly encounter with a child

rita moreno bee cosplay

el topo's laugh is so genuine <3

what was their detention anyway? sit and talk? come up with codenames? seems more like a reward to me

imagine if gray named himself power failure and everyone called him failure

gray is a giraffe

i love the dig at old witwics with the puns for names jkdsghdsa

le chevre is very comfortable on that pole

mime bomb. that is all

class of vile, after a year of sharing a dorm with mime bomb: who the fuck are you

he's iconic

all of the different teacher rooms are sooo cool i love their designs. and once agains color theory coming through with shadowsan's red room!!!

i also like that students get to take exams with their operative gear, as it plays into how effective they will be in the field. however, what happens if someone doesn't graduate?? what happens to all their specialized gear??

she sacrificed a leg for ass. sad :(

i like how tigress acts like a cat

GET SLAPPED TIGRESS

that scrap of fabric flew SO FAR

that little wink tigress does <3

i like how shadowsan has another coat ready and waiting. who's hurt him in the past. he learned

black sheep no don't walk into the camera wait blacwfhghgfh

gray after black sheep failed so hard that she blew the entire year's worth of schooling: damn girl you're so good. best ever actually

i like how they all have to trace their names over to see if they passed like what are you getting lost on the way also getting these grades is exactly like seeing who got cast for the school musical

rip to the random background ops who failed

gray's face is actually just D:

the dutch angle dolly zoom is SOOO GOOD

tigress is still a high school mean girl. elementary school, even. the big kid's table. no children allowed

"looks like someone needs to turn in their stealth suit" black sheep she/they confirmed and sheena respects pronouns

"COME ON LET'S GO PLOT A CAPER" that is so funny to me because vile operatives as we see later NEVER, EVER PLOT THEIR OWN CAPERS

why is carmen's nose so tiny

anyway

seeing black sheep look so short next to shadowsan is so sweet considering she's almost as tall as him later <3

"are you accusing a criminal, thievery, and breaking the law teacher of cheating"

mime bomb for goodness sake. i love the animation of his face emerging from the shadows though

HOW DID SHE SNEAK ONTO THAT HELICOPTER I WILL NEVER KNOW

does anyone know whether CS uses 3d elements for some of their bigger objects like cars, helicopters, the vault door etc.

i like how vile school is completely entirely out in the open not disguised at all

gray: bye bye black sheep black sheep, from the shadows: HAVE YOU ANY WOOL

THE CREDIT MUSIC <3

OKAY so that was my post on the first episode. will they all be this long? who knows. probably. maybe. i'm so excited for this

#csweekly #carmen sandiego weekly

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thatonehighschoolreject · 1 year ago

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The Merc's Final Kill

Where V chose the easy way out. Saying goodbyes on a rooftop. He was hoping to make amends with Johnny and himself. Thanking each other for their time together.

wordcount 6k canon compliant spoiler warning V's third POV TW for suicide

Relic Malfunction Detected

V stepped into the elevator and raised an unsteady hand to press the down button on the touch screen. He coughed hard as the doors slid shut. And then he fell to the ground, barely able to save himself from a broken nose by catching the ground with his elbows.

"I warned you," Johnny groaned from behind him, pissed beyond belief. He approached V. Then suddenly a chrome hand pushed the stop button.

The lift came to a sudden stop, unsettling the bile in V's stomach. He kept it down nonetheless, surprisingly. "What're you doing?" V was baffled. How the hell did Johnny press the button anyway? He was in the cockpit- not piloting. He frowned and lifted his head to see Johnny standing by the doors now.

The engram scoffed, "What am I doing? I'm showing you what it's like to feel fucking trapped." He paced as V flipped over and backed into the corner of the elevator. Right now, he was wishing he was in any life but the one he currently lived. "Asked you. Warned you. But you've insisted on not giving a shit." He was using a tone that one would use when explaining something complicated to a toddler, like he believed the mercenary wouldn't understand him no matter how simply he worded it. "Now this porcelain cunt is gonna use you in her fancy scheme." He looked down at the dying man like a cat would a wounded mouse - with disgust and primal disrespect.

V didn't stand for disrespect.

He fought off the lightness in his limbs and the spinning in his head. He tried to pull himself to his feet and sputtered the words : "Fuck off." V didn't see that he had much choice in the matter. And who was Johnny to say what he could and couldn't do? It was his body not the rockerboy's. "I haven't agreed to anything yet." He was only half standing now, the rest of his body weight he was forcing the wall behind him to hold. He was gripping the railing, holding on for dear life so he wouldn't fall.

Johnny glared daggers and his words were soaked with venom, "But I know you still don't understand how these leeches operate." He threw his hands in the air in frustration before continuing. "She met you face to face. She revealed her plan. She sunk her teeth deep into you-" The ghost lowered himself to be on V's level, "Not gonna be able to pry yourself out."

V weighed his options, considering the latter. "Well, we could ask the Aldecaldos to lend a hand." His mind wandered to Panam. And he briefly wondered if he would be able to say goodbye. If he'd even have the guts. God, she was like the little sister he never wanted. But he loved her to death. Well, death doesn't hold much value nowadays. Especially considering he'd be lucky if he had a month to live. Definitely not enough time to tie up any loose ends.

Johnny rolled his eyes as if V had suggested he ask the Tyger Claws for help instead. "Listen up, V. Those guys are trailer tuggers!" He stood back up straight and continued to pace, this time even faster than before. He seemed very distressed. "An assault on Arasaka's just not another convoy to jack. You already tried this with amateurs." He tilted his head as he looked over to him. "We both know how that ended."

"And you tried it with pros. It didn't end any fucking better." V's voice sounded weaker this time. Like he was grasping at straws to stay conscious. His bones felt so sore and weak. His head felt like it was going to explode. And it seemed like Johnny didn't even care one bit. He managed to stand all the way upright before a wave of pain struck his body once more. And he had never felt pain like this before. Like he was being crushed between two semis both going 200mph.

Relic Malfunction Detected

"Johnny…" That was all he could get out in a broken breath. Then V came crashing down to the floor again, landing on his side. If he made it through this, he would definitely be bruised from shoulder to knee. And he had sworn that he heard something crack. Was that his wrist?

"Great! You checking out again?!" Johnny moved to get down by V. Hoping that maybe if he got closer maybe V wouldn't lose consciousness- or his life. Well, both their lives. He was hoping that he could save him. Just like he had so many times before.

Just before he could reach a knee to the paneled flooring everything went black.

It was so dark. So damned dark.

V had never seen such darkness. His eyes were open- at least he thought they were- and he still couldn't see a thing. Couldn't feel anything either. Fuck. Had the biochip really taken V clean out of the land of the living?

If he had flatlined, then that would mean Silverhand's name was the last thing to leave his lips. God, that would be a damned pathetic last line. Definitely not one to go down in a documentary.

The darkness seemed to swallow him whole.

"Wha… Am I…?" V muttered this thoughts, begging to get an answer on if he were actually dead or not.

"Not yet," Johnny said confidently from the confines of his mind.

The black faded to a white. V opened his eyes and was met with a blinding light. He winced at the throbbing stabbing in his body.

"Easy there. Don't move just yet." He had heard Viktor's voice before he had seen his face.

"Vik?" He let out breathlessly.

"You're in a lot of pain, I know. Delirious when you arrived so I had to dose you with betalaperadol." The ripperdoc looked at V's narrowed pupils and squinted eyes, "But light oversensitivity's a good sign. Means your optic nerves aren't damaged." He looked back over to his computer. "Almost done stabilizing the biochip."

V was overwhelmed by the pain. His words were barely more than a whisper. "My head…" He groaned as another spike of soreness washed through him. "Feels like…"

"Like someone's using your head as a knife block?" Viktor finished for him. Well, it wasn't an inaccurate way to describe it. A good way to put it even, it did feel like that.

V didn't even remember walking into the doc's clinic. All he remembered was that damned elevator. And what it felt like to be inches within death. "How… How'd I get here?"

"Dragged yourself here beat to hell and back. Gave Misty a hell of a fright. Then, you shoved my patient at the time off the table. And demanded you be treated immediately." Viktor stared him down, as if hoping retelling the ordeal would help rejog V's memory or at least strike him with an ounce of shame.

"Tell him it was your guardian angel," Johnny whispered aloud. It was then V realized he had the engram to thank for him to be still kicking. He had seemed so mad before, V never would've guessed he'd want to save him after that conversation.

"Huh?" The doc replied as if he had heard him. But that was impossible. V's eyes wandered to find the ghost leaning with his arms crossed, just a few meters away from the table he found himself crumpled on.

"I, uh… wasn't completely myself." V struggled to explain his actions. If he admitted that Johnny had taken over so easily the doc might've underestimated V's sense of control in his own body.

Viktor looked to him, a look in his eyes glinting an unreadable emotion. "I know. It's a bit worrying."

The mercenary struggled to show a small smile as he offered a light comment. "I'll order a weaker poison next time." He would almost laugh if he didn't know it would hurt.

Viktor had hardness in his stare and his voice somehow got even more stern. "This ain't no joke, kid." He briefly glanced away to follow V's eyes then turned back to face him once he found nothing. "As I see it, there won't be a next time."

His words really hit where it hurt. Metaphorically, because literally everywhere was hurting. Even parts of him he didn't know could hurt. Was this really the end of the line for him? For Johnny's second go around as well? Maybe Johnny didn't care about V's life. Why would he care about anyone but himself? He had hated the kid since the day they met so why would he feel any different now?

He probably just saved V to deal with some more of his unsettled business, to use his second chance at life to pick up the pieces of his previous one. After all, almost nobody dies without a speck of unfinished business weighing in their heads and on their souls. Johnny was certainly a prime example of that matter. That man had more loose ends to tie up while dead than he ever had even attempted while he was still alive.

It really struck him. He didn't have much longer did he? A couple days? Maybe less?

In not much time he'd feel just as lost as the ghost that haunted his mind. He would have just as many things he'd wished he coulda done. Just as many regrets and grudges, too. Just as many guilty deaths weighing on his conscious moments before his own end came to meet him.

V had once doubted that the biochip would be the death of him. A month ago, he begged Viktor to say it was just some crude joke. Now, it seemed that Viktor was right. But at least Johnny had attempted to save him and prolong his inevitable demise. But what would that matter now?

The doc typed something into the keyboard with a glum expression. "Alright. That should be a little better." He nodded his head, shutting the display. His eyes fell back on the dying man. "Try sitting up. Carefully."

"Okay." V huffed, "Don't expect a miracle." He braced himself on the table with his hands against the arm rests. As he straightened out his legs, he whimpered in pain. His joints were flooded with uncomfortable static. The mercenary slammed his eyes shut, face contorted in discomfort. His sharp inhales struggled in assisting him to not scream.

"I said slowly-" Viktor repeated, eyeing him with worry.

V groaned as he straightened his back out, speaking through grit teeth. "Another victory for the history books."

"Hmm." The ripperdoc hummed, crossing his arms. He clearly wanted to say something but he was holding back.

"Well, looks like I can sit up alright." V trailed off, prying at him, "But I can tell you don't have good news." He feared the next words that would come out of the other's mouth. What could be more important than what he was going through right now? Nothing better than this shit, that's for sure.

"How much longer is this going to go on?"

He averted his eyes from Viktor's troubling gaze. "You tell me."

This was the most serious V had ever seen him. "Looking at you, not long at all." Viktor shook his head, seemingly overwhelmed by guilt. He felt to blame for the man's state, even though he had nothing to do with it. "Next attack, you won't be able to crawl back here. You'll flatline in some back alley. This is your last chance to take matters into your own hands. Understand?"

"Take matters into my own hands? The fuck you think I've been doing?" He narrowed his eyes in anger, pushing himself to sit up so he was finally upright.

Viktor raised a brow at the other. "Well, whatever it is, it keeps landing you on my table." He stepped to the side and V's eyes landed on a medical cart that was behind him. Johnny appeared beside it. "You see that setup over there?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"You'll find the last dose of pseudoendotrizine there. A gift from Misty. Want to give in to the voices in your head? Go ahead. Take a puff. Go silent. Get out." Viktor let out a long sigh that sounded as though he was holding it in for hours. His gaze was heavy on the dying man. "Or, find another way. End things on your own terms. Got a little present from me over there too. Blockers. Managed to walk those few yards to the table. The rest will be up to you and you alone." He stepped away from V and walked to the other side of the room.

"On your own terms, huh?" Johnny pressed, now standing right in front of V. He glared in Viktor's direction then looked back to the mercenary. "Really subtle there, doc."

"Enough, Johnny. I just…" V looked down at his legs. "I gotta think about it." He got off the table and onto his own two feet.

"Need to stretch your noodle?" Johnny's voice echoed. "Fine, just not in this basement."

"V, christ. You're talking out loud." Viktor called out.

"Out loud? What?" V paused. That echo wasn't an echo after all. It was V speaking as Johnny. Fuck, he was really losing it after all, huh?

The ripperdoc huffed, "Just go fix this thing."

V stumbled a bit as he tried to take a step. He groaned. "I think I can do it."

Johnny walked beside him just as slowly. "Whatever you decide, let's make sure to get outta here first."

The mercenary nodded his head and went to the medical cart. He grabbed the pills and stuck them in his pants pocket. He ignored the growing lump in his throat as he grabbed the pistol and holstered it on his hip. He turned to walk towards the exit. Misty stood by the door. Fuck, he hadn't noticed she was there. Did she hear all of that?

"Hey, V, I heard…" She began to speak, "Well… your thoughts?"

V swallowed hard in reaction. "Shouldn't have had to. Sorry… bout that."

Misty shook her head, "No need to be. I know what's going on." She empathized, "And I know it won't be easy. For either of you." She glanced around the medical room. "If you don't want to decide here, I know a much better place."

He considered it. "Sure. Got a feeling Vik's had enough of me, as is." He frowned, looking at him in his peripherals.

"Don't be mad at him," the psychic eased, "His chakras are all blocked up today. Plus he's had too much coffee."

V fought the urge to laugh. "Lemme guess. My aura's sputtering?"

She seemed to look at him as though he were the saddest thing imaginable. "Mhm, afraid so."

"Lead the way." He nodded his head towards the door. "Why's this spot so special?" He wanted to calm his mind. Hell, could barely think, let alone with both Viktor and Johnny's eyes staring him down.

And lead she did. So V followed. "I took Jackie there once. It's not far." Misty made her way up a flight of stairs and he struggled to keep up with her pace.

"Jackie? What's he gotta do with any of this?" He narrowed his eyes. He hadn't heard anyone say his name in a long time. It hit with whiplash only comparable to being in a high speed motorcycle wreck.

One could hear the smile in her voice. "You'll see. C'mon." Misty slowed her walking to match V's speed.

The walk was so ominous. What could possibly help him decide what he wants to do with his last days alive? Was it really that grand of a spot that Jackie would've fallen deeper into love with her? Misty walked through elevator doors and V followed. Not without being reminded of his last time in an elevator but at least someone would be here to help him if his brain and body were to shut down again. That and he was only a short walk away from Viktor's clinic.

"Top floor." The psychic nodded her head to the display. V pressed the roof button then looked back at her. Really, what could help at a time like this? "He had the same glum face."

"Who, Jack?" He narrowed his eyes in doubt.

" 'This is it, chica. I'm done for.' " She quoted, not seeming to be hit as hard when talking about him as V did.

V never thought of Jackie to ever be in a pessimistic state. Even in his last moments he still seemed to be planning what he would do next. "Doesn't sound like the Jackie I knew." He admitted.

Misty offered a soft smile. "That was a long time ago. His mom had just found out he signed up for the Valentinos." The elevator came to a stop and she lead the way to another set of stairs. He followed blindly. "Trust me, Señora Welles on one shoulder, your gang choombas on the other, no choice can ever seem right."

He hummed in agreement though he had never been in that situation before. Not any like it really. He never had anyone looking out for him or trying to stop him from making any rough choices. Save for Johnny but he didn't really count. He just made a decision and if it came to bite him in the ass then oh, well, he'd deal with it then.

"Life wasn't easy for my Jackie. But he found the courage to bet on himself." After walking through a long hallway, Misty opened the door to the rooftop. V followed and greedily took in a breath of the fresh city breeze. "After, I brought him here."

The getup was pretty mellow. There were a couple of plastic beach chairs placed near the edge of the roof with a small table placed between the two. It gave a perfect view, you could see every skyscraper in the entirety of Watson. There werebits of trash littered around but that was true for anywhere in Night City.

"Ah, that's more like it. Air." Johnny commented from V's right, not hesitating to take a joying lungful, as well.

The air felt like ice hitting the back of his throat. It helped ease the pain in his head, clear it a bit too. He didn't feel as sore anymore.

Misty continued, moving to sit in one of the chairs. "I come out here when I need a break. Be alone with my thoughts."

"She's onto something," the engram agreed, surprisingly. "Ought to sit. Mull through some shit yourself."

V made his way over to the edge, taking a seat in the other chair. "Thanks, Misty. You were right, choice spot." His mind lingered before he was able to voice his thoughts. "So what… What did Jackie decide up here?"

"Oh, you know, 'Gonna be a legend in this city!' " She quoted him, even putting in that enthusiasm he had always seemed to have.

At that moment V was heavily reminded of his departed friend. His voice. All that he had left behind. All who he left behind. Misty, V, Momma Welles. Countless others for sure. He was grateful to have met Jackie but had wished he had known him a bit longer. Wished he could've spent more with him. And he was sure Misty felt the same way.

"I'm gonna leave you alone. Take your time." Misty sent a smile his way before getting up and leaving.

As she shut the door behind her, Johnny appeared again. He was sitting on the edge of the roof, right in front of the amazing view. "Fuckin' scared me, you know that? Thought you were on your way out."

"No." V didn't let his eyes leave the rockerboy. "Still here."

The ghost grimaced. "For now. Y'know, you should call anyone you wanna say goodbye to."

"Worst case scenario. That what you expect?" Did he really have so little hope in him?

Johnny shook his head. "No, but whatever you decide, risk's gonna be high. If things don't go our way…" He couldn't seem to place his thoughts together to continue the way he would've liked. "Just fucking do it. Anyone you gotta talk to, now's the time. Pills can wait." The only reason Johnny would bring it up is because he wishes he had been given the chance.

The chance to call Kerry and let him know he might not make it past the next night. To call anyone that had ever once mattered to him and say his final goodbyes.

He wished he had taken that opportunity and given those around him the tiniest bit of closure. But he hadn't. Maybe because he only thought about himself in that moment and didn't care to think about the after.

And he can't undo that now. All he can do is attempt to stray the kid in a different direction than he had gone.

V considered it. Considered all the people he could call. Just to talk to one last time on the holo in case this was his last night alive. He couldn't call Panam. He didn't have the courage to. How would he explain this one away? 'Yeah, sorry, Panam, I don't have long to live. Don't cry about it for too long.'? Yeah, right.

And it would suck the life outta him to have to call Judy. Let alone Rogue. To have to tell her that she was about to lose Johnny for the second time and lose him as well. That would crush her. He couldn't do that. He wondered, if he did drop dead, who would be the one to find his body? Who would be the one to spread the story? Who would be the one to tell the people he knew that he was no longer? Would he end up being a legend after he died just like Johnny had been? Unlikely. Yet, he held onto that thought.

But why was he thinking about all of this? Maybe there was a way to save himself. To keep from ending up six feet under. Even if there wasn't, it wouldn't do well to dwell on the after. Because he wouldn't be there to see it. So it shouldn't matter. Right? He wouldn't be the one to mourn for it. He wouldn't be the one to grieve his death. Still, it was a lot of pressure to put on those around him.

If he had much choice in the matter he'd choose to live longer instead of going out like a sick dog that others would just want to put down. To be put out of his misery and suffering. Hell, if it were that easy he'd choose life instead of death. And maybe, just maybe, he'd choose to let Johnny stick around. Because why should the guy have to go through death twice? Wasn't dying once enough for him? Once is enough for anyone, really.

"No. Not really my style, goodbyes." He came to the conclusion. One he would likely regret if he was alive long enough to. A hard choice. That's what this place was for, right? Choices.

Johnny frowned but didn't protest. "You do you. Come a long way to get here, haven't we?" 'We' that word stuck with V. To think of him and the ghost as a duo, as an 'us,' well, that made him feel less alone in the matter. Made him feel like maybe all this hard work and fighting his way through was actually worth it. "Just think. It all started in a fucking landfill."

V scoffed at the memory. Reminded of Takemura and being told he didn't have long to live. The beginning of this whole mess. "Then you tried to kill me." He wondered where he was going with this.

"Exactly what I mean. Here we are now, together. Soaking in this sweet vista of Night City. I only regret I won't get to see how it all ends." Johnny continued, moving to sit in the chair the psychic had been in prior. He had a point, though the use of the word 'together' sat with him. Such a small word for such a big thing. Together meant that neither of them were alone. That brought comfort to the both of them.

Hey, who knows, maybe in another fifty years some poor, unknowing guy will put the engram in his head and Johnny will get to see what happened after this life ends. V, well, V wouldn't be so lucky since he couldn't afford to become an engram.

"Gee thanks. Got that little faith in me?"

Silverhand shook his head, disagreeing. "Not in you, in the rest of 'em." He looked off into the distance at the landscape. With the tiniest beat of silence that lingered, his eyes were back on V again. "Listen, wanna trust Panam and her tarmac rats? Fine, but it'll be their lives weighing heavy on your soul. And if you take Arasaka's deal, well, that'll be your own soul on your conscience."

Without hesitation V spoke, "Gonna try to ask Panam for help."

"You absolutely sure?" He eyed V, not wanting to go through with either choice, really. "No going back on this, you know."

He paused to gather his thoughts before speaking them. "There is another option, though." V wondered if he would regret this one or not in another life. He took the pseudoendotrizine and omega blockers out of his pocket and stared down at them in his palm.

"What?"

"We put all this- the pills, everything to bed."

"If we don't try something, anything, we're both doomed." The rockerboy frowned, hoping the other truly knows the consequences of what he does next.

"I know." He gripped the pills tight and chucked them off the ledge. "Exactly why we'll do one last thing." V's heart was beating out of his chest.

"Okay… You lost me." Johnny swallowed, "Realize the shit we've been through to get this far, right?" It only took him one look at V to tell that he wasn't bluffing. That he was serious.

"Sure do."

"To let it all go now, why?" He asked such a simple question but V was grasping at air to find the words to say next. Why does anyone else commit suicide? They see it as their best or last option.

"Cleanest, least bloody option. We try anything else," V thought of the casualties of the other options, "people die."

Johnny didn't seem to understand, "People die. It's the way of things."

V was convinced he was thinking clearer than ever, convinced that this was a rash decision. "Am I worth their sacrifice? Are you?" That was a good point.

Would a thieving mercenary and the ghost of a suicide bomber be worth the lives of countless others?

Would it be worth it for kids to bury their dads or moms?

Would it be worth parents burying their daughters or sons?

Worth someone their losing brothers and sisters?

Worth someone losing a good friend like Jackie?

Worth partners left to bury their boyfriends and girlfriends?

No. Of course not.

Neither of them were worth ruining a family. Let alone several. They weren't worth it all. Certainly not in this lifetime. "Besides, it's the only way we'll both be aware." V finished.

"Of what? Death?" Johnny seemed heartbroken to be letting go again so soon.

"Mhm." V's voice was softer now. "The moment life escapes."

The silence seemed to linger in the air for so long. Is this what death would bring? Silence? Or would be loud and repulsing.

What if death would be better than the entirety of this life he had lived? From what he's heard, most people never realize there's better things out there until they find it.

V didn't realize he could find a friend until he met Jackie, until he met Johnny. He thought he would live and die alone without anyone batting an eye or caring to notice.

Who knows, maybe if he had chosen to live the extra twenty-four hours longer he would've died without anyone. All alone. Nobody to say goodbye to. Nobody to say they'll miss him. Without even Johnny to ground him and reassure that death isn't that bad. This could be his last chance at a good, honest death.

Was it worth the risk?

V would argue yes.

"Hmm. Never really gave it a thought." Silverhand examined the other's features, maybe trying to read out more than what he was being told. "Funny how you still manage to surprise me, sometimes."

V laughed softly into the chilly air. "Might be something I learned from you."

"V," Johnny looked at him with a face of concern. "You sure about this?" He wanted to be sure that he truly wanted this. That he was actually willing to give it all up. Johnny never had anyone to ask him if he was making the right decision before he died, so he had to be sure he was that person for V. To give him what he had never received.

The mercenary glanced at the gun at his hip. "As long as you have nothing against it." He would hate for Johnny to not feel like he got a choice in the matter. Especially since this was now his life just as much as V's.

"Not how I'da done it, but that's alright." He seemed to finally feel the weight of what was going to be done. And he accepted it rather easily.

V raised a brow, "Just like that, no pushback?"

"Huh, mighta learned a little something from you, too." Johnny reached his chrome arm out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

It was the first time V had felt his touch since the time he tried beating him to death in his apartment. Hell, he had forgotten what his touch even felt like. Or the touch of anyone not trying to punch him, really. He was sure he was one of very few, or quite possibly the only one, to ever experience a gentle touch from the rockerboy. It was exactly as Johnny had intended it, to be comforting.

"Is it time?" He held great sorrow in his eyes. Not for himself but for V. To see one lose the will to fight hurt to watch. Still, it was V's choice to make, not his. And he respected that. Even if he thought V was stupid for it.

V nodded. He looked back out to the cityscape, admiring the neon lights and metal buildings from afar. "It really is beautiful."

"Been nice working with ya, V." Johnny said his goodbye, tenderness in his voice that not many had the luxury to hear. The sincerity of his words made the mercenary pause and think again.

So, this was it, huh?

The end?

Everything would be gone forever.

For good.

"Yeah, with you, too, Johnny…" The words were barely able to make it past V's lips. He wanted to cry but he couldn't. Instead, the lump in his throat almost cut off all breathing.

Was this really how it ended?

At least he wasn't alone.

At least he had Johnny.

And at least Silverhand didn't have to die alone this time either, left crying out to empty air. Someone would be there for him this time. Someone who cared.

V would give him something he never had. Something he never knew he needed.

V looked at his chrome hand and took it in his. He squeezed Johnny's hand. Neither of them could recall the last time they had held someone else's hand. But they were both sure that it didn't mean nearly as much as this time felt now. Wasn't as significant. Nothing would ever be as important as this.

This was a final goodbye.

He met Johnny's eyes with regret.

Not regret of sticking his biochip in his head, nor regret of having met Johnny.

Instead, it was a regret of not having had more time. Of not having met each other sooner.

Neither V nor Johnny were the same men they were before they were forced to each other.

V had been a suckup for corpos, always trusting in officials to make the best choices for the city. He saw no life purpose other than to make a name for himself on the streets.

In so little time, he learned so much about legends and that being one wasn't worth the price to pay. He learned that within the blink of an eye you could lose everything. That and sometimes the hardest to make decisions were the most important ones.

Johnny had refused to see any purpose in life other than to change the present for future generations. He thought to take down the higher-ups by whatever means necessary would be the solution. That it would save the world.

In so little time, he had learned so much about the connections of those around him and how they mattered more than anything. That and one man can't take down an entire family philosophy with only one bomb.

Even if he had never had the honour to meet someone like V in his life, to change him for the better, at least he had him in his death.

Who knows? Maybe after all this is over, they'll meet again.

In heaven or another life.

Maybe they'll be reunited under better circumstances and won't have to worry about putting aside their differences to see the decency in each other.

And maybe V would be the one saving Johnny next time around.

As V reached for the pistol and pulled it out from his holster, he felt the rockerboy's grip tense. He pulled back the hammer and saw there was already a bullet in the chamber. He placed the barrel against the underside of his jaw, aimed straight up towards his frontal cortex. He spared a look to Johnny as he rested his finger on the trigger and was met with the saddest eyes imaginable.

Johnny reached his other hand over and wiped a tear from V's cheek with his knuckle. V hadn't noticed he was crying. So that's why the ghost looked so sad- because he had never seen V cry before. His organic hand fell back down to meet with his chrome hand, gripping V's. Both their hearts were beating out of their chests in fear.

So much was left unsaid.

They weren't doing it alone. That's what mattered most.

Yet they couldn't find any way to shape them into coherent statements. So while V steadied his trigger finger and kept eye contact with his ghost as he squeezed the trigger.

V heard the blast just as everything went black.

This time, he didn't have to beg the question if he had flatlined. He knew it to be true. And this time, there was no panic in the darkness. He just let it envelope him.

And this time, Johnny didn't feel so alone. He finally felt like he had pursued a purpose.

If in their lives they hadn't been granted the luxury of peace, at least in death they would.

And even if they weren't perfect men, at least they would be remembered by friends.

That's what counts, right?

Johnny would argue yes.

#johnny silverhand #male v #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cp77 #canon compliant #this is the first time ive ever published a fic on tumblr i have no idea what im doing #i recorded ten minutes of dialogue of the sui ending and managed to write a solid 6k because i didnt have wifi and i was bored #no beta we die like men

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unlimited-dark · 1 year ago

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FFXIV Write Day #30 - Amity

THIS IS 10 DAYS LATE. But also I didn't want to rush all the days and end up not finishing the final prompt!! So here is it very late. Blahblah life was busy patch happened usual excuses.

Anyway here's a short drabble I came up with of my hc of the conversation that happens at life before the gang reaches Amity in Shb. Enjoy the last of this writing!

Sileas and Fioel were taking a break as preparations to have the elevator operational to reach the upper rung of Kholusia. As they sat and chatted, Fioel quickly sensed a presence arriving, grumbling about the changed citizens of Eulmore.

“Ah, I see that our villain here has decided to show up to stop our exciting work?”

“Not at all, lass. You’d be glad to hear that I’m here to compliment you two for your excellent work.”

“You needn’t be hostile, Fioel. What brings you here, Emet-Selch?” Sileas asked inquisitively.

The ascian began to speak about the intricacies of conflict and conquest, complimenting them for achieving reconciliation quickly with the Eulmoran people. Fioel rolled her eyes, scoffing at his words as the two continued to glare at each other.

“That’s all you’re here to say, then?”

“There’s no need to rush, Fioel. Our dear hero over there needs her rest, after all,” he smirked, gesturing at the oranged-haired girl watching their argument silently. It was not in her nature to speak unless she had something important to say, and getting her to react was always a chore to him. Much like her, thinking of the past.

“Gods, you beat around the bush far too much, ascian.”

“How about I share a thing or two about our past with you two?”

Fioel’s ears perked up at the mention, curious to more of the ascian’s past, wishing to know more about him.

“And there was Amaurot…Never was a city more magnificent. From the humblest streets to the highest spires, she fairly gleamed…Not that you would remember any of this.”

“Remember what? Tell us.” the Viera asked.

“Fioel’s right. You…seem to want us, especially me, to remember something. Could you not share more?”

His gaze darted from them as if his thoughts had trailed off to another time.

“What more is there to tell? You are but shades, far different from the people of the past.”

“How about something the people of Eld did to relax? I wish to know.”

The ascian gazed over the warrior once more, her appearance reminding him of the past once more.

“Spending their time, scampering around and helping people. Some of them were simply just as good-natured as you are, the annoying lot of them. Unlike the Viera lass.”

“What do you mean by that, old man?!”

“Oh, you’ll know. If you meet my terms satisfactorily, Sileas. As for the Viera lass, you still have a ways to go. The door to find me is always nearby, if you wish for that too, Fioel.”

Shrugging, the ascian soon wandered off just as he came, waving his hand to bid farewell to the two warriors. Sileas could not stop him, unable to understand the meaning of his words. Such was the way he was as if he was expecting something from him.

Fioel gritted her teeth in irritation, shaking her head to remove the lingering questions she still had for him. He was the key to the dreams she would have as a child, but he wouldn’t answer. What was she to him? A past she couldn’t remember.

“Ugh, I can never understand why he’s always like this! I’ll continue to help to shake this annoying feeling away, Big Sis! Please rest as much as you can, alright?”

“I will, Fioel. Thank you,” Sileas replied, her mind still clouded with questions and doubt as she gazed at the path before her.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #fioel ljanta #fioel and hades/emet #sileas de borel

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didanawisgi · 2 years ago

Text

THE SPIRIT OF MERCURY

“What I intend to convey is that the Spirit of the Metal is the Spirit of Mercury (a volatile essence which in its gaseous state is an Aether), the Sulphur is the Soul or the Blood, and the Salt the Ashes or the Body.

Again I quote from Basilius Valentinus, Father of Modern Chemistry:

'Of the Spirit of Mercury.'

'Though I have a peculiar Stile in writing, which will seem strange unto many, causing strange Thoughts and Fancies in their Brains, yet there is reason enough for my so doing; I say enough, that I may remain by my own experience, not esteeming much of others prating, because it is concealed in my knowledge, Seeing having alwaies the preheminence before Hearing, and Reason hath the praise before Folly: Wherefore I now say, that all visible, tangible things are made of the Spirit of Mercury, which excels all earthly things of the whole world, all things being made out of it, having their Off-spring only from it; for all is found therein which can perform all whatsoever the Artist desires to find; It is the beginning to operate Metals, when it is become a spiritual Essence, which is meer Air flying to and fro without wings; it is a moving wind, which after it is expelled its dwelling by Vulcan, it is driven into its Chaos, where it again enters, and resolves itself into the Elements, where it is elevated and attracted by the Sydereal Stars after a Magnetical manner unto themselves, out of love, whence he proceeded before, and was operated because it affects its like again, and attracts it to it.

But if this Spirit of Mercury can be caught, and made corporal, it resolves into a Body, and becomes a pure, clear, transparent water, which is the true spiritual water, and the first Mercurial Root of the Minerals and Metals, spiritual, intangible, incombustible, without any mixture of earthly Aquosity; it is that Celestial water, whereof very much hath been written; for by this Spirit of Mercury all Metals, may if need require, be broken, opened, and resolved into their first Matter, without Corrosive; it renews the age of Man or Beast, even as the Eagles; it consumes all evil, and conducts a long Age to long Life.

This Spirit of Mercury is the Master-Key of my Second Key, whereof I wrote in the beginning; wherefore I will call; Come ye Blessed of the Lord, be anointed, and refreshed with water, and embalm your Bodies, that they may not putrefie or stink; for this Celestial Water is the beginning, the Oyl, and the means, seeing it burns not, because it is made of spiritual Sulphur; the Salt Balsam is corporal, which is united with the Water by the Oyl, whereof I will afterwards treat more at large, when I shall write of them, and mention them.”

“And here the words of Alexander von Suchten, from the 'Blessed Casket of Nature's Marvels' by Benedictus Figulus:

'The primary matter of man and the primary matter of the great world are one and the same thing. But this primary matter of the world and of man is a Crystalline Water of which Holy Writ says "Before God created Heaven and Earth, the Spirit of the Lord brooded over the waters." This water became a primary matter of both.

But where remains the Spirit of the Lord, which brooded over the waters, after the two worlds, i.e. heaven and earth, and man had been created from the same? I reply, in the primary matter of man and of the world, God who is Perfection, has wished to dwell in Man.

But here the following question might be put; how did man know since the primary matter of man and the world is a crystalline water how could man know whether the Spirit of the Lord had remained in this primary matter of the world, or of man? I reply, he knew it by the Art of Water, for Water was his teacher.

This teacher shewed him how the world dies, how the Spirit departs from it, how the body is without spirit, the spirit without body. He saw how the spirit returns to the body, and the body revives.

He saw by the decay of the world that it did not become again what it had been before. Hence it became plain to him that God dwells not in that which passes away, but in that which is eternal.'”

- “Alchemy rediscovered and restored” by Archibald Cockren

Pic. Source: Besondere Chymische Schrifften, Urbigerus, Baro, c. 1705

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years ago

Text

Father of Mine – 1/2

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: With the tragic passing of her mother, Y/N learns to the truth of who her father is.

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: Family death, cancer, absent father, cremation

A/N: The reader is described as tall in this fic. Bruce Wayne is 6′2 and I’m tall, so I’m indulging myself with no apologies. Read it or don’t.

“Do you want to say anything before we…” the operator asked her.

“No,” Y/N answered quickly.

“Oh, my assistant forgot to give you this,” the operator gave her a shy smile as he handed her a small cardboard box.

She opened it to find all of her mother’s jewelry that had been on her body at the funeral.

“Thank you,” Y/N told him.

“Ready?” The operator asked.

He had been so kind throughout the whole process. It was obvious he was used to people breaking down and being extremely emotional.

But Y/N had been stoic, almost concerningly so.

Though he wasn’t one to judge. Everyone grieved differently.

With the pull of a handle, Y/N watched her mother’s body going into the chamber.

“It will be a few hours,” the operator told her.

He meant it will it will take a few hours for her mother’s body to burn to ash. Then they would hand her a tacky vase with her remains.

Y/N just nodded. “I’ll go for a walk.”

As soon as she was outside, Y/N called her mother’s executor.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I was just about to call you.”

“I’m at the crematory,” she told him. “I figured we should discuss the bills that still need to be paid for.”

“Yes, of course. As I mentioned to you before, your mother’s life insurance covers quite a lot of it…” his words died out.

“But it’s still not enough,” Y/N finished for him. “I’ll get the money.”

She wasn’t exactly rich, but she also wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck. But people never realized how much money it cost for loved ones to die. It was honestly ridiculous.

“You might want to consider taking out a loan,” he tried to suggest gently.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Another thing, Ms. Y/L/N. There was an envelope with a name on it. And your mother left instructions on delivering the envelope to them.”

She stopped her pacing.

“What name is on the envelope?” Y/N asked.

There was a pause.

“Bruce Wayne.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed.

Of course she knew who Bruce Wayne was – everyone in Gotham did, as well as most of the country. He was a billionaire playboy, only making headlines when he was a mess. But every once in awhile his philanthropy would sneak in there. Y/N always assumed those were only to help recover his image and not because he was a good person.

“You still there?” The executor asked.

“Yeah. I’m just a bit confused. But please pass it along to him, if that’s what my mom wanted.”

“I can’t. The instructions specifically say for you to deliver the envelop to him in person.”

“In person?” Y/N groaned in annoyance as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why did all of this have to be so god damn complicated?

“Yes. Her instructions are…oddly specific."

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll pick up everything from your office before the work day ends.”

——————

Y/N stared at the envelop that she’d tossed on her coffee table as she sipped a rather large glass of red wine.

She was wracking her brain trying to think of a time when her mom mentioned knowing Bruce Wayne. But Y/N would’ve remembered her mom saying his name – even in passing. It’s not a name that one can drop casually.

Y/N pulled up her phone and googled him. But she looked at his history. Yes, he was from Gotham, as was her mom, but so were 10 million other people.

But then Y/N’s scrolling paused when she realized they went to the same high school: Gotham Academy. Not only that, they graduated in the same year.

‘Were they friends?’ Y/N wondered.

But just classmates or friends still didn’t seem to warrant a handwritten letter to be delivered after one’s death.

Y/N didn’t open the envelope.

Her mother’s instructions specifically told her not to. And if she put in that much of an effort to get this done after her death, Y/N wasn’t going to ignore such a request.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.

“Fuck,” Y/N sighed before throwing back the rest of her wine.

——————

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t grant you access to the building without your name being in the system by the company you’re visiting,” the building receptionist told her for the third time.

“I understand. But I called his office 30 fucking times and they refuse to put me through to him or get me an appointment,” Y/N practically growled.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I already called their office to say you were here and they didn’t recognize your name. I can’t let you through to the elevators.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to the security guard who stood a few feet away. He was eyeing her now that there was clearly an argument going on.

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes. She had a good foot on him – even without her heels on. And he looked like he couldn’t run a 50 yard dash without passing out or vomiting. If he thought he was going to physically stop her, he had another thing coming.

“Listen, I am not some crazy fucking stalker. My mom knew Bruce Wayne and in her will she asked me to deliver this to him,” Y/N’s voice lowered and became disturbingly calm. “I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down,” the security guard finally stepped forward.

“Oh, fuck off,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the rent-a-cop.

“Ma’am, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” he continued.

“Call me ma’am one more fucking time…” Y/N growled.

But the security guard was taking a step to her.

“Excuse me. What seems to be the problem here?” A voice suddenly interrupted.

Everyone turned to see a young man – younger than Y/N – glaring at the security guard just as he was about to grab Y/N.

“M-Mr. Drake, we were just escorting this young woman from the premises,” the guard stuttered out.

Everyone at the building knew every member of the Wayne family. But unlike his siblings, Tim Drake was at the office almost every day. As one should be when they’re the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company.

“For what reason?” Tim Drake asked.

“She insists on seeing Mr. Wayne. But she doesn’t have an appointment. For security reasons, I cannot let her through, obviously, unless the company she is visiting has put her into their system and the building’s system,” the receptionist explained nervously.

Y/N frowned as if she was bored of the whole thing.

Tim stepped forward. “May I ask what your business with Bruce Wayne is?”

Now that he was closer, Y/N noticed how exhausted he looked. He was handsome still, of course. But she wondered when he last got a good night’s sleep. He was shorter than her, probably standing at 5’5. And she still believed he was younger than her, which was wild seeing as he was already the CEO and couldn’t be older than 24.

Y/N sighed before she grabbed the envelope from her black leather satchel, and showed that Bruce Wayne’s name was handwritten on it.

“My mother wished me to personally deliver this to him.”

Tim tilted his head slightly. “Why isn’t she doing it?”

“Because she’s dead,” she shot back without emotion.

But Tim’s face became sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve assumed…”

“It’s fine,” Y/N quickly cut him off before he could continue.

She was so tired of being on the receiving end of people’s sympathy. It didn’t help. And the words stopped holding any meaning to her.

“But I’m sorry. Bruce isn’t in today. And he probably won’t be coming to the office for the rest of the week.”

“Oh,” was all she responded with.

Of course Bruce Wayne didn’t come to work. Why would he?

This was a stupid idea. And now she had made a scene because of it.

“But if you give me your information, I will personally let him know that you are trying to reach him.”

“Really?” Y/N asked in shock.

Tim smiled at her surprise. “Of course.”

“Here’s my card,” she quickly grabbed one from her wallet and then a pen. “All my info is on that.” She wrote something on the back. “And that’s my mom’s name.”

He took it from her and nodded. “What was your mother’s relationship with Bruce?”

Y/N shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it out. Apparently they graduated in the same high school class. But that’s all I was able to find.”

He nodded.

“Thank you…Mr. Drake. For your help. Really,” she urged.

“Please, it’s just Tim.” Then he glared at the receptionist and security guard. “For you it is, at least.”

“Thank you again,” Y/N felt like saying it 30 more times still wouldn’t be enough.

“You don’t have to thank me. Someone will be in touch. Have a good day, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Y/N,” she corrected with a smile before she nodded and started backing away.

He smiled at her correction and gave a final nod.

——————

Y/N didn’t expect to hear from anyone for at least a week.

If the Wayne family was one thing, it was busy.

They probably had parties to go to, meetings to attend, private jets taking them around the world whenever they wished.

Why would they ever prioritize a meeting with her, a stranger?

So imagine her surprise when she received a call from an unrecognized number the same day she gave Tim Drake her card.

“Hello?” She answered.

Usually she would let any unknown number go to voicemail.

“Hello,” a British voice answered. “Am I speaking with Ms. Y/F/N Y/L/N?”

“This is she,” Y/N sat up straighter on her couch.

“This is Alfred Pennyworth. I work for Master Wayne and manage all his personal appointments. I was told by Master Tim that you wished to meet with him?”

“Uhhh. Yes. Yes, I do. Is that…is that possible?”

“Would you be able to stop by Wayne Manor on Friday afternoon?”

Y/N already knew she had nothing going on that would stop her from getting this done. But she still paused to pretend to think about it.

“Yes, Friday afternoon should be fine. Are you sure he doesn’t just want me to stop by Wayne Enterprises?”

It felt oddly intimate to stop by Wayne Manor. Wouldn’t they want to meet her in a more secure location like a corporate building with security that already hated her?

“He is quite certain. Should I send a car for you Ms. Y/L/N?”

A car?

Y/N felt even more out of her depth now.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Thanks,” she answered before hanging up and realizing that probably wasn’t the proper response to such a polite goodbye.

——————

“I haven’t heard that name since high school,” Bruce had muttered as he stared at the business card for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Yes, and the end of your relationship did not end on the best of terms,” Alfred commented.

Y/M’s/N Y/L/N had been Bruce’s high school sweetheart.

An she had seen the last moments of Bruce’s normal life.

Upon graduation, Bruce decided to leave Gotham and that’s how his second life was founded. The two of them broke up before the summer after graduation had even ended.

Well, “Breakup” was a strong word.

Bruce stopped answering her calls.

She was his first love and he continued to love her.

But once Bruce realized where his life was going and who he wanted to be, he knew he couldn’t drag her into it. She deserved better.

And Bruce was a coward about relationships then. Maybe he still was.

“I am certain you did a thorough background check on her already,” Alfred commented with a smirk.

Bruce took in a breath before listing off all of her accomplishments. “Y/F/N Y/L/N. Graduated number one in her class at Gotham Academy. She was the star of the track team, breaking the regional record for fastest time in 100m, 200m, and 400m races. Also captain of her soccer team. Attended NYU’s photography program before dropping out after a year. Now she’s a professional photography. Her work’s been featured in Vogue, New York Times, National Geographic…amongst others.”

“Rather an impressive woman,” Alfred said.

Bruce nodded.

“I should get the tea and coffee ready for her arrival.” And with that, Alfred left Bruce in the drawing room.

30 minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Bruce glanced down at his watch: she was right on time.

He heard Alfred saying his pleasantries before he heard the clicking of her heels as she rounded the corner to enter the room he was waiting in.

For being a famous photographer, she could’ve been a runway model with her height and the way she walked into the room, completely owning it. She wore four-inch heels, only adding to her natural tallness. And her bright, red coat only added to her presence.

For a split second, Bruce was convinced that he was looking at an Amazon. Diana immediately flashed into his mind for a split second. Perhaps that was what Y/M’s/N needed help with: to get her daughter to her real people. But how would she have known Bruce Wayne had such connections? Unless she knew Batman’s true identity…

As soon as Y/N spotted him in the room, he rose from his seat.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Bruce greeted.

He took a step forward and held out his hand.

“You guys really love the formalities.” She said it with a dark evenness, but it was clearly a joke. “Y/N is fine, Mr. Wayne,” she added as she shook his hand.

“In that case, it’s Bruce,” he countered with a soft smirk.

There was something so familiar about her. But Bruce knew they’d never met.

“Thank you for seeing me. I don’t want to waste anymore of your time,” Y/N quickly got to it. She opened her purse to grab the envelope.

“My mom wanted you to have this. And she wanted to make sure I was the one to give it to you,” Y/N explained as she offered it to him.

Bruce took it carefully, but didn’t open it. “Yes, I heard about her passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said hurriedly, making it obvious to Bruce that she did not want nor need his condolences.

Bruce nodded slowly.

There was a pause.

“Do you know what it says?” He asked her lightly.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t supposed to read it.”

“I see.”

“I should really be going. I have a flight to catch later tonight.” Most people that visited Wayne Manor wished to stay there forever. Or their curiosity got the best of them and their eyes took in every little detail.

But Y/N looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. And she wanted to get out as soon as she possibly could.

“Thank you again for seeing me,” she rushed out.

Without waiting for his answer, Y/N turned and started walking out of the room.

But she only got a few steps before she stopped.

Bruce watched her shoulders tense and her body move as she was clearly taking in deep breath.

Slowly, Y/N turned around to face him.

“Were you friends?”

Bruce gave her a watery smile. “She was my girlfriend in high school.”

Y/N seemed annoyed by that answer. “She never mentioned you. Not once.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed at that and his eyes zoned out as if he was revising the past in his mind. “I’m not entirely surprised. Things didn’t really end well between us.”

She nodded slowly. “Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.”

And Y/N turned and strutted out of the room without looking back.

As soon as Bruce heard her cab drive away, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out a letter.

He barely noticed that Dick had walked into the room. “May I ask…Who was the extremely attractive and tall woman that just walked out?”

But Bruce didn’t hear him as his eyes raced across the letter. His heart sped as he continued reading.

“Bruce?” Dick asked after being ignored. “Is she your next conquest or what?”

It wasn’t until Bruce was done reading the letter for the third time that he finally looked up and acknowledged Dick.

Alfred had also walked into the room, unbeknownst to Bruce.

“You OK?” Dick asked, now concerned with how silent Bruce had become.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred also urged.

“That was…my daughter,” Bruce finally muttered.

Dick blinked before his eyes grew wide in shock.

Alfred seemed less surprised, almost as if he had already put that together.

“Excuse me,” Bruce told them and exited the room.

———

Dick and Alfred must’ve warned the rest of the family not to bother Bruce in the cave. Usually he would’ve been disturbed by now.

Bruce had been at the computer for hours.

Alfred was the first person to come down, carrying a tray with dinner and tea.

The butler wasn’t surprised to find Y/N’s face all over the screens.

If Bruce had left any available information hidden before inviting Y/N to the manor, it was all out there now. Bruce knew everything about Y/F/N Y/L/N that was public knowledge – probably even some things that were not.

“You know, you did not seem all that surprised,” Bruce said to Alfred as he put the tray of food down next to him.

“Seemed rather obvious, didn’t it?”

Bruce quickly turned to look at him. “It did?”

Alfred smirked. “Her eyes,” was all he said.

“The color?”

Alfred shook his head. “As soon as she walked into the manor, they were reading me.” He tilted his head in Bruce’s direction. “Observation. Perception. Attention to detail...That is all you, Master Wayne.”

“The way she held herself,” Alfred continued, "Shoulders held back, head high, walking with purpose. No hesitation.”

“Also me?” Bruce asked.

Alfred simply nodded.

“I don’t think she liked me very much,” Bruce sighed.

He didn’t know how he felt about that yet.

“A lot of people think you don’t like them when you first meet them,” Alfred countered. “Because I don’t trust them yet.”

Alfred raised his brows and silently ask him, ‘Don’t you see my point?’

Bruce rubbed his face and reached for the tea on the tray, ignoring all the food.

“I don’t know why you’re so entertained by this, Alfred.”

“Yes, I was entertained. I just saw a younger, female version of you, Master Wayne.”

“I abandoned her,” Bruce shot.

“You didn’t know she existed,” Alfred corrected.

“And why do you think that is?”

Alfred’s face dropped a little bit when he noticed the envelope discarded on the far end of Bruce’s desktop.

He looked down at the ground as he asked, “Might I ask what the letter said?”

Bruce glared at the letter as if touching it would burn him.

But after a moment, he grabbed it and quickly handed it to Alfred.

Bruce,

If this letter has finally reached you, it is because I have passed.

I must admit that I wrote this letter mostly in the event that I leave my daughter before she is an adult. But once Y/N turned 18, I decided to still pass this along to you.

There is no easy way to tell you this, so I will get to the point.

The young woman who delivered this letter to you is your daughter, Bruce.

Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.

When I found out I was pregnant with her, I was only 18. We had just graduated high school. You had started traveling. You called less and less. And you grew more distant – physically and emotionally. Eventually, you stopped answering my calls altogether. I left you a voicemail, only saying that I so desperately needed to talk to you, that I needed you.

But you never called me back.

With no words at all, you made it very clear that you no longer wanted anything to do with me.

But there I was, a teenager who was pregnant with our child.

I would be lying if I said I never considered terminating my pregnancy. I was scared and you broke my heart. All I wanted to do was erase you from my life.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Once I decided what my future was going to be, I also decided that I did not want you to have any part in it.

I knew even if you pretended to play the doting father and the committed partner, you would grow tired of us eventually. You would resent me and our child for bringing you down. And you would brush us aside for yourself.

I realized I would rather Y/N have no father at all than one who would only disappoint her over and over again.

To this day, I truly believe I did the right thing for all three of us.

There are not enough words to explain the complicated woman that Y/N grew up to be. But I will try my best. I think I owe you that at least.

Or maybe you have no interest.

I don’t know how she became so much like you, even when I never so much as showed her a picture of you or uttered your name.

She enjoys being alone – almost to her own detriment. I constantly catch her repressing her feelings, always staying strong for everyone else. It reminds me of you. She’s assertive and confident, never letting anything stand in the way of what she wants. Sometimes I don’t think she’s scared of anything. It worries me, just like it worried me when I thought the same of you.

I truly don’t know what you will do with this information.

But…if you have any desire to form some sort of relationship with her, then you should know this: she will not make it easy for you. She will push you away. And she might even hate you. I raised her to never need a man in her life, and she’ll make sure you know that.

I don’t expect anything from you. I never did.

But I would just like to know there might be someone who will be there for her should she need them.

Goodbye, Bruce.

Alfred slowly handed the letter back to Bruce when he was finished.

“I pushed her away because I knew what I was about to become,” Bruce explained darkly. “And I didn’t want her anywhere near it. She would’ve been in danger.”

“Y/N, as well,” Alfred added.

“But had I known…if I just listened to her–”

“Master Wayne, I thought we had agreed to never linger on the ‘what ifs.’”

That sure silenced Bruce.

“Now, what do you plan on doing, Master Wayne?”

———

Y/N frowned when her phone started vibrating and she recognized the name of her mom’s executor on her phone screen.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, how are you?”

“Fine. How are you?” She was quick, wanting to get this over with. Surely, he had bad news. Another medical bill came in or some other expense that slipped by them.

“Good, good. Just curious…have you placed any payments to our various claims?”

“Uhhh…no. But I’m working on it.”

Y/N hadn’t expected to get a call nagging about paying bills.

“No, no, no. You misunderstand. They’ve all been paid,” the executor explained.

Y/N sat up straighter in her chair. “What? That’s not possible.”

“An anonymous donor. They somehow got record of all your outstanding payments and covered all of them.”

Y/N was stunned to silence.

“Ms. Y/L/N…this is a good thing.”

She blinked and shook her head. “Right. Yes, of course. I just…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank this guardian angel of yours.”

---------------------

Part 2

Let me know what you think!!!

#bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batman #batman x daughter!reader #dad!bruce wayne #dad!batman #batman family #batman universe #batman angst #bruce wayne angst #alfred pennyworth #father!bruce wayne #father!batman

2K notes · View notes

bodiesonbodiesonbodieson · 2 years ago

Note

How did you learn everything you know about esotericism? I feel so blunt in that realm, I work off vibes alone but there’s no finesse, no academic study… the way you operate is fascinating. Big love! ♥️

For you, beloved mutual, I will answer with a sincere and open heart ❤

Working off by vibes alone is fine, there’s just a need to continuously refine your intuition and discern which is intuition or neurotic spurts. I won’t call my study of the occult academic, but I do try to have thorough analysis on praxis and gnosis. I think this desire to be thorough is most important in the study, esoterism is the study of subtle flow of being that requires a constant fleshing. The studying of esoterism itself is the visceral enactment of esoterism into individual life, studying it steeps the mind into the magical void.

Structure:

Perspective

Spirits

Knowledge

Perspective

I think its important to understand that perspective is what knowledge emerges from. Once that is achieved, its important to know perspective can be changed, and the mind creates itself from the perceived field. Changing perspective, whether it is switching magical models or assuming god-forms into yourself, is changing how the mind constructs and processes itself and how it manipulates the objects of the field. Perspective is not bound to human awareness, know that if you want knowledge beyond human. It is also imaginarily assigned, but if you understand how reality is illusory, how illusory and imaginary are bridged together, how they interact, then how magical workings manifest will slowly reveal. I am still learning and discovering that, of course.

If we model perspective as a field, then changing it is transforming the field of reality directly. This does not seem apparent because the mind is attached to the histories, assumptions, and realities that it conditioned from thus inhibits the poetic exploration of the perceived. A lot could be done to rid the mind of said attachments, whether temporarily, permanently, selectively, fully, occasionally, etc., but all revolve around some sort of disintegration. The mind is digested by the void, so to speak.

Linking back to obtaining esoteric knowledge, I am implying the liminality of the mind as a channel for gnosis to come and praxis to develop. Sitting on the bounds of perspectives, the god discovers hidden structures from elevated--or lowered--positions. Personally, it is by refusing to be fixed to a body of knowledge that expands the space I pull knowledge from.

Spirits

Praise Ishtar for creating the heaven and earth, praise Ishtar for creating the mind, praise Ishtar for creating the circle, praise Her body from which all came from. Intelligence is not reserved to human beings, it never began from human beings. Regardless of the origin of intelligence, we still wish to pursue it and develop ours.

I hold animist positions. Recalling on what I said about the mind emerging from the perceived field, a mind--spirit--is given form when an identity is presented that acts as the point of reference the perspective originates. The god does not know what the angel perceives, but did cast the bounds which gave the angel space to form. Looked in another way, a spirit is drawn from the body of infinite potential as a point of existence that has its own arrangements and organizations--I want to expand this on my “theory of impulses” lol. The uniqueness and power of spirits lie in their position in existence, not in a hierarchal way but what does their point of existence encapsulates.

Now, why am I telling you all this? I wish to give you something that might flesh out how you understand them. Consequently, I hope that might allow you have somewhere to jump off from as to understand the underlying currents beneath spirits that allows them to provide to you knowledge and change.

Remember, the substance that creates spirits is the same that creates knowledge, by housing the knowledge of spirits you house the spirits themselves. You add layers into your viscera, forming your own spiritual complexity.

Knowledge

Getting to the actual meat of it, I obtain knowledge by first looking for gaps of knowledge in myself. I do not know and I want to know, so I will know and I will make it so. Insecurity is a powerful thing that people are too afraid to use, and the occultist is a very insecure and volatile being; I would say that the volatility of the occultist reaches into stability as well, the god is able to shift form into any substance, emotions and aspects, including the stable and unstable, dynamic and static. Knowledge is demanded by a mind that requires it, a mind with a need is insecure, a mind insecure is a mind spread thin. If your aim is to reach deep into the more fringe aspects of fate, expect the exposure to liminal spaces make your mind liminal as well.

Poetry, for me, is one of the few things that could cohere the mind with its newfound magic substance. It is a play of forms: the form of letters on the page, the form of sounds enunciated, and the form of meaning sprung from the sounds--language--; ultimately, it is the application of knowledge as existing for itself, by its own sake, instead of application for a result beyond the mere existence of that information. I say cohere, but its more of cope in a sense that esoteric knowledge reveals--to me--the deeper nature of the mind as a fragmented, chaotic, and unbalanced object. Spirits reveal this to show me the body they emerged from: Ishtar the Body of Night, Chaos is Her flesh, Nyx.

Linking back to practical content, I’d say look deep within yourself, your volatile and intense self, and ask what does she want to know. Tell her how she does not know it, where can she learn to know it, and let her feel all the emotions she need, take in all the elements she want, break through any wall between her and the secrets she wants to know. If you do not know where to look, then look everywhere till you find a direction that sparked something in you when you face it. Once you feel bored of that direction, leave it till it interests you again. If its a god that bores you, then how you go through them is your prerogative. Move mountains for knowledge and what you’ll learn will move stars for you.

I feel like I’ve already written a bit in a large span of time, this is it for now. Thank you for asking such a good question, it made me think a lot on how I structure my methods of learning. Forgive me for taking so much time, I had things to attend that prevented me from answering sooner. I also wanted to make sure this has as much quality as I could put in it. I could’ve made it shorter, but I decided nah.

#etheric

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hieromonkcharbel · 2 years ago

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"Therefore, so that prayer may be made with the fervor and purity that it deserves, the following things should be observed in every respect. First, anxiety about fleshly matters should be completely pletely cut off. Then, not only the concern for but in fact even the memory of affairs and business should be refused all entry whatsoever; ever; detraction, idle speech, talkativeness, and buffoonery should also be done away with; the disturbance of anger, in particular, and of sadness should be entirely torn out; and the harmful shoot of fleshly lust and of avarice should be uprooted. 2. And thus, when these and similar vices that could also make their appearance among men have been completely thrust out and cut off and there has taken place a cleansing purgation such as we have spoken of, which is perfected in the purity of simplicity and innocence, the unshakable foundations of deep humility should be laid, which can support a tower that will penetrate the heavens. Then the spiritual structure of the virtues must be raised above it, and the mind must be restrained from all dangerous wandering and straying, so that thus it might gradually begin to be elevated to the contemplation of God and to spiritual vision. 3. "For whatever our soul was thinking about before the time of prayer inevitably occurs to us when we pray as a result of the operation of the memory. Hence we must prepare ourselves before the time of prayer to be the prayerful persons that we wish to be. For the mind in prayer is shaped by the state that it was previously viously in, and, when we sink into prayer, the image of the same deeds, words, and thoughts plays itself out before our eyes. This makes us angry or sad, depending on our previous condition, or it recalls past lusts or business, or it strikes us with foolish laughter-I I am ashamed even to say it-at the suggestion of something ludicrous crous that was said or done, or it makes us fly back to previous conversations. 4. Therefore, before we pray we should make an effort to cast out from the innermost parts of our heart whatever we do not wish to steal upon us as we pray, so that in this way we can fulfill the apostolic words: `Pray without ceasing.'' And: `In every place

lifting up pure hands without anger and dissension." For we shall be unable to accomplish this command unless our mind, purified of every contagion of vice and given over to virtue alone as to a natural good, is fed upon the continual contemplation tion of almighty God.

St. John Cassian. Conference 9 section 3

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tseneipgam · 3 years ago

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"One would never defeat one’s circumstances by working and saving one’s pennies; one would never, by working, acquire that many pennies, and, besides, the social treatment accorded even the most successful Negroes proved that one needed, in order to be free, something more than a bank account. One needed a handle, a lever, a means of inspiring fear. It was absolutely clear that the police would whip you and take you in as long as they could get away with it, and that everyone else—housewives, taxi-drivers, elevator boys, dishwashers, bartenders, lawyers, judges, doctors, and grocers—would never, by the operation of any generous human feeling, cease to use you as an outlet for his frustrations and hostilities. Neither civilized reason nor Christian love would cause any of those people to treat you as they presumably wanted to be treated; only the fear of your power to retaliate would cause them to do that, or to seem to do it, which was (and is) good enough. There appears to be a vast amount of confusion on this point, but I do not know many Negroes who are eager to be “accepted” by white people, still less to be loved by them; they, the blacks, simply don’t wish to be beaten over the head by the whites every instant of our brief passage on this planet. White people in this country will have quite enough to do in learning how to accept and love themselves and each other, and when they have achieved this—which will not be tomorrow and may very well be never—the Negro problem will no longer exist, for it will no longer be needed."

"the Negro’s experience of the white world cannot possibly create in him any respect for the standards by which the white world claims to live. His own condition is overwhelming proof that white people do not live by these standards. Negro servants have been smuggling odds and ends out of white homes for generations, and white people have been delighted to have them do it, because it has assuaged a dim guilt and testified to the intrinsic superiority of white people. Even the most doltish and servile Negro could scarcely fail to be impressed by the disparity between his situation and that of the people for whom he worked; Negroes who were neither doltish nor servile did not feel that they were doing anything wrong when they robbed white people. In spite of the Puritan-Yankee equation of virtue with well-being, Negroes had excellent reasons for doubting that money was made or kept by any very striking adherence to the Christian virtues; it certainly did not work that way for black Christians. In any case, white people, who had robbed black people of their liberty and who profited by this theft every hour that they lived, had no moral ground on which to stand. They had the judges, the juries, the shotguns, the law—in a word, power. But it was a criminal power, to be feared but not respected, and to be outwitted in any way whatever. And those virtues preached but not practiced by the white world were merely another means of holding Negroes in subjection."

"Negroes in this country—and Negroes do not, strictly or legally speaking, exist in any other—are taught really to despise themselves from the moment their eyes open on the world. This world is white and they are black. White people hold the power, which means that they are superior to blacks (intrinsically, that is: God decreed it so), and the world has innumerable ways of making this difference known and felt and feared. Long before the Negro child perceives this difference, and even longer before he understands it, he has begun to react to it, he has begun to be controlled by it. Every effort made by the child’s elders to prepare him for a fate from which they cannot protect him causes him secretly, in terror, to begin to await, without knowing that he is doing so, his mysterious and inexorable punishment. He must be “good” not only in order to please his parents and not only to avoid being punished by them; behind their authority stands another, nameless and impersonal, infinitely harder to please, and bottomlessly cruel. And this filters into the child’s consciousness through his parents’ tone of voice as he is being exhorted, punished, or loved; in the sudden, uncontrollable note of fear heard in his mother’s or his father’s voice when he has strayed beyond some particular boundary. He does not know what the boundary is, and he can get no explanation of it, which is frightening enough, but the fear he hears in the voices of his elders is more frightening still. The fear that I heard in my father’s voice, for example, when he realized that I really believed I could do anything a white boy could do, and had every intention of proving it, was not at all like the fear I heard when one of us was ill or had fallen down the stairs or strayed too far from the house. It was another fear, a fear that the child, in challenging the white world’s assumptions, was putting himself in the path of destruction. A child cannot, thank Heaven, know how vast and how merciless is the nature of power, with what unbelievable cruelty people treat each other. He reacts to the fear in his parents’ voices because his parents hold up the world for him and he has no protection without them."

"Yes, it does indeed mean something—something unspeakable—to be born, in a white country, an Anglo-Teutonic, antisexual country, black. You very soon, without knowing it, give up all hope of communion. Black people, mainly, look down or look up but do not look at each other, not at you, and white people, mainly, look away. And the universe is simply a sounding drum; there is no way, no way whatever, so it seemed then and has sometimes seemed since, to get through a life, to love your wife and children, or your friends, or your mother and father, or to be loved. The universe, which is not merely the stars and the moon and the planets, flowers, grass, and trees, but other people, has evolved no terms for your existence, has made no room for you, and if love will not swing wide the gates, no other power will or can. And if one despairs—as who has not?—of human love, God’s love alone is left. But God—and I felt this even then, so long ago, on that tremendous floor, unwillingly—is white. And if His love was so great, and if He loved all His children, why were we, the blacks, cast down so far? Why?"

"when I faced a congregation, it began to take all the strength I had not to stammer, not to curse, not to tell them to throw away their Bibles and get off their knees and go home and organize, for example, a rent strike. When I watched all the children, their copper, brown, and beige faces staring up at me as I taught Sunday school, I felt that I was committing a crime in talking about the gentle Jesus, in telling them to reconcile themselves to their misery on earth in order to gain the crown of eternal life. Were only Negroes to gain this crown? Was Heaven, then, to be merely another ghetto? Perhaps I might have been able to reconcile myself even to this if I had been able to believe that there was any loving-kindness to be found in the haven I represented. But I had been in the pulpit too long and I had seen too many monstrous things. I don’t refer merely to the glaring fact that the minister eventually acquires houses and Cadillacs while the faithful continue to scrub floors and drop their dimes and quarters and dollars into the plate. I really mean that there was no love in the church. It was a mask for hatred and self-hatred and despair. The transfiguring power of the Holy Ghost ended when the service ended, and salvation stopped at the church door. When we were told to love everybody, I had thought that that meant every body. But no. It applied only to those who believed as we did, and it did not apply to white people at all. I was told by a minister, for example, that I should never, on any public conveyance, under any circumstances, rise and give my seat to a white woman. White men never rose for Negro women. Well, that was true enough, in the main—I saw his point. But what was the point, the purpose, of my salvation if it did not permit me to behave with love toward others, no matter how they behaved toward me? What others did was their responsibility, for which they would answer when the judgment trumpet sounded. But what I did was my responsibility, and I would have to answer, too—unless, of course, there was also in Heaven a special dispensation for the benighted black, who was not to be judged in the same way as other human beings, or angels. It probably occurred to me around this time that the vision people hold of the world to come is but a reflection, with predictable wishful distortions, of the world in which they live. And this did not apply only to Negroes, who were no more “simple” or “spontaneous” or “Christian” than anybody else—who were merely more oppressed. In the same way that we, for white people, were the descendants of Ham, and were cursed forever, white people were, for us, the descendants of Cain. And the passion with which we loved the Lord was a measure of how deeply we feared and distrusted and, in the end, hated almost all strangers, always, and avoided and despised ourselves."

"To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread. It will be a great day for America, incidentally, when we begin to eat bread again, instead of the blasphemous and tasteless foam rubber that we have substituted for it And I am not being frivolous now, either. Something very sinister happens to the people of a country when they begin to distrust their own reactions as deeply as they do here, and become as joyless as they have become. It is this individual uncertainty on the part of white American men and women, this inability to renew themselves at the fountain of their own lives, that makes the discussion, let alone elucidation, of any conundrum—that is, any reality—so supremely difficult. The person who distrusts himself has no touchstone for reality—for this touchstone can be only oneself. Such a person interposes between himself and reality nothing less than a labyrinth of attitudes. And these attitudes, furthermore, though the person is usually unaware of it (is unaware of so much!), are historical and public attitudes. They do not relate to the present any more than they relate to the person. Therefore, whatever white people do not know about Negroes reveals, precisely and inexorably, what they do not know about themselves."

"When the white man came to Africa, the white man had the Bible and the African had the land, but now it is the white man who is being, reluctantly and bloodily, separated from the land, and the African who is still attempting to digest or to vomit up the Bible. The struggle, therefore, that now begins in the world is extremely complex, involving the historical role of Christianity in the realm of power—that is, politics—and in the realm of morals. In the realm of power, Christianity has operated with an unmitigated arrogance and cruelty—necessarily, since a religion ordinarily imposes on those who have discovered the true faith the spiritual duty of liberating the infidels. This particular true faith, moreover, is more deeply concerned about the soul than it is about the body, to which fact the flesh (and the corpses) of countless infidels bears witness. It goes without saying, then, that whoever questions the authority of the true faith also contests the right of the nations that hold this faith to rule over him—contests, in short, their title to his land. The spreading of the Gospel, regardless of the motives or the integrity or the heroism of some of the missionaries, was an absolutely indispensable justification for the planting of the flag. Priests and nuns and schoolteachers helped to protect and sanctify the power that was so ruthlessly being used by people who were indeed seeking a city, but not one in the heavens, and one to be made, very definitely, by captive hands. The Christian church itself—again, as distinguished from some of its ministers—sanctified and rejoiced in the conquests of the flag, and encouraged, if it did not formulate, the belief that conquest, with the resulting relative well-being of the Western populations, was proof of the favor of God. God had come a long way from the desert—but then so had Allah, though in a very different direction. God, going north, and rising on the wings of power, had become white, and Allah, out of power, and on the dark side of Heaven, had become—for all practical purposes, anyway—black. Thus, in the realm of morals the role of Christianity has been, at best, ambivalent. Even leaving out of account the remarkable arrogance that assumed that the ways and morals of others were inferior to those of Christians, and that they therefore had every right, and could use any means, to change them, the collision between cultures—and the schizophrenia in the mind of Christendom—had rendered the domain of morals as chartless as the sea once was, and as treacherous as the sea still is. It is not too much to say that whoever wishes to become a truly moral human being (and let us not ask whether or not this is possible; I think we must believe that it is possible) must first divorce himself from all the prohibitions, crimes, and hypocrisies of the Christian church. If the concept of God has any validity or any use, it can only be to make us larger, freer, and more loving. If God cannot do this, then it is time we got rid of Him."

"in the end, it is the threat of universal extinction hanging over all the world today that changes, totally and forever, the nature of reality and brings into devastating question the true meaning of man’s history. We human beings now have the power to exterminate ourselves; this seems to be the entire sum of our achievement. We have taken this journey and arrived at this place in God’s name. This, then, is the best that God (the white God) can do. If that is so, then it is time to replace Him—replace Him with what? And this void, this despair, this torment is felt everywhere in the West, from the streets of Stockholm to the churches of New Orleans and the sidewalks of Harlem."

"The real reason that nonviolence is considered to be a virtue in Negroes—I am not speaking now of its tactical value, another matter altogether—is that white men do not want their lives, their self-image, or their property threatened."

"“I’ve come,” said Elijah, “to give you something which can never be taken away from you.” How solemn the table became then, and how great a light rose in the dark faces! This is the message that has spread through streets and tenements and prisons, through the narcotics wards, and past the filth and sadism of mental hospitals to a people from whom everything has been taken away, including, most crucially, their sense of their own worth. People cannot live without this sense; they will do anything whatever to regain it. This is why the most dangerous creation of any society is that man who has nothing to lose. You do not need ten such men—one will do."

"substituting for the names inherited from slavery the letter “X.” It is a fact that every American Negro hears a name that originally belonged to the white man whose chattel he was. I am called Baldwin because I was either sold by my African tribe or kidnapped out of it into the hands of a white Christian named Baldwin, who forced me to kneel at the foot of the cross. I am, then, both visibly and legally the descendant of slaves in a white, Protestant country, and this is what it means to be an American Negro, this is who he is—a kidnapped pagan, who was sold like an animal and treated like one, who was once defined by the American Constitution as “three-fifths” of a man, and who, according to the Dred Scott decision, had no rights that a white man was bound to respect. And today, a hundred years after his technical emancipation, he remains—with the possible exception of the American Indian—the most despised creature in his country."

"Consequently, white Americans are in nothing more deluded than in supposing that Negroes could ever have imagined that white people would “give” them anything. It is rare indeed that people give. Most people guard and keep; they suppose that it is they themselves and what they identify with themselves that they are guarding and keeping, whereas what they are actually guarding and keeping is their system of reality and what they assume themselves to be. One can give nothing whatever without giving oneself—that is to say, risking oneself. If one cannot risk oneself, then one is simply incapable of giving. And, after all, one can give freedom only by setting someone free. This, in the case of the Negro, the American republic has never become sufficiently mature to do. White Americans have contented themselves with gestures that are now described as “tokenism.” For hard example, white Americans congratulate themselves on the 1954 Supreme Court decision outlawing segregation in the schools; they suppose, in spite of the mountain of evidence that has since accumulated to the contrary, that this was proof of a change of heart—or, as they like to say, progress. Perhaps. It all depends on how one reads the word “progress.” Most of the Negroes I know do not believe that this immense concession would ever have been made if it had not been for the competition of the Cold War, and the fact that Africa was clearly liberating herself and therefore had, for political reasons, to be wooed by the descendants of her former masters. Had it been a matter of love or justice, the 1954 decision would surely have occurred sooner; were it not for the realities of power in this difficult era, it might very well not have occurred yet. This seems an extremely harsh way of stating the case—ungrateful, as it were—but the evidence that supports this way of stating it is not easily refuted. I myself do not think that it can be refuted at all. In any event, the sloppy and fatuous nature of American good will can never be relied upon to deal with hard problems These have been dealt with, when they have been dealt with at all, out of necessity—and in political terms, anyway, necessity means concessions made in order to stay on top. I think this is a fact, which it serves no purpose to deny, but, whether it is a fact or not, this is what the black populations of the world, including black Americans, really believe. The word “independence” in Africa and the word “integration” here are almost equally meaningless; that is, Europe has not yet left Africa, and black men here are not yet free."

"Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, which is the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death—ought to decide, indeed, to earn one’s death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible to life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return. One must negotiate this passage as nobly as possible, for the sake of those who are coming after us. But white Americans do not believe in death, and this is why the darkness of my skin so intimidates them. And this is also why the presence of the Negro in this country can bring about its destruction. It is the responsibility of free men to trust and to celebrate what is constant—birth, struggle, and death are constant, and so is love, though we may not always think so—and to apprehend the nature of change, to be able and willing to change. I speak of change not on the surface but in the depth—change in the sense of renewal. But renewal becomes impossible if one supposes things to be constant that are not—safety, for example, or money, or power. One clings then to chimeras, by which one can only be betrayed, and the entire hope—the entire possibility—of freedom disappears. And by destruction I mean precisely the abdication by Americans of any effort really to be free. The Negro can precipitate this abdication because white Americans have never, in all their long history, been able to look on him as a man like themselves."

"What it comes to is that if we, who can scarcely be considered a white nation, persist in thinking of ourselves as one, we condemn ourselves, with the truly white nations, to sterility and decay, whereas if we could accept ourselves as we are, we might bring new life to the Western achievements, and transform them. The price of this transformation is the unconditional freedom of the Negro; it is not too much to say that he, who has been so long rejected, must now be embraced, and at no matter what psychic or social risk. He is the key figure in his country, and the American future is precisely as bright or as dark as his. And the Negro recognizes this, in a negative way. Hence the question: Do I really want to be integrated into a burning house?"

"This past, the Negro’s past, of rope, fire, torture, castration, infanticide, rape; death and humiliation; fear by day and night, fear as deep as the marrow of the bone; doubt that he was worthy of life, since everyone around him denied it; sorrow for his women, for his kinfolk, for his children, who needed his protection, and whom he could not protect; rage, hatred, and murder, hatred for white men so deep that it often turned against him and his own, and made all love, and trust, all joy impossible—this past, this endless struggle to achieve and reveal and confirm a human identity, human authority, yet contains, for all its horror, something very beautiful. I do not mean to be sentimental about suffering—enough is certainly as good as a feast—but people who cannot suffer can never grow up, can never discover who they are. That man who is forced each day to snatch his manhood, his identity, out of the fire of human cruelty that rages to destroy it knows, if he survives his effort, and even if he does not survive it, something about himself and human life that no school on earth—and, indeed, no church—can teach. He achieves his own authority, and that is unshakable. This is because, in order to save his life, he is forced to look beneath appearances, to take nothing for granted, to hear the meaning behind the words. If one is continually surviving the worst that life can bring, one eventually ceases to be controlled by a fear of what life can bring; whatever it brings must be borne. And at this level of experience one’s bitterness begins to be palatable, and hatred becomes too heavy a sack to carry. The apprehension of life here so briefly and inadequately sketched has been the experience of generations of Negroes, and it helps to explain how they have endured and how they have been able to produce children of kindergarten age who can walk through mobs to get to school. It demands great force and great cunning continually to assault the mighty and indifferent fortress of white supremacy, as Negroes in this country have done so long. It demands great spiritual resilience not to hate the hater whose foot is on your neck, and an even greater miracle of perception and charity not to teach your child to hate. The Negro boys and girls who are facing mobs today come out of a long line of improbable aristocrats—the only genuine aristocrats this country has produced. I say “this country” because their frame of reference was totally American. They were hewing out of the mountain of white supremacy the stone of their individuality. I have great respect for that unsung army of black men and women who trudged down back lanes and entered back doors, saying “Yes, sir” and “No, Ma’am” in order to acquire a new roof for the schoolhouse, new books, a new chemistry lab, more beds for the dormitories, more dormitories. They did not like saying “Yes, sir” and “No, Ma’am,” but the country was in no hurry to educate Negroes, these black men and women knew that the job had to be done, and they put their pride in their pockets in order to do it. It is very hard to believe that they were in any way inferior to the white men and women who opened those back doors. It is very hard to believe that those men and women, raising their children, eating their greens, crying their curses, weeping their tears, singing their songs, making their love, as the sun rose, as the sun set, were in any way inferior to the white men and women who crept over to share these splendors after the sun went down. "

#book

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pattysplaceofplaces · 2 years ago

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Tiger’s Heart

It was weird to be back. From crowded cities to traditional villages, those were familiar places. A small town was no longer her domain.

She was thankful that the room wasn’t taken. Whenever things got too stressful at home Ms. Swanson, the owner of the motel would let her stay free of charge for as long as she needed in the very room she stood in now. “I wonder…” Sheena got down on her knees and grabbed one of the floorboards and pulled upwards. Like she expected, she could move it out of the way with ease. Thank god Ms. Swanson never noticed it. Sheena removed a tin box from the small space and opened it up. It was her own little time capsule. One centered around love with Polaroid pictures of you and her, old post it notes from you two attempting to talk in class without getting in trouble, your old flip phone that you gave to her when you got a new phone that ended up being her first phone, and the receipt of a meal you two shared at a diner.

Sheena wished she could have taken it to VILE island with her but there was no room for weakness. Yet now she could look inside the box and relive those memories. She would always look through them when she had a bad day. “There’s no time for regrets.” She hyped herself up, “I may not have confessed then but I can now.” She put the box in her suitcase making sure it was secure then putting some clothes on top of it. VILE practically made all their operatives paranoid. She took something else out from her suitcase and put it inside where the box once resided then put the floorboard back. The chance of someone going snooping through her room was incredibly low but she couldn’t risk it. She felt safer bringing the claws that were once apart of her old identity as Tigress.

Sheena took the stairs down to the last floor because she wasn’t getting stuck in that barely functioning elevator again. “I’m heading out Ms. Swanson, thanks for the free room.” The elderly woman looked up from her computer and put a hand on her heart. “Anytime sweetheart, now go have fun while you’re young and beautiful!” Sheena chuckled in response and left the motel.

So little had changed since she had left it was unbelievable. Most people still lived in the same house or it was passed down to family. Kids still wrestled on their yard, played pretend, or was confessing on top of the hill near the creek. Many people saw her yet they couldn’t believe it was actually Sheena. The girl from the past shuffled with her chin to chest and always had her back arched up like a cornered cat, not rocking a confident stride. Some would call her past outfits “prudish” with her always being covered by her jeans, hoodies, long sleeve shirts, leggings, long dresses, and sweatpants no matter the season. But this woman wasn’t showing off because she wanted attention, she just felt comfortable in her own skin.

Sheena had some time to kill before the reunion so she decided to drop by her favorite burger joint. No matter where she went they just couldn’t replicate the bliss inducing taste. The cow mascot was redesigned yet nothing else seemed out of place. The menu was still the same, thank god because her whole day would be ruined if she could no longer relive the memory of eating the meal that seemed to be handcrafted by the Heavenly Father himself.

“Oh my god…Sheena?” She looked to see who was calling her name. The cashier who had her dark hair in a skinny, tight ponytail, the tattoos on her manicured fingers were still there. “It’s really you?” Sheena scoffed. “I want a number one, chop chop.” The other girl seemed taken aback. The old Sheena would never bark an order at someone. “Oh. So you have an ego now? That’s no way to talk a friend.”

Sheena didn’t have her claws yet her fingers instinctively flexed. “Bullshit Rodney and you know it! You were never my friend. Just some mutt who needed to learn to sit and stay.” Rodney put a hand on her chest. “Ouch. I’m offended. I wonder how Y/n would feel about this.” Rodney made the grave mistake of assuming Sheena hadn’t changed, that she would continue to sit there and take it. This time she was grabbed roughly by the collar of her shirt and pulled closer. “Leave her out of this you fucker!” Her shaking frame was pulled closer and Sheena’s voice became more hushed. “Get me my goddamn burger and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.” Yeah right. Like that would ever happen. Rodney was released and all she could was stand there with her mouth agape.

There was no way that was Sheena. Since when did Sheena stand up for herself? Or was strong enough to actually pull her closer? Rodney put in the order then went to the kitchen to allow herself to break down. A man in an apron went up to her. “Babe? What happened?” She swallowed and hugged him tight. “She’s a psychopath!”

[Author’s Note: You may feel bad for Rodney now but that wont last long.]

#Carmen Sandiego #carmen sandeigo 2019 #where in the world is carmen sandiego #Tigress Carmen Sandiego #Sheena Carmen Sandiego #Tigress x reader #Tigress x Fem reader #Tigress Carmen Sandiego x reader #Sheena Carmen Sandiego x reader #Sheena x Fem reader #Tiger’s heart #Please read the previous chapters #This is chapter two #Wlw x reader

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Rumor Has It {21}*

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Cursing, ANGST, Plot, Fluff, Mildly NSFW, Violence, Blood, Death, Verbal mention of Rape, Potentially Triggering Discussion

Words: 6.2k

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

NOTE: DO NOT COME FOR ME. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊❤️❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Uriah-

You pushed off of him to an upright position, not sure you’d heard him right. “Say what!?”

Chris sat up as well and leaned on the headboard.

“Yeah. Abel, the detective, found that the video was doctored. It was spliced together using so many different audio clips dating back to when Knives Out was announced. She had someone doctor it to make it seem like it was me, or recent and current me.”

You were ready to claw her eyes out. “That bitch!”

Chris sighed. “That’s not it,” he began. He reached for your hand and brought you closer. You swung your leg over his lap and sat on his thighs, giving him your undivided attention.

“Remember the picture of her in the sweater?”

Clenching your jaw, you nodded. “The one from your room?”

He nodded. “You’re right—it was from my room.”

You gaped at him, ready to lunge at him, but you stopped yourself.

“She snuck in, stripped down, and posted it. Abel was able to get security footage from the hotel. She bribed one of the housekeeping staff. They let her in, and it was at the same time I was on call for press. The timestamp shows it. I’m thinking she knew it would set you off and create problems between us.”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying. This was insane. Why would someone go to these lengths?

“Wow.” You rubbed your forehead, trying to wrap your head around everything. Not only were you still grappling with everything that happened since the accident, including things with Christiano, but the babies and Chris’s downward spiral, but now this. “Oh my god.”

“The investigator uncovered a video from the hotel—and so much more.” Chris released a heavy breath then took your hand. “It all points to her, Riah.”

His fingers traced imaginary patterns on my hand and along the length of my fingers.

“And the text messages?” You couldn’t help yourself. Chris looked up from your hand and to your waiting eyes. The look on his face was an inquisitive one. “The ones between you and her about us,” you finished.

There was no look of shock; he just looked resolved, as if he somehow knew that you knew.

“How do you know about that?”

“I did something crazy,” you began before pausing to find the right way to explain.

It only took a few moments to forego any strategic plan and lay it out. So that is what you did. You explained your mission impossible operation with Kizzy and Zora a few weeks ago at Chris’s press junket. You explained being in the elevator to witness Ana’s blatant flirting. You explained, taking her purse and going through her phone to find out how devious she was. By the time you finished, the silence in the room was deafening. Chris hadn’t moved or spoken since you began. The look on his face was so masked and neutral that you couldn’t tell if he was on the brink of an angry outburst or a disappointed one.

Suddenly Chris snorted loudly then laughed obnoxiously, clapping his free hand across his chest. The laugh went on so long to the same caliber that you couldn’t help but join in. So the two of you sat there laughing together for several long minutes. Once both of you were laughed out, you just stared at each other.

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Chris started first, continuing to rub your hand. “I knew who I married.”

He sighed and shook his head. That was when you saw the remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about it all, but I didn’t want to hurt you or have you doubt me.”

Chris clenched his jaw then crinkled his brow. “In hindsight, I know it looked really suspicious. There are so many things I see now that I didn’t then. I shouldn’t have even had those text exchanges. It’s not her place to know anything small or not about our marriage. Jesus.” Chris took his hand away then raked it through his hair before locking his hands behind his neck—one of his frustrated ticks. His eyes were dropped to your thighs, and that’s where they remained.

“I’m sorry, Riah.”

His voice sounded clouded, and that was the only indication you needed to know his emotions were getting the better of him.

“I’ve been so stupid. So stupid,” he choked out.

“Baby.” You slid closer to him, grabbing his elbows to pull them down to rest on top of your thighs. “Look at me.”

You raised his chin so he was looking into your eyes. His tears stained his cheeks and welled his eyes. You’d wanted him to see the error of his ways so many times. You’d wished he could see it your way and understand, and now that he did, you should have felt vindicated, but you didn’t. There really were no winners when the family feuds.

Dropping your face into the crook of his neck, you inhaled his scent.

“I’m sorry, dragonfly,” Chris whispered, wrapping his arms around you holding you close. “So sorry.”

“Baby—look at me.”

He pulled back enough for you to peer into his eyes. As you caressed his cheek, you spoke.

“It’s okay. I—you--,” you sighed, then traced your thumb across his bottom lip. “I understand. There has been so much—pain, so much sorries and--.” Again you stopped for a few seconds.

“No more,” you finished.

Chris slowly nodded his head, grasping your meaning. He then kissed your thumb and nuzzled his bearded jaw into your palm. Though you wanted to move on, there was one more burning question, one more thing you had to know. Nibbling your bottom lip, you found your courage.

“Were—were you tempted?”

You couldn't look at him, so you kept your head down.

“What? Tempted? To do what?”

Meeting his eyes, you swallowed, then continued.

“Cheat,” you whispered.

Chris sat up straight, and he cupped your face within his large hands. His eyebrows were crooked with the intense, take me serious look he always got when he was about to say something important.

“Look at me. Never.”

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you.

“Listen and hear me, Uriah, never, ever. I would never. I told you I married you for a reason. I had a plan. Forever and a day, Uriah. You promised me forever and a day, and I won’t stand for anything less. I’m collecting all of it. Forever and a day.”

Fighting the tears, you scoffed. “You were a jackass. When I tell you a woman wants you, don’t doubt me.”

Chris smiled and nodded. “I was. Never again. We don’t be here again. I’m going to be Pence from now on. You must be present at all times, or I’m not alone with any women.”

You busted out laughing, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the heaviness of the last few weeks. It felt almost normal, like the two of you were on your way. Chris kissed you once, then twice before resting his forehead to yours.

“We have to nail her ass to the wall,” you declared, staring into his eyes.

“Oh, definitely. What did you have in mind, Mrs. Evans?”

“You didn’t file the papers?”

Chris scoffed, then rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know who you think I am, but you’re gonna have to try harder than divorce papers to get rid of me, Dragonfly.”

Again you smiled. “So whatever I want, you won’t be the voice of sympathy?”

“Whatever you want, kitten,” Chris replied, kissing the tip of your nose, making your belly flutter in the process.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m so happy that you’re okay, sweetheart,” your mother said as she pulled you into a group hug with your father.

“I’ll be okay, mom.”

Your father cupped your cheek, taking the time to inspect your face. You knew he wasn’t looking for physical harm. He was realizing how close he’d come to losing you, how he’d failed you. You could tell. When Chris had called them to update them, they instantly wanted to hear your voice. When they did, they broke, and that breaking turned to shattered when everything came out.

You’d spent two hours on the phone with them, listening to them apologize and blame themselves for putting so much trust in Christiano. They felt horrible for never suspecting that he would stoop so low. They begged you not to hate them, begged you to forgive them. It was easy to promise them you weren't angry because you understood. You didn’t blame them or hold a grudge for them not doing more. They had no idea who Christiano really was—you didn’t either. The only one who ever saw him for who he was, was Chris.

“I’m so sorry, Uriah. As your father, I should have done more to keep you away from him.”

“Daddy, don’t. There is nothing you could have done. You did the best with what the information you had—you all did,” you assured, looking around at the faces of everyone you loved, both your family and Chris’s.

Lisa approached and pulled you into another hug. You could feel her tears.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

“I am so happy that you are.” Her hand dropped to your bump, and she smiled. “That you all are.”

Just like that, the waterworks started again, and everyone huddled around you, everyone but Chris, who was standing back most likely watching with a cheesy smile on his face. When they released you, your guess was correct. Chris smiled, then winked at you.

“So how are we getting those sons of bitches?”

All eyes snapped to Zora, who looked as if she was ready to rip out a heart and eat it.

“Down girl—Chris has already laid the groundwork,” you said.

“And it was easy, just play into that colossal ego of his,” Chris finished, kissing my temple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Chris-

MSG Love Of My Life: Remember, don’t let him goad you. He’s going to try.

He scoffed; it was an understatement.

MSG: I’m good. He can’t get me to because I have what he doesn’t, and I know something he doesn’t.

MSG Love Of My Life: You do have me. Forever and a day, my love. <Kiss emoji, heart emoji>

MSG: You should have let me go with you. I don’t like you’re alone.

MSG Love Of My Life: I’m not alone. I have my parents, Kizzy, Zora, your sisters, your mom, our lawyers. I am far from alone.

MSG: You know what I mean.

MSG Love Of My Life: I don’t think I could relive it all with you next to me anyway. It’s better this way. I’ll see you soon. Remember what I said. <Kiss>

He sighed and tried to push aside the guilt he felt. He wanted to be with you, holding your hand. You’d gone through too much alone, and all he wanted to do now was protect you.

MSG Scott: Need me to come up?

MSG: Nah, I can handle this.

MSG Scott: Okay.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and stared out over the canyons and LA down below. It was a beautiful sight, one he liked a lot but not better than the changing leaves of Autumn in Massachusetts. He would never choose LA over them. It was, however, a good change of pace, but it staled quickly. Standing here, it was easy to forget the chaos of the last few months. Easy to forget that merely days ago, he’d thought his life was over, and it would never be the same.

“I can’t believe you suggested this. What, you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s cool; I don’t mind helping you with that.”

The sound of his voice was enough to make him want to turn around swinging, then drag him to the edge and kick him off Sparta style. He didn’t deserve to live, not after what he’d done to you. He clenched his jaw and tightened his fist, and slowly released a breath. Once he was sure he had some sort of control over his reflexes, he turned. Christiano looked as smug as ever. He’d never wanted to take a life, but right now, right here, he thought of at least ten ways in under one minute. They all involved pain.

“So, what air is there to clear?”

He clenched his jaw before he spoke.

“She’s still my wife.”

“Ah, ah, ah, according to those divorce papers she sent over, even that is limited time. Face it man; you’ve lost. I’ve won. I always win. I always get what I want, no matter what. It’s hilarious to me that you thought swooping into her life like that and marrying her on a whim would have changed things. Uriah has always been mine. She was always meant to be mine.”

His hatred for the man in front of him was already at toxic levels. He had no idea how it was possible for it to increase. Staring at him and hearing the venom he just spewed did the trick.

“So, this is just a game to you? This is her life—this is our life. All of this is for what?”

“To win what’s rightfully mine. I’m Christiano White. I get what I want when I want it, and that includes women. No one takes what’s mine. No one, and she’s mine!”

The smugness on his face was the most upsetting thing. He didn’t care hearing him profess fake ownership. He didn’t even care that Christiano thought he had so much privilege that he would get away with his insane plane. Even the thought that him being Christiano White meant jack shit. What really got to him was the fact he’d done this to prove some stupid, sick point. He’d played with his life, your life, and the life of his children for the sake of winning. He stepped to Christiano, ready to push his ass off the cliff, but before he touched him, the thought of you and those innocent babies flashed into his mind. There was no way he’d do this to you guys, he thought.

Gathering some calm, he stepped back. Christiano chuckled.

“Thay’s right. Recognize when you’ve lost, and oh, have you lost. Let me tell you how bad you’ve lost. She was in my bed, letting me touch her, kiss her, please her. She shouted my name, over and over. Not yours.”

He scoffed. “You sure? My name’s Chris. Did she say, Christiano?”

The smirk on Christiano’s face slipped, and rage replaced it. It was a small piece of satisfaction, but it was worth it, especially since he knew for a fact you’d called his name—Chris and not the latter. Though your brain didn’t remember him, your subconscious did, your heart did, your soul did. There was no room for anyone else. He nearly laughed in Christiano’s face because it had taken him this long to grasp that fully. There had only ever been you and him.

“You only have yourself to blame. Who would dare cheat on Uriah? Who would think to replace a diamond with a pebble? You’re an idiot,” Christiano jabbed before he laughed out. “Don’t worry, once we’re married, things will be better for her.”

“How do you plan on getting married if we’re still legally married?”

For the second time, the smile Christiano wore slipped. He looked around as if he expected someone to come out.

“For now,” Christiano scoffed, rolling his eyes.

He couldn’t help but smile when he saw you walking up behind Christiano. Catching on, he spun around.

“Babe, what’re—what’re you doing here? I thought we were meeting tonight.”

Christiano approached you with his arms out, but you walked past him to his waiting arms instead. Once he wrapped his arm around your waist, you kissed his lips, then turned to Christiano, who looked confused, angry, and a few other emotions he most likely hadn’t put together yet.

“For always,” you said.

“What the fuck!”

“Surprise,” he said, slipping his hand down to your hip. Christiano’s eyes dropped to his hand before he clenched his jaw. The annoyance from minutes ago was worth it.

“What was the plan, Christiano? It’s bigamy to be married to two people at once. Our marriage would have been null in void. What was the goal!?”

Christiano took a step to you, making him grip your hip tighter, ready to get in between you.

“I’m better than him. I’m richer, I look better, and I’m better in bed. Admit it, Riah. I don’t lose to men like him. I wasn’t done with you,” Christiano confessed with bitterness in his voice.

You pulled from him, taking a step to Christiano. “So you decided to turn me into a pawn! You decided to lie to me, manipulate me and—rape me?!”

“Shut up, I didn’t--,” he began before you cut him off.

“Yes, you did! I was not of sound mind. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t even know who I was. You knew. You fucking knew, and you used that and stole from me. Admit it!”

Sensing things were about to go south, he stepped between the two of you, pulling back to a safe distance.

“That’s right, fuck it! Yes, I did all of that. I’ll admit it. Yes, I manipulated you to get what I wanted. I couldn’t lose to this dick. I couldn’t let you go. I wouldn’t. I did what was necessary. I took what was mine, and I don’t regret it. I’d do it again.”

That was all he could stomach before he turned and decked him with all the force he possessed. Christiano dropped to the dirt and writhed for a few moments before he slowly stood laughing like a lunatic with the blood dripping from his nose.

“You’re insane. You tried to kill my children because I ended things and found better?”

“There is no better than me!”

He spread his arms out, not caring where the blood that spewed from him went. “Uriah, you know you love me. You loved the feel of a real man between your legs. Just tell him.”

Glancing at you, he realized you were crying now.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me. I can’t believe you’d hurt me this way.”

He wrapped his arms around you, hoping to comfort you in some way. Looking back at Christiano, he was in time to see him charging toward him. He quickly moved you out of the way and threw a punch that connected with Christiano’s jaw. Instead of going down, Christiano lunged at him, gripping him around his waist, trying to bring him down to the ground. He almost laughed. Sending his knee into his gut, he spun and put Christiano in a chokehold keeping him there.

It was then a group of police officers came running toward them.

“Look at that. You lost, not just once, but twice and now—a third.”

He wanted to snap his neck, and thinking of everything he’d put them through, he almost did. Two officers ran up to him, both of them taking Christiano by his arms.

“We’ve got it from here.”

Reluctantly he let Christiano go and allowed the law to take the wheel. Going to you, he cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears.

“I’m here.”

You hugged him, and he just held you. There was no need for words.

-That Night-

“I love you.”

Those words were like music to his ears. There was a time he didn’t think he’d ever hear them again. Gently pulling your head back, he peered into your eyes while caressing your cheek. He loved seeing you like this with your hair free, hovered over him, with the moon as your backdrop.

“I love you more,” he whispered.

“Forever and a day?”

He smiled, remembering your promises, and pressed his forehead to yours. “Forever and a day, dragonfly.”

You kissed him softly, taking the time to tease his lips, nibbling his bottom one before burying your face in the crook of his neck as you rocked against him, sending him higher and higher until he felt as if his soul left his body.

“Uriah!”

It felt like he was no longer in his body but instead hovering overhead like a fly watching your bodies entangled together. There was no other sight he loved as much. You rolled off of him and found your place beside him, resting your head on his chest, right over his heart. You both sighed.

“After this is done, let’s go back to Massachusetts full time,” you quietly said after a few minutes.

“What?” he turned to look at you, needing to see if you meant it.

“Do you mean that?”

“Yeah. I never wanted to raise kids in LA, and you know I love Massachusetts. Let’s have these babies in the house you built for us,” you added.

He couldn’t believe his ears. It wasn’t that you’d ever expressed not wanting to live in Massachusetts full time; it was that he knew how much of your career was still in LA. With him, he was spending less and less time here, but you, it seemed it was more and more.

“How is that going to work with your career?”

You rolled slightly onto your side, then trailed your hand across his chest down his stomach to rest nonchalantly atop his manhood. Groaning, he wrapped one of his arms under his head.

“I’m taking a few years off.”

The shock had his junk jumping in your hand, making a wide smile spread across your face. “Wow, talk about talent,” you teased.

He rolled you onto your back and climbed on top of you, nestling himself between your spread thighs.

“Don’t play with me, Mrs. Evans.”

You smiled widely as you fondled him with one hand. Not being strong enough to have this conversation while you did that, he grabbed your hand and pressed it over your head, gripping you at your wrist.

“No fair,” you pouted.

“Say that again.”

You smiled, clearly loving that fact he was hanging by a flimsy piece of thread.

“I said I’m taking a few years off.”

He couldn’t stop his grin. “Really?”

“Yeah. What do you think? Would you want that?”

“You’re kidding. Of course, yes! It would be just the two of us day in, day out. No movie sets, no studio time, no photoshoots.”

“Eh-em, excuse you. You mean just the five of us,” you corrected.

It didn’t take him long to get it. You, him, babies, and Dodger.

“I love you, Mrs. Evans.”

“I love you, Mr. Evans.”

You kissed him once, then twice before your hands roamed down his back to grip his ass, making him moan and chuckle at the same time. He’d missed this and you.

“Hang on, baby; I gotta--,” he began.

“Ah, that after nut pee calls, huh. Fine. Go ahead. I'll just be here, pregnant and horny.”

He snorted and rolled off of you before hurrying to the bathroom.

“Oh, I’m coming back, cause—that sounds like a very pressing situation that needs my undivided attention.”

You giggled as he dipped into the bathroom. He hurried to the toilet and tried his best to aim properly but an erection and peeing straight made for a tricky situation. Once he’d gotten the hang of it and the common sense to curve his body a little, he was good and groaned long and loud as he relieved himself. The silence in the bathroom gave him the time to fully react to the prospect of moving back to Massachusetts full time for the next few years. He couldn’t wait. Life was about to change for the better.

Once finished, he flushed and washed his hands before stepping back into the room. He expected you to be lying on the bed, waiting for him, but the bed was empty. Thinking you might have found your way to the kitchen for a snack, he pulled his pajama pants off the floor and pulled them on before he walked out of the bedroom. He’d recently discovered that after sex, you craved something from the fridge. He walked down the hall leading to the staircase, but before he got there, a chill ran down his spine. It was this chill and almost like a psychic feeling that had him stop.

When he turned, there you stood in your pale pink kimono robe with Christiano behind you. His hand was around your neck, clasping it.

“What the--.” He made a move toward them, but Christiano pulled out a gun and pointed it to your stomach.

“I wouldn’t,” he began before he cocked the weapon. “Or I will pull this trigger, and there goes Evan Jr.”

Terror as he’d never felt before gripped his heart. “You wouldn’t risk her life.”

Christiano shoved the barrel of the gun more forcefully into your stomach, making you whimper loudly.

“Wouldn’t I? what’s the point of keeping her safe now? For her to end up with you? I think the fuck not!” Again he shoved the gun into you.

“Okay, hey, hey, stop. Don’t do this. Please.”

“Please?” Christiano snorted and pulled you more firmly against him. “Are you begging me finally? You’ve always been underneath me. I couldn’t understand why she would choose you over me. I’m better in every category.”

He nodded, with his hands raised.

“You’re right. You’re the better man, the better choice,” he agreed, deciding to play along and say whatever he wanted if it meant Uriah had a chance of getting away from him. He quickly tried to formulate a plan while he used his words to buy himself as much time as possible.

“I know! So why him, Uriah!?”

You remained quiet, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Answer me! You better answer me with the truth, or I swear I’ll pull this trigger.”

“Answer hi, Dragonfly. It’s okay. Forever and a day.”

You scrunched your face and watched fresh heartbreak wash over you. “I—I fell in love with him, Tino. My soul recognized his as my home. It could only ever be him,” you replied. He signaled to you using his eyes and slight movements of his head, and he hoped you understood them.

He watched Christiano squeeze your neck tighter and press the gun more persistently into you, and he said a silent prayer.

“Fine,” Christiano began. He saw the moment when it all changed for him, and his threats no longer were empty words. “If I can’t have you. No one can.”

“Now, Riah!”

You threw your head back, colliding yours with his in a vicious headbutt that sent Christiano staggering backward a few steps and you stumbling before falling to the floor. In the chaos, Christiano dropped the gun allowing him to leap forward for the gun. In seconds Christiano was on him, fighting him for it. He tried to pull it from his clutches while turning it away from him or Uriah, but there was no fury like a man who’d lost everything.

Christiano managed to wrangle the gun from his grasp and pointed it to Uriah. In the blink of an eye, he knew what had to be done—the only thing he could do. Locking eyes with you, he said the only thing that mattered.

“I love you.”

He then dove for Christiano tracking him into the banister railing with enough force that broke it, sending both of them over the edge and down two and a half stories to the hard marble floor beneath. He could hear your piercing scream right before they collided with the floor, but once they made impact, the gun went off, and again Uriah screamed.

“Chris!”

~~~~~~~~~

-Uriah-

It all had happened in such a way that it was in slow motion but sped up. You couldn’t register anything until it was all said and done. You scurried to the banister and looked down. Neither of them moved, and your heart stopped. Gasping, you tried to remind your brain to send the signal for you to breathe. After a few seconds, you coughed while trying to hurry down the stairs. The tears in your eyes made it difficult to see what was in front of you, so you stumbled down the stairs. If it weren’t for your gripping the railing as you descended, you were sure you would have tumbled.

Once down to them, you dropped to your knees beside them and pulled at Chris’s body. He wasn’t moving.

“Oh god, Chris!”

He didn’t respond, and his body felt like dead weight. Your tears flowed more freely as you managed to roll him off. Once you had, you were able to see that it was Christiano who was shot and not Chris. Relief filled you, and you shook him more forcefully.

“Chris! Wake up, please. Please don’t leave me. Chris!”

Suddenly he erupted into a fit of choughs before they died down.

“Why are you always shouting at me, woman!?”

You gasped again. “Oh my god! You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m okay. I think,” he informed while trying to sit up. He then began examining you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

He then gripped his head as he groaned out, but it wasn’t long before he was moving toward you to pull you into his arms, not caring that he was covered in blood.

“Is he—is he dead?”

Chris leaned back to check Christiano’s pulse, then lowered his head. “Very dead.”

You clasped your hands over your mouth. “Oh my god. He—he tried--.”

Chris pulled you into him and hugged you tightly. “Come here. It’s okay.”

Somehow he managed to slide both of you from the body on the floor toward the wall. He held you tightly, then spoke.

“I don’t think I’ll call you crazy again after this.”

It was probably inappropriate, but you snorted then laughed, a laugh he joined in on. As suddenly as the laughter began, it ended.

“They’re crazy.”

“Bat shit,” Chris replied.

Any humor to be found in the situation was gone, and it turned into you crying in his shoulder, going through all the emotions from the entire night. There had been so much pain, so much destruction. You’d come close to losing everything more than once, and the culprit was lying dead on the floor before you. It was overwhelming, but somehow, you felt steeled to the fact that you’d just watched someone die.

You glanced over to Chris at the same moment he looked at you. He wiped the tears from your cheeks then spoke.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He then lowered his lips to your forehead and held you close.

Ten minutes later, the sirens of the police, ambulance, and fire trucks could be heard as they surrounded your property. The officers instantly took yours and Chris’s statements and any evidence lying around to prove what the two of you were professing, including the security footage. The EMS workers quickly covered Christiano’s body with a sheet as they rolled him into a body bag then pushed the gurney out of the house. You barely registered anything. Chris did most of the talking, not leaving one thing out. When they asked you about the events of the night, you stuttered and quickly became frazzled as everything finally caught up to you. That was when the detective Chris hired suggested meeting at the police station to continue, which would allow him to reveal his findings in his investigation.

After a quick change, you were sitting in the passenger side of Chris’s car as he drove you to the precinct. Your mind raced a mile a minute, but your lips remained zipped. The feel of Chris’s hand on your thigh was your tangible evidence that this was reality and not some soap opera plot. When you arrived at the precinct, the detective in charge of the case questioned you from the very beginning to the night's events. You did your best to remain calm and emotionless and were surprised that you didn’t feel the shame you’d felt about the entire situation prior to this night.

When the detective revealed new information divulged to him, from the detective Chris hired, about Christiano and what he’d truly been up to and how deep his plans really went, you could hardly stomach it. He’d secured another property in Russia and planned to bring you there. The way the information was revealed, it seemed like he planned on keeping you captive there. Hearing that, you almost passed out. Chris, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to kill Christiano again.

The questioning took a full hour, and at the end of it, you were exhausted and ready to put this entire thing behind you after dealing with Ana. With Chris’s arm around your waist, you walked out of the detective’s office onto the precinct's open floor. A loud scream brought your attention to several officers pulling Ana through with her hands cuffed behind her back.

“I demand you let me go. Do you know who I am!? I swear to god, I will have your badge, and you’ll never be a fucking cop again!”

“Wow, the mouth on her,” one of the officers teased.

“To think we found her hot in that Bond movie,” another piped up.

“Fuck you!”

You and Chris approached, curious as to what was going on. You hadn’t expected to see her until tomorrow when you and Chris executed the second part of your plan of confronting her while recording it to release it to the world, showing everyone who and what she really was. It would have been a one-two hit that she wouldn’t recover from. Her career would have been over.

“It’s been a big night,” the detective who’d just interviewed you said, standing beside you.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on? Why’s she here?”

“Your detective gave us plenty of information. By the way, impressive man, you should think about keeping him on your payroll. Anyway, we followed his leads, and it led right to her and her assistant, specifically her assistant’s car. This one took her assistant’s car and was the one behind the wheel when she ran into you. The traffic cams show it was an intentional hit.”

You saw red.

“What!”

“She tried to kill you,” Abel, the private detective, added, coming up beside Chris.

“What’s more, there were messages between her and Christiano White.”

Both yours and Chris’s heads spun to him to the police detective this time to find him nodding with a look on his face that said even he hadn’t encountered anything this bizarre before.

“They concocted this whole scheme together, beginning with the pictures of her in that eat shit sweater. This was set up with them. there is even evidence Christiano was poisoning you, Mrs. Evans.”

“Jesus,” Chris hissed.

You remained utterly silent and still letting Abel’s words fully process. It was a lot of information, but it was also vindication that you were in no shape or form crazy.

“Wh—what does all this mean?”

“It means she’s going to face a judge on a slew of charges that are quite serious. I can assure you both; there is no easy way of her getting out of any of this. No amount of money or connections will fix it. Her career is over,” the detective finished.

You both were speechless, and looking at Chris, he was too. You and Chris were led to somewhere you could sit for a few minutes to receive the paperwork for the night’s incident and the new information. While sitting, you used the time to catch your breath and wrap your head around everything. Neither of you could believe all you’d gone through. The more you thought about it, the more your confusion increased. One burning questioned remained. Why?

About ten minutes later, you and Chris were led toward the exit, but you caught sight of Ana to your right. You would have walked on, but the way she glared at you had you changing your mind in seconds. You let go of Chris’s hand and walked over to her.

“I have to know. Why? What was the point!?”

Ana bolted to her feet as if she planned to do something, but the officer behind her grabbed her arm, holding her to ensure she didn’t try anything. You weren’t worried.

“You don’t deserve anything you have. The fame, the popularity, and opportunities you don’t deserve any of it, especially Chris. He was supposed to be mine. That baby was supposed to be mine!”

You could hear the poison in her voice and see the sheer hatred for you shining brightly in her eyes. She truly meant this though she didn’t know one thing about you.

“You’re crazy as fuck. I hope it was worth it.” You reached back for Chris’s hand, knowing he was behind you. Lacing your fingers with his, you showed her all that her efforts had produced, then turned and began walking away.

“You low-grade black bitch!

In your head, you heard blaring sirens. The sound became so loud in a matter of seconds it had somewhat of a mind-altering effect. Chris released your hand as if he knew what was going to happen. You turned back to her and saw red.

“Oh I’ll show you how low grade this black bitch is!”

You ran to her, then tackled her to the floor. Once on top of her, you swung punch after punch, each slamming into her face. You didn’t care where they landed, didn’t care how hard you were hitting her either. There was a lesson she needed to learn, and the only way to learn it was getting her ass beat the right way—the black way. You felt hands trying to pull you off of her, but you were not having it. You held on to her hair, so when they tried to move you, they really helped you bald the bitch.

“See, I never learned to share when I was young! I’m—an—only—child!” With each enunciated word, you emphasized it with a punch. Ana’s screams were loud, but they weren’t louder than those alarms still sounding off in your head. Though she tried to fight back, it was futile, though.

“Learn this bitch! Don’t,” you dropped a punch to her nose. “Touch,” you slapped her with your open hand. “What,” you slapped her again, this time with the back of your hand. “is mine!”

From then, no one else tried to pull you off of her. You suspected it was Chris warning them. You managed to get off a few more punches when you were finally pulled off.

“Let me go!”

“Okay, calm down, Adonis Creed, that’s enough,” Chris shouted, trying to break through to you. You still struggled trying to get back to her, but Chris refused to let you go until you calmed down. You looked at Ana on the floor. She was barely moving, and her face was a bloody mess with several patches of her dark hair sprinkled around her. Satisfaction filled you. Raising your hand, you assured Chris you were good. Slowly he let you go, and you stooped down to her.

“Look at me.”

You waited for her writhing to stop and for her bloody, swollen eyes to land on you.

“Remember my name for the rest of your pathetic life. Remember that I’m that bitch!”

You grabbed her hair and held her head. “Try this shit again; you gonna lose your life.”

With that, you punched her one more time, knocking her clear out. Everyone around the precinct shouted out a collective “ooh.” You stood and walked away as they all cleared your path, most likely thinking you were crazy. Chris came beside you, took your hand, and walked back to the car with you. Once inside, you both sat there, silently processing everything. Five minutes passed in silence until you spoke.

“She did all this over dick, Chris. Dick,” you said in disbelief as you shook your head.

“I mean—my dick is A1.”

Your head spun to him. “Christopher!”

He laughed out loud while holding his hands up in defeat.

“Hey, don’t beat my ass too, I don’t want none,” Chris joked, making you laugh a little.

“Wow, remind me not to piss you off again. I don’t want any of what she got.”

You fake lunged at him with your still bloodied fists. “Don’t start none, won’t be none.”

Both of you erupted with laughter before you embraced, relishing in the feeling of togetherness and your love. It was finally over; you thought as Chris pressed a soft kiss to your neck.

“Let’s get the fuck out of this town,” Chris suggested. You snorted and nodded.

“Let’s go home.”

Knowing where you meant, Chris smiled and kissed you once, then twice.

“Let’s,” he whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List:

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @caramara3 @southerngracela @cyntgefel01 @vannahvannahhh @lorainnebabyy @patzammit @yourwonderbelle @pennywisesmistress @theblulife @kelbabyblue @bugngiz @kikimiyazaki @toniilaney @areubeingserved @chaos-crusader @thinkxlovexloud @cocothewriter @periodtcevans @bellaamor88 @mack-jay @titty-teetee @pananegra @wellthirsted @sup3rn0va13 @nova3312 @hello-therree @valkyriesnymph @squeackygee @niyashell @allmonstersxarehuman @zsuzstyina @peggy-potts @amelatonin @lvlyab @sullyosully @taylorveebee @renesmeeharelds @capslut2014 @ilovehatembj @thelittlemoistcarrot @sarcastic-sunshines @a-dizzle777 @taylorveebee @jesseswartzwelder @90sinspiredgirl @allnamesicouldthinkofweretaken @choices97 @jd-now-jq @actorinfluence @chrisgalore @rynabarnesrogers @ab-baybay @motivation-idontknowher @lo-cheu @builtalongthewaysi @momobaby227@drsunshine97 @cleothegoldfish

@thatrandomhetaliachick @missdeerstalker15 @queenbetter @ilovehatembj @briellableu @zaddysqueen7 @melaninhawtie @simplyyamberr @ashanti-notthesinger @chezdricks @euh-say-what-now @afraiddreamingandloving @ajspencer1892 @wakanda-inspired @chillavesss @theunsweetenedtruth @geeksareunique @aykanna @hanasamara @profilia @ollieveracity @autumn242 @missyperle @forbeautyandlife @kreolemami @songtoyou @designerwriterchic @firedolphin04 @academic-glowup @periodtcevans @nova3312 @naturalthrone22 @squeackygeecapslut2014 @queen-audsalena

@unknownmystery22 @thatcrazymarvelfan @mizcaptainwidow @angrybirdcr @cherrystainedlipsbaby @marvelfansworld @fanfictionaffair @kemkem101 @blowmymbackout @almostpurelysmut @blackgurlkillinit @simply-heaven @impossiblegiantrebelbasketball @renfrewscorner @choices97 @phreshouttherunwaaayy @heladoom @alyxkbrl @evemej @queensevansackles @rosey1981 @laketaj24 @munteanhore @minton131 @trillistb @night-of-the-living-shred @chrisevansfanfic @scoop93535 @miss-jackson500 @purplehairgawdess @ollieveracity @maddeningmayhem @what-is-your-plan-today @tantricevans @evermcfearless @richonne4life @dumbchick @toni9 @briellableu @amennariee @rynabarnesrogers-reading @chrissbabybunny @brwnsugababe @queenshikongo3 @sadishdelray @what-is-your-plan-today @islanddgal @reignandrain @liquorlaughslove @thefuckingluxury @surmya1907 @maeleeme @queenoftheworldisdead @coolbakeryprunetoad @naturalthrone22 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @starlite-starbrite @offrostandstarlight @zeedaye @partypoison00 @thejeneralvicinity @littlepreciousangel @doublesidedscoobysnacks

@imthatbitchsworld @soul–notforsale @toni9 @someone-really-bored @venustrap04 @chrisevansdaddycap @kittykatlow @live-laugh-love-ki @asiaaisa77 @melanicia @fistmetonystark @livinglifeformemyselfandi @crowngold @allnamesicouldthinkofweretaken @lost- ssoull @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @shar74nett @cltex84 @badbitchhtown @petty-bitch-akira @unknownmystery22 @raveviolet @madixii @almosttherebutnot @rainbowkisses31 @smediumsmeatbae @bernie-k @nina1800 @nervousninjatheorist @lo-cheu @creole-mami @acciolove724 @shipatheart @captainchrisstan @ramp-it-up @bforbbgirl @brownskinafro @jhayes6984 @badbo1-evans @msblkfire84 @jovanaprime @poshgirl2 @marvelatthis30 @littlepreciousangel @youremysuperstar @alookintohersoul @cleopatra-knowles @xsweetdellzx @cxmfort @i-just-like-fanfics @storiestoldbyjazz @jennmurawski13 @imthewarmpenguininthemiddle @ak329

@koko-michelle @sophiasotherdaughter @maeleeme @mauvecherie @jbrizzywrites

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. Please check that you are taggable. I’m sorry.***

#rumor has it fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x black ofc #chris evans x ofc uriah #black fanfiction #angst fanfic

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harlequinmoss · 4 years ago

Text

Aaahhh I haven't written anything in a really long time but I wanted to do something for pride month before it was over cutting it real close I know so here's a little coming out story with José and Panchito. It's set in the 40s because I refuse to write any other versions of them

Panchito and José arrived at their hotel around 10pm. It had been a long day for the both of them, each coming in from a long flight overseas that morning in order to visit their pal, Donald. Donald had picked them up from the airport and the group had a fun day doing touristy things, but after dinner the pair had grown noticeably exhausted. Not having enough space in his own home to comfortably house the both of them, Donald offered to put them up in a hotel room for the night rather than having them crash on the sofa in the living room. It took a bit of coercion, neither wanting to be rude, they were guests after all, but in the end they were too tired not to be easily convinced.

"I'll at least call a taxi over there," Panchito had insisted. "That way you aren't out driving so late."

"It's hardly late at all, but fine. I called ahead and made the reservation so you just have to pick up the key when you get there."

Panchito thumbed through his wallet to pay the taxi driver, thanking them as he handed them the money. He got out of the car, went around to the other side, and opened the door for José who was still fumbling around for his hat that he'd misplaced under the seat.

"There you are!" José started, smiling as he spotted the familiar straw headpiece and put it back in its rightful place upon his noggin. He turned to grab the door handle only to see Panchito waiting for him on the sidewalk instead.

"Oh! Panchie, what a gentleman…" He beamed, taking Panchito's hand for support as he stepped out of the vehicle. "Muito obrigado."

"You're very welcome." Panchito smiled back, shutting the door with a thunk once José was out of the way. "Mind getting the key while I grab our bags?"

"Certainly…" José nodded. "Meet you inside."

José tipped his hat and disappeared through the building's revolving door and into the lobby. Panchito took a moment to watch him go before remembering what it was he was supposed to be doing. He sighed to himself before making his way over to the trunk and popping it open. Holding his breath, he removed both of their suitcases from the taxi and set them on the sidewalk beside the car. He then shut the trunk a bit hard, too distracted to be mindful of his strength, and waved the driver off.

Feelings like this arose whenever he was alone with José. He did his best to suppress them, to act normal like the rest of his friends, but it wasn't easy. A part of him dreaded what was about to come. Sharing a hotel room, sure it was just for one night, and they'd have separate beds, but that didn't make it any easier.

"It'll be fine," Panchito told himself. "I just need to take a moment to compose myself and then I'll go inside. We're both tired. We'll probably end up passing out right away and tomorrow we'll reconvene with Donal and everything will be back to normal."

Panchito took a deep breath. Then another. Then, he grabbed the bags up off the concrete and walked through the revolving door to meet up with José. Perfect timing. José had just gotten out of line for the key and happily waved his friend over as he headed toward the elevator.

"We're in room 313." José proclaimed with a small laugh as Panchito caught up with him. He pressed the button to the elevator, the one on the left immediately opening with a short ding.

"313? Donal did that on purpose no doubt…" Panchito laughed to himself as they stepped inside, refusing to look directly at José.

José nodded, not noticing this avoidance, and he relayed the floor number to the elevator operator who shut the door and brought them up. The two stood in silence in the meantime, their eyes half lidded, both too tired to think of anything else to say. Luckily, the ride wasn't long. The pair thanked the operator on the way out, José tipping them with a spare coin he had in his pocket.

As they headed down the hall, José mumbled the number to himself as if to not forget. 313, 313, spoken softly on repeat in his sweet voice. Panchito held his breath and stared intently down at their luggage. Soon, they arrived, and José quickly turned the key in the lock, extending his other arm as he opened the door.

"After you, Panchie…" José smiled, speaking with such a fondness that Panchito could hardly bear it.

Panchito nodded and started his way in through the door, head down, and José let the arm he had extended wrap around his companion as he followed him inside. Panchito stiffened. Normally, he could shrug off this type of thing, but something was different about tonight. He didn't know why, but every scrap of interaction was much more overwhelming, more amplified. He swallowed and clenched his mouth shut, terrified of what he might say.

"Hm? Are you alright..?" José asked, cocking his head to the side as he watched Panchito move away from his touch in order to set down their luggage. "You've hardly said anything since we left Donal's house…"

"Por supuesto. Sólo estoy cansado…" Panchito sighed. "Just tired…" He repeated again in English.

"Right..." José started, not entirely convinced but not wanting to press the matter. "Let's get ready for bed then."

Again, Panchito only nodded in response. José sighed and made his way next to his friend. Each opened their respective suitcase and retrieved a set of clothes to sleep in. José slightly leaned on Panchito as this motion occurred, just a light brushing of their arms together, but it was enough to send shock waves through Panchito's heart. This type of casual intimacy was something José did with everyone, but Panchito couldn't help thinking that José targeted him more often than anyone else. He was right, though José would never admit it.

"I'll change in the bathroom." Panchito said suddenly, once again moving away from his companion. He quickly disappeared through the bathroom door, leaving José alone and a bit dazed.

José stood silent for a moment, watching the door, a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once.

"Why is Panchie acting so strange tonight? Is he okay? Is it because of me? He's definitely avoiding me, it's not just my imagination, right? If he finally figured out my true feelings it could be out of anger or contempt. Oh God, what am I going to do?"

José noticed his heart racing and scrambled to calm himself down before Panchito returned.

"Okay. It's fine, if he knew, he wouldn't even want to sleep in the same room as me. Just get changed and pretend like everything's normal. We're both tired, it'll all be okay by the morning…"

José sighed. He threw on a plain yellow t-shirt and took off his pants so he just had his boxer shorts on underneath. As he was putting his discarded clothes away in the suitcase, Panchito emerged from the bathroom in a cowboy themed set of pajamas. Both blushed seeing each other and silently made their ways to their respective beds, turning off the bedside lamps that lit the room in the process.

"...good night, José." Panchito said after almost a full minute of silence.

"Good night, Panchito." José responded, refraining from using his nickname in fear it'd make matters worse.

The two lay quietly in the dark, unable to fall asleep despite the day's exhaustion. Both shifted in their beds many times over, transitioning through periods of shut eyes to staring at the ceiling to watching the other while they had their back turned so that there was no risk of being caught. Neither dared speak. Their routine went on for what seemed like the whole night, but probably wasn't more than an hour or two in reality, until…

"José?" Panchito asked in a whisper, trying to field whether or not his companion was awake.

"Sim?" He responded, pushing himself halfway into a sitting position in order to face his friend. "Do you want to tell me what's been bothering you?"

"I...can't. You'll hate me forever." Panchito choked out, covering his face with his hands.

"What?!" José's heart sank. He sat up the rest of the way and flicked on his lamp so that they could see each other. "Panchito, nothing you do or say could ever make me hate you."

Panchito looked over at José through the cracks in his fingers. His face was serious, a tonal shift from the care-free facade he usually put on. Panchito sighed and paused for a moment before sitting up as well.

"I'm not so sure…"

"Por favor me diga o que está errado...please…." José pleaded.

Both sat with lumps in their throat, hoping desperately for something just out of reach, not wanting to break what's already there. Panchito was the first to cry.

"I can't-- every day, every time we hang out together it's all about the girls. 'Oh, look at the pretty señoritas! Let us try and win their affections!' And I have to join in and compete and pretend like that is what I want to do. I do not know how much longer I can take it! I want to be normal, believe me, I wish nothing more, that would make this so much easier but--"

"Panchito..?" José mumbled, tears streaming down both of their faces at this point.

"But I do not care about the señoritas, not hardly, I never have. I have to pretend. For your sake. And Donal's. The two of you are my very best friends and I do not want to lose either of you but...but...es tan difícil fingir….I can't say it. It's not right, it's not even legal, is it? But how am I supposed to go on like this when the person whose affections I want to be competing for is…"

As he spoke, José made his way over to Panchito's bed without him noticing, sitting next to him for a moment before deciding it'd be better to kneel in order for them to be the same height.

"Panchie…" José sighed and wrapped Panchito in a warm hug. "It's okay…"

"No it's not! How can you say that when--"

"Shh…" José turned Panchito’s head to face him and tenderly cupped his cheeks as he wiped away tears from his eyes. He then placed a soft kiss to the top of his forehead.

Panchito's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat, startling him enough to cause him to stop crying. He looked at José with a dumbfounded expression, José only smiling back at him softly.

"You don't have to pretend anymore. Not with me. How about we trade one secret for another, hm?"

Panchito nodded, shaking, still processing everything that just happened.

"Are...are you sure?"

"Of course, don't be silly. I hate the tears, but I'm very happy to hear you feel the same way."

"You mean...you don't care for the señoritas either?"

José laughed.

"I do. But I also care for the cavalheiros. And I very much care for you…"

"Oh." Panchito smiled, wrapping his arms around José. The smile didn't last long, however. "What will we tell Donal?"

"Hm. Well, I do not think he would hate us. He does not seem like the type, no? But let's not fret any more about this tonight. We can worry all we want in the morning."

"Okay…" Panchito nodded, taking another moment to process things before laying down and taking José along with him. José let out a small giggle.

"Panchie! What's all this for?"

"Well, we are going to bed, are we not?"

José blinked, quickly understanding Panchito's request. He shifted, entangling himself comfortably in Panchito's arms, his head resting on his chest. He took a moment to listen to the steady beat of Panchito's heart before speaking.

"Yes, I suppose we are…"

The pair once again said their good nights, but this time they fell asleep almost instantly. Neither knew what lay ahead for them in the days to come. Would they tell Donald, or would this be a secret just for the two of them? So many uncertainties, but one thing was certain. They had each other. And that was enough.

#josé carioca #panchito pistoles #jose x panchito #the three caballeros #ttc #disney

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thatonehighschoolreject · 1 year ago

Text

The Merc's Final Kill

Where V chose the easy way out. Saying goodbyes on a rooftop. She was hoping to make amends with Johnny and herself. Thanking each other for their time together.

wordcount 6k canon compliant spoiler warning V's third POV TW for suicide

Relic Malfunction Detected

V stepped into the elevator and raised an unsteady hand to press the down button on the touch screen. She coughed hard as the doors slid shut. And then she fell to the ground, barely able to save herself from a broken nose by catching the ground with her elbows.

"I warned you," Johnny groaned from behind him, pissed beyond belief. He approached V. Then suddenly a chrome hand pushed the stop button.

The lift came to a sudden stop, unsettling the bile in V's stomach. She kept it down nonetheless, surprisingly. "What're you doing?" V was baffled. How the hell did Johnny press the button anyway? He was in the cockpit- not piloting. She frowned and lifted her head to see Johnny standing by the doors now.

The engram scoffed, "What am I doing? I'm showing you what it's like to feel fucking trapped." He paced as V flipped over and backed into the corner of the elevator. Right now, she was wishing she was in any life but the one she currently lived. "Asked you. Warned you. But you've insisted on not giving a shit." He was using a tone that one would use when explaining something complicated to a toddler, like he believed the mercenary wouldn't understand him no matter how simply he worded it. "Now this porcelain cunt is gonna use you in her fancy scheme." He looked down at the dying woman like a cat would a wounded mouse - with disgust and primal disrespect.

V didn't stand for disrespect.

She fought off the lightness in her limbs and the spinning in her head. She tried to pull herself to her feet and sputtered the words : "Fuck off." V didn't see that she had much choice in the matter. And who was Johnny to say what she could and couldn't do? It was her body not his. "I haven't agreed to anything yet." She was only half standing now, the rest of her body weight she was forcing the wall behind her to hold. She was gripping the railing, holding on for dear life so she wouldn't fall.

V weighed her options, considering the latter. "Well, we could ask the Aldecaldos to lend a hand." Her mind wandered to Panam. And she briefly wondered if she would be able to say goodbye. If she'd even have the guts. God, Panam was like the little sister she never wanted. But she loved that girl to death. Well, death doesn't hold much value nowadays. Especially considering she'd be lucky if she had a month to live. Definitely not enough time to tie up any loose ends.

Johnny rolled his eyes as if V had suggested she ask the Tyger Claws for help instead. "Listen up, V. Those guys are trailer tuggers!" He stood back up straight and continued to pace, this time even faster than before. He seemed very distressed. "An assault on Arasaka's just not another convoy to jack. You already tried this with amateurs." He tilted his head as he looked over to her. "We both know how that ended."

"And you tried it with pros. It didn't end any fucking better." V's voice sounded weaker this time. Like she was grasping at straws to stay conscious. Her bones felt so sore and weak. Her head felt like it was going to explode. And it seemed like Johnny didn't even care one bit. She managed to stand all the way upright before a wave of pain struck her body once more. And she had never felt pain like this before. Like she was being crushed between two semis both going 200mph.

Relic Malfunction Detected

"Johnny…" That was all she could get out in a broken breath. Then V came crashing down to the floor again, landing on her side. If she made it through this, she would definitely be bruised from shoulder to knee. And she had sworn that she heard something crack. Was that her wrist?

"Great! You checking out again?!" Johnny moved to get down by V. Hoping that maybe if he got closer maybe V wouldn't lose consciousness- or her life. Well, both their lives. He was hoping that he could save her. Just like he had so many times before.

Just before he could reach a knee to the paneled flooring everything went black.

It was so dark. So damned dark.

V had never seen such darkness. Her eyes were open- at least she thought they were- and she still couldn't see a thing. Couldn't feel anything either. Fuck. Had the biochip really taken V clean out of the land of the living?

If she had flatlined, then that would mean Silverhand's name was the last thing to leave her lips. God, that would be a damned pathetic last line. Definitely not one to go down in a documentary.

The darkness seemed to swallow her whole.

"Wha… Am I…?" V muttered her thoughts, begging to get an answer on if she were actually dead or not.

"Not yet," Johnny said confidently from the confines of her mind.

The black faded to a white. V opened her eyes and was met with a blinding light. She winced at the throbbing stabbing at her body.

"Easy there. Don't move just yet." She had heard Viktor's voice before she had seen his face.

"Vik?" She let out breathlessly.

V was overwhelmed by the pain. Her words were barely more than a whisper. "My head…" She groaned as another spike of soreness washed through her. "Feels like…"

"Like someone's using your head as a knife block?" Viktor finished for her. Well, it wasn't an inaccurate way to describe it. A good way to put it even, it did feel like that.

V didn't even remember walking into the doc's clinic. All she remembered was that damned elevator. And what it felt like to be inches within death. "How… How'd I get here?"

"Dragged yourself here beat to hell and back. Gave Misty a hell of a fright. Then, you shoved my patient at the time off the table. And demanded you be treated immediately." Viktor stared her down, as if hoping retelling the ordeal would help rejog V's memory or at least strike her with an ounce of shame.

"Tell him it was your guardian angel," Johnny whispered aloud. It was then V realized she had the engram to thank for her to be still kicking. He had seemed so mad before, V never would've guessed he'd want to save her after their last conversation.

"Huh?" The doc replied as if he had heard him. But that was impossible. V's eyes wandered to find the ghost leaning with his arms crossed, just a few meters away from the table she found herself crumpled on.

"I, uh… wasn't completely myself." V struggled to explain her actions. If she admitted that Johnny had taken over so easily the doc might've underestimated V's sense of control in her own body.

Viktor looked to her, a look in his eyes glinting an unreadable emotion. "I know. It's a bit worrying."

The mercenary struggled to show a small smile as she offered a light comment. "I'll order a weaker poison next time." He would almost laugh if he didn't know it would hurt.

Viktor had hardness in his stare and his voice somehow got even more stern. "This ain't no joke, kid." He briefly glanced away to follow V's eyes then turned back to face her once he found nothing. "As I see it, there won't be a next time."

His words really hit where it hurt. Metaphorically, because literally everywhere was hurting. Even parts of her she didn't know could hurt. Was this really the end of the line for her? For Johnny's second go around as well? Maybe Johnny didn't care about V's life. Why would he care about anyone but himself? He had hated the girl since the day they met so why would he feel any different now?

It really struck her. She didn't have much longer did she? A couple days? Maybe less?

In not much time she'd feel just as lost as the ghost that haunted her mind. She would have just as many things she'd wished she coulda done. Just as many regrets and grudges, too. Just as many guilty deaths weighing on her conscious moments before her own end came to meet her.

V had once doubted that the biochip would be the death of her. A month ago, she begged Viktor to say it was just some crude joke. Now, it seemed that Viktor was right. But at least Johnny had attempted to save her and prolong her inevitable demise. But what would that matter now?

"Okay." V huffed, "Don't expect a miracle." She braced herself on the table with her hands against the arm rests. As she straightened out her legs, she whimpered in pain. Her joints were flooded with uncomfortable static. The mercenary slammed her eyes shut, face contorted in discomfort. Her sharp inhales struggled in assisting her to not scream.

"I said slowly-" Viktor repeated, eyeing her with worry.

V groaned as she straightened her back out, speaking through grit teeth. "Another victory for the history books."

"Hmm." The ripperdoc hummed, crossing his arms. He clearly wanted to say something but he was holding back.

"Well, looks like I can sit up alright." V trailed off, prying at him, "But I can tell you don't have good news." She feared the next words that would come out of the other's mouth. What could be more important than what she was going through right now? Nothing better than this shit, that's for sure.

"How much longer is this going to go on?"

She averted his eyes from Viktor's troubling gaze. "You tell me."

This was the most serious V had ever seen him. "Looking at you, not long at all." Viktor shook his head, seemingly overwhelmed by guilt. He felt to blame for the woman's state, even though he had nothing to do with it. "Next attack, you won't be able to crawl back here. You'll flatline in some back alley. This is your last chance to take matters into your own hands. Understand?"

"Take matters into my own hands? The fuck you think I've been doing?" She narrowed her eyes in anger, pushing herself to sit up so she was finally upright.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"You'll find the last dose of pseudoendotrizine there. A gift from Misty. Want to give in to the voices in your head? Go ahead. Take a puff. Go silent. Get out." Viktor let out a long sigh that sounded as though he was holding it in for hours. His gaze was heavy on the dying woman. "Or, find another way. End things on your own terms. Got a little present from me over there too. Blockers. Managed to walk those few yards to the table. The rest will be up to you and you alone." He stepped away from V and walked to the other side of the room.

"On your own terms, huh?" Johnny pressed, now standing right in front of V. He glared in Viktor's direction then looked back to the mercenary. "Really subtle there, doc."

"Enough, Johnny. I just…" V looked down at her legs. "I gotta think about it." She got off the table and onto her own two feet.

"Need to stretch your noodle?" Johnny's voice echoed. "Fine, just not in this basement."

"V, christ. You're talking out loud." Viktor called out.

"Out loud? What?" V paused. That echo wasn't an echo after all. It was V speaking as Johnny. Fuck, she was really losing it after all, huh?

The ripperdoc huffed, "Just go fix this thing."

V stumbled a bit as she tried to take a step. She groaned. "I think I can do it."

Johnny walked beside her just as slowly. "Whatever you decide, let's make sure to get outta here first."

The mercenary nodded her head and went to the medical cart. She grabbed the pills and stuck them in her pants pocket. She ignored the growing lump in her throat as she grabbed the pistol and holstered it on her hip. She turned to walk towards the exit. Misty stood by the door. Fuck, she hadn't noticed she was there. Did she hear all of that?

"Hey, V, I heard…" She began to speak, "Well… your thoughts?"

V swallowed hard in reaction. "Shouldn't have had to. Sorry… bout that."

She considered it. "Sure. Got a feeling Vik's had enough of me, as is." She frowned, looking at him in her peripherals.

"Don't be mad at him," the psychic eased, "His chakras are all blocked up today. Plus he's had too much coffee."

V fought the urge to laugh. "Lemme guess. My aura's sputtering?"

Misty seemed to look at her as though she were the saddest thing imaginable. "Mhm, afraid so."

"Lead the way." V nodded her head towards the door. "Why's this spot so special?" She wanted to calm her mind. Hell, could barely think, let alone with both Viktor and Johnny's eyes staring her down.

And lead the psychic did. So V followed. "I took Jackie there once. It's not far." Misty made her way up a flight of stairs and the other struggled to keep up with her pace.

"Jackie? What's he gotta do with any of this?" She narrowed her eyes. She hadn't heard anyone say his name in a long time. It hit with whiplash only comparable to being in a high speed motorcycle wreck.

One could hear the smile in her voice. "You'll see. C'mon." Misty slowed her walking to match V's speed.

The walk was so ominous. What could possibly help her decide what she wants to do with her last days alive? Was it really that grand of a spot that Jackie would've fallen deeper into love with her? Misty walked through elevator doors and V followed. Not without being reminded of her last time in an elevator but at least someone would be here to help him if her brain and body were to shut down again. That and she was only a short walk away from Viktor's clinic.

"Top floor." The psychic nodded her head to the display. V pressed the roof button then looked back at her. Really, what could help at a time like this? "He had the same glum face."

"Who, Jack?" She narrowed his eyes in doubt.

" 'This is it, chica. I'm done for.' " She quoted, not seeming to be hit as hard when talking about him as V did.

V never thought of Jackie to ever be in a pessimistic state. Even in his last moments he still seemed to be planning what he would do next. "Doesn't sound like the Jackie I knew." She admitted.

Misty offered a soft smile. "That was a long time ago. His mom had just found out he signed up for the Valentinos." The elevator came to a stop and she led the way to another set of stairs. The dying girl followed blindly. "Trust me, Señora Welles on one shoulder, your gang choombas on the other, no choice can ever seem right."

V hummed in agreement though she had never been in that situation before. Not any like it really. She never had anyone looking out for her or trying to stop her from making any rough choices. Save for Johnny but he didn't really count. She just made a decision and if it came to bite her in the ass then oh, well, she'd deal with it then.

The getup was pretty mellow. There were a couple of plastic beach chairs placed near the edge of the roof with a small table placed between the two. It gave a perfect view, you could see every skyscraper in the entirety of Watson. There were bits of trash littered around but that was true for anywhere in Night City.

"Ah, that's more like it. Air." Johnny commented from V's right, not hesitating to take a joying lungful, as well.

The air felt like ice hitting the back of her throat. It helped ease the pain in her head, cleared the fog in there a bit, too. She didn't feel as sore anymore.

Misty continued, moving to sit in one of the chairs. "I come out here when I need a break. Be alone with my thoughts."

"She's onto something," the engram agreed, surprisingly. "Ought to sit. Mull through some shit yourself."

V made her way over to the edge, taking a seat in the other chair. "Thanks, Misty. You were right, choice spot." Her mind lingered before she was able to voice her thoughts. "So what… What did Jackie decide up here?"

"Oh, you know, 'Gonna be a legend in this city!' " She quoted him, even putting in that enthusiasm he had always seemed to have.

At that moment V was heavily reminded of her departed friend. His voice. All that he had left behind. All who he left behind. Misty, V, Momma Welles. Countless others for sure. She was grateful to have met Jackie but had wished she had known him a bit longer. Wished she could've spent more with him. And she was sure Misty felt the same way.

"I'm gonna leave you alone. Take your time." Misty sent a smile her way before getting up and leaving.

"No." V didn't let her eyes leave the rockerboy. "Still here."

The ghost grimaced. "For now. Y'know, you should call anyone you wanna say goodbye to."

"Worst case scenario. That what you expect?" Did he really have so little hope in her?

The chance to call Kerry and let him know he might not make it past the next night. To call anyone that had ever once mattered to him and say his final goodbyes.

And he can't undo that now. All he can do is attempt to stray the girl in a different direction than he had gone.

V considered it. Considered all the people she could call. Just to talk to one last time on the holo in case this was her last night alive. She couldn't call Panam. She didn't have the courage to. How would she explain this one away? 'Yeah, sorry, Panam, I don't have long to live. Don't cry about it for too long.'? Yeah, right.

And it would suck the life outta her to have to call Judy. Let alone Rogue. To have to tell her that she was about to lose Johnny for the second time and lose her as well. That would be too much pressure. She couldn't do that. She wondered, if she did drop dead, who would be the one to find her body? Who would be the one to spread the story? Who would be the one to tell the people she knew that she was no longer? Would she end up being a legend after she died just like Johnny had been? Unlikely. Yet, she held onto that thought.

But why was she thinking about all of this? Maybe there was a way to save herself. To keep from ending up six feet under. Even if there wasn't, it wouldn't do well to dwell on the after. Because she wouldn't be there to see it. So it shouldn't matter. Right? She wouldn't be the one to mourn for it. She wouldn't be the one to grieve her death. Still, it was a lot of pressure to put on those around her.

If she had much choice in the matter she'd choose to live longer instead of going out like a sick dog that others would just want to put down. To be put out of his misery and suffering. Hell, if it were that easy she'd choose life instead of death. And maybe, just maybe, she'd choose to let Johnny stick around. Because why should the guy have to go through death twice? Wasn't dying once enough for him? Once is enough for anyone, really.

"No. Not really my style, goodbyes." She came to the conclusion. One she would likely regret if she was alive long enough to. A hard choice. That's what this place was for, right? Choices.

Johnny frowned but didn't protest. "You do you. Come a long way to get here, haven't we?" 'We' that word stuck with V. To think of her and the ghost as a duo, as an 'us,' well, that made her feel less alone in the matter. Made her feel like maybe all this hard work and fighting her way through was actually worth it. "Just think. It all started in a fucking landfill."

V scoffed at the memory. Reminded of Takemura and being told she didn't have long to live. The beginning of this whole mess. "Then you tried to kill me." She wondered where he was going with this.

"Exactly what I mean. Here we are now, together. Soaking in this sweet vista of Night City. I only regret I won't get to see how it all ends." Johnny continued, moving to sit in the chair the psychic had been in prior. He had a point, though, the use of the word 'together' sat with her. Such a small word for such a big thing. Together meant that neither of them were alone. That brought comfort to the both of them.

"Gee thanks. Got that little faith in me?"

Without hesitation V spoke, "Gonna try to ask Panam for help."

"You absolutely sure?" He eyed V, not wanting to go through with either choice, really. "No going back on this, you know."

She paused to gather her thoughts before speaking them. "There is another option, though." V wondered if she would regret this one or not in another life. She took the pseudoendotrizine and omega blockers out of her pocket and stared down at them in her palm.

"What?"

"We put all this- the pills, everything to bed."

"If we don't try something, anything, we're both doomed." The rockerboy frowned, hoping the other truly knows the consequences of what he does next.

"I know." She gripped the pills tight and chucked them off the ledge. "Exactly why we'll do one last thing." V's heart was beating out of her chest.

"Okay… You lost me." Johnny swallowed, "Realize the shit we've been through to get this far, right?" It only took him one look at V to tell that she wasn't bluffing. That he was serious.

"Sure do."

"To let it all go now, why?" He asked such a simple question but V was grasping at air to find the words to say next. Why does anyone else commit suicide? They see it as their best or last option.

"Cleanest, least bloody option. We try anything else," V thought of the casualties of the other options, "people die."

Johnny didn't seem to understand, "People die. It's the way of things."

V was convinced she was thinking clearer than ever, convinced that this wasn't a rash decision. "Am I worth their sacrifice? Are you?" That was a good point.

Would a thieving mercenary and the ghost of a suicide bomber be worth the lives of countless others?

Would it be worth it for kids to bury their dads or moms?

Would it be worth parents burying their daughters or sons?

Worth someone their losing brothers and sisters?

Worth someone losing a good friend like Jackie?

Worth partners left to bury their boyfriends and girlfriends?

No. Of course not.

Neither of them were worth ruining a family. Let alone several. They weren't worth it all. Certainly not in this lifetime. "Besides, it's the only way we'll both be aware." V finished.

"Of what? Death?" Johnny seemed heartbroken to be letting go again so soon.

"Mhm." V's voice was softer now. "The moment life escapes."

The silence seemed to linger in the air for so long. Is this what death would bring? Silence? Or would be loud and repulsing.

What if death would be better than the entirety of this life she had lived? From what she's heard, most people never realize there's better things out there until they find it.

V didn't realize she could find a friend until she met Jackie. Until she met Johnny. She thought she would live and die alone without anyone batting an eye or caring to notice.

Who knows, maybe if she had chosen to live the extra twenty-four hours longer she would've died without anyone. All alone. Nobody to say goodbye to. Nobody to say they'll miss her. Without even Johnny to ground her and reassure that death isn't that bad. This could be her last chance at a good, honest death.

Was it worth the risk?

V would argue yes.

"Hmm. Never really gave it a thought." Silverhand examined the other's features, maybe trying to read out more than what he was being told. "Funny how you still manage to surprise me, sometimes."

V laughed softly into the chilly air. "Might be something I learned from you."

"V," Johnny looked at her with a face of concern. "You sure about this?" He wanted to be sure that she truly wanted this. That she was actually willing to give it all up. Johnny never had anyone to ask him if he was making the right decision before he died, so he had to be sure he was that person for V. To give her what he had never received.

The mercenary glanced at the gun at her hip. "As long as you have nothing against it." She would hate for Johnny to not feel like he got a choice in the matter. Especially since this was now his life just as much as V's.

"Not how I'da done it, but that's alright." He seemed to finally feel the weight of what was going to be done. And he accepted it rather easily.

V raised a brow, "Just like that, no pushback?"

"Huh, mighta learned a little something from you, too." Johnny reached his chrome arm out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

It was the first time V had felt his touch since the time he tried beating her to death in his apartment. Hell, she had forgotten what his touch even felt like. Or the touch of anyone not trying to punch her, really. She was sure she was one of very few, or quite possibly the only one, to ever experience a gentle touch from the rockerboy. It was exactly as Johnny had intended it, to be comforting.

V nodded. She looked back out to the cityscape, admiring the neon lights and metal buildings from afar. "It really is beautiful."

"Been nice working with ya, V." Johnny said his goodbye, tenderness in his voice that not many had the luxury to hear. The sincerity of his words made the mercenary pause and think again.

So, this was it, huh?

The end?

Everything would be gone forever.

For good.

"Yeah, with you, too, Johnny…" The words were barely able to make it past V's lips. She wanted to cry but she couldn't. Instead, the lump in her throat almost cut off all breathing.

Was this really how it ended?

At least she wasn't alone.

At least she had Johnny.

And at least Silverhand didn't have to die alone this time either, left crying out to empty air. Someone would be there for him this time. Someone who cared.

V would give him something he never had. Something he never knew he needed.

V looked at his chrome hand and took it in hers. She squeezed Johnny's hand. Neither of them could recall the last time they had held someone else's hand. But they were both sure that it didn't mean nearly as much as this time felt now. Wasn't as significant. Nothing would ever be as important as this.

This was a final goodbye.

He met Johnny's eyes with regret.

Not regret of sticking his biochip in her head, nor regret of having met Johnny.

Instead, it was a regret of not having had more time. Of not having met each other sooner.

Neither V nor Johnny were the same people they were before they were forced to each other.

V had been a suckup for corpos, always trusting in officials to make the best choices for the city. She saw no life purpose other than to make a name for herself on the streets. And hope that maybe then she'd die with purpose.

In so little time, she learned so much about legends and that being one wasn't worth the price to pay. She learned that within the blink of an eye you could lose everything. That and sometimes the hardest to make decisions were the most important ones.

Even if he had never had the honour to meet someone like V in his life, to change him for the better, at least he had her in his death.

Who knows? Maybe after all this is over, they'll meet again.

In heaven or another life.

Maybe they'll be reunited under better circumstances and won't have to worry about putting aside their differences to see the decency in each other.

And maybe V would be the one saving Johnny next time around.

As V reached for the pistol and pulled it out from her holster, she felt the rockerboy's grip tense. She pulled back the hammer and saw there was already a bullet in the chamber. She placed the barrel against the underside of her jaw, aimed straight up towards her frontal cortex. She spared a look to Johnny as she rested her finger on the trigger and was met with the saddest eyes imaginable.

Johnny reached his other hand over and wiped a tear from V's cheek with his knuckle. V hadn't noticed she was crying. So that's why the ghost looked so sad- because he had never seen V cry before. His organic hand fell back down to meet with his chrome hand, gripping V's. Both their hearts were beating out of their chests in fear.

So much was left unsaid.

They weren't doing it alone. That's what mattered most.

Yet they couldn't find any way to shape them into coherent statements. So while V steadied her trigger finger and kept eye contact with her ghost as she squeezed the trigger.

V heard the blast just as everything went black.

This time, she didn't have to beg the question if she had flatlined. She knew it to be true. And this time, there was no panic in the darkness. She just let it envelope her.

And this time, Johnny didn't feel so alone. He finally felt like he had pursued a purpose.

If in their lives they hadn't been granted the luxury of peace, at least in death they would.

And even if they weren't perfect people, at least they would be remembered by friends.

That's what counts, right?

Johnny would argue yes.

#johnny silverhand #female v #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cp77 #canon compliant #this is the first time ive ever published a fic on tumblr i have no idea what im doing #i recorded ten minutes of dialogue of the sui ending and managed to write a solid 6k because i didnt have wifi and i was bored #i figured id upload the female and male versions that i wrote bc yk gender equality #no beta we die like men

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years ago

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The Bast Bad Idea (Part 2)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! First and foremost, I want to start with a huge thank you to all of you who have reached out about this story. The response was so far beyond what I was expecting, but I am thrilled to know that all of you enjoy a CS Doctor AU as much as I do. As someone who grew up watching Grey’s Anatomy, it’s essentially engrained in my DNA to love a medical romance, and this story is one I have wanted to write for a long time. I’ve had more than a month away from writing thanks to my busy schedule, but finally my muse came to play and add a bit of fluff to this sweet short story. Chapter two picks up with a critical question – what was Dr. Jones going to propose to Dr. Swan…? Without further ado, here is our answer. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

His eyes strayed down to her lips, and Emma wet them absentmindedly. She heard a low growl, and realized it was coming from Killian. She shifted in her seat, turned on in a way she had never been before. Instinctively she moved closer, sensing the sinfully sweet current between them, like lightning just before it cracked across a summer sky. The instant attraction was breathtaking. It felt almost out of time and space.

“We could…” she continued, nudging him along and hoping he would elaborate. She wanted so badly for him to say aloud what she herself was wishing for.

Yet where Emma expected words, she was instead met with action, tantalizing and surprising, but inspiring something in her she never expected. Before she knew it, Emma was in Killian’s arms, aching for this moment, kissing him and knowing she was positively senseless. All that existed was this kiss, this touch. It was electrifying and invigorating, a blaze rushing through her blood stream that emboldened a part of her she’d always held back. Desire. That was what this was, and it was luscious and intoxicating.

Following his lead, Emma broke away from the kiss only to gasp for air as he crowded her body against the wall. The hardness of the cement blocks behind her, coupled with the heat and definition of Dr. Killian Jones was too much to handle. She arched into him, striving for contact, and reveling in the feel of his skin on hers. The only problem was these damn clothes between them. Never in her life had she been irritated at this doctor’s coat she’d worked so hard to earn. For years she studied and poured everything she was into medicine, all for the authority this coat portrayed, but she practically purred when Killian stripped hers off and tossed it to the ground. Pushing his off of his body in return made her mind race. The muscles of his chest and arms were driving her to distraction. Then they flexed, and she swallowed harshly, earning a deep, decadent chuckle from this man who drove her crazy.

“See something you like, Swan?”

God that cockiness. They’d never had any kind of real conversation before now, but the way he smiled spoke volumes. His air and his persona were dripping in assuredness. Emma used to think that she hated so much confidence, but when it came to Killian, she craved it something fierce. It was somewhat infuriating, the way his eyes shone with mischief and conceit, but it was also hotter than anything she’d ever known. Still, part of her would rather die than admit that aloud. She had her pride, no matter how wrapped up in this moment she may be.

“It’s hard to say,” she replied, her voice sounding out with a shredded silkiness that she’d never heard before. “I haven’t seen much of anything yet.”

“My apologies, love. Allow me to rectify the situation.”

Emma watched as this ridiculously attractive man purposefully teased her. With deft fingers he reached for the base of his scrub top, inching the material higher up his body. The trail of dark hair he revealed was evocative, but it held no candle the shape and tone of those abs underneath. Sweet Jesus, were those real? Emma bit back a groan at the sight, her lip pressed tight between her teeth. It took everything in her to keep her hands from reaching for him. She lay them flat on the wall behind her at her sides instead, but they balled into fists unconsciously as Killian eventually tossed the shirt away.

His black hair was mussed now, both from removing the scrubs with that always-present swagger, and from her fingers having run through it during their never-ending kisses. His eyes were dark navy blue, but still they shone with hunger and delight. His grin was a mix of charming and predatory, but instead of inciting a fight or flight response, Emma only wanted to surrender. This was a man who knew he was in complete control. He had hooked her, totally and beyond any shadow of doubt, and all she wanted was for him to have his way with her.

The curses he whispered while helping her shed her own scrubs were like prayers on high, a sweet song to her ears that only added to his allure. Killian’s eyes never strayed from her, but his reactions were so open and transparent. He hid nothing, allowing her a glimpse to the world inside, and it caused the power between them to shift. If Emma was being hunted, then she was also hunting in return, and Killian seemed ready to be caught.

“Emma, I -,”

His voice faded out, and she struggled to hear him. Instead, there was a blaring alarm. Was this a fire drill? Why had the light in the room gone hazy? Still, Emma heard herself whisper his name.

“Killian?”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The screech of the sharp, incessant chiming by her ears wrenched Emma’s eyes open, and immediately she groaned in disappointment. All of that – every exquisite moment – was a dream. Ugh, of course it was! Because this was her life now: fantasizing about a hot trauma surgeon ceaselessly and wishing that her memories of him were more than mere imagination.

“Damn it,” she muttered aloud, covering her eyes with her hand in frustration. With her vision blocked, Emma was more aware of the feeling that her body was wrapped up in her sheets. She’d obviously been tossing and turning through the night, restless in ways she rarely was before seeing Doctor Jones. These freaking dreams just felt so real, and they’d only gotten worse since officially meeting him.

That was three days ago now, but things had been chaotic in the meantime. The level four trauma that came in when they’d been formally introduced totally swamped the ER. Emma was called down for consult on multiple patients, needing to give life and death assessments and treatment plans for half a dozen people. While down there, Emma had the chance to see David and Killian in action. She was struck, even in the grips of adrenaline, by their cohesion and capability. They were cool and collected, battling odds that were dire to say the least, but they prevailed. Emma had worked for years to hone her craft, to heighten her skills, and to meet the moments of medicine that her work provided. But the energy in the ER had shifted, and she felt her own abilities elevated by the camaraderie and collectiveness of everyone in the hospital.

That shared experience only lasted a short while, for after initial inspections and emergency consults, Emma was quickly rerouted to the surgical wing. For 16 hours straight she worked to save the lives of four people, and through something that felt like magic, or maybe divine intervention, she was successful each and every time. That good fortune held, not only for her, but for all of her colleagues as well. The hospital had managed something next to impossible – they had saved every victim of the horrible accident, but the work had been backbreaking. When she’d finally scrubbed out of her last procedure, Emma admitted defeat, heading home and sleeping for twelve straight hours.

Her next shift was markedly slower, and Emma had the chance to see the progress of her post-op patients, and to connect with the others in her unit. It was critically important that the doctors, nurses, admins, tech teams, and other staff were all feeling strong and secure. Patients needed everyone working as a collective whole, and Emma took it upon herself to monitor that. It was unusual for a Doctor, especially one who wasn’t overseeing daily operations, but it mattered to Emma. Saving lives took so much more than her medical degree and steady hands. She needed each and every person in the cardiac wing to be successful, and she valued every one of them for what they brought to the team.

Unfortunately, while Emma’s day was slower and steadier, there was also a favorite element now lacking. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she’d willingly joined Ruby on the daily trip to the coffee cart. Actually, she’d been the one to page Ruby this time, earning more than a bit of teasing from her best friend, but Killian and David never showed. Only later, when Emma was at the tail end of her workday and helping with a consult in the ER, did she learn why.

“He was here for sixty-eight straight hours,” David said bluntly, after having confirmed his diagnosis for a patient presenting with a blood circulation issue.

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked, confused for a moment at David’s turn of topic.

“Killian,” David said, prompting Emma’s face to heat. Here she was, hoping it wasn’t totally obvious that she was looking for a man she hardly knew beyond imaginings, but David had seen through her in a matter of moments.

“Oh, um – that’s, well that’s… crazy. Sixty-eight hours?” That beat even her record, and she’d been called a workaholic on more than one occasion.

“Mhmm. We were on the end of a twelve-hour shift when the call came in and he stayed, until every last patient in the trauma department was seen and attended to. I left for eight hours and was dead to the world the entire time. Still felt laggy when coming back. Meanwhile, he caught maybe four hours sleep total interspersed between rounds, crashing in on call rooms. You’d never know though. He was totally unfazed. Brilliant as ever. It was like being back in the field again.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, amazed at that. She was no stranger to long shifts, but to work that hard for that long was a herculean feat. Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised to hear Killian had pulled it off.

“Yup. I had to force him to go back to his hotel. Actually, Regina had to. I tried, but until the Chief said something, he wouldn’t budge. She had to spew all sorts of protocol and legal jargon at him to get him to go. Even then, I could tell he was debating whether to stay or not.”

“He has a real connection with his patients,” Emma commented, vocalizing a fact she’d ascertained by watching him in action. Killian cared deeply, and while his main job may be all about stemming the flow of crisis, and bouncing around from one case to the next just to keep people holding on, he kept track of all those he helped, and invested in each patient no matter what.

“Maybe. I think it had more to do with the fact that it was only eight am and you wouldn’t be at the coffee stand yet.”

Before Emma could respond, David was paged for something else. He’d left her with a polite goodbye, but also a knowing smile. Another time, Emma might have tried to fake that she wasn’t interested or deny that there was something between her and Killian, but instead she was too busy fixating on what she’d just heard. Emma carried David’s assessment around with her for the rest of the day, well after leaving the hospital and heading home. She spent the night wondering if what David said was true. Was Killian as interested in her as she was in him?

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

“We could what?” she whispered, getting out of her car, heading inside to her next shift. “What was he going to ask me?”

“Did you say something, Emma?”

Emma jumped at the unexpected question, senses on high alert as she stood before the elevator in the parking garage. When she found Mary Margaret only a few feet from her, and clearly the orator of the previous question, Emma relaxed slightly. She tried her best not to show her embarrassment, but it was difficult. Now she was talking to herself? Jeez, she was truly losing it at this point.

“Oh, uh, nothing. How are you today?” she asked her friend. Mary Margaret smiled widely. Her excitement was palpable, filling up the elevator car as the two of them stepped inside.

“I’m great! Just eager to get to work.”

“Any interesting cases on the schedule?”

“Oh, uh, sure, there’s a few, I guess. Well really most of my day is going to be in consult with the Chief’s office.”

“Wait a second, you have to spend a prolonged period of time with the Evil Queen and you are smiling? Who are you and what have you done with Mary Margaret?” Her friend now looked flustered, clearly trying to grasp at an explanation and then it dawned on Emma. “This is about David isn’t it?”

“David?” Mary Margaret asked, her pitch higher than it had been just moments ago. Emma laughed at her friend’s terrible play acting. Trying to pretend that this wasn’t about David Nolan was a lost cause. Eventually Mary Margaret realized that, and she sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders as she exhaled. “Okay, yes, I am seeing Dr. Nolan today.”

“Let me guess, he’s also going to be at the admin meetings.”

“They’re about coordinating long term therapies better with our emergency protocols and treatments. So yes, the head of the ER is likely to make an appearance.”

“I see,” Emma said, biting back a smirk so as not to make Mary Margaret too uncomfortable. In the end though her curiosity won out, and she had to ask. “So, any movement there?”

“Movement?”

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“Not exactly.” Emma waited for her friend to explain herself. Mary Margaret held off for a few seconds before blurting out the truth. “I actually asked him.”

“Really?” Emma was shocked. Not because she thought any less of Mary Margaret. In fact, quite the opposite. She was proud of Mary Margaret for going for what she wanted. She just had never ever seen Mary Margaret step outside of a comfort zone like that, and certainly not with a hospital colleague. “Good for you. And he obviously said yes.”

“Why is it obvious?” Emma rolled her eyes, but in a teasing way.

“Come on, you know you two were making heart eyes at each other the other day. There was a definite spark. We all saw it.”

“I’m honestly surprised you noticed since you had your own, what did you just call them? ‘Heart eyes’? Well, you definitely had heart eyes for a certain trauma surgeon.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to blush, and what perfect timing, because the elevator doors had just opened to the lobby. They exited the quiet of the elevator to a hustle and bustle found only at a top tier hospital. It felt like a swarm of people, buzzing every which way, on their own individual paths.

“David and I going to dinner tomorrow,” Mary Margaret said quietly, looking around and finding no eavesdropping colleagues. When the coast was clear, she smiled, looking back at Emma with excitement all over her face. “That’s all I know though. I may have asked him out, but he made it very clear he had plans for how our first date was going to be.”

“I have a good feeling about this guy,” Emma said, referring to David. She had known Mary Margaret for a long time, and she knew how much her friend wished for a real and solid love in her life. Few people desired and deserved that kind of connection like Mary Margaret, and for Emma, there was a real satisfaction in seeing her friend’s instant connection with a stand-up man. Based on past experience, there weren’t too many of those to go around.

“Which one?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma stammered something non-committal out, causing her friend to laugh once more. “And that right there is all the answer I need. See you later, Emma. Oh, and when you see Killian again, just go for it. Believe me, it’s so much better than waiting and wondering.”

With that, Mary Margaret headed towards the wing of the hospital where the Chief and her admins worked. At the same time, Emma turned her attention to the cardiac unit. She had a ways to go to get there, but while still in the main entrance of the hospital she was stopped short by a gruff, and somewhat uncertain voice.

“Excuse me, Doctor Swan?”

“Yes?” Emma replied, looking to the young man who approached her. Taking in his features, she realized she knew him peripherally. He was one of the new interns cycling through the hospital this year, but he hadn’t worked in the cardio wing or in a surgical capacity. Taking in his lanyard, which bore his ID card over plain clothes, she saw he was an ER intern. Interesting. “Can I help you?”

“This is for you.” The young man offered her a paper box. Emma accepted, thoroughly confused before the intern elaborated. “Curtesy of Doctor Jones.”

“Oh,” Emma said, suddenly incredibly interested. Unable to resist, she opened the box. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but what she found made her smile widely. “These are flowers. Paper flowers.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not entirely sure of the significance, but Doctor Jones told me there is a note inside as well. He wanted me to be sure to mention that.”

Emma was more than excited to read what this astonishing man would write to her, but something the intern said reminded her of the awkwardness of this situation. Had Killian used his authority over the interns to have this delivered? It wasn’t a crazy assumption. Many of the residents and attendings here saw interns as the low rungs on the ladder. They were meant to be learning and training, but often they were sent on coffee runs and foolish errands. Emma never believed in that though. She found it unkind and unnecessary.

“To be honest, it was hard to convince Doctor Jones to let me bring these,” the intern said, perplexing Emma further while eerily reading her mind. “I had to offer about a half dozen times. My shift was ending, you see, and I’ve been looking for a way to thank Doctor Jones since he got here. You know he created extra hours in the ER skills lab? He’s working with first years too. We get very little access usually, because the third years are prepping for exams and stuff, but he convinced Doctor Nolan to extend the hours. He’s even hosting classes himself. Cool right?”

“Very cool,” Emma said with a nod, and another smile. She breathed out a sigh of relief, genuinely happy to realize this man she’d been thinking of was good to others. It also made accepting this thoughtful gift so much easier.

From there, Caleb said goodbye, heading out for whatever interns did with down time these days. Oh, who was she kidding? Sleeping. That’s what she’d done, and no doubt that was what all interns still wanted most of all. Emma though, felt more awake now than she had in a long while. She found a quiet corner in one of the corridors leading to the cardio unit and took a seat, opening the box away from prying eyes.

Inside the box there were six different types of what looked like origami flowers. They were beautiful and delicate, and she wondered where he could have bought them. Only when she opened the note did she realize the truth.

Emma,

As you know, I’ve been away for quite a while, out in the field in a completely different world. In the desert there’s not really that much to do, except survive and keep as many of your people as well as you can. The downtime is long and hot and quiet. I picked up these tricks from a fellow soldier. It kept my hands at the ready and my mind clear, and there’s an honest beauty in them that reminds me of you.

Truth be told, there’s a flower for each time I’ve tried to catch you at the coffee cart since our meeting. Clearly my missions have been unsuccessful, so this calls for a change in tactics…

Emma smiled at the thoughtfulness and felt the pull of butterflies low in her chest. He thought she was beautiful, and he said it without fear. Had a man ever said so much? Had it ever mattered? Certainly not like it did now. Reading on, Emma laughed at the lightheartedness of the note and the bit of cheeky humor that accompanied it. His easygoing candor and transparency enchanted her, drawing her in even more than she already was. Then she memorized the time and place he suggested that they meet at the bottom of the page, knowing nothing and no one was going to keep her from this meeting.

Only after reading through his handwritten thoughts three or four times did she realize an added layer of perfection: these flowers weren’t just handmade and crafted with intention. They were also safe for her to take with her to her ward of the hospital. Being in and out of the ICU and cardiac units, Emma couldn’t bring real flowers into her offices without putting some patients at risk, but she could have these. From within the box she selected a bright yellow blossom, beautiful and intricate and folded to perfection. Wordlessly she tucked it away in her pocket. The others were deposited for safe keeping in her office as soon as she arrived back in the East Wing, and displayed on her windowsill, brightening the space.

The hours between the start of her shift and the time she was meant to meet Killian passed by slowly. Her rounds usually distracted her, but not today. While she still gave all due attention to her patients, Emma had that sense in the back of her mind that this afternoon would bring so much more to the forefront. The promise of seeing him again kept her heart pattering faster than it should be, and by the time the clock was minutes from their meeting, she was positively bursting with anticipation.

“Okay, usually I would give you a hard time and pretend to tag along, but even I can’t mess with a smile like that.” Ruby’s words snapped Emma’s focus back to the hallway where she was standing, pretending to read a chart. As she looked to her friend, however, she would never be able to recall what was on the screen in front of her. Ruby grinned when their eyes met. “He gave you the flowers, didn’t he?”

“You knew?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“Yup. Ran into him at the cart a couple of times. He was really starting to piss off the kiosk guy with all his loitering. Had to give him a hundred dollars just to shut him up.”

“He didn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t let him. I told Boris to shut it unless he wanted a hospital wide nurses strike. Guy knows better than to cross me. He just acts tough for clout.” Emma laughed, knowing her friend truly ran this place in most ways. But then the apprehension of the moment caught up to her again, and Emma’s brow furrowed in worry. “Oh no you don’t. No doubting this, Ems. I’ve vetted this guy. Run all the background, checked all the sources. He’s a good one, a one in a million, needle in a haystack, diamond in the rough kind of man. And, to top it all off, he’s crazy about you.”

“You think?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“I know, but that’s all I’m saying. Let Killian speak for himself, okay? And, even though it’s hard, try and trust this.”

“I think I already do,” Emma whispered. “Trust him, I mean. But that’s crazy, right?”

“Love tends to be that way.”

“Ruby.”

“Emma,” her friend parroted, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “Just go for it. Go for it and see for yourself.”

With a nod, and the validation that she needed to hear from a trusted friend, Emma headed off. It felt natural and expected to make her way towards the center of the hospital once more. This time though, she passed the coffee cart, with only a fleeting glance. Killian wasn’t meeting her there today. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure where they were meeting. She followed the directions he’d given her, up a few more flights of stairs and through the wing with pediatric patients and newborns. She had been here many times before, for consults and comfort. It was a draw here in the hospital – the cuteness of babies just starting their journeys in the new world. Emma looked at them today, noticing the vibrancy inside the nursery, but didn’t linger. Instead, she followed the last of the route that Killian had given her and ended up somewhere she’d never been before. A place that must have just finished being renovated.

“Wow,” Emma whispered, walking into the sunlight on the open terrace.

With the glass surroundings and the plant life everywhere, this place was beautiful. There were pergolas and hanging vines, topiaries and flowering plants, daffodils and tulips, all breathing in the spring. It felt like a park, floating in the air, with the sounds of the city barely audible below. Emma could imagine the kids and the families who would come here someday. She hoped it would be a space for them to find some peace and happiness while staying in this unfamiliar and often stressful place. Hospitals were rarely any fun for patients, necessary as they may be, but this space was beautiful enough to distract from that.

“You made it, love.” The deep rumble of that familiar voice sent a shiver through Emma’s whole body. She cast a glance over her shoulder, finding Killian, leaning against the stone façade of the building behind them. In his hands were two coffees, and as he moved towards her, he offered her one with a boyish smile. “This is for you. Didn’t want you missing a routine caffeine fix for my sake.”

“Thank you,” Emma said automatically, feeling his fingers brush across hers, sending a zing of awareness through her. Her eyes flashed up to his, and she knew he felt it too. Suddenly she had no want or need for this coffee. She cleared her throat slightly before continuing on. “Where exactly are we? And how, might I ask, does the new guy know about it before I do?”

“It’s the Hubbard Family Wellness Gardens, gifted by one of the hospital’s most loyal benefactors” he said, full of knowledge. Emma was shocked that he actually knew what this place would be but then he smiled, gesturing to the plaque bearing that information. She bit back a laugh. “And as for how I found it, that’s easy. I never leave well enough alone, and I’m curious by nature. I’ve been nearly everywhere in the hospital now, but this place seemed the best for what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Emma asked, her voice hitching up as she repeated the words.

“Aye,” Killian murmured, his tone dipping sensually low. She swallowed harshly as he entered into her space, and he tracked the motion. She felt the heat of his closeness, and caught his scent in the air, clean, and male, and with a hint of spice.

“I’m afraid I didn’t think this through,” he said, close enough to kiss her. God, how she wished he would kiss her. Emma vocalized her first thought.

“Really? I did. Like a lot.”

His smirk told her she’d said that aloud even though she never meant to, but before she could react, he took hold of her cup once more.

“I meant these,” he gestured to the coffee in her hand. Oh, right. “May I, love?”

Emma nodded, and shakily let go of the cup she forgot she was holding. With deft hands, Killian placed their drinks back on a table beside them with far more poise than she could muster at the moment. When that was done, he stepped towards her again, looking at her with a glint in his blue eyes that made her heart skip. His hands came to her body, one to her hip, the other to cup her cheek. The rightness washed over her, and so did the realization that none of her dreams could actually prepare her for real intimacy with Killian Jones.

“Last time we spoke I intended to ask you something. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from wanting this so badly. Without thinking, she wet her lips, and he caught the action, letting out a groan that mixed pain with passion and pleasure. Then he cursed, a totally British ‘bloody hell’ falling past his lips before dipping his mouth to hers and giving them both a taste of temptation.

The kiss was… beyond incredible, but Emma was so deep in it she had no ability to comprehend anything at all. She was consumed with the moment, arching against Killian, feeling the silky strands of his dark hair and the scruff of his beard. His kiss was assured and passionate, dominant and indulgent all at once. She succumbed to the sensations, and let the rightness surge within her, not caring at all that they were outside or at work or that they’d just met. Instinct took over, and her gut, which Emma had always trusted, was telling her that this man was even more than she imagined, and someone she should choose to let in.

Pulling back from the kiss, Emma and Killian stayed close, and Emma took stock of all the places they were touching. His hold on her was firm but caring, like she was precious, and he wouldn’t let her slip away. In his eyes she saw so much emotion, and again she was struck by his transparency and trust. He wasn’t shying away from her or the moment. He was in the depths of desire with her, and their kiss, that perfect, sexy as all hell kiss, had left him tongue tied. The quiet wasn’t awkward, but assuring, and Emma felt secure here, safe even, while also being filled with more unknown wonder than she’d ever been before. Like someone at the start of a glorious adventure, she took a next step born of passion and hope.

“I’m off at six tonight… so, you want to pick me up at seven thirty?” she asked, referencing a date he hadn’t actually asked her out on. She feigned ignorance even though she could read him like a book. “Unless you were going to ask me something else…”

His hold on her tightened, and he shook his head immediately. She was right. He wanted a date – and she saw no reason to wait when she wanted one just as badly. She grinned at him, loving how the tables had turned. This time he swallowed harshly, and she was oh so tempted to kiss him again and see if he’d stay shy or rise to her challenge.

“It’s a date, Swan,” he said dazedly.

Emma hummed out her agreement, going in for one last fleeting kiss. But where she meant to only tease, he took the reins again, kissing her senseless and leaving her breathless when they finally broke apart. Only when her pager beeped with an incoming call did they end their inevitable interlude, and as they did, Emma felt a pang of longing, wishing this moment could last so much longer than this.

“Tonight, love,” he whispered, running his thumb against her lips. “Far away as it may seem, I promise the wait will be worth it.”

“Good,” she replied, nipping his thumb ever so softly, and bringing the fire back in his eyes, before taking a step back. And with that, and just enough presence of mind to grab her coffee, Emma headed off, back through the hospital to the work that awaited her, knowing she could and would get through anything today for the promise of tonight.

Post-Note: Ah!! Finally!! I got the words on the page!! I did the thing!! I wrote the story!! And honestly, it’s such a relief. It felt, at some points, like I may never get this chapter written, but finally today it came. I know many of you were waiting, and I cherished every comment and review and message along the way. I hope all of you who wrote me, and those who read along with chapter one, all enjoy this installation. I write these stories for me and to brighten my world ever so slightly, but also in the hopes that they’ll spark joy for others too. In a time like this, a little joy goes an awful long way. Anyway, thank you all for reading, sending you the best, and hope you’ll join me next time for the final chapter of this CS AU! xE

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