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welcome-back-to-hoimycraf · 3 months ago

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SO EXCITED TO BE POSTING THIS EEEEEEEEEE

this is my gift for @bigb-enthusiast for the @mcyt-yaoi-exchange! i know there's not enough skizzb in the world so i decided to deliver >:) based on my friend's fic, the boogey!! it's SO good, go check it out, but doesn't have to be read to read this fic! (it helps and gives context, but other than that this can totally be standalone!) thank you to rain @deityoftherain, kai @kaihuntrr, and kai @Kaije224 from the yaoi event server for betaing! ALSO. I FUCKING GOT HIT BY THE AO3 WRITER'S CURSE. A FUCKING ONCE IN A LIFETIME HURRICANE DEVASTATED MY STATE WHILE WRITING THIS????? EVEN AS I'M WRITING THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE, I DON'T HAVE ELECTRICITY OR AC LMAOOOO BUT WE STAY SILLY!!!!! THE YAOI GRIND STOPS FOR NOTHING, NOT EVEN A HISTORICALLY DAMAGING HURRICANE

BigB sat at his desk, numbly staring at the unmoving red dot on his computer- the dot that represented Skizz.

Skizz had sacrificed himself- gotten attacked by that thing that had been downing heroes left and right. It wasn’t safe to be patrolling right now, not with the Boogey on the loose. The thing, that mass of purple goop that’d been causing so many missing people and infection cases, was still roaming the city. No one knew what it was, where it came from, or what it could do. He’d told Skizz not to go on this mission! He slammed his fist down on the table, ripping off the headset that still had Phoenix's panicked voice coming through. It was of no use to him anymore. Skizz was unconscious. Skizz had tranquilized himself….

And now there was no telling what would happen to his husband.

B slumped back into his uncomfortable swivel chair, rubbing his hands too harshly into his eyes to stop the tears from spilling. Vague, muffled shouting leaked from the headphone’s speakers that BigB couldn’t exactly make out. He knew Phoenix was trying to talk to him, to get him to help, but the words were all jumbled together. Everything felt floaty. B could barely think through the fog plaguing his mind.

This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

…What was he supposed to do now?

—----

BigB had rushed to the hospital as soon as he was told where Skizz had been admitted. The nurse at the front desk had notified him of Skizz’s condition. Her words still echoed in his mind.

“Comatose,” she’d said. Medically induced. It was the best way to deal with the Boogey’s infected patients that had been admitted, she explained. There was no cure. B had known that long before this. Something in him had still hoped that fact would have changed in the half-hour drive to the hospital. He still felt the numbness washing over him as he was informed.

On top of that, he wasn’t even allowed to see his husband. The nurse had told him that no one was to enter infected patients’ rooms besides permitted staff. That the risk of contagion was too great for visitors. That didn’t make him want to bust down the door to Skizz’s room any less.

The best solution he could come up with was throwing himself into his work. At least working at the Traffic City Hero Agency gave him a way to actually help Skizz. He couldn’t imagine being a civilian who’d lost a loved one to the infection, unable to do anything useful- or even know what happened to them. B was never more grateful to be privy to top secret information than he was now.

His workload was mentally exhausting, but that was preferred. Anything to keep his thoughts from straying to Skizz….

It mostly consisted of desperate research. Double and triple-checking databases of wanted criminals, missing persons’ reports, and infection cases. Something had to lead him to the Boogey. If not… he wasn’t sure what he would do with himself.

The smaller portion of his work was helping Lizzie.

Her and Joel had recently lost their spouse, Etho, to the Boogey as well- which B could grimly relate to. Joel channeled his grief into anger, taking any excuse he could find for field work. Any excuse to get his fists dirty and feel something- even if that usually translated into the sting of wounds and the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. While his methods seemed extreme, it was clear that Lizzie was taking the loss harder.

Etho had been defending her when they were downed. They’d lost themself to the infection for her. B remembered the aftermath, when she had returned from the mission essentially hysterical. He couldn’t blame her.

Etho’s spouses didn’t even have the comfort of knowing they were safe in a hospital bed, asleep and blissfully unaware. They were still out there, somewhere. No one knew if they were hurt- or hurting someone through the influence of the Boogey.

Skizz was out of B’s expertise, but Etho was out of his grasp completely. It wasn’t like he- or the agency, even- could do much to help them. Even if they did somehow find and incapacitate them, what was the point? It’d prevent further harm, yes, but they’d still be infected. B couldn’t do anything to save either of them.

BigB did his best to lighten the burden on Lizzie’s shoulders, but there was only so much he could do. He didn’t do field work like her, which only left the half of her job she did at the agency- and even then, she didn’t let him take on too much.

Lizzie insisted he was working himself to the bone, that Skizz would want him to take breaks.

BigB told her she should worry more about her bloodied and battered husband and her missing spouse than her overburdened coworker. He only half regretted it.

—----

Life was hard, without Skizz.

BigB wasn’t aware of how much Skizz’s ever-cheerful energy truly got him through each and every day. Each evening when he arrived home, the house felt… cold. Empty. There was no life behind the front door. Not anymore.

Everything felt broken.

B fell into the familiar motions of making dinner. Pasta. Skizz’s favorite. He always loved alfredo- loves alfredo.

He made enough for the both of them, purely on instinct. He used to make them at least one meal every day.

The familiarity was nice.

Skizz would always mention loving coming home to the smell of something delicious cooking, and B was happy to give him that. Cooking was a big thing in his family, a show of love and care for those closest to you, and he’d always be more than glad that Skizz loved what he made. The man did his fair share, though, chopping vegetables and washing dishes with nothing but a content smile.

He didn’t realize when his tears sizzled into the pan where the garlic was sauteing.

Skizz’s arms never wrap around his waist. Skizz’s cheek never rubs up against BigB’s neck to tease him with his stubble. Skizz’s mischievous fingers never pluck a noodle straight from the pot for “testing”.

BigB’s dinner tasted rancid on his tongue.

—----

Two weeks in, B had given up breaks.

B’s eyes burned from both the restless nights of sleep and the too-bright screen of the laptop he’d been staring at for far too long. The all-too-familiar ache in his back had returned with a fierce passion because of his near-constant hunch over his keyboard. The dull pain was a welcome change from the numbness.

He couldn’t remember Lizzie coming in, but the sandwich sitting on his desk proved his memory wrong. A turkey club. From his favorite café. B didn’t have to wonder how she knew that information for long- it was the last thing he’d eaten with Skizz.

His husband had barged into the meeting room with a dopey smile on his face, holding a paper bag above his head triumphantly. Skizz’s expression had quickly transformed from accomplished to sheepish when he noticed the debriefing he’d clearly interrupted. Lizzie had giggled at Skizz’s attempt at a peace offering, which consisted of handing BigB one of the contents from the bag.

They had ended up pausing the meeting for a lunch break. Skizz chatted with Lizzie and Zomblaze about their favorite restaurants. B could still see the way Skizz’s eyes lit up when given the opportunity to talk about his husband’s interests. He still remembered the feeling of Skizz’s lips pressed to his temple as he said his goodbyes.

And he still remembered Skizz wearing his hero outfit when he left the conference room- a nasty gash on the pleasant memory, reminding BigB of what would happen next.

The sandwich still sat on his desk, untouched. It had long gone stale at this point. He wasn’t hungry, anyway. He hadn’t been for days.

—----

Lizzie asked him, unprompted , if he was alright when he entered the agency that morning, stopping him in his tracks. It took B a moment to process her question, and even longer to notice her furrowed brow. He followed her gaze to the long scratch along his bicep, dried blood flaking across his skin and closing the wound. B had completely forgotten about it.

He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten it exactly. His memory from last night was hazy, blurry. All he could remember was the scarlet running down his arm and dripping onto the white tiles of the bathroom floor. A clumsy injury while cleaning, perhaps?

He had never ended up bandaging it, too tired to even give it a second glance.

Lizzie snapped BigB out of his thoughts as she took his hand, gently turning his arm over for a better look and taking in the streaks running down it. There were dried drips on his pants. He supposed he hadn’t bothered to change before heading to bed last night- or leaving the house that morning.

“This isn’t healthy , B,” she whispered out. He could hear the way her voice trembled.

He didn't have the strength to meet her eyes.

“...What’s new?” He couldn’t help but scoff.

B was glad they were alone in the small breakroom, he did not want to have this conversation in front of their coworkers.

Lizzie’s pinched expression quickly transformed from worried to determined. “You can’t work in this state, BigB,” she sighed. “I’m taking you home to patch you up, and then you’re resting- whether you like it or not!”

The man barely had time to open his mouth in protest before being literally dragged back out the door. His objections fell on deaf ears, though he didn’t know what else he expected. He knew Lizzie well enough to know that once she was set on a goal, she’d never stop until it was achieved.

Her and her spouses’ home wasn’t far, it was much closer than his and Skizz’s. B vaguely remembered overhearing a conversation in the break room a few years ago- something about when the Honeybees were buying their first home together. It’d been not long after the three got married, if he recalled correctly. They’d picked the house for its proximity to the Agency, apparently.

…He couldn’t remember where he was going with that.

Their house was almost as suffocatingly empty as his, now, though. Lizzie had lost Joel as well, almost a week after B had lost Skizz, and about two weeks after Etho. Heroes were dropping like flies all around the city due to the Boogey. No progress had been made to find them.

He felt bad, of course, but it wasn’t like there was much he could even do. He didn’t do field work, and Lizzie’s spouses’ trackers had been destroyed soon after they’d gotten infected. They’d left little to no evidence as to their current location.

He couldn’t help them- just like how he couldn’t help Skizz...

Lizzie led BigB up the stairs, mentioning something about a med kit. He didn’t hear it over the anger bubbling in his ears.

He couldn’t save any of them.

Of course he couldn’t.

"I don't need your help, Lizzie," he couldn't keep from sneering out, ripping his hand from her grasp. Latent rage boiled in his chest. He was a grown man, he could handle himself! He didn’t need Lizzie to take him home and clean him up like she was his mother!

She gripped the bannister, turning to face him with the same stubborn expression he'd seen on her countless times in front of her spouses. "Yes, you do need my help, BigB." He could feel her eyes falling to the long cut along his arm. He quickly moved to cover it. "We both need help. We need all the help we can get."

B suddenly found the stairs beneath his feet extremely interesting.

Lizzie sighed, her tone softening. "...Listen," she stepped down to his level, gently taking his hands in hers. He still couldn’t meet her eye. He didn’t want to. "We're both going through a hard time right now. It’s not good for us to push people away in our states- especially each other.” B’s heart broke slightly at the small crack in her usually strong, if a little uncertain, voice.

He surprised himself when a watery laugh escaped his lips. "You may be right, but that doesn't mean I like to admit it."

“I’m usually right.”

B could hear the weak grin in her tone.

The rest of the walk to the bathroom was draped in a slightly awkward silence, neither one able to look the other in the face. B couldn’t think of anything to say. What exactly would he say? ‘Yeah, sorry about your spouses possibly being gone forever- my husband is, too!’

That didn’t seem like a good conversation starter, did it?

“...Do you want to talk about it?” Lizzie asked quietly as she bandaged his wound. He couldn’t remember sitting on the toilet lid, nor his coworker pulling out the medical supplies. The world had started to blur out a long, long time ago.

“No.” Even though BigB knew she would understand, he couldn't. He couldn't talk about it without breaking down. He had a mask to hold up, even if she'd already seen it crack.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to put it back up if it came down.

She seemed to let the subject drop.

Lizzie ended up leading him to her room and forcing him to sit on her bed once he was all bandaged up, demanding he finally get some sleep. He was too mentally weak to protest.

She turned to leave the room when given no response, but was stopped by a hand grabbing her arm. She struggled to slip out, but B’s grip on her elbow didn't waver, though he did loosen it so as to not hurt. "If I’ve gotta take a sick day, you do too," he grumbled, and Lizzie could already see his eyes drooping.

Her eyebrows furrowed together. He’d seen that too many times today. "No, B, I can't. I've got to make progress on this case, I-" Before she could let out another half-baked, hypocritical excuse, Lizzie was dragged forward onto her own sheets.

"Nope!"

She sat up quickly, her fists balled into the honeybee-embroidered blankets. “If I find this monster, I can bring our spouses back-“

BigB finally sighed, looking her in the eye for the first time since that morning. Her rambling, uncontrolled train of thought was way too similar to his own. He’d spent days convincing himself that he should give up his needs in favor of doing anything he could to help Skizz, but he knew it wasn’t good for him. He knew, yet he couldn’t gather the courage to stop. At least, not on his own. “We can’t help them if we’re exhausted… no matter how much I don't like to admit it... we've gotta take breaks, Liz."

She giggled wetly after a moment, relaxing back into the pillows. "Are we gonna ignore this advice and go right back to the unhealthy habits once we wake up?"

BigB's smile was strained as he responded. "I expect nothing less."

—----

B jumped at the loud bang sounding throughout the empty conference room. His head shot up to find Lizzie standing across the large table from him. She’d dropped a large stack of papers on the wood, looking pretty proud of herself.

It was pretty weird that he hadn’t noticed her come in- he must’ve been caught up in his work. Where the heck did she come from?

“This is all the info I’ve found on the Boogey so far,” she explained, rolling a chair back and plopping down. The hero kicked her feet up on the table confidently, which put a slight smile on B’s face. He didn’t realize how much he missed Lizzie’s big ego.

“Seems like a good place to start,” he hummed, leaning over to drag the pile to his side. “Though, most of this will probably be stuff I’ve already looked over- no offense,” he sighed, twirling the end of his pen between his teeth in concentration.

Lizzie shrugged. “None taken. You’re probably the nicest supervisor I’ve ever had,” she snickered.

BigB let out a bit of a half-laugh to let her know he’d heard her quip, though most of his attention was absorbed by the information he’d been given. He was right about it being a good chunk of stuff he’d already seen, either from looking over other people’s research or from doing his own. One did catch his eye, though.

“There’s been more sightings?” B raised an eyebrow at the police report detailing some civilian’s story about purple sludge and a suspicious figure. Seemed to be in some part of town that had been abandoned a long time ago. If he remembered correctly, it had been evacuated due to a gas leak and never fully recovered. Most of the buildings had been left to rot.

Lizzie nodded vigorously. “I’ve been triangulating sightings to try and pin down a possible headquarters of the Boogey- or wherever it may have come from. If it’s a lab experiment like some are theorizing, it could be returning to where it was made after its prowls!”

B’s eyebrows raised. “I… never thought of doing it that way before….” Gears were already turning in his head, half-formed ideas of how to use this information surfacing in his mind. He tapped his pen against the table rapidly with his success. “Lizzie, you’re a genius!”

The hero grinned with a faux confidence, though he found a hint of genuine pride in herself at his words. “You know me- genius of the agency!” She giggled.

He stood up quickly, shutting his laptop and grabbing the documents he needed. “Do you mind if I take some of these?” He looked back up to his coworker, holding up a few of the papers he planned on snatching.

Lizzie shook her head, though her eyes were slightly wide. “Take all you need.”

“Thanks-” B barely got the word out between his racing thoughts. He gathered all of his items and headed out the door, making a beeline straight to his office. This could be a breakthrough.

—----

He woke up in the hero agency.

It was way too warm in the small, cramped room he was given years ago. Something about a "promotion" that gave him no better pay and a shit load more to add to his plate. Light streamed in between the closed blinds from the sole, tiny window at just the right angle to hit his eyes.

B didn't remember falling asleep.

His laptop had been closed at some point, which he assumed was done by someone else. His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted a water bottle left on his desk. The sticky note on it read, ‘Hydrate or Diedrate! -Z’

B wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth, a smile creeping across his lips. Zomblaze must’ve stopped by after he’d fallen asleep. She didn’t like to admit it, but she cared about the people at the agency- Well, some people at the agency. BigB supposed he’d been added to their list.

He ran his fingers along the fabric falling from his sides. That was new.

A blanket had been draped over his shoulders while he slept. It was covered in embroidered honeybees.

—----

BigB’s heart was beating out of his chest.

His leg bounced up and down furiously with his pent up anxiety. Lizzie, Zomblaze, and that vigilante, Phoenix, they’d recruited had just left the conference room- leaving him with the biggest breakthrough of his career.

They’d identified the Boogey. A young girl named Gem, the profile had said. She was, quite possibly- very possibly, his way of getting Skizz cured.

The idea seemed too good to be true.

Zomblaze and Lizzie had gone out to track down Gem’s brother, Scott, and get any information they could about helping her. From what the trio had recounted, it sounded like she had been infected herself rather than being the cause of the infection.

B’s mind was racing with possibilities.

Having Skizz back might be closer than he thought.

—----

Zomblaze had burst into the conference room, making BigB shoot up from his chair. “Do you have any information?” He couldn’t help but shout. Volume control was the last thing on his mind at this point.

She nodded quickly. “I have terms for a compromise.”

B’s memories blurred after that.

He’d agreed to Scott’s terms with barely a second thought. They seemed reasonable enough, and he was desperate- anything to see Skizz again- hell, he’d probably risk his own life if that meant Skizz would be safe. His thoughts were racing. He hadn’t been this close to having his husband back in weeks- he’d begun to lose hope.

Hours of paperwork, discussions, and frantic texts with Zomblaze turned into one big blend of moments BigB had already started to forget while he was experiencing them. Only one thing remained a constant in his thoughts.

Skizz.

He drove to the hospital Gem had been admitted to the next day (Was it the next day? He wasn’t sure anymore). B was sure that driving in his weird, trance-like state definitely wasn’t safe, but he ignored it. Skizz was so, so close- He couldn’t give up now.

Flashes of front desk nurses and sterile, white walls swam through his head before finally becoming a clear image of the door to the room Skizz was being kept in. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the handle, hesitating for a brief moment as it hovered over the doorknob. Why was he nervous? Scratch that- he knew exactly why he was nervous.

What if they couldn’t cure him?

What if they couldn’t save him?

What if he–

Gem being admitted to help with the infection came with no guarantee that any of her victims could be saved. That any of them could survive. There was always the possibility that attempting to cure them could just as well kill them. It was all up in the air.

B took a deep breath, the nurse’s gaze on his back burning into his very being, and opened the door.

The room was dim, barely any light besides the faint blinking and screens of machinery. The distinct rumble of a ventilator filled the room, accompanied by the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.

And there, in the middle of it all, laid his husband.

It was hard to recognize him beneath the large amount of purple goop pulsing over his skin, but it was definitely Skizz. BigB could recognize that tousled hair and unkempt beard anywhere. The familiarity almost buckled his knees, but he held strong. He had to be strong.

He wasn’t sure what else he could be.

—----

It had taken a few hours for news to arrive, but B had never been more relieved.

Gem had been brought to a stable enough condition to start ridding patients of infection. The nurse had said that they were prioritizing healing heroes first, and B almost cried with the weight that lifted itself from his chest.

Skizz would be okay. Just a bit longer.

BigB got his first look at Gem besides her outdated profile when she entered the room. She looked awful, which he couldn’t blame her for. Being the main infected for so long had practically turned her into a walking corpse. Her cheeks were pale and sullen, and her orange hair was so brittle it looked like it could be snapped in half. B’s heart went out to the poor girl.

Skizz’s healing process was… horrific. But when it was over… there he was. His husband, conscious and breathing and alive, sat right in front of him. It took everything in B’s power to keep himself from trembling with relief in front of the love of his life.

He was able to keep his mask intact when Skizz panicked over the IV, his fear of needles kicking in as strong as ever- even after almost dying. He was able to keep his mask intact when the two were left to reunite and just be together after so long. He was able to keep his mask intact when they picked up their usual banter on the way to the parking lot only an hour and a half later, thanks to Skizz’s inhumanly-fast immune system.

He had to stay strong for Skizz.

Skizz was the one who had gone through this, not him. If anyone should break down, it would be his husband. He had to be there to support him if needed.

They kept up idle conversation on the drive home, B catching Skizz up on all he missed while hospitalized. It was so familiar, yet so unfamiliar all the same. Skizz’s crooked smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, even the stupid, loveable way he talked- it was all too much. The moment didn’t seem real. The casual domesticity he’d missed so much had just been… returned to him so nonchalantly.

He almost expected the universe to be pulling a trick on him- that he’d look to his right and find Skizz gone again.

But he was right there with him the whole drive home.

—----

Skizz was still there when he woke up in the morning.

Having him back was... weird.

BigB hated to admit to himself how used to living without his second half he’d gotten. Waking up every day to an empty bed and a cold home became his new normal, after a while.

Skizz did his best to hide how he felt, but BigB could always see right through him. Skizz felt guilty. Guilty for leaving his husband behind to pick up the pieces. Guilty for not being there when B needed him most. He'd always put too much on himself, his heart too big for his own good.

B could tell that Skizz was still tired, despite what he said about his powers making it better. He'd been home for a few days, and his recovery was still in the early stages. He couldn’t walk long distances, and manual labor was out of the question. Skizz insisted he was fine, but the deep eyebags he fostered said otherwise.

B didn’t blame him for being practically bed-ridden, but something in him was… resentful. He longed for normalcy. He wasn’t bitter at Skizz, gods no, just at their situation. He prayed for his husband to have a fast recovery.

—----

The sweet, chocolatey scent of BigB’s favorite cookies, a fragrance he could always pinpoint, was a nice surprise when he walked in the door after a long day at the agency. Something seemed… off about it, though. Almost… sour? He quickly shrugged his shoes off by the door, padding over to the kitchen to peak inside.

Skizz sat on a bar stool in front of the counter, facing away from the doorway. He was hunched over something B couldn’t quite make out, muttering to himself. Both he and the kitchen were dusted in a thin layer of debris from what BigB assumed was a baking fiasco. A tray of misshapen, over-cooked “cookies” sat on a tray atop the oven, still steaming (or smoking, rather).

“Skizz?” B asked softly.

The man in question jumped, swearing in shock, and turned to face his husband. “B- Boppers! When’d you get here? I didn’t hear you come in,” Skizz rambled out, frozen like a deer in headlights. It was obvious he’d been trying to surprise B with his favorite cookies, but it hadn’t worked out. He found it strange, though. Skizz had perfected that recipe years ago, hadn’t he?

BigB made his way over, placing a hand on Skizz’s shoulder to rub circles into the skin there. “Just got home,” he hummed, twitching the corners of his lips up into a soft, if not tired, smile. “Whatcha makin’?”

At his question, Skizz visibly deflated. “Well, I tried to do something nice for you and make your favorite cookies,” he nodded toward the open cookbook he’d been scanning. “Thought I couldn’t screw it up,” he sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, “but it all fell through,” Skizz admitted in a mutter, hanging his head. “Had to resort to pulling out the recipe book to remember how to do it right. Turns out I just made you charcoal!”

B got a good chuckle out of that remark, at least. “I don’t mind, hun,” he promised, running his fingers through Skizz’s untamed, wild mess of hair. “We can just make more- together this time.”

“Back hurts,” his husband whined, pressing his head into BigB’s chest.

B’s eyebrows furrowed. “When did that start?” This was new- part of Skizz’s recovery journey after being comatose for so long. It was concerning to say the least, considering Skizz’s powers, but neither of them had yet to bring up their worries.

“After I’d been in here cooking for an hour,” Skizz mumbled, letting out a mirthless chuckle. “M’ back and feet still hurt, even after I sat down.”

“That's okay, baby, the thought was enough.” BigB leaned down to press a kiss against Skizz’s crown, smoothing out his flyaway hairs. “How about we just get cleaned up, yeah? I’ll deal with the kitchen, you go take a shower.”

Skizz hesitated for a moment. “I-....” He paused, sighing. “I took my ring off to bake, but I can’t find it anymore,” he admitted. It sounded like he was almost worried, as if BigB would be mad at him for losing his ring.

That was concerning.

B hummed to himself for a moment. “That’s alright- wanna look for it while I start cleaning up?”

With Skizz’s nod as confirmation, the two split to do their parts. BigB took to dumping the unsalvageable lumps of borderline ash that were supposed to be cookies. He was tempted to make a joke about the state of them, but decided now wasn’t the time. Skizz was obviously upset, and there was no need to make it worse.

He’d just started to get the water going for doing the dishes when Skizz’s frustrated muttering emanated from the other side of the kitchen. B glanced over to his husband. “You alright?”

The man groaned in annoyance. “I can’t find this stupid thing!” He stood up from his hunched position where he’d been checking under the counters, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

B set the dirty mixing bowl in the sink, turning off the water. “Want me to help look for it? You can go-”

“I don't need help- I can do this myself, I'm not an idiot!" Skizz snapped, his hands splayed against his face in the way that told BigB that the situation had really upset him.

Almost as soon as the words had come out of his mouth, his husband was already apologizing. “...I’m sorry, B, I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Through his shame, Skizz made his way over so he could wrap his arms around his partner’s waist and bury his head into the nape of B’s neck.

BigB squeezed Skizz tight around the shoulders, making sure not to touch him with his hands, still dirty from the dishes, and rest his chin atop Skizz’s head. “It’s alright, baby, you’re frustrated. You’ve been upset with your recovery, you’re not used to it. I understand.”

Skizz took a deep breath, pulling back to look BigB in the eye, even through the tears he was trying to blink away. “I…” His words faltered for a moment before he took a deep breath and picked back up where he’d left off. “I felt bad for not even being able to do something simple for my husband after all you’d done for me. I know this recipe is important to you, and I wanted to make it as… as an apology for being gone.”

A silence settled over the kitchen with the admittance. If B’s heart hadn’t shattered before, it definitely had now.

BigB blinked away tears of his own. He cupped Skizz’s face, ignoring his dirty, wet hands, and pulled the man into a fierce kiss he hoped conveyed all the reassurances he could muster. It was sweet and chaste, and when he pulled back he ran his thumb along Skizz’s cheekbone. “You’re too sweet,” B whispered, a watery laugh escaping his lips. “Now, let’s go start that bath, ‘kay?”

—----

Their bed had never been more comfortable. Something about not noticing things until they were gone, something BigB was far too bad at poetry to explain. He didn’t need poetry to simply bask in the love spilling from every part of his being, though.

He and Skizz were sat up beneath the covers, B rubbing his husband’s shoulders. Skizz had mentioned something about them being sore from his cooking earlier as they crawled into bed, and BigB happily suggested to help. Skizz had always said he gave the best massages, anyway.

“...I missed this,” he murmured, half asleep, into the back of Skizz’s neck. He hadn’t even realized he’d started talking before the words came out of his mouth.

Skizz was silent for a moment, probably expecting that B would continue, but decided that wasn’t the case. “Wanna elaborate, hun?” He asked, and BigB could hear the smile in his tone.

B hummed to himself for a second, trying to form his words in his foggy, sleep-clouded brain. “I… I missed just this- this domesticity,” he sighed, struggling to come up with the right phrasing. “Something simple, like this quiet night where we’re just… together.”

Skizz shifted to face him, taking BigB’s hands from his shoulders to hold in his own. “Aw, I missed you too, sweetheart,” he cooed, cupping B’s face and pressing their foreheads together. His tone was light, yet his words brought a heaviness to the air that hadn’t been present before. A heaviness that held all the unspoken apologies, explanations, and conversations too hard to bring up between them.

Now that the topic had been broached, BigB was urged to keep going. There was an opening he could finally fill. "I-I missed hearing your voice... it would get so lonely hearing nothing but my own lungs-" His voice wavered, and he could feel Skizz’s arms moving to embrace him in one of his signature bone-crushing hugs. “You weren’t there to- to pick me up after bad days, or make me smile. Everything was so empty without you- Just- gods, I missed you so much, Skizz.” B surged forward, wrapping Skizz as tight as he could around his middle, almost as if he was scared of losing him again. He couldn’t lose him again- he couldn’t, he couldn't, he couldn’t-

A moment of heavy silence passed between them before Skizz spoke again, "...I may have been the one infected, sweetheart, but you were the one who had to live with it. Your suffering isn’t negated because I'm struggling too.”

Something in BigB broke at that, the tears finally flowing freely. Years worth of effort to build up a perfect mask of calm collectedness, broken with just a few kind phrases. Was it unfair, or had it been a long time coming?

“This isn’t my battle to fight, Skizz,” he choked out in reply, pulling back and taking in the man’s concerned expression. “You were the one who was injured, not me. You were the one affected by this. You still are.”

Skizz reached a hand up to wipe away some of the wetness from B’s face, blinking rapidly himself. “That’s not true.” His usually strong voice came out a whisper. “I was asleep the whole time, for goodness sake. If anyone’s taken this hard, it’s been you, B. I may be dealing with the after-effects, but you had to deal with the grief.”

B couldn’t even respond, his ability for speech taken over by heavy sobs. Skizz was right, though, wasn’t he? BigB had been denying himself the ability to grieve through his belief of not deserving it- all of his pent up emotions finally breaking through his carefully crafted dam.

Skizz took his heaving as an acceptance, running a careful hand through BigB’s hair. “It'll be difficult, Boppers, I know it is, but I love you and I’m here for you. We can heal from this trauma together, okay love?"

Together.

They were together.

After all this time, maybe, maybe things would be alright.

They had to be alright, after all.

They had each other.

And that’s all they needed.

#fanfic #my fanfic #trafficfic #bigbst4tz2 #skizzleman #skizzb #trafficshipping #gift fic #gift exchange #mcyt yaoi exchange

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chrysalis-the-butterfly · 26 days ago

Note

I've seen the most imbecilic take about Angel on Tiktok, people were again using the "he harrassed Husk" argument that is not even worth adressing right now because it was solved in canon and discussed enough in the fandom, but omg, people were literally saying "oh I believe Charlie's dream is possible but... ANGEL ISNT A GOOD CONDIDATE AND I'M GLAD HE WASNT REDEEMED. Husk and Pentious are great tho" ????????

And their whole argumentation was based in (tw for f slur): "Angel is an annoying f*ggot, and I heard somewhere that Italian mafias did cannibalism, so I guess Angel was a cannibal for some reason" lmao so fucking stupid. So Sir Pentious, that tried to destroy the Hotel twice, caused a tuff war in the Pilot, betrayed the Hotel to work for the Vees (and slutshamed Angel when confronted about it), is just a misunderstood boy who did nothing wrong... Husk, who was an Overlord that owned people and gambled for their souls is another misunderstood boy who did nothing wrong and was victimized by the evil twink... but Angel, a victim of abuse that was struggling with hypersexuality AND chose to do sex work to ran away from his family, is a bad guy? Fuck off. Those people on Tiktok were clearly homophobes and shamed Angel for being abused and for doing sex work.

Btw about the redemption part: Husk and Angel werent redeemed yet for a reason, probably because their souls are still under contract. But like. I'm really sure both of them would hate to live in the Heaven that was represented in the show LMAO

Thanks for sharing!

This is me trying to make sense of the TikTok you referred to:

"ANGEL ISNT A GOOD CONDIDATE AND I'M GLAD HE WASNT REDEEMED."

I think the best way to counter that point is with this anon who posted to the Angel Dust RP blog @angie-long-legs:

What, just because you've fucked up you can't ever get it together? Snap out of it. By that logic people that "are worthy" of redemption are the ones that don't even need it. You need to be flawed in order to fix your flaws, it's kinda the whole point. Making mistakes is what puts you in a situation where you are in need of redemption so how could it be the same thing that makes you unworthy of it? This logic just drives you into a wall.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

"Angel is an annoying f*ggot."

Firstly, I really hope they didn't actually use that slur, because that would make everything so much worse.

Secondly, whether or not someone is annoying isn't always a moral issue. Some people do set out to deliberately irritate their peers, and that's not great, but other people are deemed "annoying" for stuff they can't change or aren't doing on purpose, in which case the annoyance is more in the eye of the beholder.

"Being annoying" shouldn't be a metric that disqualifies you from getting into Heaven.

"I heard somewhere that Italian mafias did cannibalism, so I guess Angel was a cannibal for some reason."

So they didn't bring up anything from the show itself to support their argument that Angel is a bad candidate for redemption? They instead tried to appeal to real-world history, but without even doing any thorough research? I can understand where your annoyance is coming from.

My (admittedly brief) Internet search has not found evidence of mafia cannibalism in New York at the time Angel would have been alive. The closest I could find was a New York Times reporter called William Seabrook who claimed to have eaten human meat sometime before 1931. No mafia connections as far as I can see.

Also, even if Angel really was a cannibal, shouldn't that mean Alastor and Rosie need to receive equal amounts of condemnation? Why single out Angel?

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I do not understand all this Angel-bashing.

When there are so many other characters in the Hellaverse you're clearly supposed to hate, such as Valentino (the pimp who drugs and rapes his employees) and Mammon (the exploitative boss who was willing to make sex dolls out of a child's likeness), it seems just a smidgen nonsensical to target Angel.

Yes, Angel did harass Husk, as you mention. But a) Angel never went so far as to assault Husk, whereas someone like Valentino would have done so, and b) Angel actually stopped doing the bad behaviour eventually, which is more than can be said for some characters.

I did wonder if the reason why Hazbin-critical people focus on Angel is because they see him as a stereotype of gay men and they want to see (what they believe is) better gay representation. But the fact that this TikToker used a homophobic slur blasts a hole in that theory. So I'm still confused.

Eh, whatever. I like Angel, and I know why I like Angel, and that's what really matters!

As for why Angel and Husk haven't been redeemed yet - I think their souls still being owned is part of it. And there's also the fact that their situations (addiction and self-destructive behaviours and deep-seated self-loathing) are more complex than Sir Pentious' problems.

And yeah, Heaven is probably a bit too relentlessly happy for Husk. He'd be like LEGO Batman in a world full of Unikittys. LOL! And Angel would probably not enjoy being slut-shamed by the likes of Lute. But maybe he'd be able to bear it as long as he could be with Molly...

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #husk hazbin hotel #sir pentious #alastor #rosie hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #molly hazbin hotel #hellaverse #helluva boss #mammon helluva boss #the lego movie #lego batman #unikitty

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noturprobiem · 10 months ago

Text

This is a part of a crossover fic I'm writing, a meeting between bingqiu

The fic will be mainly focused on hualian, but the idea is that Xie Lian, Shen Yuan and Lan Wangji are researchers and their men are supernatural entities

I will need a lot of time to finish the whole thing and this passage might change a bit, but I think it works on it's own right now. It's a bit spooky, too!

Report by: Shen Yuan

On: Entity A0518

I must start by asking you to not allow this information to leak. My report can not be seen by Shen Qingqiu, under any circumstances. If gege finds out, he will endanger himself or others in a misguided attempt to protect me, and there will be casualties. Thank you.

Several years ago I was forced to get rid of an entity, then known as F0518. It was a creature capable of creating illusions, but not trapping people inside. It used the form of a teenager and claimed to be fourteen years of age. However, it looked just like A0517, which gege spent years hunting and running from. They had some history I'm not aware of.

When the entity turned eighteen, gege became convinced that it was hiding its dangerous power and manipulating me to then use me in some nefarious plot. He had some odd ideas about its feelings for me which I won't repeat. He was going to destroy it, but I couldn't let him kill something that resembled a child so much. So I pretended to do it myself, wounding it, but making sure it can survive after a long healing process. I realize how irresponsible that was, but there is no use in disciplining me, as he found me already and will make sure that I know I made a mistake.

Which I don't regret. He was a child.

Yesterday, I was going home late, and turned to a dark alley I know very well. I can avoid every obstacle there blindfolded, which is why I was very confused when I bumped into something. I thought it was a dog at first, but upon further inspection, it turned out to be a small child, standing in the middle of the road and crying. I crouched to ask him what happened, but the kid didn't answer, just grabbed my sleeve and started bawling. Children were always my weakness. I spent several minutes trying to calm him down. I tried sign language, but it didn't work, the kid just got scared that I was trying to shake his hand off my coat. So I scooped him up and left the alley, to at least get a good look at his face and check if he had anything to identify him by. As I walked, my heartbeat slowly gathered speed. The alley was too long. I knew it was supposed to end already, but blamed the fact that I now had a passenger for the tricks my mind played on me.

With a creeping suspicion, I turned left at the end of the alley, and I didn't know where I was anymore. I couldn't let the child feel that something went wrong, so I stubbornly kept going straight ahead. I've been through encounters like this before, they were usually just inconvenient, but not dangerous. The senior Luo Binghe made my paths to gege's house longer just to annoy him sometimes.

As you can guess, I was slowly realizing who caught me this time. It's been three years, after all. I didn't want to run, because it would scare the child, so when I saw the light, I just walked faster. I knew it was a trap, but hoped that I would at least be able to get the kid out before anything bad happened, and that could only be achieved by letting Luo Binghe have his way. He can't tolerate when things don't go as he wanted, and it might partially be my fault.

When I reached the light, the child turned his head to face me. There was something unnatural in the way he moved, in the speed and angle. He looked at me, unblinking, no expression on his face.

“Shizun,” he said. “I miss you.”

I dropped the child and made several steps back, but running was useless in the realm controlled by him. The child's body shifted, as if his bones were breaking and growing and rearranging under his skin. I took another step back, but tripped and fell. For some reason, Binghe put a blanket under me before I hit the ground.

He looked just like the senior one, standing in front of me. He was even taller than when I last saw him, which I didn't think was possible, dressed in several layers of a black old-fashioned hanfu, with long curly hair and a handsome face. Not sure if it's important. Entities aren't usually handsome, from my experience.

The darkness around us turned into an interrogation room, which he sometimes used as a joke when I tried to ground him for something. Didn't expect this room to horrify me, but the gray walls made me feel trapped. The light was dirty and yellow, blinking from time to time, and it made my eyes hurt, the air was stuffed and dusty. The blanket stayed, though. I can't fully understand his actions, even now.

“Aren't going to run? Good,” Binghe chuckled, leaning on the table. “Let's talk like adults, then.”

I didn't have the energy for this. Walking this much wasn't very good for a chronically ill body like mine, and I was already tired after work. So I said:

“Just kill me and we can all move on."

He threw a chair at the wall, and it shattered into pieces.

“You were the one who tried to kill me!” He screamed.

Suddenly, the illusion was broken, and I was left standing in the middle of the alley, completely alone. Nothing odd happened since then.

If I disappear, I beg you to burn this paper before gege can find it and murder everyone involved.

#mxtx #mo xiang tong xiu #mxtx svsss #svsss #scum villian self saving system #svsss au #svsss fanfiction #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen yuan #shen qingqiu

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z909-voided · 4 months ago

Text

Entry 01...

I stayed so they can leave.

Hadal Blacksite, post lock-down. I... I don't know the time. There's no way to tell time down here. But with any luck I can try to keep track of... something... with this tape recorder I found. I hope I can find enough tapes to last me...

This is Dr. Carrie.... Alena Carrie... it feels weird to say my name anymore, after so long being called Z-909. Maybe if I keep it here, I'll be able to remember it for later. Later when... when I...

When I am no longer me.

Right. Right why I'm down here. That would be important *nervous chuckles.* They sent me down here, me and another expendable. We were supposed to set up a bomb to wipe out the black site and the subjects located here. End the breach, once and for all. But....

But I couldn't. I've spent so long looking over these files, pouring my time and work into these projects. They're living things. They're just... living things, and they do not deserve to pay for the mistakes Urbanshade has made. I dismantled it. But now I'm stuck here, too. How fitting... now that I've been turned into one of them. With my own research too, no less.

There's so much to explain...

I can't let them know who I am.

(Tape Entry 1 is the pinned post - you are here!) ; TAPE ENTRY 2 ; TAPE ENTRY 3

JOURNAL ENTRY 1

Z-909 Report:

Status: Injured [asks/rps open]

Mutation: 25%

Mood: ‘how do I keep getting into these messes… ‘

==============

Baby Void Mass (BVM) Report:

Status: Healthy [presumably near CA] [asks/rps open]

Mood: wants to help!

==============

Osprey Report:

Status: Healthy [asks/rps open]

Mood: ‘Not ideal, but it is what it is.’

==============

Watch’r Report:

Status: ;) (with z-479 rn)

Mood: Let’s be entertained together~

OOC undercut and character ref(s) under the cut:

Hi! I'm Eli, 18+, he/him or they/them. This place looked cool... so what if... what if I threw some vague oc concepts at y'all? 👉👈

I follow from @mothkingeloth and if I am an anon I will likely use the crown emoji. (👑)

Any and all interactions (oc, ooc, canon, other fandoms, etc) are welcomed!

You do not need images to roleplay with me but I may doodle my characters (and/or yours!) as parts of responses.

I am still developing characters. There are currently two on this blog: my main one, Z-909, and a lil baby void mass puddle that I like to throw at people for the funsies. There may be more characters here in the future.

Please do not repost my art or use it to train AI without my permission. Please do not take credit for my art. If you would like to use my art for anything, please credit and link back to me.

More may be added to this post in the future!

REFERENCES

Z-909:

Baby Void Mass:

#intro post #pinned post #roblox pressure #pressure roblox #pressure rp #oc rp

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flagellant · 2 years ago

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lmao the obesity article from huffpo you reblogged is so insanely incorrect

First off, the whole "Your body is just doing what it's supposed to do, you're fat because you're MEANT to be fat!" while also saying "about 40 years ago, Americans started getting much larger" hmm... Why only Americans? Why only 40 years ago?

That seems odd, that Americans, specifically, would suddenly change to being naturally fat. Even today America has a much higher rate of obesity than other places like Japan. How is that? Wonder what would be discovered if we looked at when things like beet sugar, corn syrup, etc. started to be commonly added to foods 🤔

And then the "diets don't work!" spiel, along with emotionally charged reports of people starving themselves until they passed out.

What diets specifically doesn't work? Were the people getting enough calories? Did they stop the diet, and then the weight came back? Did they start with small, gradual changes or completely overhaul their entire meal plan right away?

They say "95% to 98% of research shows diets fail" what research? What studies? What was the sample size? What were people eating? Were they given any help to maintain their diet or encourage any other healthy habits, or were they just given a list of foods to eat and sent on their way?

It sounds like ALL the diets they talk about in the article are shitty. People starving themselves, people doing useless fad diets, etc. and presenting it as if weight loss is IMPOSSIBLE. Which is crazy, considering all the people I've seen who lose weight, maintain the loss, and feel insanely better than they did when they were obese.

Maybe it's not that "diets" don't work, but that the diet industry doesn't work? After all, what would happen if they encouraged people to change their relationship with food completely, starting with small, gradual changes, and work on fixing their gut microbiome and cutting out unnecessary things from their diet like processed sugars, corn syrup, etc? Then people would lose weight. Then they wouldn't need expensive diet plans anymore.

And then the industry has no more customers. Just like if Apple makes phones that actually work and aren't pieces of trash, then they wouldn't be making money from people buying new iPhones every other year. Same with the clothing industry, and the pharmaceutical industry, and every other industry.

For someone who always talks about people researching things and checking out the sources on information before automatically believing it ya'll don't seem very good at it lmao

I'd like to start off with saying that I definitely agree with you in that the way the diet industry is structured exists to predate upon invented insecurities, just like nearly any cosmetics aimed at body alteration to some degree (makeup included). We also agree that it is fundamentally built to ensure failure and ongoing failure as a norm, in the same way that we're never going to get a proper cure for cancer when the cancer industry is so insanely prevalent and profitable.

That said, I understand your...frustration, let's call it, sure, about the fact that no, I did not do any further digging into this and took it at its word. You have my apologies for that.

However. I'd like to use this as a tool for transparency and assuming best intent. Your tone and treatment of me in this is rather hostile and I don't see the purpose that it serves. If I'm someone who claims to find accuracy in reporting important, then yes, accuracy needs to be had. And it was as simple as just Googling "95% diets fail". First result is an article from the NYT debunking it and explaining why it's a myth and bad statistics.

But that same article gets me to the heart of why I'm writing things out this way: you brought it up yourself, in fact, though in deciding to get petty you probably missed the subtext. For over forty years now these numbers have been used and spread around to the point where countless literal professional doctors don't have any idea that it's false. After all, we live in a society where diet industries have for pretty much ever been able to operate with nearly no regulation, fat people aren't actually given a shit about from medical professionals and are just told to get GPS, etc...you could even say this is a systemic issue which started long before I and likely you (and most reading this) were born.

Nobody learns these things on accident. You're absolutely right that if I looked it up and researched the claims I could easily have found out their validity to be nonexistent. But why would I? This isn't new research. This isn't anything that goes against anything I was ever taught. It's just a fact of life, just the way things are. People thought the universe was geocentric.

So with that said, I have to admit that while I've done my best to not vent my irritation at you or anyone else, it is deeply frustating, sure, we'll call it, to have you walk up to me and act in this way. It would be one thing if this wasn't a case of unlearning systemic bias and normativity. That'd be on me, absolutely.

But instead of thinking things through like an emotionally mature individual and going "Hm, this dude who says it finds research/accuracy important posted some stuff which was wrong, which I'm aware has a history going back multiple decades and is still going strong. Maybe the reason they didn't do any followup research was because they've lived their entire life hearing this same statistic over and over again and therefore thought that their systemic biases were accurate and saw nothing wrong because they couldn't,"

you decided to be a cunt for no fucking reason and you knew it because you had to go on Anonymous to hide any possible consequences coming your way for your actions. So thanks for informing me about this, I'm genuinely grateful and we, again, completely fucking agree ideologically, but/so fuck you for thinking that acting like a fucking 10th grader with a gotcha was a better use of anyone's time than just typing out "Hey that diet thing you reblogged is actually completely false if you look it up" to which I would have gone "Oh shit you're right, here's some followup research I did about this thing and how it's a systemic bias that needs to be unlearned".

#modern day cassandra #goes in that tag because wow you literally could not help yourself from just assuming my absolute worst #did it help? did the serotonin shot of being cruel to someone you don't know feel good?#was the rage righteous despite its needlessness?#have you done praxis by sending bitchy Anonymous asks on tumblr?#is the community organized now?#sorry for being so venting my aggressions in the tags but man. you really could have just assumed good faith.#you really did have all the evidence that i value good faith and take stuff like this as learning experiences and tools.#you REALLY did not need to act like an insecure 16 year old taking solace in finding a situation where #someone is being treated like shit for everyone to laugh at but you're the bully now #smh. grow up.

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annaphoenix1994 · 1 month ago

Text

Black Powder Soul

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

"I'm surprised you're still in this shit hole town," Isaac Graves said to Malcolm, the brother of Phillip Graves and a retired Case Officer of the C.I.A. His grey eyes held a sharp stare as well as a malicious agenda - something both Malcolm and Isaac shared. "Although I can't say I'm quite surprised."

"Why's that?" Malcolm questioned, pouring Isaac another round of bourbon.

"You haven't heard?"

Malcolm shook his head in confusion.

Isaac's face pulled into a grin, pulling out the file folder that was tucked between the fold of his laptop. "You're a wanted man now. Seems like our old friend had an investigation opened on you for apparent war crimes."

That fucking bitch, Malcolm grimaced, pursing his lips and imagining the sadistic smirk that would plaster on Kiera's face. "There's no proof of that."

"Perhaps, but there's still an investigation. Shepherd has been wanted, too."

"Is that why he sent you to me?"

"Indeed," Isaac nodded. "I worked for Shepherd last year. Chief Laswell was my supervisor before I received my promotion. I was Shepherd's second-in-command up until he practically disappeared. Nobody knows where he is. All of his calls have come from an unidentifiable location."

Right under your nose, Officer, Malcolm mused to himself, feeling like he had, already, a subtle power over the Case Officer before him. "Understood."

"We are on a high-value target now," Isaac said, leaning over the table, the smell of bourbon on his breath. "She is a threat to us. She killed my brother in cold blood when all he was doing was defending his own."

"Do you know her?" Malcolm asked, a hint of anxiety coursing through him as he knew it wasn't going to be an easy fight.

"Know of her, not personally. She works for Laswell - was sent to ally with the Mexican Special Forces and 141 to help find Hassan. I was assigned to stay in D.C. with Shepherd and was deployed to Chicago after we received word that Hassan was there. My orders were to eliminate her. She was getting too close to Shepherd, and he wasn't having it, especially after she killed Graves."

"Well, forgive me for sounding rude, but your plan didn't work, Officer. She survived the blast."

"Oh, I'm aware. I should've stayed around to make sure she was dead, but I left before anybody saw me."

"The report said that it was one of Hassan's men who shot the launcher?"

"Inside job, son," Isaac chuckled. "You'll learn that there are many ways to skin a cat, my friend."

"Shepherd said we don't have much time-"

"We don't. We need to do something and fast. Have any ideas before I start stating my own?"

"I already arranged the flight over the field for some of my men to drop clover bales. That's what started it, really, but aside from that, I haven't been able to compose anything else. I know the 141 is still at her ranch on vacation, but I'm not sure when they're supposed to be leaving."

"I can find that out easily," Isaac smirked. "Shepherd wants to send a message to have her stand down. If she doesn't, which is expected, he wants to have her meet a certain demise. Those British assholes, too."

"How are they going to do that? I mean, I can come up with a lot of things, but unless we were to fly over and drop a nuke on that ranch, I don't think of anything else that could get the job done to terminate all of them."

Malcolm watched Isaac smirk, the Case Officer removing another file from between his laptop, opening it to reveal a bundle of photos of each member of the 141 and Mexican Special Forces as well as Kiera, excluding a photo of Simon himself as that task was nearly impossible. "I did some necessary research on the last team and compiled a list. Colonel Vargas is the only one with a son. If he's at her ranch for this so-called vacation, we abduct his son-"

"Kidnapping? I'm all for taking someone hostage, but a child?"

"The boy will be safe; I can assure you. I can have an arrangement made with the Wyoming Traffic Cartel on the state border. If they get too close, they'll ship him off to either Montana or North Dakota in one of their safehouses in the mountains. I've already discussed this with Shepherd, and he agrees. It'll get them angry - angry enough to be desperate to find him without assistance of the law and we can terminate them all in one spot."

"Sounds practical. Aside from making the boy an orphan, of course."

Isaac shrugged, "He'll eventually be directed back to his mother in Mexico, but I can arrange that after everything is done. We won't be seen as the bad guys anymore, Malcolm. We'll be heroes. Your name will be off the board, Shepherd's will be off the board, and I'll remain anonymous. The only one left to take care of will be Laswell if I can't "strongly suggest" she resigns with a written contract."

Malcolm nodded, "What will I have to do now that I'm wanted?"

"That's another reason why I'm here. I've made some arrangements. When this gets out, we both know your home will be raided with force. I have a safehouse just outside of Cody."

"...But Cody is where she lives..."

"Exactly," Isaac smirked. "Right under her nose. We'll be able to keep close eyes on the ranch and out of her reign of terror."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Now, let me make a few phone calls and pack your stuff. We'll be occupied for a while."

»»-------¤-------««

"Wow." Fernando smiled, gripping onto the rails of the pen as he watched cowboys exercise their horses, warming them up before working a cow. A practice called "Working Cow Horse" was an art of the cowboy, showing immense communication and horsemanship between the horse and rider.

The visit was rescheduled for another day to allow for tension to subside on the ranch after Malcolm's visit, deciding to go and participate two days later to allow Fernando to watch the horses he had been begging his father to go and see as well as Bud to allow himself for promising horse shopping. Not that he needs more horses, Kiera thought, tacking her own horse up as she wanted to participate as well as refresh herself on running a cow down the fence.

She smiled as she watched Fernando cling to the pen, watching with intent and bright eyes although he was unaware of how much money the horses were worth. They were prime athletes, earning at least ten grand every time they entered the showring. As for the cowboys themselves, most of their earnings racked up to the millions. Alejandro did the same as his son, watching the art before him, keeping his eyes on the red roan as it was one of the most beautiful horses he had ever seen. "How would I like riding that one?" He chuckled at his son.

"I think I'd look better, dad."

"You're probably right."

"Can we buy him?"

Alejandro scoffed, "And how are we going to get him back home? Do you have thirty-thousand dollars in your pocket that I don't know about?"

"KK can take him for us." Fernando said, still unable to pronounce Kiera's name fully.

"He's just a boy with a plan, yeah?" Johnny chuckled as he and Teeter sat on the top of the rail, having the best view of the arena.

"I don't know where he gets it from." Alejandro chuckled, shaking his head.

Simon couldn't keep his eyes off of Kiera, watching her mount her horse in slick dark leather shotgun chaps and a pink button-up shirt with a brown felt cowboy hat that accented her apparel. And I thought she couldn't get more attractive, Simon thought, his pupils dilating at how professional she looked. Like a million bucks.

Her palomino gelding communicated well with her, listening to her with soft eyes and relaxed ears. Although the horse kept his shaggy winter coat, his coat still shone with a gold tint and his mane and tail was a stark white, his mane braided from his poll to his withers. Simon couldn't help but smirk as he had just noticed that the horse's saddle pad matched Kiera's shirt.

She practiced her stops, backing up, and circles like she had been doing it her whole life. Perhaps she did, perhaps she didn't, but one thing was for certain: she had been around horses her entire life and it was clear that her palomino was meant to be her mount. "When are you going, señora?" Alejandro asked her after she was done warming up her horse.

"Here in a minute, hopefully," she said, exhaling a breath of nervousness as she felt she was going into the AQHA World Show, sighing as Alejandro and Fernando gave her horse loving touches along the gelding's neck. "I'm not going to lie, I'm nervous."

"Nothing to be nervous about."

"Considering I haven't put him on a cow in so long like this and did sliding stops with him in forever and I feel like I'm competing against these million-dollar horses, it's something to be nervous about."

"Relax, it's not a show. It's just showing off," Alejandro chuckled. "Just do what you know. That's all that matters."

"He's right, love," Simon added, patting her leg as he stood next to her on the ground next to her horse. "Your father is horse shopping, and these guys are just here for a good time. You'll do fine."

She smiled down at him, "Thank you, but I'm still nervous."

"You know most of them, yeah?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, the one on the roan horse over there has been friends with my dad since I was a baby. He watched me grow up. The one in the blue shirt is best friends with Frankie and you met him on Thanksgiving. The others are friends of them and wanted an excuse to ride today since it's in a covered arena and out of the weather."

Simon nodded, patting her leg again as if he were telling her 'Good luck'.

"Kiera!" The man on the red roan said, riding up to the rail to greet her. "You wanna have a go?"

"I guess I don't have a choice now, huh?" She chuckled, Simon watching her finger twitch as it was one of the many things she did when she was anxious.

Frank smiled softly, "We're not paying up like last time. Just showing off for your dad."

"Yeah? Well, the Lord knows we don't need more horses."

"I know. He wanted to buy this one I'm on, but I told him I'm wanting to retire before I get too old. I don't have time to take another horse down the road anymore."

Kiera nodded, watching Alejandro open the pen for her, patting her horse's hindquarter as the gelding passed by, both Alejandro and Simon watching as Frank was giving her advice as they rode alongside each other, seeming to give her tips on how to refresh with her horse what was called a "sliding stop."

"Hey, Kiera!" Colby shouted from the side of the panel, a mischievous smile splaying on his face, eager to pick at her. "You're gonna ride that mule down the fence to work a cow?" He poked.

Simon didn't like it, knowing that Colby was sure to make her more nervous than she already was. Instead of saying something like he wanted to or force him into a fetal position, he glared at him.

"Shit," Kiera scoffed playfully. "I'll be showing him in Mule Days come spring." She poked back, causing both Colby and Frank to laugh.

"Show us what that glue factory reject has got, then." Colby continued to poke.

Again, Simon didn't like it, especially when it came to watching someone poke at something that meant the world to her. She breathed a chuckle, "You want me to do the whole thing? Circles and all?"

Frank nodded, "If you want to, to refresh that yellow horse's memory, then after you're done with your sliding stops, you can run a cow down the fence, unless you'd just rather work a cow, just tell me."

"I think I want to try to do the whole thing," She replied, confidence engulfing her. She felt that her horse was perfectly able as he had done it before, she had just been doubting herself, growing more nervous that Simon and her father were watching her. "We haven't done the entire pattern since before I left on deployment."

"Alright, I'll get out of the arena so you can do your thing." Frank nodded, Colby opening the gate for his horse to exit. Simon leaned up against the panel next to Alejandro, who was now holding Fernando's legs as his son sat on his shoulders, excited to watch "KK" ride her horse as Fernando favored her horses over the rest because of his gold coat. Simon watched her exhale a deep breath, reaching down to pat her horse on the neck, appearing to whisper something to the animal before she rode towards the entrance of the arena, nudging him up to a trot as she rode along the rail, turning right to stop in the middle of the arena, adjusting her seat as she leant forward slightly, using her calf to nudge the horse into a slow lope (0:22) to perform circles - also known as "Figure Eights."

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The horse moved nicely, Kiera smirking as she heard Teeter shout encouragement to her from where she sat on the top rail of the arena, unaware that Johnny was watching her speak as if she were a precious gem.

She cued for her horse to change leads (0:46) to the left, performing the same maneuver except she was going in the opposite direction, making two half-laps around the arena before cueing for the gelding to switch leads again (1:09) before taking a heavy breath, mentally preparing herself for what was called a "Run Down" - making the horse take off at a gallop before sitting deep in the saddle and saying woah! for the horse to make a hard stop, seeming to slide after halting its momentum.

Johnny's brows rose as the horse took off, afraid that he was going to jump the fence over him, immediately reaching his arm towards Teeter, "What's she doing?"

"She's gonna stop that motherfucker hard and he's gonna slide, baby, watch!" Teeter said, her gaze fixated before she shouted excitedly as the horse did exactly as he was told, licking his lips as Kiera let him catch his breath (1:24). "That looked damn good, baby!" Teeter shouted to Kiera, watching her giggle as she looked down to her horse's neck, patting his neck to prepare him for the spin.

"Thank you." Kiera nodded, picking up her left rein and using her right calf to apply pressure to her horse's side, using her spur lightly to cue him into a spin, the horse doing it surprisingly nicely for being off for some time when it came to showing off (1:33). She stopped the cue once her horse's head was aligned with the opposite side of the arena, nudging him into a gallop again to perform the same cue just to spin to the right before lining him back up for a final run down, smiling as she had upmost confidence and respect for the animal below her, patting him on the neck after every gesture.

She locked eyes briefly with her father, watching his face light up with pride as he watched his daughter before he leaned towards Alejandro and Simon, "That's a damn good horse. I wish she'd take him down the road. She can win so much money."

"Something tells me she's a homebody, sir." Alejandro chuckled as Fernando kept his fingers tangled in his hair to keep himself stabilized.

Bud sighed, "That she is. She's always loved showing, though. She's won some money on that horse after she trained him."

"She trained him to do all of that?" Johnny questioned, his brows lifting in surprise.

Bud nodded, "Took her a few years to do it. That son of a bitch bucked her off so many times," He chuckled. "She got him from a kill pen in Minnesota. I remember her cussing at him telling him that he was there for a reason, but you see how that worked out."

"So that's why that boy called him a glue factory reject." Johnny guessed, putting the pieces together.

Simon didn't participate in the conversation, even though it was about Kiera. He was too fascinated with watching her ride, watching her communicate with her horse as it was clear the gelding was nervous too, judging by how jumpy he got after hearing a gate rattle or spooking at some of the banners that clung to the inner panels of the arena. She rode so well, her hips matching the rhythm of the horse's stride, eliminating any chance of unbalance as she performed the final run down, stopping and backing the horse up to the middle of the arena, the gelding licking his lips and lowering his head on her cue as he did so (2:15).

She reached down to pat the horse's neck again, the gelding licking his lips in relaxation as she turned him around after hearing Teeter yell, "Bring out the cow!" Kiera shook her head, giggling at Teeter's comedic relief as she heard the gate on the other side of the arena open, a black angus heifer coming out into the arena, spooked at the isolation. She trotted towards the cow (2:25), both hands on the reins as Simon could notice her posture stiffen. He then grew nervous for her.

The heifer darted towards the right (2:52), her horse immediately going after it on Kiera's cue, cutting the cow off before it turned to the left, making a hard diagonal run towards the other side of the arena, causing Kiera's horse to react slowly and having to work harder to keep up with the cow, Kiera immediately stopping her horse after she jolted, hearing a whistle blow for her to stop, soon to hear another comment from Teeter on the other side of the arena. "That cow ain't shit! Put out another'n!"

As soon as Kiera could realize what was going on, both Frank and Colby rode in on their horses, ropes out and swinging towards the heifer to guide her back to the chutes, leaving only Kiera and her horse in the arena before another cow was presented for her.

She cued her horse to trot towards the new cow, confident that the cow was going to be less sloppy for her to work, although she could sense that this new heifer was just as spicy to work (3:55).

She kept a good distance between her horse and the heifer, successfully letting her horse work by keeping the cow cut and going into the direction in where she wanted it to go - towards the left side of the arena for working it along the fence. (4:08) She kept the cow nearly pinned between her horse and the fence as she kept the pace with it, getting close to where both Teeter and Johnny were before cueing her horse to turn into the fence at the gallop, the horse using his hindquarters to stop and turn on nearly a dime, Kiera laughing as Johnny was prepared to jump down from his position to get away from the event as the sight of both a horse and cow running at him was intimidating.

Johnny winced as a hard piece of arena footing hit his leg, Teeter laughing at him as she offered to "patch up his wound" after calling him a baby as Kiera continued to work the cow down the fence again, turning her horse to the right just how she did before (4:21).

She worked the cow into two circles (4:30), keeping working advantage over the animal as she switched sides, appearing to guide the cow into a figure eight before a whistle was blown, informing her that her time was up. With a smile, she stopped her horse and began rubbing the gelding's neck, immensely proud of him for a job well done.

Frank began to clap as she exited the arena, complimenting her horse as well as offering to buy him for futurity shows in the summer, but he knew Kiera would politely decline.

"Best eight-hundred dollars I ever spent." She chuckled at Colby, who appeared to be at a loss for words after playfully teasing her before.

"Still gonna show him in Mule Days?" Colby chuckled.

"Nah, I may not even show him at all. I like him being a ranch horse. This is just showing off for fun." She shrugged, dismounting and loosening the cinch of the saddle before leading him towards where her party was, hanging her hat on the saddle horn as she couldn't help but blush at Simon's smile at her.

"That was pretty to watch, love." He mused, leaning down to kiss her, although he wanted to refrain as he knew her father was watching, but he couldn't help himself.

"Thank you," She blushed, watching Simon pat her horse's sweaty neck. "I didn't think he still had it in him."

"Like riding a bicycle," Simon assured her. "Your father was just saying how he wishes you'd take him down the road and win some money."

"He knows I don't want to do that. It's exhausting on not only him, but me," She sighed, referring to her horse. "There's a lot of money that goes into it when you're gambling on how much you can win. I wouldn't have a chance competing with these guys."

"Well, if you ever wanted to, I'd gladly go with you," Simon grinned, looking down at her. "I got some good pictures, too."

She blushed, "Oh, Lord. I'm afraid to see them."

"Why? I can be a good photographer. I'll show you my favorite. He was making a funny face after that first stop you did, but I liked how you were smiling down at him." He explained, pulling out his phone to show her the photo. You got my good angle, babe, she giggled to herself as she looked at the photo, smiling at how her horse always seemed to "roll his eyes" every time he licked his lips - a quirk she grew to love the longer she had him. She was looking down at him in the photo, patting his neck as her smile was bright, the brim of her hat hiding her eyes slightly.

Aside from the photos she hated seeing of herself, she was glad that Simon saw the true connection between her and her horse that he was able to capture in a photo. "It's my wallpaper now." He admitted, taking a few seconds to set it as his wallpaper before showing her.

She blushed, "I love that picture. Can you send it to me?"

"Of course, love. I'll send you the video, too."

"Nice horse." A man complimented, dressed in jeans and a pocket t-shirt. Kiera turned her head, looking his direction to thank him, partially expecting him to be someone she recognized, but it was just a nice stranger.

"Thank you." Kiera smiled.

"You ever want to sell him; I'll write you a check!" He chuckled.

"Well, I hate to inform you that you're out of luck with that." She smiled.

"I don't blame you," He nodded. "Have you seen Frank?"

"Sure, he's over there." Kiera pointed, watching the stranger pat her horse before walking Frank's direction, pulling his phone from his pocket as it was ringing.

Isaac smirked to himself that his plan was working, managing to eavesdrop on most of the conversation to target a specific name to keep suspicion off of him, knowing that Frank was a well-known name around the arena, knowing almost every visitor was looking for him to catch up, knowing that Kiera wouldn't suspect anything.

#simonghostriley #simonriley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #callofduty #chevrolet #ghost cod mw2 #cod mw2 ghost #ghost mw2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #Youtube

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givemea-dam-break · 2 years ago

Note

Your Lockwood. Enemies to lover was sooooo good, please I need a part 2🥺

a/n: so glad you liked it! of course i’ll write a part 2 i am extremely emotionally attached to this series. also to the person who requested the lucy carlyle x reader, it is on its way i promise

warnings: language gn reader

full series collection: here

"You, again? I saw you last week. My eyes can't handle this pain anymore."

Lockwood grins in your doorway. "Come on, last week wasn't so bad. We made it out alive. How are your hands doing, by the way?"

"I almost fell out of a window because of an abusive old man," you grumble. "And they're fine, but they still smell like Savlon, thanks to you. I suppose you'll want to come in?"

"If that's alright," Lockwood says. "I've got more business for you."

Groaning quietly, you move out of the way and gesture for him to come inside. "Alice left for work not long ago, so you won't scare her away. Come on, I'll put some tea on. Milk and sugar?"

"Just milk, please."

You direct Lockwood over to your sofa, bought second-hand from some old couple in north London. That much is evident from its less-than-appealing pattern, but it's comfortable enough. Lockwood sinks down onto it, smiling gratefully when you hand him a mug of tea.

"So, what is it this time?" you ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Haunted mansion out in Harrow. A bit of a trek away, but it's good pay. Type Two again, but Lucy will be coming along this time, so hopefully a repeat of last time doesn't happen. We just need an extra pair of hands. It's a big space to cover for three people."

You cross your arms. "Bold of you to assume I want to work with you again. I could've died last time."

"But you will come with us, won't you?"

"I might as well," you grumble. "Nothing else on. Rent's this week. Any information on the house, possible ideas of who the ghost is, or will Lucy and I have to find that out for you?"

Lockwood smiles and, surprisingly, it doesn't piss you off as much as it used to. "George is neck deep in newspapers right now - I've just come from the Archives - so I'm sure we'll have much more than we did last time."

"Alright," you say. "I'm in, but I'm going nowhere near a window again, okay? You can fall out of it this time."

"Deal." He stands, and you almost forgot how obnoxiously tall he is. It's infuriating having to tilt your head to look at him. "Meet us at the station at four."

Making your way to the door, you say, "Be on time, this time. In fact, be early. That would be preferable."

"We'll try." Something about his smile makes your stomach flip. "Thanks for the tea. See you later."

The train ride is relatively peaceful.

You sit next to Lucy, who smiles upon seeing you, and across from Lockwood, who wears a shit-eating grin the whole ride, saying something about 'feeling good about this case'. You'd stopped listening to him two seconds after his arrival. You only start paying attention again when George starts to explain his research.

"Apparently," George says, consulting his notebook, "there was a fire at this house in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. The exterior of the house didn't burn down, being made out of sandstone, but the inside was wrecked. Most people managed to escape the blaze, but three died - the lord of the house and his two daughters. The interior has been rebuilt, since, but I managed to find the original plans for the house's layout."

Lucy leans over the architectural plan. "The rooms have all moved around. Where do you think the fire stemmed from?"

"Reports say the lounge, which is now the dining room," George explains. "Lord Ammenby and his daughters, Susanne and Marcella, had seemingly fallen asleep there during the evening, and the fire was left unchecked. It consumed them before anyone could save them."

"So the source could be where the fireplace was," Lockwood guesses.

"Or where they were," you say. "Maybe even where they are now. George, do your notes say anything about where their remains were buried?"

He takes a minute to scan through his notes, flipping through pages. "There's apparently a big sycamore on the estate where the girls had a swing. The servants buried the family there with the thought that they could play in the swing for the rest of eternity."

"Bit grim," Lucy says, "but sweet, I guess. So, are those our three main guesses?"

"They're possible sources," Lockwood says. "Vague, but the best we've got."

"Better than last time," you say, frowning. "So, plan of action?"

Lockwood sits forward. "Lucy and George, you guys scout out the house. Lucy's Listening is more powerful, so you're more likely to hear if anything is going on in the house. (name) and I will take our chance with the tree. If we get nothing from it, we'll join back up with you guys."

"Should we have a signal or something?" you ask. "To save us shouting for help, or running backwards and forwards and risk getting ghost-touched? Like adjusting the lantern light a few times, or flashing our torches."

Goerge nods. "Good idea. Seeing as that ghost last week prevented me from hearing you guys, that's probably our best bet."

"One flash means everything is clear," Lockwood says. "Two means potential finding. Three means -"

"Ah, shit, there's a ghost, come help," you finish.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," Lucy says with a snort.

It doesn't take much longer to reach Harrow, and the taxi ride to the mansion passes in what feels like mere minutes. Before long, you're all crawling out of the car, duffle bags in hand, chains looped over your shoulders, and rapiers at your sides.

Wrought iron gates tower before you, towering over you and casting twisting shadows on the slowly darkening pavement. You all pass through it and begin the trek up to the mansion - a hulking beast of sandstone, pinpricked with large windows and balconies. It's shaped so that there's a large courtyard in front of the entrance, hosting a large fountain with some kind of statue in the middle.

"Everyone remember the code?" Lockwood asks, eyeing the large double doors just ahead.

"One is good, two is alright, three is bad," George says. "Yes, we remember. Now, go. That's the tree over there, I think."

The four of you turn to the right, where a massive tree looms, covered in bright green leaves. In the breeze, a few flutter down from the branches, and a small swing moves softly. A shadow hangs below it, so large it almost reaches the mansion.

"Not creepy at all," you murmur. "Are we ready to start this happy journey?"

With big sighs, George and Lucy make their way into the mansion, holding the old and new plans of the layout. You and Lockwood share a look, a mix of confidence and worry - more on your part than anything - before trudging over to the massive tree.

"At least there are no windows for us to fall out of," you say, staring up at the tree. Its roots are so large that you're still standing at least six feet away from the trunk.

Lockwood breathes a laugh, checking his temperature gun about fifteen feet from the tree. "Fifteen degrees over here."

"Ten here." You frown at the hulking mass of bark and leaves. "Should we signal Lucy and George? I don't think this is just a chill from standing in the shadow."

"Not yet," Lockwood says, turning on a few lanterns. "See if you can hear anything first. I'll keep a lookout and see if they signal us."

Nodding, you look up at the twisting branches. Sounds around you drain out until you're surrounded by silence, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint sound of a rhythmic swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of a swing. Someone, a young girl, giggles, followed by the sound of a man's chuckle. You can feel a smile play on your lips. They're happy. So happy.

A hand closes over your arm, grip tight. "Lucy and George are signalling," Lockwood says, his tone urgent. "Three flashes. We need to go."

"Wait," you murmur. "There's something..."

"(name), we need to go now. They're in danger."

"No... I can hear something... A woman's voice. Did George mention anything about a Lady of the mansion? I can't remember."

Lockwood tugs your arm. "I don't know, but we need to go help -"

"Get away from the tree!" Lucy's voice shrieks. "It's a trap!"

And then you hear it, the words, the malicious tone of a woman speaking to nothing but tree roots. Your heart thunders in your chest, and a heavy wave of nausea hits you. You stumble backwards, falling into Lockwood's chest.

"His wife, the mother," you manage. "She started the fire. She -"

"Get away from the tree!"

Suddenly, there's a bright light directly in front of you and you can't move. A ghost hovers over the tree roots, but it doesn't appear as it once was. No, its skin is charred and burned, oozing with liquid - blood, maybe? Clothes have melted onto its skin, and the sight is enough to make you even more ill. You'd throw up if you weren't in a ghost lock.

"Snap out of it!" Lockwood yells. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the iron circle he must have made while you were using your Talent. "It's Lord Ammenby."

Your joints feel a little loose-jointed and disoriented, but you're no longer ghost-locked. "He's a Wraith. He was burned alive by his wife..."

"We can discuss the fate of his death later," Lockwood says. "For now, we need to get to the source."

"Did you manage to see where he appeared from?"

Lockwood points. "In between those roots, there, but we don't have shovels."

You swallow your fear down, watching the Visitor approach slowly. "Crowbar?"

He bends down and retrieves a crowbar from his duffle bag, handing it to you. "I'll distract him, you get the source. George and Lucy will be here soon, so we'll hold him off."

"Wonderful," you grumble. "Because that went swimmingly last time."

"Hey." His hand clutches your wrist gently, and a tingle runs up your arm at the contact. "You'll be fine. Lucy and George are almost here. And I'll keep you safe. I promise."

You glance back at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "Okay. Ready?"

His grin gives you confidence. "I was born ready."

Drawing his rapier, he leaps out of the iron circle, drawing the attention of the Wraith. Almost instantaneously, Lord Ammenby's ghost launches at him, wailing.

You take your chance and sprint for the tree's roots, crowbar in one hand and a silver net in the other. Stumbling across the thick, gnarled roots, you manage to reach the area Lockwood pointed to - a gap, no larger than your fist. With a grunt, you slam the crowbar into the ground and begin hacking away at the soil.

Behind you, the ghost wails again, followed by a chorus of salt bombs and shouting. By the sound of it, Lucy and George have joined the fight.

The ground is packed hard and laced with roots, thinner than the ones protruding from the ground, but still tough, and the crowbar is proving to hinder you more than anything. As much as you don't want to, you reach into the hole you've created with your hand, digging around as deep as you can.

"(name), look out!" Lucy cries.

Looking up, you can see the ghost racing towards you. As quickly as you can, you tear your arm out of the ground and throw a salt bomb, momentarily stopping the attack, but Lord Ammenby is back sooner than you have time to process.

"(name)!"

A rapier blade passes clean through the ghost, and as the other-light dissipates, Lockwood's face, splattered with a little soil, appears. "Hurry!" is all he says.

Once again, you shove your arm back into the ground, scratching around with your hand until you finally feel it - the rough, scratchy feel of bones under your nails. Screams overtake your mind, and you can feel heat on your skin, but you push through it, shimmying the small cluster around until you're able to pull them free of the hole.

As you wrap the charred remains in the silver net, the ghost vanishes, and the dark estate becomes silent.

Lockwood, standing just in front of you, is panting, still in a defensive stance. Lucy and George aren't too far off, hunched and holding onto their knees as they catch their breath.

Standing, you wipe as much dirt and soil from your arm as you can. "Well," you say. "It seems we have a thing for men murdered by their wives."

"Lockwood, if you'd told me sooner that your tea tasted this good, I would've forgiven you sooner and worked with you more."

The boy in question laughs, reclining in his seat in the living room. "At least I know now."

"As long as I get paid, I don't see any more mishaps occurring," you say, leaning your head back against the cushioned armrest.

Despite closing your eyes, you're well aware of Lockwood's gaze on your face. You can feel it, like little pinpricks on your face, but you're too tired to mock him for it.

"You know," he says, and something in his tone confuses you - caution. "We make a pretty good team, you and I."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "As much as I hate to admit it, we do. Thanks for having my back out there."

"That's what friends do."

Something in your chest tugs. Other than your flatmate, there hasn't been anyone you can call a friend for a while.

"As long as that notion is correct?"

"I suppose it's not entirely out the window," you murmur. "As long as I get more tea."

"As much as you want." You can hear the smile in his voice, and, funnily enough, it makes your smile grow. "Do you want me to walk you to the nearest night cab station? It's quite late."

Opening your eyes, you slowly sit up. "That's alright. I'm sure I can manage."

His smile has softened into something unfamiliar. It's not his usual cocky grin, or that one of triumph, but rather something more personal.

"As long as you're sure," he says, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "But know that you're welcome to stay here if you like."

You roll your eyes. "God, it's like you don't want me to leave! I'll be fine. Want me to call you when I get home, mum?"

He laughs, and the sound of it makes you feel inexplicably content. "Just get home safe, yeah? I know where to find you if we need your help again."

"I specialise in husband-murdered-by-wife cases, so you're aware," you inform him. "And I'm particularly adept at window removals and gardening."

"Come on," Lockwood says, standing. "Get home before it gets any later."

"You're a bossy one today, Lockwood. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Go on. Get out of my house, you twat."

"Anthony Lockwood! I never!"

As you leave his house, you swear that his laughter follows you into the night like a companion.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #fanfiction #x reader #givemea-dam-break

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judesmoonbeauty · 10 months ago

Text

The Past Records: Ellis & Jude Chapter 3

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do NOT post my translations elsewhere. Also, feel free to ignore my random commentary.

Translation notes are marked with ***

Roger: A story I know, huh.

Harrison: I mean, why didn't you tell me you knew each other first?

Roger: You didn't ask.

Harrison: You......

Roger: Besides, we're not really close friends either.

Roger: As for whether those guys can be trusted, I can't say.

Harrison: So, how do you know each other?

Roger: Just as a doctor and a patient. Jude has weak bronchial tubes.

Roger: My dad's so good at what he does that sometimes he used to go over to my parent's house where he worked as a town doctor.

Roger: When he was a patient of my father's, well, I just knew him by his face.....

Roger: One night, he rolled in and said he'd been stabbed with a knife. Not to my dad, but to me.

Harrison: What were the details of the stabbing?

Roger: All he said was that, “I got stabbed because of a grudge.”

Flashback Begins -

Jude: I got what I deserved. I won't say anything more. Don't ask me again.

Roger: I see. I can't believe you're talking to me, and not my dad because you don't want this out in the open.

Jude: I thought you wanted a table to practice your techniques on.

Jude: You can practice without a medical license.

Jude: In return, I won't tell me how you treated me, so as not to ruin the reputation of your father's clinic.

Roger: Convenient for me and you, huh? Well, I suppose it is.

Ellis: Roger? Can you fix him?

Roger: Oh, don't worry. I'm quite skilled. I won't kill you.

Ellis: Thank God. I can't have him dying now.

Roger: What's with that talk? When can he die?

Ellis: Probably the happiest moment of his life......

Roger: Huh. With all this damage, it seems like that's going to be a long way off.

Jude: Hey, I'm pretty sure that's not where you should stick the needle, you Quack!

Flashback ends -

Harrison: You treated him before you got your medical license, huh?

Roger: Haha. It's too late for the statute of limitations now, right?

Harrison: What else do you know?

Roger: Oh? Yeah..... like how Jude gets up early in the morning, or how Ellis eats more than anything?

Harrison: Not about that.

Roger: Jude can drink at the same pace as me and not get crushed, but Ellis gets drunk rather easily.

Harrison: It's not like that either....I've got two more images in my head that I don't need to know.

Roger: As I said earlier, I'm not sure if they're trustworthy or not.

Roger: There's something those two are keeping from me too. It's like conducting research that costs a huge amount of money or something.

Roger: Well, regardless if you can trust them or not, I don't think they'll do anything halfheartedly.

Roger: Was that helpful? Harrison: Well, sort of. At least the information I got from you wasn't false.

Roger: Thank you.

Liam: I found you.

Harrison: Hmm...oh, Liam. How did you know I was here?

Liam: Will told me. Are you at the cafe to work on a review?

Harrison: If I'm in the castle, I'll be distracted by the report, so I had to change things up.

Liam: Haha, so if I report now, It'll just remind you.

Harrison: It's fine. I just lost my focus. Anyway, you called out to me didn't you?

Liam: So, what?

Liam: Well, then, be my guest. Let's see, first of all, the story I heard from Jude...

Liam: Is Jude a doctor? A scholar? He was enrolled in public school through the mediation of a doctor or a scholar!

Liam: Surprising, isn't it? It must have been absolutely hard to fit in with all those aristocratic kids. I'd like to see a little bit of that.

Liam: Next, what I heard from Ellis. Ellis said that he didn't go to school.

Liam: I heard his father was a church school teacher, but they split up a long time ago.

Liam: Oh, Ellis and I promised to go skating by the lake sometime.

Harrison: Heh, good for you.....I mean, how did you talk to those two? You haven't been at the castle for the last few days.

Liam: I followed them invisibly and followed them, investigating their actions and routes the last few days.

Liam: Or maybe we just happened to on the way home together? Harrison: I didn't realize you went that far....

Liam: I thought Harry would like it. The rest was simply my feline curiosity getting the better of me.

Liam: I followed them and talked to them directly, but I still can't trust them.

Liam: I feel like I'm missing something decisive here.

Harrison: That look on your face...you're up to something.

Liam: That's my bad friend! You're quick.

Liam: So, why don't we give the two of them a shot.

[Previous] [Next] [Master list]

#the past records #jude jazza #ellis twilight #cybird translations #ikevil translations #ikevil spoilers #ikevil jude #ikevil jude jazza #ikevil ellis #ikevil ellis twilight #ikemen jude jazza #ikemen ellis twilight

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quillpokebiology · 2 years ago

Text

Introduction Post

Hallo, Hola, Ciao, Bonjour, and all the other greetings, everyone 👋. My name is Arrowquill, but you can just call me Quill. I don't care for pronouns much, so you can call me whatever you like.

I'm a student who was born in Galar, but I'm currently studying at Naranja-Uva Academy in Paldea, where I'm studying biology. I want to be a pokemon professor when I graduate, so I will be sharing info and facts here! Extra stuff under the cut. Scroll to the very bottom to see blog rules.

More about me

I'm the kid of @historianofgalar and grew up in the wild area of Galar. Not much there really. I got my starter at 11, joined the Galar league at 12, made rivals, got a crush on one of my rivals, failed the Galar League at 13, had a mental breakdown and almost died on an ice mountain at Galar's research facility, realized the problem with the government, I think I might've made the Galarian government hate me, joined a new research facility that does more field work, and yeh :)

Main Team

I have a lot of pokemon, as I have to study a lot. But here is my main ones

Squirt the Inteleon

My sweet baby and first pokemon. I got her when she was a sobble as a gift from my dad when I turned 10, and I've cherished her ever since.

Flash the Cinderace

I got him from as a rescue from a not great research center shortly after I received Squirt. He's super energetic, and him and Squirt are quite close.

Joker the Orbeetle

First wild pokemon I caught. Caught him the old-fashioned way when he was a Blipbug. I named him Joker because I thought he looked really goofy, but seeing orbeetle, I see the irony of that.

Archer the Decidueye

Caught him on the Isle of Armor as a reward for finding a lot of diglett. I was supposed to get a Popplio, but the guy thought it was neat how I was named Arrowquill, and Rowlet evolves into the Arrowquill Pokemon, so he gave me a rowlet instead. Archer is really sweet, but a bit timid, so he tends to keep to himself a lot.

Jellybean the Goodra

Funny story on how I caught her. It was raining, and I was trying to catch a Pikachu, but I accidently threw it at a goomy that was just passing by. Long story short, she's a goodra now, and I love her.

Scarlet the Corviknight

Caught her as the second wild pokemon on my journey, right after Joker. She's shy, but also really great. She's one of the more serious members, and she's pulled my team through a lot.

Other

Bagels the Fidough

Caught him because he was following me when I was eating, and I caught him because it isn't a good idea to have wild fidough walking around a city. He's super cute and I love him a lot.

Caesar the Chestnaught

Technically, he has two names? I call him Caesar, as in See-ser, but my mom says it's pronounced "Hay-sar." Either way, I caught him as a Chespin in Paldea.

Ooc: Blog Rules

-While this blog is supposed to be made so everyone can view it, there might be some NSFW mentions regarding pokemon breeding (nothing too detailed). However, this blog does not accept nsfw asks, mentions, or submits other than light-hearted jokes

-Please keep in mind that Quill is older than irl me, and I am a minor. I won't roleplay anything sexual and will block/report anyone that tries to do that with me

-If your account has the default tumblr pfp, is untitled, has no description, has a pornographic name, or pornagraphic imagery, I'll assume that you are a bot and you will be blocked

-Quill is a character I am still developing, so a lot of stuff about them might change overtime

-While I might post some Fakemon, they will most likely be from the ancient past. The Fakemon that I do post who aren't variants or from the ancient past will not be mine, and I will give credit to the original creators. You can submit fakemon if you want, but there will not be fact posts about them. Just analysis.

-I do not allow hybrid Pokemon, but I WILL allow and talk about crossbreed pokemon. Like a Bounsweet, whose dad was a Roserade having traits of a Budew and stuff like that

-I awnser asks, but at my own pace. Some I might delete for multiple reasons (difficult, can't think of anything, or I just plain don't like the pokemon). But I try my best to awnser most asks, even if it takes a while

-My headcanons can be used by anyone, and you don't have to ask if you want to use them

Posts to see

This blog is completely made for fun and as a way for me to spit my headcanons and roleplay as my OC. I have a regular tumblr where I just post random stuff, @mintaikk . But, I'm not going to advertise it much bcuz the posts there can be NSFW, and this blog is PG.

Ooc Post

#irl pokemon #pokemon #introduction #introductory post #introduction post #pokemon irl #pokemon biology #roleplay account #pokemon roleplay #quill talks

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letsplaydcttrpg · 12 days ago

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Racing With the Rats pt 17 - Another Day Another Dollar

Start this module here!

Previous part here!

Links to all posts for this module in the pinned post!

Look at you all being so responsible! (Although to the person who voted to go back home, I feel you.)

You drag your weary body into your office. Miss Tremayne is not there to greet you, though she has left you a note: "Mister Holland - the Sleepease executives' presentation is tomorrow at 3:30." The red light on your telephone answering machine is blinking again. You attempt to play back the message and get only garbled warbling. Great. For a moment, the pain in your head had subsided, but the moment you activated the answering machine it immediately kicked in again. It was almost as if the pain had forgotten to come calling this morning and had to be spurred into action by its sibling. Mr. Green has left a written note as well: "Holland, see me ASAP."

There are a couple skip points if Conditions are in effect, but they aren't ones we have! Is that good or bad?

Miss Tremayne enters your office. "Mr. Holland, the copier's been acting up again! I've called the repair men. They say that they'll be in late this afternoon. "That'll be fine Miss Tremayne, there's still plenty of time to get the packets ready for the Sleepease presentation." You stroll into Mr. Green's office fearing the worst. "Holland, give me a progress report on the Sleepease account." "Well sir, everything seems to be progressing smoothly. We selected a slogan yesterday, and Miss Tremayne just informed me this morning that the Sleepease executives are coming by for a full presentation tomorrow." "All right. We'll need a resource allocation program by that time. I want it on my desk before you leave." "Yes, Mr. Green." "And Holland...I looked over your slogan choice this morning."

Uh-oh. Let's see what he thinks of our choice.

"What is this? Did you look at the market surveys at all? I've barely looked at this data, and I can already recognize some very serious problems with your selection. What are we supposed to tell the Sleepease executives? "I'm not going to make you go over this again because quite frankly, you haven't got the time. You're going to have to make a full presentation to the executives any day now. I'm going to kick this downstairs and let product research handle it. "I just wanted to let you know that you're skating on thin ice here, Holland. Don't let it happen again. And remember, I want that resources allocation by closing." You sit down at your desk and begin to contemplate exactly how horrible your day is going to be. Plotting out an entire research strategy is a grueling and time-consuming process. And to make matters worse, the mysterious buzzing inside your head is beginning to grow in intensity once again. The only real course of action is to roll up your sleeves and get to work.

PUZZLE TIME. Surprise, you didn't expect logic puzzles did you?

So we have a selection of resources we are supposed to allocate, putting the small boxes into the large boxes to cover them. The goal is for the total amount in each large box to meet the total listed there. There's no limit on how many resources can go into each box, but there are some Rules.

Allocating an AIDE to the same arena as an AD SOLICITOR doubles the value of the AD SOLICITOR.

Allocating both AD SOLICITORS to the same area doubles both their values (for a total allocation of $60,000)

The AUDITOR refuses to work in the PRINT arena

Allocating an ACCOUNTANT to the same area as an AUDITOR doubles the value of the AUDITOR

The AIDE can handle the BILLBOARD arena all by herself

The SUPERVISOR can handle any one arena all by himself. He refuses to work if you are going to allocate an AD SOLICITOR to any other arena and refuses to work in the TELEVISION arena

BANK ACCOUNTS may not be allocated to the BILLBOARD arena

Only one resource may be allocated to both the RADIO and BILLBOARD arenas

The GRAPHICS BUDGET may only be allocated if the SUPERVISOR is going to e allocated.

Not all resources have to be allocated

We lost 1 point of Sanity for dealing with this mess. Basically, the way we move on is going to the number of whichever thing we use to fill the BILLBOARD spot. SO! You can try to solve the puzzle if you want to, or you can just choose one of the answers and see what happens! (Or you can cheat. I mean, there's nothing stopping you from ignoring some/all of the rules. All of the tokens have a way to advance, even if the rules say you can't use them that way. I can't stop you. Neither can the game manual.)

Here's our setup! (Note: There's a typo, both bank accounts should say the same P#, I've checked.)

#dc ttrpg #dc comics #polls #swamp thing #racing with the rats

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!! :3

Just binge read all your Victor Vale works and I'm in love istg. Was wondering if you would wanna do a slightly longer one shot about Victor being really stressed and accidentally lashing out in his sleep and reader calming him down??

Wow, thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed them! I wasn't sure how long you wanted it but I hope this is long enough. This is a great plot and I had a ton of fun writing it! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

Warnings: spoilers for Vicious and Vengeful, angst, fluff, canon typical violence/action/danger, brief mention of torture, Victor gets touchy toward the end.

Word Count: 6k+ words (my longest yet!)

Picture from Pinterest

A Comforting Touch

✯3 Months Ago, After Midnight✯

“Scintillating isn’t it?” you ask the man beside you.

He flips his newspaper down, pale skin and intense eyes glaring at you. “What?” he asks.

“The story,” you answer, pointing to the newspaper. “From a hero to a murderer that fast. As if we couldn’t tell from his stupid smile and stupider mask that he was a psycho.”

“Who are we talking about?”

“Eli Ever, the guy in the story you’re reading. Wait, can you read? Or do you just sit behind a newspaper in a black trench coat to look smarter?” you tease, smiling over your cup.

“How long have you been in Merit?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Long enough to know that he wasn’t what he seemed and disappeared frighteningly soon after you arrived.”

“Frighteningly? Then why are you talking to me?”

“Frightening is not synonymous with uninteresting, my friend.”

His brows draw together as he studies you, a scrutinizing eye traveling up and down your frame and then searching your face.

“You like what you see or is this a Clark Kent x-ray vision thing? Searching my brain for my true intentions, yeah?”

“How much do you know?”

“Let’s just say, Eli Cardale’s research may be a little more widely studied after what he did. I’m sure you know more than anyone since you’re supposed to be dead and he’s rotting in prison for your murder.”

He drops the paper to the table and cocks his head at you. “I’m Victor.”

“And you want me to come with because you’re scared I’ll talk?”

“Something like that.”

✯Present Day✯

“Stop that,” you demand as Victor tosses a dry Sharpie in the trash.

Victor’s hand falters as he reaches for another one, considering listening to you before he uncaps it and continues editing.

“Victor, stop. Seriously,” you repeat, moving closer to him.

When he doesn’t, you reach past him and snatch the marker out of his hand. He turns toward you, his anger leaking out.

“What are you doing?” he snaps.

You point to the television, and his face drops as he reads the breaking news line. Increasing the volume, he avoids looking at you as the reporter speaks.

“The police were praised for their efforts in dismantling the murderous cult operating under the title of ‘EON,’ but that praise is now gone. With the recent discovery of several bodies bearing typical EON torture markings, the government fears that the group, or a new community operating similarly, is acting in our city. More on this story at 6,” the reporter finishes.

Victor clicks the remote, and the screen goes black. He begins pacing, ignorant of your requests to talk to him.

“Victor!” you yell, stepping in front of him.

“Move. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does now. You going out there? That concerns me. You taking Sydney out there? Also concerns me. So, talk to me,” you respond, stepping toward him.

“You don’t know everything. EON isn’t a threat to you, but it is to us. You’re a liability now,” he seethes.

“Which is my choice,” you argue, still in his face. “Like it or not, I’m here and I’m invested, so get over yourself and talk to me. Let me help.”

“No.”

“Fine. Then I’ll just go. If I’m a liability here, what am I out there? Oh, that’s right, dead.”

Victor’s nostrils flare, nearly unnoticeable. He drops his head toward you.

“You’re brave, but don’t expect me to stay close enough to save you all the time.”

“Oh, I’d never expect that of you.”

You step back and spin on your heel before returning to your room. Sydney passes you in the hallway and can tell by the look in your eye that Victor crossed a line. Which isn’t unusual, she supposes.

“What did you do?” she asks when she sees Victor.

“Nothing.”

“Maybe that’s the problem then.”

Victor agreed to let you tag along because you have a knack for connecting dots that seem unconnected. You know things you shouldn’t and find things too fast. He’s also simultaneously impressed and intimated by your willingness to fight him when he could kill you with a glance. You have no power or protection aside from him, yet you rush into danger with no regard for yourself. Yes, you’re brave but reckless, and when you are not near him, Victor can’t keep you safe.

“EON is back, so she’s not really top of the list right now,” Victor explains, retrieving his stolen marker.

“So? We left Merit and everyone thinks you’re dead. We’re not in danger,” Sydney points out.

“Not right now. But these people aren’t going to give up. Someone knows you’re out there, Mitch is still an escaped convict, record or not, and it’s only a matter of time. We need to find them before they even think to find us.”

“Hurt them first,” Sydney quotes. “But don’t hurt the people closest to you in the process, Vic.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Based on Victor’s calculations, there isn’t much time until EON realizes Sydney is still out there because Eli knew she was. Then, they’ll look for him and eventually figure out that he and his cellmate, Mitch, escaped from prison together before the event in Merit. Several sleepless nights have brought him no closer to finding EON, but now Victor has a new concern. Someone is following them, and he thinks he knows who.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where was EON before?” you ask.

Mitch answers the question while Victor grumbles something under his breath.

“They didn’t dump bodies, though. So if this new EON or copycats, whatever they are, do dump bodies when they’re done… what makes you sure that it’s EON and not just a serial killer?” you pose.

Mitch tilts his head as he says, “That’s not a bad theory. Without an autopsy report, we can’t know if the torture was the same as EON.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Victor snaps. “EON never tortured EOs exactly the same. Until they found your power, yes, but then it got specific.”

“What about the people who died before they found any powers, or which hopefully didn’t happen, they were wrong, and it was just an ordinary person? Wouldn’t they have identical markings in that case.”

“Or maybe someone reincarnated Jack the Ripper, I get what you’re saying but it’s not helpful,” Victor says.

You nod once at Mitch and round the corner to stand beside him. He has two autopsy reports open, one that has been directly linked to EON and one of the recent victims. Two matching marks are present: a small letter and a number carved into the skin of the victim’s inner wrists. One has an E and 2, the other F and 4.

“Victor?” you ask carefully. “Did Eli have a mark on him before he died? Like a number or word or anything?”

“Why does that matter?” Victor doesn’t look up from his project as he asks. “He’s dead.”

“I know, but if there was a marking or tattoo, anything that could make him stand out,” you trail off.

Victor sighs and curls his right hand into a fist. “I think so. The letter I, but it was lowercase.”

“No number?” you ask.

“Nope.”

“So, I would be…”

“Immortal, invincible?” Mitch suggests.

You nod, and Victor finally looks up.

“What are you saying?” he asks, impatient and irritated.

“EON was marking people with their power and a number,” Mitch answers.

“What’s the number?”

“Well, if Eli didn’t have one, that could mean something,” you point out.

“What are R and E? Those could help us determine what those numbers could mean,” Mitch suggests.

“Show me their files?” you request.

He navigates to all records for ‘E,’ formally known as Riley Garrick. You point to his medical records and then to a hospital report. The file contained a recorded resuscitation after Garrick was electrocuted and died on the table. They used an AED, another electric shock, to get his heart beating normally again.

“Electricity,” you say with Mitch.

“What about F?” you ask.

“Walter Knox,” Mitch reads. “Died and was brought back a few years ago. Death was caused by… freezing. He contracted hypothermia and succumbed before his body temp was brought up and his heart restarted.”

“How was he killed by EON?” you ask.

“Let’s see,” Mitch hums. “He… froze to death.”

“And E, or Garrick?”

“Electrocuted.”

“Then the numbers could be how many times they proved their powers worked before,” you suggest, trailing off again.

“Or how many times they reached the brink and came back, because of their powers, before they didn’t come back,” Victor adds. “It’s not a bad theory. Doesn’t help us find EON though, so congratulations on your waste of time.”

“It wasn’t a waste of time, Vic,” you argue. “Knowing what they’re doing, knowing how they’re doing it, is invaluable.”

“Then where are they?” he asks, looking up at you. “Even just a building type would be more helpful than this. Warehouse? Shipping container? You have no more information than before.”

“Not true. We know that this EON is doing the exact same thing as before. They are experimenting on EOs to find powers and test them to the limit. For all we know, they’re searching for the next Eli and don’t care how many people they kill to get there.”

Victor’s eyes narrow at you before he looks away again.

“You’re welcome,” you say under your breath.

“That’s a lot of information on a couple pictures,” Victor adds. “Makes you wonder how much of it is true and how you figured it out.”

Mitch rolls his eyes, and you shrug before walking out, wondering why Victor is so cranky.

✯✯✯✯✯

“She knows. That’s why she’s right. And you know how she knows? Because she was there, they told her, and now she’s just waiting to lead them to you. You know someone is following you, Vic. Ask yourself when that started, how she got into your life. She’s coming for you.”

Victor wakes up, his skin tingling as pain emits from his body. He turns it off and sits back. It makes sense; you showed up just in time to deal with the return of EON, and you know so much. The dreams are distracting and causing his power to activate involuntarily, so Victor needs to find EON quickly and get the truth from you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor is snapping at you, Sydney, and Mitch more than usual. He’s always sarcastic and pushy, but it hasn’t been this bad in the past.

“Victor?” you ask, stepping into his open bedroom door. “Can we talk?”

He looks up, wide-eyed until he gains control of his expression again. “Sure.”

“Are you okay? You seem really stressed and I hear you walking around at night, so I know you aren’t sleeping much. I’m just- I’m worried about you.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” he mutters under his breath. “I’m fine,” he says to you. “Just having some trouble sleeping but nothing is wrong.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll sleep better after we find EON, right?” you ask with a small smile.

“Yeah.”

You nod and press your lips together before walking out. He’s not convincing, and you know something else is bothering Victor, but don’t know what. If it’s just EON causing problems, why isn’t he listening when you try to help?

Victor watches you leave and counts your steps to the end of the hall before yawning. He can’t hide the tiredness, but as long as you don’t pick up the stress and growing paranoia hiding beneath it, he’ll be okay. Victor Vale refuses to appear weak; he pushes everything under the surface until he has the answers he craves. Maybe the ghost in his dreams will also return to where it belongs.

✯✯✯✯✯

You begin working through the night, desperate to find answers, hoping it will help Victor. There’s a notebook on your nightstand half-full of possible locations for EON. Then you start wondering if they’re operating from one place or moving around to evade the police. Charting all the listed and possible locations on the map, you zoom out to look for a pattern and gasp as you see the last thing you expect. There is a pattern, and it's nearly complete. One more location and countless bodies, and EON will either be finished with their mission or just starting.

Getting out of bed, you walk to Mitch’s room and knock. He opens the door, and you see the light of his laptop behind him.

“We need to talk,” you say, walking in as he steps back.

He closes the door behind you, and you begin sharing everything you’ve learned.

“I don’t know if knowing where they are is enough, though,” you say.

“You want to know who and why?” Mitch guesses.

“It would be helpful. Otherwise, we’re going in blind. But we also don’t know how much time we’ve had. None of the dates match up, there’s different times between each body dump.”

“Did you check it for a pattern?” Mitch asks. “The locations mean something, right? Maybe the times do, too.”

You sit beside him and read dates as he types everything into a spreadsheet. The months don’t mean anything, and there’s no pattern, so you move on to compare the dates but come up empty there.

“Sorry, I thought there might be something here, too,” Mitch apologizes.

“Wait, Mitch, can you get the numbers for the days between the discoveries?” you ask. He presses a few keys, and a new list of numbers appears. “They’re all below 27,” you cheer.

“It’s a code,” Mitch whispers as he enters the number into a new text box.

The numbers disappear, replaced with letters, as a message is revealed.

“That’s… somehow worse than what I was expecting,” you admit.

“Should we tell Vic?” Mitch asks.

“He’s got enough on his plate.”

“You can’t deal with this alone.”

“Who said I was going alone?” you ask as you walk to the door. “Talk tomorrow, Mitch, thanks for the help.”

“How am I supposed to sleep after what I just read? How are you?”

“Drink some chocolate milk, Mitch. You’ll be alright.”

“And you?”

You shrug as you answer, “I ended up sitting beside Victor for a reason. Maybe this is it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor hears your quiet knock against Mitch’s door before you enter, and the door closes again. He tries to eavesdrop but can only catch a few words. Victor hears something about a pattern, numbers, and going somewhere alone. He also hears that you’re not planning to tell him something. More secrets. Victor returns to his room when he hears you return to Mitch’s door. He knew you were hiding something, but you just confirmed it.

✯✯✯✯✯

Mitch makes breakfast the following morning, and you are the last to wake up and join everyone in the kitchen.

“How’d you sleep?” Mitch asks.

“How’d you sleep?” you parrot, smiling knowingly with dark circles under your eyes.

“Any news about EON?” Victor interjects, his dark circles far more pronounced than yours. He looks exhausted, and if he were younger or easier to convince, you’d force him to take a nap.

“Not much,” you answer. “Maybe you were right and I’m looking in the wrong area. There’s tons of circumstantial evidence but the police can’t do anything with that, so I probably can’t either.”

Victor can physically feel the stress coursing through his veins. His cortisol is trying to kick him into fight mode, but he tamps it down, like every other emotion he covers. He feels your eyes on him and glances over to see your furrowed brows and concerned look.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly.

“Just as good as the last time you asked. If there’s something I want you to know, I’ll tell you,” Victor answers, plenty of bite to back his bark.

You nod. “Sorry. But I’m here when you’re ready.”

Sydney sees his eyes roll, and the muscles in his jaw tick, but you turn away and miss it. She knows, as well as you do, that he’s sleep-deprived and stressed, but he shouldn’t be taking it out on his team - his family. Maybe he could be convinced to save the stress, anger, and everything else he’s feeling to take on EON. You’d have to convince him, she thinks, because you’re the only one with any ability to get through to him. Whatever forges your connection and gives you some semblance of power against or over him seems to have dissipated with his constant jabs and stressed-out remarks.

Hopefully, it’s not too late. EON needs to be taken down, but not at the cost of Sydney’s family and your presence in her life.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Victor, I know you said to leave it alone, but please try to get some sleep. You’re working hard and we appreciate it more than you can know, but it’s killing you,” you plead.

“I’ll turn off the pain, it’ll be fine,” he argues.

“Then could you do it for me?” you ask, laying a hand on his arm. He flinches but doesn’t shy away from your touch, and a tiny glimmer of hope that you have a chance begins to flicker. “I need you to be okay.”

Victor licks his lips and then nods. “I’ll try.”

You close his door behind you and walk to the end of the hall before pulling your door closed. Victor knows every sound in this place, so you need to be careful about how you move and where you go. Sitting on the couch, you pull your notebook and Mitch’s laptop into your lap. The plan is set in place, and you look over it, preparing to leave. You set everything aside gently, then stand to take a few steps toward your room before turning. Listening closely, you don’t hear movement, so Victor must be asleep or trying to sleep.

When you reach the door, you place your hand over the knob before falling to your knees.

The pain you’re experiencing is excruciating. Your body wants to give up and pass out, but you must get to Victor. Something is obviously wrong if he’s using his power on you. Mitch’s pained groan grows loud enough that you can hear it, and Sydney whimpers behind her closed door. Dol barks several times as you turn toward Victor’s room.

Beyond the pain, a force is pushing you away from Victor. As you fight to get near him, it feels like swimming against a strong current. Your concern for Victor begins overpowering your pain and fear, and you move as quickly as possible to reach him. When you open the door, he is tossing and turning, his sheets tangled around him as he breathes heavily. You say his name and place a hand on his shoulder before he opens his eyes, and the pain multiplies tenfold.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You know I’m right.”

“I know you’re a ghost,” Victor argues. “I watched you die, Eli.”

“Yet, Victor, here I am. EON is alive and well. It seems that the Eli Ever legacy lives on. If only to torture you.”

“Didn’t do enough of that at Lockland?”

Eli grabs Victor’s shirt and pushes him against a wall. Victor smiles as Eli’s face contorts in pain.

“She is on my side, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. She’s been on my side since the beginning.”

“She knows too much, and she keeps secrets, Vic. Explain how that is being on your side.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Then ask. Or do what you’re doing now.”

“What I’m doing now?”

“Listen, Vic,” Eli whispers.

The air around Victor buzzes as Mitch’s groans and Sydney’s cries infiltrate the calm.

“No, no, no,” Victor repeats to himself.

“Keep this up and you’ll kill her. You have a strong connection to her, which means all of those emotions bottled up in here,” Eli says, pressing a finger over Victor’s heart, “are entering her as inescapable and incurable pain. Way to go, Vic. Angie and this one… you’re building quite the record.” He begins to fade as he adds, “And they called me a serial killer.”

Victor has to wake up. He tries everything until he sees your eyes and flinches back.

You fall back onto the floor, curling in against yourself. “Vic,” you whisper, tears breaking past your waterline.

Forcing yourself onto your knees, you kneel beside his bed and take his hand in both of yours.

“You have to calm down, Vic, it’s okay. Everything is okay,” you soothe him, even though it feels like your body is being ripped apart. “Focus on something else. Whatever happened, forget it. Take some deep breaths.”

You watch Victor’s chest rise and fall, but his eyes stay trained on you. Tracing shapes against his hand, you tell him about the walk you took Dol on last week as he breathes deeply.

His shoulders sag, and the pain disappears immediately, with no lasting aches or symptoms. You stand and reach for the water beside his bed, but he grabs your wrist and stops you. Victor leans forward, his forehead against your stomach, just below your sternum.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, breathing deeply as his hands grip your hips. He’s grounding himself, and you’re happy to let him.

“It’s okay, Vic. It’s over,” you reply quietly. “You scared me. I didn’t know what was happening, just that something was wrong with you.”

Victor shakes his head against your stomach, another apology. You hear footsteps in the hall outside and hear Mitch talking to Sydney.

“I- can you check on them?” Victor asks, looking up at you. His grip on you gently increases as he adds, “And come back?”

“Of course.”

You step out, pulling the door closed behind you. Mitch is in Sydney’s room, comforting her. When she sees you, she looks up with teary eyes and an arm wrapped around Dol.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, kneeling in front of her bed and patting Dol before you take Sydney's hand.

“Scared. Is he alright?” Sydney replies.

“He will be,” you promise, nodding as you look over at Mitch.

He nods once and then gestures toward Sydney, telling you he’ll stay with her while you deal with Victor.

“You’ll make it better, right?” Sydney asks. “He listens to you, and you can help him.”

“I’ll do everything I can, Sydney. I promise.”

You stand, and Mitch mouths, ‘Thank you’ as you step back. Nodding at him again, you pat his shoulder before returning to Victor’s room.

“You’ve been lying to me,” he accuses weakly when you step inside.

“Yes,” you admit, approaching him again.

He doesn’t hesitate to lean toward you and place his hands on you again, keeping you close as you explain.

“I didn’t want to stress you out more, or concern you, or, worse, if I was wrong, make you think you have to do it all alone. Because you don’t always seem to understand or appreciate that you aren’t alone anymore. You have Mitch and Sydney, and-“

“You?” Victor interrupts.

“If you still want me, you absolutely have me.”

“I do. So, what did you lie about?”

“I think I found EON. There was a hidden pattern in the locations of their body dumps. Assuming that they operate nearby, it should be easy to use the missing piece of the pattern to find them before they can kill again.”

“Where should the last location be?”

“An abandoned dock at the marina down south,” you answer. “Part of why I didn’t tell you is that I didn’t know when it would happen.”

“And Mitch?” You furrow your brows, and Victor clarifies, “I heard you go into his room. You found something, didn’t you?”

“Yes. The dates of discovery, actually the number of days between them, were a code.”

“What kind of code?”

“It translated to a message. Once we read the message, we decided not to tell you because you were already so stressed.” You chuckle as you add, “I realize now that worked oppositely of intended. I made it worse and I’m sorry, Vic.”

“What did the message say?” Victor asks, silently accepting your apology as his finger dips under the hem of your shirt.

You lean into his touch as you answer, “Are you sure you want to know?”

Victor nods, and you press your lips together before telling him, “It was my name and a DOD.”

“A date of death? Yours?”

“Presumably. But it is tomorrow. So, I was going to go to the marina tonight to see if I could catch them off guard.”

“You were going to go alone?”

“I know it’s dumb and I would’ve gotten killed but I was just thinking about you and how I could help you.”

A small bolt of pain shoots through your side where Victor touches you.

“Sorry,” he says, smoothing his palm over the spot. “I just- your connection is different.”

“Is that why I felt like I was dying while Mitch just groaned a little?” you tease.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, Vic, it’s alright. Now, though, I need you to get back in the game so we can take these new EON goons down.”

Victor nods, tugging you closer as he stands.

“I trust you,” he whispers. “You take the lead since you found everything else.”

“Thank you.”

Victor releases you to step back before asking, “What was the pattern?”

“Eli’s initials: EE. I guess his legacy is living on.”

“Wait,” Victor blurts. “I’ve been seeing him in my dreams. He said the same thing.”

“You’ve been seeing him? Since when?”

“Since we found out about the new EON. Every time he shows up, he tries to convince me that you’re working with them.”

“That’s why you’ve been so defensive. You didn’t want me close because you thought I was an EON spy,” you realize aloud.

“You did know too much,” Victor argues weakly.

“And you never stop to think, ‘Maybe she’s just that good, and that pretty, and that amazing-'“

Victor cuts you off, asking, “What do we do now, good, pretty, amazing leader?”

“You go show Sydney and Mitch that you’re alright and make sure they are, too, then we make a plan to get everyone in and out of the marina to defeat EON forever.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Victor drawls.

You rush out, smiling at his new attention. He trusts you; he’s proved that before, but knowing that you have a different connection is scary and exciting at the same time. Maybe you'll ask him more about that after tonight if your DOD is changed.

✯✯✯✯✯

With Victor’s full attention on you, not as someone he has to protect, but as an equal, you feel prepared to charge into EON and complete your goal. Sydney and Dol aren’t going, but Mitch is driving, and Victor will be inside with you, even if you can’t see him. The dark circles are still prevalent under Victor’s eyes, but the stress lines have nearly disappeared.

“And what if they find you before you want them to?” Mitch asks.

“I can handle them roughing me up. Either way, they’ll all come out and be in one spot for Victor to do his thing.”

Victor’s hand finds yours under the table, and you trace a few shapes onto it. His shoulders drop slightly, even as he argues, “There will be no roughing up. They might lay a finger on you, but I think I can spread the pain out enough that I can get any hidden EONs, too.”

“We don’t want to hurt any EOs,” you point out.

“I don’t think there will be any. That message was specific,” Mitch says.

Your eyes widen as Victor looks at you.

“What exactly did the message say, Mitch?” Victor asks.

“Her name, today’s date as her DOD, cause of death, and the total body count. That body count was only one higher than currently, so it’s just you, unfortunately.”

“What was the cause of death?” Victor asks you, lacing his fingers through yours.

You don’t answer and shake your head at Mitch to discourage him from answering, too.

“Please,” Victor whispers, moving his hand to your wrist.

“Beaten to death,” you say slowly. “Tortured the way every EO before me was.”

“But you’re not an EO.”

“They don’t know that. So, your presence there should be a surprise.”

“If they know about you, they know I’m with you, though,” Victor says.

“Not if I offer to help.”

“Faux treason,” Victor deduces. “I like it.”

“Then let’s do it,” you say, turning to face Victor. “And maybe you can finally get some sleep and de-stress when we get back.”

“Let’s make that the goal.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hello?” you yell as you enter the small building. “I’m looking for EON? I have valuable information about Victor Vale.”

“Well, hello there,” a man says as he steps out from behind a net. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing? Eli would have loved you."

You suppress a shiver and a gag at his comment, opting for a nervous smile. “So, I’m in the right place? I had to go the long way after I left Victor yesterday.”

“Oh, you’re in the right place, sweetness. The man in charge will be glad to hear anything you have to offer.”

“I- sorry, I’m a little nervous,” you say, chuckling as you reluctantly place your hand in his. “What’s your name?”

“We’re all called Ever here. You’ll be the first female Ever, ever. Get it? Anyway, you should be pleased by that. Lord E is very picky in who he chooses to become an Ever.”

You nod, swallowing harshly as the man’s other hand finds your waist. It is a much different feeling than when Victor touches you, but knowing for certain that he’s nearby makes you feel better. A spark of pain occurs under his hand, but only for a breath. He pulls his hand away and furrows his brows at you.

“I think I built up some static electricity, sorry,” you apologize, raising your voice slightly in hopes that Victor will control himself.

“Here we are,” Ever says, flipping a light switch.

The lights go off before men, Evers, carrying candles, enter the room. Two of them lead a man dressed differently to the front of the room, where a large throne is placed. The light comes back on, dimmer than before, and your eyes widen when you see the man.

“Lord E, this woman has information about Victor Vale,” the Ever holding your hand announces.

“She may approach,” the man on the throne, Lord E, calls.

Ever takes a step with you before Lord E adds, “Alone.”

He’s wearing Eli’s clothes, the exact outfit he wore during the bank robbery when he was on the front page of the Merit newspaper. There’s even a few blood stains, all the proof you need that it’s the same outfit or an incredible replica.

“What is your name, girl?” Lord E demands as you reach his throne.

You tell him your name and wait as he looks around.

“And tell me, what do you know of Victor Vale?” he asks. “Come closer,” he demands, extending a scepter to you.

You touch the end with your fingertips and step onto the platform, stopping just before your knees hit his.

“I know a lot. I’ve spent time with Mr. Vale under the impression that I could help him and that I never trusted Eli,” you explain.

Lord E tilts his head up to you, smirking as his eyes travel up and down your body. “Ever,” he calls, “lights.”

The lights go out, and you can no longer see Lord E. You try to stay calm, knowing Victor has control over the situation. When you feel hands on you, however, that calmness evaporates.

“Has he mentioned I’ve been visiting him in his dreams?” Lord E asks, pulling you flush against his body as his hands roam around your waist.

“He did. It scared him, threw him off,” you half lie, trying to lean away from him.

With the lights off, Victor may not have the control he needs to get everyone without getting you to. You don’t care at this point; you only need this guy’s hands off of you.

“Lord E?” you ask. He hums, so you add, “The most important thing I learned about Victor Vale…”

“Go on,” he prods.

You raise your voice so Victor and the Evers can hear you. “Is that Victor Vale will destroy you all.”

Lord E’s hands tighten painfully on your waist as pained screams sound behind you. You step back, twisting out of his grip before you run toward the door. It’s locked, so you stumble through the dark until you find the stairs to the catwalk where Victor should be.

“Find her!” Lord E screams behind you.

“Hey,” Victor whispers before his hands grab your shoulders, “want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” you sigh, taking his offered hand and following him.

You’re blind in the dark, but you don't need to see with Victor leading you. You trust him enough to let him lead the way. He opens a door, and the marina lights illuminate your path to Mitch’s waiting car. You run toward the car, while Victor returns to the building to finish the plan. When he gets in the passenger seat, Mitch begins driving.

“Mission accomplished?” Mitch asks.

“Mission accomplished,” Victor affirms. “EON was taken down by a gas leak, and the coroner should never know they were knocked out by pain before the gas suffocated them.”

In the darkness of the backseat, you rub your hand against your waist, trying to ease the pain caused by Lord E’s grip on you.

“Was it his ghost?” Victor asks quietly.

“I think it might have been. He said he’d been in your dreams.”

“Well, Casper has to find someone new to haunt,” Mitch jokes. “And we’ll be there, too.”

Victor glances over his shoulder at you as your pain disappears. Trusting him was the best decision you’ve ever made, and you’re glad he has decided to trust you, too.

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor offers his hand as he opens your door and keeps your hand in his until you’re back in his room. He sits on the bed and pulls you forward. Gripping the hem of your top, he looks up at you for permission.

Victor has every reason not to like physical touch, and before today, he never initiated any. Especially not with you. In just a few hours, that has changed forever. He realized how calming and comforting your touch is, and now he will never go back.

As he pushes your shirt up to your ribs, Victor’s jaw clenches as he sees the darkening bruises.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly. “Thanks for saving me.”

“You technically saved me, but no problem,” Victor mutters, running his finger over the skin below the bruise. “It feel okay?”

“Yes, you know it does. You don’t have to numb it, I’ll live.”

“I know.”

“Hey, Vic, next time you get stressed or have trouble sleeping, or anything else, you can talk to me. You need to tell me.”

Victor nods, his hands wandering upward to rest against your ribs.

“I know I’m distracting, but could I get a verbal acknowledgement?” you tease, resting your hands on his arms.

“I promise to talk to you,” he says quietly. “And thank you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor quickly learns he doesn’t have to talk to you; he can survive off your touch alone. He seeks your comfort every chance he has. He’ll link his pinky with yours when you are beside each other. Occasionally, he’ll hold your jacket between his fingers when he’s behind you. Anything to stay close and grounded. Victor’s connection with you extends to his power because, as he explains, your presence in his mind is different, and you evoke unique emotions in him. As long as you are near, Victor doesn’t need to be stressed; he only needs to be with you.

#victor vale x reader #victor vale #vicious #vicious ve schwab #requests

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