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unpredictable-probabilities · 11 months ago

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Tomorrows Over Centuries || Chapter 1: An Endless Visit

Summary:

Hob gets into a rather painful predicament after a long day of grading papers at The New Inn. But after a visit from his oldest friend, he finds that he doesn't mind so much.

Dream visits Hob Gadling for their long-overdue appointment, and learns that he is more comfortable now in acknowledging and expressing their friendship. However, he learns other things from Hob that catch him off-guard...

Word Count: 4,568

——

The late afternoon air was crisp and cool as Hob stepped out of The New Inn. He walked down the street and stretched his neck from side to side; grading so many papers at once did not do his muscles any favors.

He turned down a side street for a shorter route, already thinking about the cup of tea he would make and the 12-hour nap he wanted to take.

“In a hurry, mate?” asked a slurred voice as a figure walked out from behind the dumpster. “How's about you leave that bag of yours, eh?”

Hob slowed down to a stop at the glint of a switchblade from the man's hand. So far he hadn't been stabbed in this century, and he wasn't keen on breaking that streak.

“And your phone and wallet,” a gruffer voice said from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to see two men with bloodshot eyes, both wielding a similar blade as the one in front of him. All three smelled of alcohol, but unfortunately they still seemed sober enough to cause trouble. And possibly some light stabbing.

“Now, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement,” Hob said evenly as he slowly backed sideways to the wall, keeping all three of them in his line of sight.

“Drop the bag now,” said the slurred voice as all three of them walked closer.

Hob began to unsling the messenger bag from his shoulder. Logically, he knew that the smart choice would be to hand over his things and leave unharmed.

But he also knew that he had just spent hours grading those papers, and he knew that he had a sketchpad in his bag that he very much didn't want to part with.

He wrapped the strap of the bag around his arm and swung hard at the man closest to him, hitting him in the jaw and sending him sprawling onto his behind.

The other two rushed forward, one of them grabbing the bag. Hob placed a well-aimed punch on that man’s eye, then side-stepped and turned to kick the third one.

With his bag yanked free, he turned and prepared to run—

A cold steel blade sank under his ribs. The first thug had gotten up faster than he had expected.

Dammit, Hob instinctively clutched his abdomen as he stumbled back into a crouch. Getting stabbed never got easier, no matter how many times he experienced it.

The thug grabbed his bag, but Hob held firm on the strap.

“Trust me, mate, it’s all boring stuff in there,” Hob managed through his shallow breathing, trying to remain upright on one knee.

He was unceremoniously pushed against the wall, and the thug pulled hard on the bag, ripping the zipper open.

“Eh? It’s just papers.” The man squinted as he rifled through and started taking out the essays that Hob so carefully read and graded, scattering them all over the alley.

“I told you,” Hob said as he tried to stand up, one hand pressed to his wound and the other still grasping the strap of the bag.

The second thug kicked him back against the wall and he fell with a grunt, pain shooting up his torso.

“Must be hidin’ somethin’ expensive in there,” said the gruff voice. “Or he wouldn’t get himself killed for it.”

Hob would have rolled his eyes if pain wasn’t spiking behind them. He’d gotten himself killed for things much less valuable than the contents of his bag.

“Don’t make me cut off yer wrist,” the third thug stepped forward and held his blade threateningly to Hob’s arm.

Hob wanted to point out that cutting off the strap of the bag would be much more efficient, but the blood loss was making him lightheaded, and he was focusing all his energy on staying conscious. It didn’t look like he’d be healing fast enough to get his bag back, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

They got his sketchpad and began rifling through it, grumbling about money hiding between the pages.

“No,” Hob reached for it and was promptly punched in the face for his efforts.

“A’right, what’s really in here?” the first thug put the tip of his knife to Hob’s neck, the sketchpad lying discarded on the asphalt. “Ya wouldn’t fight so much if–”

The thug’s eyes rolled back in his head, the knife fell out of his grip, and all three thugs dropped limply to the ground like puppets with their strings cut off.

Hob blinked repeatedly, wondering if he was hallucinating somehow.

Then another figure began to walk towards him, pale skin and black coat and raven hair.

Hob’s heart skipped a beat before his mind could even fully process who he was seeing. Now he really hoped he wasn’t hallucinating.

“You’re late,” he said to his stranger, a smile forming on his face despite his abdomen still steadily losing blood.

His stranger crouched beside him, eyebrows furrowed at the sight of his wound and the bruise that was starting to form on his cheekbone. “I shall bring you to a hospital.”

Hob shook his head. “No, I heal too quickly and they ask too many questions. S’okay, I’ll be right as rain in an hour or two.” He didn’t dare take his eyes off his stranger, taking in the worried crease on the otherwise smooth forehead, the blue eyes that Hob had learned to read over the course of the centuries, the hard line of his pursed lips.

He’d say that that face makes for a grand last thing to see before his death, except he couldn’t die, and he certainly had plans to keep seeing that face plenty more times.

“Very well. Where do you live?”

“Not far, just on the next block over,” Hob said as he felt the wound start to close up enough to stop the blood flowing out. “Let me see if I can walk—”

Sand swirled around them in a tornado, and Hob instinctively closed his eyes.

——

Dream placed Hob gently to lie on the couch in his living room. With the image of the flat plucked directly from Hob’s mind, it was a simple matter of getting them both here, including all of Hob’s possessions that were scattered in the street.

“Stay still,” Dream said as Hob blinked and looked around in surprise.

Dream sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch and reached into the dream of a doctor sleeping two flats over. He pulled out a bottle of water and a soft washcloth, as well as the knowledge of how to use them in this situation.

“Ah, you don’t have to do that,” Hob said as Dream began to clean the blood off around the injury.

“You cannot die, but an infection would still hurt.” Dream trickled water into the wound and made sure there was no dirt or debris lodged in there. Fortunately, the assailant’s knife hadn’t been rusty.

“Yeah, but you know, I can do that myself.” Hob tried to sit up, but Dream put a firm hand on his chest, keeping him lying down.

“I am aware that you are capable, but friends help each other, do they not?” Dream looked right into Hob’s eyes, all the better to communicate his sincerity.

He noticed the bob in Hob’s throat as he swallowed, then a smile appeared on his friend’s face. An unexpected warmth spread within Dream at the sight, and he found himself returning the smile.

“Oh, we’re friends now, then?” Hob’s eyes twinkled playfully.

“Yes.” Dream went back to his task, washing and drying off Hob’s skin before placing a clean bandage on it. Afterwards, he disposed of all the items in the Dreaming.

Hob raised his eyebrows curiously at the way they vanished into thin air with a wave of Dream’s hand. “So… you can just do that? Summon whatever objects you want and then make them disappear again?”

“I have to find them first before I am able to summon them.” Dream stood up and picked up Hob’s bag from the floor to place it on the coffee table. “What could possibly have been in here that was worth getting stabbed for?” He crouched to take the scattered papers on the floor, and Hob hurriedly got up with a grunt to help him.

“I’d been grading my students’ papers, I can’t exactly replace them if they get stolen.” Hob’s gaze was quickly darting around on the pile.

“Are you searching for something in particular? If you can imagine its appearance vividly enough, I can look for…” Dream’s voice trailed off as his eyes landed on the open sketchpad.

He reached for it, the images pulling him close. Daydreams suffused the papers; Dream could sense them almost like a tangible presence. Each pencil stroke called to him, and he felt certain that every line was created with him in mind. A distant familiarity tugged at his memory, from a time long past when people would pray to him and create shrines to his name.

He barely heard Hob’s voice as it dawned on him just what the images were.

“Um, that’s, I…”

Dream gradually stood up, sketchpad in hand. On the paper before him was a pencil drawing of a man walking away in the rain, his back turned and his black coat billowing behind him. On the page beside that was a man dressed in the fine clothes of the 18th century with his dark hair in a ponytail, seated on a table with a teacup in front of him.

His fingers moved on their own as he turned the pages. There he was, standing by Hob’s table in 1389 with his black robe and the ruby pendant around his neck. Then a side profile of him as he spoke with Will Shaxberd, whose features were drawn in an exaggerated and almost comedic manner somehow. Another drawing was of him with his hair cut short for the 19th century, seated at a table once more with a wine glass in front of him. His eyes, they looked… kind. Did Hob always see him that way? It twisted something in his stomach when he remembered what had happened moments after that, how his eyes had surely blazed with self-righteous anger before he abandoned his friend.

He slowly looked up at Hob, who had been standing quietly beside him.

“You were gone, and…” For reasons Dream couldn’t understand, Hob looked nervous, but his voice remained steady as he spoke. “It helped. Drawing you. I knew I could never forget your face, or any of our meetings, but… it helped.”

Dream closed the sketchpad, grasping for the right words that he could say. Imprisoned in that dark basement, he had not been able to ignore the conflict within him on that day in 1989. It would have been selfish to hope that Hob was waiting for him in the pub, knowing that he would never make it to their meeting. He had known that it would be better if Hob had been angry with him about how they parted last time; he wouldn’t be waiting around for someone who would never arrive. And yet all this time, Hob had been thinking of him. Enough to recreate his image many times over.

What words would be sufficient to encompass all of that?

“I… apologize.” He met Hob’s surprised gaze and held out the sketchpad to him. “I was unkind at our last meeting when you merely spoke the truth. I have treated you poorly, and you did not deserve it.”

Hob gave a small smile, as sincere as every other smile he had ever given Dream. “Well you’re here now. A bit late, but we’ve both got a lot of time, yeah?” He stepped closer and gently took the sketchpad, looking down at it. “And I’m sorry for what I said, back then. I just meant… I understood that you were lonely because I was, too. Sometimes I still am. You’re the only one who really knows me, and I’ve realized that a century has far too many days to wait to see you again…” Hob’s eyes snapped up to Dream, as if he didn’t intend to say that last part aloud. He cleared his throat and smiled, taking a step back. “Anyway, I’ll make us some tea. Let’s take this apology to the table.”

Hob returned the sketchpad carefully into his bag and led the way to the kitchen. Dream followed in silent footsteps, standing behind Hob as he prepared a kettle.

“I would have come to you in 1989, had I been able to.” Dream wanted Hob to know that, if nothing else.

Hob froze for a moment as he brought out two cups. “Oh. Busy day at work, then? With whatever it is you do?”

Dream could feel the curiosity in Hob’s gaze and his questions, but Hob seemed to be holding back from asking him directly.

“No, I was…”

Whenever he was in the Waking, Dream was bound to the reactions of his human form, and as it were, he felt his throat closing up, and his heart raced as flashes of the glass orb flitted across his mind. The birds flying outside the window of Hob’s kitchen made too much noise, causing a memory to surface from a dark place in his mind that he kept hidden, a small raven pecking at his prison, exploding in blood and feathers following a gunshot—

He gritted his teeth and willed the images away as tears threatened to fill his eyes. He was better than this. The King of Dreams should have control over his own mind.

“Hey, hey,” Hob was standing in front of him, a worried expression on his face. “Come on, let’s sit down.” He gently pulled Dream’s arm to guide him to a chair at the small round table, where two tea cups were waiting for them. “You don’t have to talk about it, alright?”

Dream’s breathing was becoming shallow, and he clenched his fists on the table to force his hands to stop shaking.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m here,” Hob reached over and put his hands on one of Dream’s, stroking gentle circles with his thumb.

Dream released a shaky breath and opened his hands, wanting to withdraw them from the table to hide such a display of weakness, but Hob kept holding his right hand in both of his, meeting Dream’s questioning gaze with a soft smile.

“I was imprisoned,” Dream said before he could lose his voice again, the warm feeling of Hob’s hands emboldening him. “By a sorcerer who used my powers to gain wealth and youth.”

Hob’s eyes flashed with horror, anger, worry, and other emotions that went too quick for even Dream to catch. It was anger that stayed on his features as he gripped Dream’s hand more securely. “What did they do to you?” His gaze flitted over Dream as if looking for injuries. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but—”

“They didn’t hurt me,” Dream reassured his friend. He didn’t wish to cause him any more distress. “They took my tools of office and my raven companion…” Dream had to stop speaking again, forcing the images away from his mind’s eye. He took a calming breath. “But no, they did not injure me.”

“If I had known…” Hob shook his head in exasperation. “God, if I had known, I would have gotten you out of there myself. You know I would have.” The intensity in his gaze left no room for doubt in Dream’s mind. And the image of spending all that time with Hob instead of in the glass orb was so strong that Dream found himself returning Hob’s firm grip.

“Well, you’re here now. And we both have a lot of time.” The corner of his mouth lifted as he playfully repeated Hob’s words to him.

Hob seemed caught off-guard and he chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, we do. And nobody’s gonna take you while you’re in my house, alright? I can promise you that.”

Dream stared at Hob, searching his friend’s eyes for any false facades and found none. When was the last time someone had promised him sanctuary? Even in his own realm, he had his subjects to watch over. Safety was expected from him, never promised.

However, here at Hob's home, he did not have to be an infallible lord. Nobody expected him to know all the answers, and no judging eyes pried into him searching for the smallest flaws.

And was that not how it always felt with Hob? Even during the times he would not admit to their friendship, Hob’s presence was never something Dream felt guarded about. With Hob, he could simply… be.

“Morpheus.”

“What?” Hob's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“That is my name. Among many.”

Hob’s mouth dropped open, and the corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned. “Right. Right, then. If I’d known that I had to get stabbed to get your name, I would've let Lady Johanna’s thugs do it.”

“I would not have let that happen.” Dream felt himself smiling as well.

Hob furrowed his eyebrows as he seemed to realize something. “Wait, ‘Morpheus’, like the god of dreams?”

“I am no god. That is simply what the Ancient Greeks preferred to believe.”

“Okay,” Hob nodded slowly. “But you do have powers over dreams?”

“That is my function. My realm provides a safe place for humans to face their fears and wants.”

“And… does that mean you know what all humans dream about?” Hob’s voice was even, but his nervousness had returned.

“If I wanted, I could choose a dream to see into and take anything from it. That is how I summoned the supplies to treat your wound earlier. However, for the most part it is all in the back of my mind. Though some dreams are louder than others and catch my attention.”

Hob’s fingers suddenly felt cold against Dream’s hand. “Have you seen any of my dreams, then?”

Dream shook his head. “I prefer that you tell me yourself about your hopes and dreams, as you have done so in our past meetings. You are quite the engaging storyteller.” The anxious energy began to ebb away from Hob at that, but Dream still didn’t understand why it was there in the first place. “Is something wrong? Are there any nightmares you would like to get rid of? I could see into your dreams the next time you sleep and—”

“No,” Hob quickly cut him off. “No, it’s fine, really. I was just curious, that’s all.”

Hob got up and took the teapot from the counter, and Dream’s hand felt colder with the absence of Hob’s hold on him. He held his own teacup with both hands instead, taking in its warmth.

“I am curious as well, about how you have been faring over the past century.” Dream asked when Hob sat back down after refilling his cup. “You’re a teacher now? No longer interested in soldiering or banditry?”

Hob smiled at his teasing tone. “You know I haven’t been interested in those things in a long time. I figured, since the world’s only getting bigger, I’d like to know more about it as much as I can, and it wouldn’t hurt to try to teach the younger ones a thing or two about what I do already know.”

“Do you teach drawing as well?” Dream asked in genuine curiosity.

Hob’s cheeks turned a shade of red as he laughed. “No. The stuff in my sketchpad, that’s just for me. I don’t really show people anything I draw. Not very good at it, anyway,” he shrugged.

“I disagree. Since the Ancient Greeks, there have not been many temples nor shrines dedicated to me, but in your drawings I felt a similar sense of…” Reverence, he wanted to say, but he had recently learned that he could sound quite arrogant, and he did not want Hob to think of him as such. “Respect. And care. Your artworks are not without heart.”

Hob grinned. “Maybe I can draw your portrait then, while you sit right there.”

Dream tilted his head slightly, considering. “I would not mind.”

Hob’s grin melted off in surprise. “No, come on, I was just joking,” he averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “Anyway, yeah, I didn’t expect myself to be in the academic world either but here I am. Going for brains instead of brawn this century.”

They slipped into the comforting familiarity of Hob telling Dream about what he had been up to in the past decades. At some point, Hob made some ham and cheese sandwiches to go with their tea. Dream did not need food, but he finished his sandwich all the same. It was good, and it only made Hob smile brighter when he told him so. Which made Dream understand a little better why friends have meetings over food.

The sun had set some time ago when Hob’s phone made a noise. He paused in the middle of talking about an upcoming book fair to take it from his pocket.

“Oh, that’s right,” he looked at the screen after silencing the alarm. “Speaking of the book fair, I need to send some emails to confirm which of my colleagues and students would be attending. I gotta prepare what I’d be wearing, too,” his eyebrows furrowed. “The dean insisted on ‘smart casual’ and he takes these events seriously.”

Dream nodded and stood up, Hob followed suit.

A hundred years, then? Dream almost said, instinctively. But it didn’t feel right, not this time. Besides, Hob did say that there were far too many days in a century. And he could certainly agree.

“If you would be interested…” Dream began, gauging Hob’s reaction. “Perhaps I can pay you a visit once more, without waiting a hundred years. If your schedule would permit—”

“Yes,” Hob’s voice was tinged with surprise and gladness. He huffed out a relieved laugh. “Yes, of course, you beautiful bastard!” He took a step forward and seemed to stop himself, averting his eyes for a moment before looking at Dream again with a calmer expression. “It was nice seeing you again. Morpheus.”

Dream felt something warm in his chest from how Hob’s voice curled around his name, as if each syllable were something precious.

“Thanks for the help earlier at the alley,” Hob nodded vaguely in the direction of the outdoors.

“I hope to see you in a much better condition when I next visit,” Dream said sincerely.

Hob chuckled, and he took a few moments before he spoke again. “I’ll be at The New Inn tomorrow morning, since I don’t have any classes until the afternoon. I’ll be there until after lunch time, maybe. So if you wanna swing by…”

Dream had not expected to be invited again so soon, but he had no complaints. He nodded. “Tomorrow morning it is.”

Hob looked like he still wanted to say something, with the way his eyes darted around and how he kept shifting his weight on his feet. There it was again, the nervous energy that Dream couldn’t fathom. Hob had never seemed uncomfortable in his presence since that brief moment in 1489 when Hob had asked if he were the devil. What changed?

With his curiosity growing, Dream hadn’t noticed that the walls he put up to separate himself from Hob’s daydreams had begun to crumble, until a vivid image entered his mind.

“Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong,” Dream had told Hob then, on that night at The White Horse.

Hob had stepped closer to him, and before he could turn away and walk out the door, Hob’s arms were around his shoulders, pulling him close in a silent embrace that said so much more than what words could.

Dream blinked and put the walls back up. He did not wish to intrude upon Hob’s privacy, but he could still feel Hob’s regret in that modified memory. There was a part of Hob that blamed himself for not moving fast enough, for letting Dream go when he needed company the most. Nevermind that it would have been scandalous for two men to embrace in such a way in the 19th century.

“Hob,” Dream began, wanting to tell him that he had no fault at all in what happened back then.

“Yeah?” Hob asked, the nervous expression on his face giving way to curiosity.

Dream didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable with the knowledge that that particular daydream of his had been revealed, and he selfishly did not want Hob to stop meeting him anymore for fear of his mind being read.

So instead Dream stepped forward wordlessly, crossing the gap between them and wrapping his arms around Hob’s waist as he leaned into him.

Hob stiffened in surprise, but then he let out a breath and relaxed in the embrace, putting his arms around Dream’s neck and resting his chin on Dream’s shoulder.

“It took me more than six centuries to admit that we are friends,” Dream said softly. “I thank you for your patience with me, Hob Gadling. I do not know what I have done to deserve it.”

Hob buried his face in Dream’s neck and sighed, causing warmth to prickle on Dream’s skin and pool in his belly. “You deserve so much more, dove,” Hob muttered. “I’m just glad to give what I can.”

Before Dream knew what was happening, another image filled his mind, as bright as a sun’s glare, impossible to ignore even if one shut their eyelids against it.

Hob pulled back from their embrace and reached up to caress Dream’s face, then he leaned closer to press their foreheads together.

“I missed you so much,” Hob sighed, his breath brushing Dream’s mouth. “You can stay longer, yeah?”

The images flashed by quickly. Hob cooking breakfast, the both of them walking around a park, Dream bringing Hob to his flat late in the evening, Hob wrapping his arms around Dream’s neck and reaching up to press their lips together, Dream pulling Hob closer to him as they learned the shape of each other’s mouths—

Dream forced himself out of Hob’s daydreams, willing the walls back up. His face felt suddenly and uncharacteristically warm.

Hob tightened his embrace, and Dream found himself returning the gesture. The realization was surging up within him that not only did he not feel opposed to Hob’s daydreams, but that they were also something he wanted. Dangerously so.

Dream gently pulled away from Hob, fearing that his friend would be able to feel how fast his heart was racing.

He didn’t want to leave so soon when they had not seen each other in more than a hundred years, but what he did want with Hob now was far too important to act recklessly upon, and he was afraid he’d do reckless things indeed if he stayed longer.

“I shall see you tomorrow, Hob Gadling,” he said evenly as he took a step back.

“You better.”

Dream summoned his sand and watched Hob’s smiling face until he was transported to his realm.

He promptly made his way to the library. His knowledge was lacking when it came to courtship among humans; he had a lot of reading to do.

——

Chapter 2 ->

(Masterlist)

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gooch-cancer · 4 months ago

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Steven Meeks x (GN!) Piano Player! Reader

In which: You are a church pianist for the Welton church whose gentle melodies caught the attention of Steven Meeks

A/N: I'm screaming and crying I finally have written out a plan for this story so it's not all over the place! Anyway erm I'm starting school soon and the thought literally makes me physically ill. Prev chapter here!

Chapter 5:

Steven longingly looked after you as you walked out of the chapel, he felt a pang in his chest from how badly he yearned for you. Slowly, he walked out of the chapel his head hanging low. He saw his friends waiting outside a couple of yards away from the entrance. He sulked to them as he felt tears threaten to fall from his eyes. Pitts rushed toward him and put his hands on Stevens shoulders, "Hey! Hey hey hey it's ok! Don't- don't look like that it's ok!" He was frantic to cheer his friend up and the other boys quickly saw and surrounded him. Pitts took his hands off of Meeks's shoulders and backed away slightly to join the group and give him room.

"If they didn't like your poem it's their loss Meeks," Charlie narrowed his eyes, clearly already making his mind up about you.

Steven shook his head, his voice quiet and shaking whilst he spoke, "No, no it's fine," he sniffed.

Charlie looked at him shocked, "No it's not dammit-" Neil put his hand in a knife position and waved it back in forth against his neck in a 'cut it out' signal towards Charlie. This shut him up.

Todd spoke in that timid way he always did, "Go on, tell us what happened Meeks,"

Steven let out a shaky breath and wiped his eye with his index and middle fingers, "I um went to talk to them but they couldn't stay long. They had to leave, but at least I got to give it to them," He looked down and sighed.

Neil furrowed his eyebrows, "Well...at least that means something doesn't it?"

Steven nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, "I just...I wish I could talk to them. I wanted to tell them in person,"

Neil moved toward Steven and hugged him, "I know buddy, I know," Neil stole a glance at Todd, their eyes met for a second in a way that no one else noticed. Neil quickly looked away and back down at Meeks before letting him go and walking back to his original position.

Steven wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Yeah- thanks Neil," he sighed and looked back up at his friends, "Thanks guys,"

The group all shared looks of concern and Knox piped up, "So...what're you gonna do now?"

Steven shrugged, "I honestly have no clue,"

Knox wouldn't have this, "You need to try again," Steven looked at him, his face a mixture of confusion and shock, "What?"

Knox frowned as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "You said they couldn't talk like it wasn't their choice, just try again when they can,"

Charlie raised his eyebrows in shock, "Chris is becoming a positive influence I see," he chuckled and looked at Steven, "He's right you know, if they didn't like talking to you they wouldn't have these past two weeks,"

Steven groaned, "But what do I do?" he cried, "I used all of my 'romantic talents' on that stupid poem!"

Neil gasped, "Hey, don't say stuff like that it wasn't stupid," Steven shook his head, "I- I can't talk about this right now,"

Cameron nodded, "He's right, someone will search for us soon. We need to be getting back into the building,"

Charlie scoffed, "Getting a demerit won't kill you,"

Cameron glared at him and snapped back, "Yeah but it might kill you,"

Pitts groaned, "Oh my god can we not? Let's just go inside ok?" Charlie grumbled but agreed. Some of the boys began to walk and Pitts gestured for Steven to follow them. As always he did.

The next day, Steven wandered through the halls like a zombie. His eyes were glossy from the lack of sleep and his hair an utter mess. Charlie chuckled when he saw him, "Got into a fight big guy?" Steven barely acknowledged him, he just shook his head. Charlie clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, exasperated, "Come on, you gotta get over it. You'll see them on Wednesday,"

Steven scoffed and mumbled, "I doubt it,"

Charlie looked shocked and annoyed at this change of character, "Have you even eaten?"

Steven just shook his head in response, "No...appetite,"

Charlie raised an eyebrow, "Ok well that explains it...come on. I'm meeting Todd and Neil in the common room. Todds bringing snacks,"

Steven shook his head yet again, it was simpler to delve into easily read body language than to speak when words aren't coming to you. Charlie scoffed, "I'm not having that," he grabbed Steven by the wrist. His grip was gentle, one that said 'I have you but if you truly want to leave then I'll allow it' Steven let Charlie guide him to the room, the rest were there along with Pitts working on the radio. Steven had completely forgotten about it. He sat beside Pitts and stared at him while he worked, Todd handed him a bag of chips.

Steven sadly opened the bag and began to shovel chips into his mouth as Charlie looked on at him in amusement. Charlie sat beside him and turned his head in his direction, "Isn't that better?" Steven nodded. Pitts handed Steven the wire, "Here Meeks, do what you were doing earlier and try to pick up a signal ok?" Steven nodded and picked up the wire, he felt better with a distraction.

When Wednesday finally came there was a sense of calm that Steven had. He still missed you but you were no longer the forefront of his mind. He missed you but it was no longer debilitating. However, when he saw you again his friends efforts to help were immediately out the window. You were truly a marvelous creature. Something not even of this world, an angel. You smiled at him before you sat down onto your bench, he returned the favor. Steven turned back to Mr.Nolan and turned the pages of his songbook while waiting for him to call out the hymn number. Steven looked back up at you, his face a slight pink when you smiled again. He was so excited to speak with you.

The chapel slowly emptied but Steven stayed put, a big grin on his face as you approached him. You sat next to him and looked forward, without facing him you timidly said, "I'm so sorry about Sunday,"

Steven looked at you shocked, "Oh- oh no it's quite alright,"

You turned to him your eyebrows furrowed in concern, "You sure?"

Steven nodded rapidly, "Yes, yes of course,"

You sighed in relief, "Oh that's good...I just feel so bad, especially after reading that poem,"

Steven immediately flushed at the mention of his poem, "Um what'd you think?"

You looked up at him and chuckled, "There's a lot of passion hidden in you isn't there? Guess I did have a point when saying there's talent hidden at Welton,"

Steven felt like the happiest man on earth when this was said. Nothing could touch him at this moment. He looked at you, the corner of his eyes scrunched up while he grinned at you. He responded, his voice slightly giggly from pure joy, "Thank you, thank you so much. So, I guess you know huh?"

You looked at him confused, "Know what?"

Steven's smile faded slightly but his confidence surged back, this was the moment. He called you by your name and responded, "My feelings for you,"

You tilted your head, "Feelings? You barely know me-"

Steven shook his head, "Then let me know you. Tell me everything about yourself. Talk to me for hours. I want to know everything there is to know about you. Your likes, dislikes, your memories, and the new ones I can make with you," he gasped slightly at the end, he wasn't supposed to let that slip.

You felt your face heat up and you looked down in embarrassment, "Steven..."

He leaned down to try and meet your eyes, his own pleading, "Please...I won't say I'm in love with you, but I'd like to be,"

You shook your head, "I don't understand,"

He gently reached a hand up to your cheek, cupping it as he held your head gently, "It's ok, I honestly barely do myself," He laughed softly, staring into your eyes as the light reflected off your face.

You slightly leaned into his touch, "Sometimes," you took a breath, "Sometimes I come here to practice, on Saturdays, I am not always there but please...meet me,"

Steven's heart jumped, absolutely elated, "Yes, yes of course I will. I will be here every Saturday for the slight chance of seeing you," He took his hand down and laid back to his side. He considered holding yours but there was still a part of him that was absolutely terrified of you scorning him.

You slowly got up and smoothed out your sweater. You looked at him with sad eyes as you bid farewell, "Goodbye Steven, I'll see you Sunday, maybe Saturday," Steven's shoulders dropped slightly but he smiled gently at you nonetheless. He remained seated as you walked out, watching your back like the first time he saw you.

#steven meeks dps #steven meeks x reader #steven meeks #dead poets fandom #dead poets fanfic #dead poets society #fanfic #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #writinf #yay!!! yippee!!!#i'm finally done!!#knox overstreet #charlie dalton #neil perry #gerard pitts #richard cameron #todd anderson

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ilyuu-archive · 1 year ago

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warnings : spiderman scara,,,,,,,,, hurt/comfort, fluff (at the end), exes to lovers, argument, injuries, mentions of blood, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n : this is so rushed head in hands

all thanks to @gekkow <3

“…again?”

there’s no response.

at the edge of the balcony, on the handrails, is a someone that you’ve seen a bit too many times for your liking (and yet not enough.) his mask is pulled off, showing you a face too familiar.

a shaft of moonlight frames him, and grazes his skin as to shine on the scars that tears - blotches of blood mar, and whether it was his or someone else’s, the stench of iron, copper, is something you don’t see yourself adjusting to anytime soon. his suit, tightly clinging to his body, bears ash, cinders to it as motes of embers float around him if you know what to look for. webs stick to the rails.

in the backdrop, sirens ring. an echo of disaster yet again.

strands of his hair are strayed, unruly, as it sticks to his skin in all sorts of ways. you took a step, and, even as the dark of the night seems to swallow him whole, just barely, you see him stiffen. you soon find yourself before him, and with little to no hesitation on your part, you cup his cheeks in the palm of your hand, and try to brush his hair into order (into what you’re used to.)

his breath hitches.

“i’m no doctor, y’know,” you told him, words with a bite, and yet, softer, quieter. your fingers comb his fringes. “you can’t keep coming here every single time you need a patch up.”

“…don’t know where else to go,” is all he says. you still. there’s a lack of… anything in his voice, his words. just a husk of himself. “this is the only place i could think of.”

he doesn’t meet your eyes.

you don’t know how to take that.

the silence finds the two of you again as you step back, seeing the locks of his hair, fade in with the night. free of ash, if debris, of any sign - it made you let go of the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. (one of the many things from the last few months that made you think.)

“alright,” you let go of him, and turned, “let me just get the first ai—”

“[name].”

the way he calls your name has you in a grip. his shadow looms over you, lofty, and dragged out that you’re engulfed in his own sort of faint darkness. he alights himself from the rails and takes a step towards you, and that alone has you still. he notices and stays where he is for a bit - the bit that stretched on into minutes.

“i…” he sighs, and the sound is coalesced with thoughts and feelings that feels foreign to you. you aren’t sure whether you’d like where said thoughts and feelings were going to lead him to, even as you know now.

“can we talk about this later?” those are words you’ve played on loop as of late, scratching on its record; it tastes of vinyl. “this isn’t a good time fo—“

“will that time ever come then?”

“i… i don’t know.”

“you’re not sure if anything as of late.”

“as of late, as you put it, someone came back into my life after leaving out of nowhere. so, no, everything i thought i knew, i— it doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.”

he falls quiet.

“you can’t just— just come and go whenever you want to. that just…” you bit your lip, a searing pain cut into the skin, and taste a bead of blood. the feeling doesn’t compare to this feeling, these feelings. “that just hurts. dammit, kuni, it hurts.

those feelings of loss, wondering whether it was something you’ve done, and all those nights, staying up until the sun itself welcomes you anew, turning on those corners of thoughts, memories with him. everything was alright, everything seemed fine - you were happy, more than happy, with him and every single shred of memory you look into has been blanketed in bliss.

and you were sure he felt the same. the small smiles on his lips, the quiet acts of affection he did to express himself in his way, the way he looks at you - was it all some sort of vision you’ve deluded yourself to fall for since the very start?was it something at all? or was it nothing? was everything nothing?

and those thoughts from those nights seems to flood into your head yet again. you aren’t sure (anymore.)

and when he wrapped his arms around you? awkward, light, and yet, gentle all the same? you felt like crying right then and there, in the one place, in the arms of someone you love, that you didn’t find yourself in for a while. you didn’t mind if some of the blood smears on you, you didn’t mind if the ash clings onto you, you didn’t mind.

and you didn’t like you didn’t mind. you didn’t like how you didn’t mind the way he held you, as if he wasn’t the first person who’d let go all those months ago. as if he want the one who left and never did look back, as if this entire thing that held the two of you so tightly, so tenderly, was simply a tie to be soon cut.

“to be the reason,” he says, and a silver of himself shines through, “that you’d get hurt, sooner or later, whether or not i was the one who caused it… i wasn’t going to risk it.”

“so leaving was the only choice you had?”

“it… was for the best.”

“even you don’t believe that.

“maybe not. i didn’t want you to be harmed simply because of what i’m involved in, in what i commit to on a daily basis.” his fingers curl into your hair. “because… because of me. i won’t let that happen. i didn’t want to let that happen.”

a pause.

“…do you hate me?”

“i do.” you feel his arms slacken a bit. “every single time i tried to sleep, and every single time i saw something that reminded me too much about you, i hate you all over again.”

“and then i fall in love with you in those same things.”

you turn around in his arms, and notice how close he is to you, a bit closer than either of you expect. he turns his head to the side, for your sake, giving you some space, but he follows along with you as your fingers tilt his head back to you. there’s a spark the two of you shared, flitting across your fingertips.

“it’d hurt, kuni, i’m not going to lie. and don’t think just because you had the intent to protect me is going to fix this or make me feel better either because there are a lot more of ways to go about that.” you wrap your arms around his waist, and feel him tense all over again, all on ends. his nerves are soothe, though, as your hand caresses his back in soft, slow strokes.

“…just don’t leave me again.”

he settles himself in the crook of your neck, taking in all of you - from your warmth, overwhelming the cold of his skin, the tremble of your voice, and all the other things that seemed to slip from his fingers over the months without you. your fingers shivered, pulling on his shoulders, leaving dents into his skin - he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“of course.” he pressed a peck to your forehead. the softness of his lips against your skin softened your nerves, if only for a bit, a second out of thousands.

“i’d rather be beside you if anything happens.”

general taglist (open!) : @/zuyoo, @starz222, @haliyamori, @kazumist, @/tartaglia-apologist, @mikacynth, @angelkazusstuff, @doumalove, @kpop-and-otome, @emo-mess, @kissedbysilk . . .

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact drabbles #genshin drabbles #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you

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monaisme · 2 months ago

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Sicktember: Day 8

#8- “The closest doctor is probably hours away from here!”

“Dammit!” Tim shouted at the top of his lungs as he paced the end of the gravel driveway. “Of all the stupid, idiotic things I could do...” He ran his blood stained hands through his too long hair. “SHIT!”

Jason couldn’t blame Tim for his frustration. Yeah, getting their weekends mixed up and spending a couple of unnecessary hours trapped in a car with their least favourite persons without any sort of reprieve sucked. But what really sucked was Tim managing to gash the back of his calf while trying to jump the old, padlocked farm gate blocking access to the Kent’s driveway while they were away.

“Look,” Jason continued rifling through the copious supplies in the trunk of the car, “you can shout all you want, Replacement, but it’ll get you exactly nowhere. It was a mistake. I get it. And now we’re here. Your pacing like a madman, however,” he looked over his shoulder at the teenager, “is gonna keep pulling the wound open which means the bleeding won’t stop, and you- oh, spleenless wonder—will most likely pass out from eventual blood loss, develop an infection, and die.”

Tim stormed over, “And you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he accused.

Jason just chuckled bitterly as he went about his search, “Kid, if it would keep you quiet while I hunt for the first aid kit, then I’m all for it.”

“Funny.” Tim snarked back as he limped his way over to the vehicle. He hissed as he plunked himself down in the passenger seat with his legs dangling out of the car then went on. “I don’t see why you’re still digging in the trunk, though. Just grab a blanket so I don’t bleed all over your interior and we can make our way to a hospital or some doctor’s office.”

“Pfft. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?” Jason reached further into the trunk then, with a grunt, pulled the first aid kit from its hiding spot. “We’re literally in a town called Smallville, dumbass. I imagine the closest doctor is probably hours away from here!”

Tim thought for a few seconds, then blinked as he looked down at his leg, then over to Jason as he slammed the trunk closed. “Unless I’ve hit my head, too, I’m pretty sure we’d be able to see Metropolis in the distance if we got somewhere high enough... and we sure as hell made enough of an effort to drive around it while we drove here for you to know that, so try again.”

Jason just scowled. “You’re not so great at pickin’ up cues, are you?” And then thrust the kit into Tim’s hands. “Apparently not! I said ‘I imagine!’ Now zip it! I want to get this done and we can make our way home without you lookin’ like a damned crime scene victim, or having B think I tried to kill you again. Besides—” And Jason glowered at this, “you know that Superman doesn’t like us in Metropolis proper, so you can’t be shocked that I’m tryin’ to keep us off his radar.” Jason threw open the back passenger door and started digging aggressively again. “Geez, he barely tolerates us in Smallville, right now!”

Tim sighed. He knew that, and knew exactly how touchy Jason was about the whole thing, so he let it drop. And he also knew that Jason kept his cars stocked with just about anything a crime lord could need in an emergency, be it for an innocent bystander or criminal alike, not that he could keep track of any of it for the life of him. With the blanket sitting there in the back, right on top of what looked like an AED, well, Tim was losing patience and couldn’t help himself. Tim spoke up, “You know, if you would just let me—”

Jason cut him off, “For cryin’ out loud, Timothy!” he shouted, intentionally using a name he knew triggered Drake more than any ‘Replacement’ jab ever would, and violently slapped an open hand against the frame of the car door, “How’s about if you would just shut up for five fuckin’ minutes!”

Tim gasped audibly as he jumped in response, but at least he’d finally shut up.

And there was no way Jason was going to complain about the silence, so he shifted a couple of his heavier duffle bags, tracking down the stash of water bottles he normally kept for emergencies hiding underneath. “Finally!” He struggled a little to tear through the plastic, but eventually got through and grabbed three bottles with one hand, straightened, then slammed the back car door. “At least now I can rinse you off a bit before we disinfect this bad boy.”

Jason barely caught it—wasn’t even sure he’d actually seen it, but—had Tim flinched and the door closed shut?

“Replacement?”

Wide eyed and pale faced, Tim responded immediately. “Yes, sir?” then blanched even further when he caught himself, “Sorry. I meant—I mean- Jason.”

He almost joked about liking the sound of ‘sir,’ hoping to shake off whatever this new heaviness was that had settled over them, but one look at the kid and Jason knew better, “Uh, Tim?” He dropped the water bottles onto the gravel beside him as he crouched down to assess. “Are you okay?”

Tim blinked, cleared his throat, opened his mouth to answer, but said nothing... could say nothing.

Jason frowned. “Hey? You’re lookin’ a little—” like those kids he’d find huddled behind a dumpster tryin’ to hide from their parent before they could get them again—like one of the kids Red Hood would help- protect- avenge. How caught up in his pit rage had he been that Jason not seen it before? His stomach churned at the realization. “Pale.” He finished his sentence as he groped blindly for one of the bottles, afraid to take his eyes off of Tim. His fingers brushed against plastic. Thank goodness. “Here, drink this.” He cracked the bottle top and then handed it over with one hand as he took the kit from Tim’s hands with his other. “Then we’ll see if we can get this cleaned and wrapped and us on the road quick enough that Alfie can get you some of those ass-kickin’ antibiotics of yours.” Jason tentatively patted Tim’s leg and smiled awkwardly. “It would suck if something actually happened, huh?”

Jason had hoped that the physical contact would jolt Tim back into the here and now, but no luck.

Tim’s brow furrowed as he got caught up in his head. He needed to get a better grip on things, not be the weak little shit- disappointment- burden that still froze when Dad raised his voice... or silenced his.

“Is that alright with you, Tim?” Jason lowered the first aid kid down to the ground beside him.

Something was wrong with Tim.

... and if the others realized...

“Tim?”

... he’d lose everything that made Tim, well, Tim...

“fuck.”

... he’d. be. nothing.

Hoping he was wrong, Jason resorted to snapping his fingers in Tim’s face. “Come on, Tim. Give me a sign that you’re okay.”

And in a snap, Tim was gone.

He’d only been joking about him bleeding out, but with Tim now nonresponsive, Jason couldn’t help but glance around and make sure he actually wasn’t—but no. There were no unnervingly large pools of blood staining the Kent property as far as he could tell, though the leg wound definitely needed tending.

Could this be a seizure?

Jason tugged the water bottle out of Tim’s grasp.

Tim sat stone still.

What the hell had gone wrong? A part of him wanted to say Superman be damned and bundle Tim off to a Metropolis ER, but none of this was sitting right. This was way too far out of Jason’s wheelhouse, and he knew it. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.

Dammit.

In a flash, his cell phone was out of his pocket and Jason was tapping on the first contact he came across.

It only rang once before the call was picked up, “Who are you and how did you get brother’s phone?”

“Stop it, Dick—”

“What you can’t be surprised! You never call, you don’t write—”

“Dick, please—”

“I’d almost think—”

“Something’s wrong with Tim! Does he have a seizure disorder? Anything that would make him blank screen?”

Playfulness went out the window. “What happened?”

A small part of Jason had expected, “What did you do to him?” but they’d moved beyond that—all of them had. Thank goodness.

“He cut his leg on some wire, and I think I yelled, and now he’s blanked out,” Jason rushed out.

Dick thought for a second. “Wait a sec? You THINK? you yelled at him? I’m gonna need you to be specific here, Jay—” he was starting to sound a little more than concerned.

“Okay. I may have definitely yelled at him.” His stomach sank.

“Jay—”

Now he heard the anticipated disappointed. “Look, it’s done, and I can’t exactly undo it now so here we are.”

Dick exhaled loudly enough to be heard over the phone.

“And I’m guessin’ this means I’ve totally fucked up?”

Dick didn’t say anything.

“Got it. It’s for the kid to say and no one else.” Jason ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “Does this jive with what you’re thinkin’?”

Another sigh, “Yeah.”

And all of the pieces fell together. “So I’m dealin’ a dissociative episode?” Thank goodness B had insisted on them all taking comprehensive field medic training—not that the mental aspect was as cut and dry as something like the still not dealt with wound on Tim’s leg.

“I am neither confirming nor denying anything.”

It was Jason’s turn to sigh. “Is there anything you can actually tell me?”

Dick was silent for a second, then offered, “You may want to have a plastic bag ready.”

Jason dropped his head in defeat. “He’s a puker. Perfect.”

“No.” Dick snapped. “He’s a kid with a shitty history, just like the rest of us, and we all cope differently. Don’t be an ass to him, Jay. I’m serious.”

Properly chastised, he simply replied, “I won’t,” and disconnected the call.

Jason had work to do. Without a word, he stood up, glanced into the backseat of the car, and stepped over the forgotten first aid kid and water bottles to the back passenger door again. This time, he knew where he needed to go, and had the handful of bags in his hands in mere moments before heading straight back to his place in front of Tim.

With a flourish, Jason snapped two of the bags open and doubled them up, then placed them in the footwell to the side. “Hang on, kid.” Jason muttered as he shifted back to the first aid kid at his side. “I know you’re in there... and I’m so sorry.”

And he really was.

He dug through the once organized first aid kit for the—“Got it!” The cold pack was in Jason hands in a flash, anything around it now detritus as it flew to the ground in his haste. A twist and squeeze, then a little shake were all it took to activate it. Some minor, but gentle manoeuvring of Tim’s hands had him seated with them resting upon the icy gel pack on his lap.

Jason rocked back on his heels once it was done.

Now, all he had to do was wait... well, that was a lie. Jason needed to be a little more proactive than that.

He owed Tim that.

“Hey, Tim. You’re okay,” Jason whispered encouragement as he softly pressed his own hands onto Tim’s to ensure solid contact with the cold. “You may not believe it, but you’re safe.” He repeated this like a mantra, over and over while taking deep, exaggerated breaths. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

It took only minutes—and forever, if you asked Jason—but Tim shifted ever so slightly in his seat.

Jason perked up at the movement, but still spoke in his hushed tone. “That’s it, buddy. You’ve got this.”

Inhale—

Exhale—

Tim blinked.

“There you are. Good job.”

Why was Jason—?

“You’re okay. Nice and easy. Just breathe.”

What? Tim looked down. Where had the ice pack come from?

“Hey, Tim?” Jason edged a little closer, “Are you with me?”

“I’m sorry?” Tim apologized weakly.

“No apologies necessary. Just keep breathing.”

“I must’ve zoned out for a second?”

Jason crooked his head, assessed, then smiled a knowing smile. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Things felt a disjointed. “Did I hurt my wrists?” Tim raised his hand up before him cautiously.

And even more gently, Jason pressed Tim’s hands back down onto the cold pack. “You’re fine...” Jason trailed off and then continued. “Well, we still have to take care of that leg, but only when you’re ready, okay?”

Tim took his first deep breath and closed his eyes. “Okay.”

Jason watched and waited.

It didn’t take long for Tim’s breathing to pick up.

“Tim?”

“I’m okay.”

Jason was not convinced.

Even in the remnants of his haze, Tim knew that he needed to pull it together. “I’m okay.”

“Have some water.” Jason was pushing a bottle at Tim that he may or may not have had a faint recollection of holding earlier?

Tim shook his head, ‘no.’ “If I do I’m gonna—”

Sure that this had nothing to do with drinking the water, Jason reached over the grab the plastic bags. “You’re okay, remember?”

Tim huffed a laugh at the bags as they came into view, “Are you trying to convince me?”

Jason laughed softly, too. “Nah, I think we both know where this is going.”

Tim whimpered and doubled over, dropping the water bottle to the ground.

“You’re okay,” Jason shifted, simply so he could rub Tim’s back in comfort. “I’ve gotcha, buddy.”

Tim grabbed the bag, “Why?” Tim whispered as he prepared for what came next.

“Shhh, just keep breathin,’ Tim.” Jason soothed, “I’m workin’ on pickin’ up the cues.”

#sicktember 2024 #Day Eight: “The closest doctor is probably hours away from here!”#Day 8 #DCU #hurt/comfort #Tim Drake & Jason Todd #tw: dissociation #tw: dissociative episode #Tim Drake is having a bad day #Jason Todd is having a bad day #mental health issues #OBlossom #ao3 fanfic

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delta-pavonis · 2 years ago

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Sandman WIP: 9.1 on the Richter Scale

Anything greater that 9.0 on the Richter Scale indicates permanent changes in ground topography.

Warning: Content is post-The Wake and therefore contains comic spoilers!

All things considered, this might be the strangest moment of Hob’s long life.

At least the setting was familiar.

Sitting at the New Inn, nursing a pint, Hob watched the person across the table from him carefully. He had agreed to meet him here—here of all places and when Hob had seen the location in the letter he had almost torn the whole thing up and burnt it—and Hob was starting to regret it. Even after a few decades the pain was very near, the wound barely healed over.

Not that the other individual seemed to have any idea what he himself was doing, either. He was acting… awkward wasn’t quite how Hob would put it, he was still the King of Dreams and Nightmares, after all. There was a certain presence that came with the position. But, as it had been explained to him, he wasn’t the same Dream that Hob had known. All vague similarities in features and presence aside, this was not Morpheus. Most definitely not.

Dream-that-was-not-Morpheus finally broke the silence, although he didn’t look up from where his finger was tracing a whorl in the wood of the tabletop. “I am… sorry for your loss.”

Hob resisted rolling his eyes. You are the loss he wanted to growl. Or maybe Too little, too late. “Okay.” He took a gulp of his ale.

The white-haired man’s lips pressed together in a thin, flat line. Apparently that was not the answer he was looking for. He could suck it.

“So what am I supposed to call you?” Hob was not trying to come off as defensive, he really wasn’t. But there was not an inconsiderable amount of his heart that could not interpret what happened as anything other than this man taking, replacing, destroying his lover.

The smallest hint of a smile curled those familiar-yet-not pink lips. “I suppose it is too much to ask you to call me Dream.”

“You suppose right.” The other man looked startled, just for a blink, but Hob was extremely skilled at reading that marble face, even after all this time. Dammit, Hob, stop being such a petty twat. Clearly this person was trying. Hells knew why he was trying or what his goals were, but… Hob sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I am sorry.” That got the other man’s attention and blue eyes met brown for the first time that evening. “I don’t mean to be such an arse. It is just… no matter how you explain it, I know you are not him.”

Blue eyes, too bright blue, not blue-gray like they were supposed to be, watched Hob carefully for a bit, seemed to be considering something. Exactly what, Hob had no idea.

“Daniel. You can call me Daniel.” He offered, softly.

Hob couldn’t hold back the bark of a laugh at that. It was so… so… mundane. Daniel looked hurt at the laugh and wasn’t that a new expression to see on that carved face. Hob held up a placating hand. “No, sorry, I just… didn’t expect a name so… ordinary?”

At that Daniel smiled, wide and bright, something Hob had only seen on Morpheus’s face maybe a half dozen times. “Would you prefer Prince of Stories?”

A joke? Hob snorted and couldn’t completely tamp down his own smile. “Okay… Daniel.” Directing the name at this man seemed bizarre. “So why are we here? Why do you want to talk to me? Your letter said it wasn’t urgent, but I cannot fathom what you want from me, of all people.”

Daniel’s expression got more somber. “I apologize for this ahead of time, H-” He cut himself off. “What would you prefer to be called?”

And did that startle the hell out of Hob. None of the Endless had ever given him such consideration upon their first meeting, other than Death herself. “Hob is fine.” He was too surprised to say anything else.

That seemed to relax Daniel a bit. “I apologize for this ahead of time, Hob. But I think you deserve to know this so that you—and I—can act based on all available information.” Hob blinked rapidly. Well, he had gotten Hob’s attention. Daniel looked down again and tucked some of his long hair behind a perfect ear, such a human movement, almost embarrassed. What could the King of Dreams and Nightmares possibly have to be embarrassed about? “At first, I thought it was just residual, from the transformation. That it would fade over time, as I became used to this new form and new perspective and new emotional state. It did not. It got stronger.” Hob got goosebumps, sat forward in his seat, leaning towards Daniel, straining to make sure he heard every word exactly correct. “It seems that you, Hob Gadling,” Daniel looked right at him and the stars Hob had missed so much floated there. “You have become a fundamental part of me. Of Dream of the Endless. Morpheus’ love for you has transcended form and space and is now woven into the very fabric of this being.” Hob collapsed back in his seat, staring at Daniel open-mouthed and stunned. “In the practical sense this means… well it means that I miss you. Desperately.” Daniel shook his head and let out a self-deprecating laugh. He looked away and out the front window of the pub. “I miss something—someone—I have never had.”

Christ in Heaven. Hob just stared and stared. Never in his wildest dreams…

It was only when tears started to slide down his cheeks that Hob moved, first to wipe at his face and then to swallow down the rest of the pint in one long go of it. He came to a decision. “Alright,” Hob slammed the empty pint down on the table. “Let’s go then.” He got up, gathering his coat and heading out the door.

“What are you…” Daniel started reaching out as Hob walked past.

Hob turned back to him. “My flat is just down a ways. I need stronger liquor and a more comfortable chair for this conversation, if you wish to have it.” Then he tilted his head in invitation and continued out the door.

#spoilers for The Wake #The Sandman #Dream of the Endless #Dreamling #past Morpheus x Hob #future Daniel x Hob #Daniel X Hob #Dream x Hob #I just have a lot of feelings OK

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shadowsshowdown · 2 years ago

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Deus Ex: Human Revolution Shadow’s Showdown: Chapter 23

The One Called Navras.

Detroit. Laura's apartment.

Laura struggled furiously but the attacker did not give her a chance to escape, much less a counterattack. He was amused by the insults he heard from her lips, but for his safety, he still held her hands tightly. The woman fought furiously for her life, but her every move was just another loss of strength.

"You haven't changed a bit, Little Orchid," he said, counting on that the woman will come to her senses before she completely exhausts her strength in this pointless hand waving.

Miss Werner suddenly stopped fighting as if a spell had been cast on her with those two words. She slowly analyzed what she had just heard, not believing it could be true.

"What kind of sorcery is this?!" she growled, growing suspicious again. She tugged her entire body a few times, slowly looking up at the face of the man who let go of one of her hands to remove the dark purple hood from his head. "Navras..." she whispered and in a split second, she became as gentle as a lamb.

"Well you finally said something sensible," he muttered, taking a step away from her. "And now..." "Joe! By all the plagues of the world!" she screamed furiously. "Where the fuck have you been all this time?! Answer me, or I'll rip your balls off!" Laura started punching him with anger, not controlling what she was aiming at. "I needed you! Now you dare come in here like nothing the fuck is wrong?! You have no idea what I've been through!"

Navras just stood there and let her vent her anger. "Beat me! Humiliate me! Say dirty things to me. Oh yes, that's just the way I like it," he muttered with amusement while removing his black gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his black fancy-cut coat, which glinted purple in the light. With that gesture, he revealed his cybernetic prosthetic arms. "A little more on the back, please," he said with sarcasm in his voice.

The man hoped that in a moment she would get over it as she usually did, but not this time. He sighed in boredom, seeing that Laura wasn't going to stop beating him at all. Fortunately, he was an aug, so her furious blows were barely a tickle to him. Navras’s dermal armor was absorbing each successive blow, but it was also becoming gradually depleted in a process. Well... Not this time.

"Control yourself, dammit!" he always tried being calm when dealing with Laura, but there came times like this when his patience was abused. "Instead of wasting our time and your strength you better tell me what's going on here."

Laura, tired of blowing off steam at Joe, looked at him with the gaze of a spoiled brat, then suddenly she wrapped her arms around his waist tightly and snuggled in. The man sighed again, put his arms around her, and tousled Laura’s hair, now tied in a high ponytail. He was about twelve inches taller than her, but that didn't bother him at all.

"Unfortunately I don't have much time. Coming here was very risky anyway, but I had to do it," he said in a bass-baritone voice that could be deep and after a while makes her shiver with its lightness. Laura loved listening to him in every version, and he knew it perfectly well.

In silence, they walked together to the living room and sat on the violet sofa close to each other. Joe didn't want her to turn on the light. Laura had a gut feeling he was as afraid of what was coming as she was, but he didn't say it out loud because he wanted to be strong for her. He had always been like that – steadfast, concealing fear, mysterious. She had known Joe for so long, and knew very little about him, while Joe knew all of her secrets. The woman cuddled up to him quite freely, inhaling the oriental-spicy scent of the perfumed water with the top note of ginger. He had used it since they met. Navras leaned comfortably against the backrest of the sofa tilting his head slightly back. Laura noticed he was still pinning up the dark brown hair on top of his head into something resembling a bun, leaving a few loose strands that fell freely, accentuating his well-defined cheekbones. He hadn't given up the braid on the left side of his head either. Joe was just as she remembered him, completely as if time had stopped for him. Navras gave himself and her some more time because he didn't know when or if they would ever see each other again.

"Kratos is hunting me," Laura said quietly. She hoped he would care about what she said, that he would at least be interested in this fact. Miss Werner was aware of his cold indifference which was only apparent.

"I know little one. He tracked me down too," he muttered, reluctantly taking up the subject. "I have to disappear once again. That's why I came." Joe felt her hand tighten on his loose, light violet shirt. He knew he was causing her pain because Laura was hoping for something completely different. It was selfish, but he had to see Evie before leaving forever.

"Don't leave me... Please… Adam doesn't want me either because I'm a rag and slut. Kratos is threatening me. I've been raped, nothing makes sense, and you only came here to tell me that you’re leaving," she said in a voice full of regret, one that moved him to his core. Nevertheless, he had to stick to what he decided.

"Believe me or not, but of all the people you know, I understand your situation best. I've been there for you, lived through those moments, and shared your pain. Now I must disappear. If you care for me, you will let me go. I wouldn’t do that if it wasn’t serious. Trust me," Joe was able to adjust his voice perfectly to help him get the right message.

„We can solve our problems together as we always did. I will help you as much as I can. I…"

„No, Evie," Navras stopped her from ending the sentence. He knew the words that would come next. She would beg him, and that was something Joe didn’t want to hear.

"Say you'll come back at least. Please say it, promise me. I must have a hope I can cling to! I must have ANYTHING!" Laura’s voice was unbearable to him. That scream tore Navras apart, but on the surface he was indifferent, he had to. "I need to have anything to… stay alive," she said quietly.

"Evie..." he interrupted her firmly. "I would like to give you the whole universe, but that’s beyond my power. I would like to say what you want to hear, but that would be cheating. I don't know what turn events will take. Be strong, I know you can."

Laura hugged him tighter and began sobbing like a child. Navras looked at her with a violet gaze of synthetic eyes. After a moment his cybernetic fingers began softly wiping the tears from her cheeks, soon his fingers were replaced by his soft, warm, thin lips. The woman wanted to protest, but in the end, yielded to him. If this indeed is their last meeting, she won't take those few moments of happiness away from Navras. The man's lips slowly slid down her cheek then joined with her’s in a long, farewell kiss. His beard scratched her skin just as it had before, and had the exact same shape. It started under his lower lip just in the middle. The narrow, dark brown strip was reaching his chin and splitting in both directions along his jawline to curl up just at the corners of his mouth. Joe didn't have a mustache, though Evie had told him many times that he should grow one.

"Joe..." she wanted to say something but Navras put his index finger on her lips.

"I know, Evie. Forgive me for this weakness," he whispered.

She wanted to tell him she had decided to find Kratos and return to him for everyone's sake, but she knew he would want to stop her. Therefore, she remained silent. Navras was right, it was their last meeting, but he would not die, and neither would Adam, though she hated him now with all her heart. No one would ever die because of her again.

"And by the way, I'm not small at all," she muttered offendedly.

Joe smiled squinting. He regretted they had to end up in such dark and hostile times again. He wished he could change it, but he didn't have that power. Even all of the augmentations that were done to him in the past didn't make Navras a god. He was still a mere mortal.

"Remember when you said that someday we would go somewhere far away, to the other end of the world?" she asked, lying on her back and resting her head on his thighs.

"Mhm. It was a long time ago. We were young and..." he sighed in exasperation. "Evie, please don't be a child. You need to leave your dreams locked tight behind the gates of that fairy castle along with carefree life," his voice was now a rough, fatherly tone, the one that always brought her down to earth and let her endure anything.

"You were not the one sitting in the basement, chained to the wall. You were not the one being raped by Kratos and his fucked-up friends over and over again through… years. You weren't the one left alone in the world and you weren't the one abandoned by someone you started to trust," she pointed out mercilessly.

Each of those words really hurt him. The woman was right, she had been through hell, which is now claiming her again. But through all this time, she had not understood one simple thing; there were others in this world, not far away, whose lives were not all roses too. That's why it irritated him so much when she constantly emphasized her grievances. That was why he preferred to remain silent rather than argue with her.

"Yes, not me," he replied, choosing his words carefully to get out of this conversation without conflict.

Evie shifted uneasily. She wanted to get up, but he wouldn't let her, gently yet suggestively catching her by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Joe... It was selfish, I didn't mean..." she tried explaining herself somehow, but she had no adequate argument to justify her stupidity.

"Stop it, or I'll kiss you again," he threatened her, this time trying to joke.

She wanted to say: "Adam would punch you hard in the teeth for this," but remembered Adam was gone and he wouldn't come back. Laura remembered how fleeting happiness can be. One day it's there, the next it dies in an accident. One day you see it as breakfast, a smile, or a crazy party, the next it's killed by fire. This should have taught her to appreciate small gestures, but it made her run away from everything good.

"Do you like me a little bit at least?" she asked looking at his face when Joe intertwined his hands at the nape of his neck.

"No," he answered shortly. He knew what was about to happen.

"OK, whatever..." she burbled displeased, and turned her back on him.

Navras laughed out loud. He deliberately provoked her to such behavior because he liked to see her offended expression.

"You're asking stupid questions, you know?"

"Mhm."

"One good thing," he muttered amusedly.

"And don't call me Evie."

"Why? After all, that's your name," the man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Here I am Laura. No one knows that's a fake name," she explained as briefly as possible.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time? Don’t you have enough problems with Kratos?" Navras raised his voice slightly. He had hoped he would be able to walk away from here with the peace of mind that Evie was doing well. Meanwhile, Damien was hunting her, and she still managed to find herself new problems.

"Nothing special, just a broken contract," Laura changed position back to sitting and pulling bent legs to the belly she shrugged. "The superiors will probably claim for their own soon, but I don't care," her voice was carefree.

"What are you talking about?! What superiors?!" he was furious now.

"They didn't introduce themselves, everything was a top-secret and hush-hush basis. I was supposed to gather intel from Sarif Industries, and that was it. I met Adam in the middle of the task and well…fucked it up," she explained as briefly as she could.

"Evie..."

"Laura!" she interrupted him. "Learn at last."

"I don't have to, but so be it, Laura. Why did you break your contract?" he asked, not really understanding what Adam had to do with all this.

"Because after a while I found it strange they wanted anything from me and didn't have specific guidelines. Besides, the Chief of Security was nice to me and I didn't feel right spying behind his back."

Her explanation did not satisfy him at all. "The hacker's job isn't like walking in the park and holding hand with your sweetheart. You have to be more resilient, otherwise, you will give up the task because of anyone who is nice. Then you expose yourself to someone on the top and then what?"

"You're right, Joe," she admitted with a quiet sigh. "This was an exceptional situation. You know I always get things done," she continued trying to defend herself.

"Yeah, I remember one of our contracts very well. Alex saved our asses back then because you insisted on stealing the data no matter what," he reminded her of the old days. "Police, half of the security, two local gangs..."

"And that mad butcher with his dog," she completed the list. "Come on… The big fuss of nothing," she waved her hand carelessly. "Only one little boom."

"Oh, of course. The tiny explosion that blew up a subway station, a chunk of the sewers, the bigger one, and an entire research facility. Everything looked like New Year's Eve fireworks in Dubai."

"Lovely view. It's not my fault that Alex likes to act with a flourish," she shrugged. "And do you have any info from him at all?"

"Unfortunately he went underground which is quite disturbing knowing his ideas," Joe stated, though it was hard to sense if he was worried. His voice masked his emotions well.

"Like that chain of grenades to stop an armored truck?"

"More like firing a bazooka straight into the wall, behind which they kept the tankers filled with flammable materials."

"Those were the days. Nothing could stop or separate us," she daydreamed under the influence of the memories. "Long live my lame hospitality. I didn't even ask if you wanted coffee or tea. Maybe you are hungry?" she asked embarrassed. "Although I can tell by your belly that you're not starving," she stated teasing him.

"Thank you for the offer, but I should be going anyway," he replied quietly. "Besides, I don't have a fatty belly at all, just well-sculpted muscles."

"Mhm, as soft as a pillow."

In response, he began tickling her mercilessly and didn't stop until she was out of breath from the non-stop laughter. Navras felt so comfortable in her company that he was in no hurry to leave at all. Anyway, he had to wait until the woman went somewhere or fell asleep. He already had the opportunity, but he missed it. The clock chimed midnight, Laura yawned.

"Get some sleep. You're tired," he suggested with concern in his voice.

"Not at all."

Navras didn't reply just started humming a song she knew well.

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Sleep, sugar, let your dreams flood in Like waves of sweet fire, you're safe within Sleep, sweetie, let your floods come rushing in And carry you over to a new morning

After a while, the woman was already asleep as if he had cast a spell on her. Joe smiled as he looked at her calm face.

"Goodbye, Little Orchid," he whispered, stroking her hair.

Laura woke up as the clock chimed the full hour. She didn't have a phone near so she had to get up to check what time it was. She rubbed her eyes noticing that Joe had covered her with a blanket and made her lay comfortably on the sofa.

"Navras are you here?" her question remained unanswered. "Joe?!" she ran around the house looking for him but was left alone.

The faint lights entering the living room through the windows illuminated her depressed face. Everyone was gone, there was nothing left. Laura crossed her arms over her chest and lowered her gaze. She missed Adam, so damn much that her whole body ached. What he had said to her, all those words couldn't be what he thought. Evie didn't know him very well, but still, this sudden turn in behavior was strange. When she looked to her left, she noticed that the same flier she had gotten at The Jackdaw was lying on the coffee table. Suddenly she realized that the man in the hoodie who was sitting by the window and the one who had bumped into her was one person. The one who had just left. She was angry at herself for being unable to link such simple things. Laura let Navras go without the second thought.

It was only seventeen minutes to four in the morning when Miss Werner decided to return to Faridah. She changed into her jeans and the random sweater, swapped her shoes for comfortable boots, picked up her coat, and left. Closing the door, she thought about how Joe had managed to get in at all. When asked, he would probably reply that he had his ways. It was still dark outside, the lights of the lanterns barely illuminated the darkness, one of them was flickering on and off with a loud hiss and crackle. Instinctively she looked up, but the shutters at Adam's apartment were lowered. On the way to Malik's apartment, several drunken men passed her. One of them grabbed her arm, mumbling something unintelligible. She jerked away and quickened her pace.

Fortunately, Laura knew the entrance code, or else she would have been sitting by the door until morning. She typed it in and carefully opened the door. The woman quietly took off her shoes and coat, then slowly walked into the living room. Evie decided to sleep on the couch so as not to wake Faridah in the middle of the night. She reached the table where they were eating their meals when suddenly the light came on.

"Where have you been all this time?" she heard Malik's voice, not at all pleased. "I was worried about you! You are irresponsible and selfish!" she growled furiously.

"I left my phone at the company," she lied. "Then I went to my place," Laura replied with a depressed voice.

"And now you will tell me what happened between you and Adam," she insisted, not giving her friend the opportunity to retreat.

"Nothing," she muttered, wanting to go to the bedroom.

"Oh no. Come sit next to me. Neither of us is going to bed until I know the truth."

"Faridah..." she sighed.

"Don't Faridah me. This is a serious matter."

Laura reluctantly walked closer and sat down on the sofa. The mere thought of telling everything that had happened between her and Jensen made Laura’s hands began to tremble. And the memory of what Kratos was doing to her made her nauseous. Malik gave Laura no choice. Even if she tried withholding some of the information, sooner or later Fly Girl would find out everything. It would be even worse because she would break her fragile trust. The woman sighed loudly feeling her friend's urging gaze.

"Let's start with the fact that you should know what Adam already does. I didn't want to tell him, but he insisted," Laura didn't know what to do with her hands. First, she kept them bent on the knees, then she hid them behind her back, and finally intertwined them on her chest. "Damien was raping me," she said after a moment.

The words continued to flow on their own, merging into a stream of hot, black tar that seemed to stick to the entire room. Faridah hoped it was some kind of sick dream, and Laura was about to say: "It is just a fragment cut from a movie I had once seen." Malik already knew everything would change after that night. Miss Werner was very thorough in her story. She recalled what, where and how they did to her, she talked about the collar, the humiliation, blood, and the pain. They treated her worse than an animal so no wonder it was so hard for her to trust anyone now. Especially Adam, who at first is very rough with new people he meets and sometimes even with friends. The whole story overwhelmed the Chief of Pilots. She wanted to ask how Laura got out of there and who helped her rebuild her disturbed psyche, but she gave up. The rest of the story didn't get any better. Faridah flew into a rage.

"How could he say something like that after you opened up to him?!" she screamed waking up the cat.

"Faridah... Look at it realistically," she said quietly. "I'm just a regular slut. I can't compare to Megan. Imagine how Adam must feel and his shame when he introduces me to someone. I should have told him earlier," her voice broke and she started to cry.

"That doesn't explain him. He's not like that. First of all, if he wanted to break up, he wouldn't point out to anyone where he belongs. Try to talk with him tomorrow. One last time," she encouraged her and handed her a tissue.

"All in all, I have nothing to lose anyway. I won't fall any lower."

"Let's go to sleep. You'll be worrying tomorrow," she said, putting her arm around her.

"Go first, I'll be there in a minute," she replied, wiping her eyes.

Malik nodded and went to the bedroom. Laura didn't want to go to sleep at all, so she searched the fridge and all the cupboards in the kitchen. When she gathered everything that was needed, she thought about baking some kanelbulle. After finishing, the auburn-haired woman picked up her laptop and continued writing the security code for Washington until morning. A moment ago she was looking forward to this trip, and now it is the worst that could happen to her.

As soon as Faridah got up, she shouted at Laura, reminding her that she should take care of herself and not overwork as recommended by the doctor. Firstly Laura didn't listen to her at all, and secondly, the smell of kanelbulle calmed down Fly Girl immediately.

"Take some of these goodies and give them to Adam. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Maybe then he'll tell you what's going on," she encouraged, even though she did not believe it would change anything.

"That's a good idea," she nodded completely indifferently. Laura sat with a bowl of Crunchy Pirate in front of her but ate barely two spoons.

The thought of going to the company terrified her and talking to Jensen unleashed the urge to crawl under the carpet and not come out until she died. Before leaving, Laura put some kanelbulle into the orange cardboard box where she had placed the napkin earlier. She closed it and tied it with a ribbon.

Malik didn't know what they could talk about, so they were silent the whole way. Washington, Adam, ball, all those topics were forbidden now.

"Laura, I just remembered something," she spoke up once they were walking down the street.

"Mmm?" she only muttered, looking straight ahead.

"I have a ticket to the cinema for Saturday's showing of ‘The Good, The Bad And The Ugly.’ I won't be able to go because Sarif has an important flight. Why don't you go instead of me?" she lied because she wanted to comfort her somehow.

At first, Laura didn't feel like going out at all, but eventually, she decided it was better than sitting at home and thinking. The woman squeezed the box tighter in her hands after each step she took as she walked through the lobby.

"Don't be so nervous, or you'll ruin your present. Have faith," she encouraged Laura and patted her lightly on the back as they parted on the second floor.

Miss Werner went up the stairs to the third floor and after a while down the corridor. She already saw Adam's glass office, so she slowed down. Once she was close, she noticed Adam and Megan coming out from the inside. They couldn't see her because she was approaching them from behind.

"So we'll see each other at the ball?" asked Dr. Reed.

"Yes, of course. I'll be very pleased," Jensen replied, escorting the woman to the elevator.

Laura stood motionless not far from the office entrance. When Adam turned around and walked closer, he noticed her. The auburn-haired woman was piercing him with an emerald gaze full of flowing tears. Jensen saw her trembling hands from which an orange box had fallen. He didn't have time to catch it. The ex-SWAT also didn't have time to react either because Laura immediately ran away. The Chief of Security crouched down and picked up what she had left. The ribbon prevented the content from falling out onto the floor. The smell of cinnamon made him immediately guess everything. She came to him after everything he told her. She came to see him with Megan and find out that he was going to the ball with her. It wasn't supposed to be this way, not at all. Jensen locked himself in the office, put the box on the desk, and brewed a mug of coffee. He sat in the armchair, wondering what to do. Finally, Adam slowly untied the ribbon, removed the lid, and gently took out one of the kanelbulle. After closing his eyes took a bite. It didn't taste as great as it did in Uppsala. It was bitter, more and more with each bite. Adam ate all four very slowly. He treated them like a punishment, like a lash of the whip on his bare skin. One bite – one scar. Something inside him was slowly dying.

"I never asked for this..." he whispered to himself and his hand clenched into a fist.

Unfortunately, Sarif hadn't given him the day off so Adam had to postpone his meeting with Rupert until the afternoon. Persevering for those few hours was extremely difficult. Fortunately, he didn't have to discuss anything with Laura today. Jensen had already been thinking about how he would manage to cope in Washington, but at the meeting, they had agreed they would work as two independent groups, so their contact would be cut to a minimum. That's just a small consolation. The mere sight of Laura triggers the impulses in him that he must restrain, strangle and kill for her safety. If only he had a clue, an anchor point, anything. Even while working as a police officer, he had never felt as helpless as he does now. Suddenly, like a pack of rabid dogs, the thoughts about whether he had done the right thing by listening to this psychopath caught Adam up. Maybe he had just opened the way for him to abduct Laura? Avoiding her in fact only makes the whole process easier, but how can he be close and yet keep the distance?

Miss Werner ran to her office. She was fed up with this company, the people, and most of all, Adam's lies. She had already made the only right decision. Laura booted the computer pressing the button furiously. She had the impression that today it was starting up exceptionally slowly as if it was doing that to spite her. Evie cursed under her breath a dozen times. She wanted to see Jensen dead at her feet. She wanted to see him bleed slowly and in agony. She wanted to see him suffer as she does. She wanted… She wanted everything to be like before again. Back then, when they slept in bed together, it was so magical and amazing. Yes, she would like to move farther if she had the opportunity if they both wanted it, but the most important thing was his closeness. Breath hot like a dragon’s breath on her naked skin, warmth as he hugged her, tickling of his beard. She even liked it when the scent of his perfumed water mixed with the smell of sweat. She remembered perfectly those sensual and mysterious citrus notes, a bit bitter and tart but broken with a hint of vanilla, there was also something spicy in them. Laura knew how it would all end, and yet she let herself be drawn in and enslaved by his gray-blue gaze and soft, wonderful lips. After a few deep breaths, she began to write what she should have finished long ago. Moments later, with a page of the paper, printed with rows of words, she was walking briskly to Pritchard's office. Evie was determined and was not going to back down. She didn't even knock, she did no longer care about it.

"Princess Laura forgot to knock?" Pritchard greeted her from behind the desk.

"I don't give a shit if I should knock or not," she growled. "I won't waste your time, so let's get it over with."

Frank got up from his armchair, walked over to the devices, the same ones she had once helped him fix, and checked the cables while mumbling under his breath. "You're already wasting it anyway by being here for some unknown reason, and better mind your tongue. You're lucky I'm in a relatively good mood today so I'll forgive you this impertinence. What do you want?" he got a little interested.

"No big deal," she shrugged. "Just read these few words," she said, handing him a piece of paper.

"Did you bring that corrected fragment which was fucked up by your subordinate?" Pritchard was almost happy, or at least his expression was different from the usual grimace of anger, disgust, and indifference.

Laura watched how Francis swallows the text, word by word, with his hungry eyes, frowning, squinting, and twisting his lips in a grimace of rage.

"No way!" he yelled. "I don't agree to any termination; you understand?!" Frank furiously tore apart the piece of paper. He nearly threw it on the ground and started jumping all over it.

"That's my right. I want to leave and that's it," Laura insisted. "I have to be here for three more months anyway."

"Listen to me, you brat! You have to stay at this company because I will not tolerate such bratty behavior! You WILL fly to Washington and get the job done. Then you WILL politely go to the ball even alone if Adam doesn't want to invite you," he hissed. "Well I don’t think he does," Pritchard added. "That is an ORDER! Understand?" It was a long time since he was as angry as he is today. Even Jensen had not managed to bring him to such a state.

Laura lost her temper and slapped him in the face with an open hand. "I will not go to any ball. Forget it," she ended the conversation, slamming the door behind her.

"Wait! I'm not done with you yet! " screamed Frank, rubbing his cheek.

The woman heard him perfectly as she walked along the corridor. She reached out her hand towards his office, showing the middle finger. Pritchard decided not to leave this matter and unleash hell. He knew who was responsible for what had happened and was going to take appropriate consequences. Hacker immediately went to Jensen's office and rumbled on the door for a good ten minutes before the ex-SWAT decided to give up and open the door.

"Listen, flatfoot, ex-cop, plague, and asshole! A moment ago Laura was at my office and handed me a piece of paper," he said in a raised voice.

"So what?"Adam muttered. He pretended to write something by tapping on the keyboard keys.

"It was her TERMINATION!" Francis yelled.

"Oh… Well, I am not surprised. Working with someone like you, Frank, is demanding. But it’s still not my concern."

"It IS your concern! You are the one responsible for all this, not me. So you will go to her now, say whatever you see fit, but the effect is to be as follows: Laura will stay at the company, take care of Washington as good as she can, and then politely go to the ball. Because that's the way it's supposed to be. That's all."

"You forgot about something," he said in an indifferent tone.

"About what, smart guy?!"

"Stomping your foot."

"Stop being cheeky! You know Sarif will gut us all out if anything goes wrong. Laura's trying to sabotage everything right now, and she's certainly doing it because of you."

In fact, everything that Pritchard said was the truth, but Jensen couldn’t admit it aloud. It wasn’t easy for him to just sit and listen that Laura is leaving because of his actions. Adam cared and care is not always fluffy and nice. If only he could predict Miss Werner's actions, he would try to prevent all of this from happening. It is very possible they will never see each other again. It won't be a few days, a week, a month. It means a whole life spent drowning in the midst of remorse. He wouldn't be able to live like this.

"She's your subordinate, do something yourself. If you can't control your employees then you're a lousy boss," he kept going, even though he now wanted to run out of the office straight to Laura and tell her to stay.

"You'll see I will. I won't leave it like that," Pritchard growled, and left, hitting Faridah who was just walking towards Adam’s office.

Malik decided she'd better knock because of screams heard before. Yes, both Jensen and Pritchard never got along, but the situation was extremely strange.

"I'm not interrupting?" she asked, ajar the door.

"Did you come to yell at me too?" he muttered.

"Depends on what you've romped," she tried to joke, but Jensen didn't look like he was in the mood for it.

"Don't pretend, after all, you already know that Laura gave Pritchard her termination, and he came to me with it."

"She did what?!" Malik raised her voice.

"Great, that means you're going to take it out on me too," the ex-SWAT sighed.

"I should because what you told her was, to say the least, inappropriate. If, on the other hand, I am not to play with choosing nice words; you acted like a motherfucker.

"It's still none of your business, much less Francis'."

Malik walked to the desk and sat down on it. "You know very well it's different. Uppsala changed us, carried us to a new phase, bound. Back then we were able to…"

"That was then, this is now. Past is in the past. If that's all, please leave." Faridah noticed the orange cardboard box standing on the cabinet behind him. It was empty. She wondered if they had been talking or if something else had taken place.

"Okay, but when I cross the threshold you might consider you just lost another person. If you can live with that, no problem," her tone was a mixture of icy indifference and reproach.

Adam knew she was not joking, and he needed help. He had to keep her at least, have Fly Girl on his side. Before he made up his mind, the woman was gone. Time was slowing down, torturing him and punishing him for what he had done. Jensen hardly survived until he could leave the company. He didn't go to lunch because of Laura, but he didn't feel hungry anyway. The urge to smoke grew more and more, but the Head of Security decided not to smoke before meeting with Rupert.

Detroit. Rupert MacKenzie’s house.

Adam closed the office and walked briskly across the hall. He ran down the stairs, entering the lobby in a split second. On his way through, around the desk, he answered Cindy's goodbye, not wanting to be rude. Jensen pulled up the left sleeve of his black coat and then brown sweater intending to check what time it was. He had a smartphone with him, but the old-fashioned part of his personality that was attached to traditional solutions spoke up. Another reason was that the smartphone remained turned off in order to limit any possible attempts to spy on him. Jensen decided to take the subway because Rupert lived in west Detroit, too far from the company, so walking was out of the question. When the ex-SWAT arrived at the station, he looked up at the electronic display, that informed which number was to come, which departed, and which would be in a few or so minutes. There were not many people on the platform, some of them standing, others sitting on a bench against the wall. The girl standing a bit behind Adam laughed when her friend told her a joke. Jensen was lucky because he reached the station just minutes before his line arrived. Keeping his hands in the pockets of his coat, he went inside and immediately headed to the very end of the wagon. There was no one there. Adam sat down, plugged earphones into the MP3 player, and closed his eyes. Soon the door closed with a hiss, and the Head of Security felt that they were finally on the move.

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If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one Drying in the colour of the evening sun Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away But something in our minds will always stay Perhaps this final act was meant To clinch a lifetime's argument That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could For all those born beneath an angry star Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall Like tears from a star like tears from a star On and on the rain will say How fragile we are how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall Like tears from a star like tears from a star On and on the rain will say How fragile we are how fragile we are How fragile we are how fragile we are

For half an hour of the ride, he thought about what Laura had told him. He analyzed all the information again and sighed heavily. Miss Werner lost her parents when she was practically still a child. He didn't know who raised her, but he certainly couldn't replace her real family. Then there was Damien who kept her in a basement, raped her, humiliated her, and sold her like an object. Laura was most likely deprived of true love and care. Once she received it from him, she was again abandoned like a broken doll. He would not and could not justify himself. He had acted meanly.

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He deals the cards as a meditation And those he plays never suspect He doesn't play for the money he wins He don't play for respect

He deals the cards to find the answer The sacred geometry of chance The hidden law of a probable outcome The numbers lead a dance

I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier I know that the clubs are weapons of war I know that diamonds mean money for this art But that's not the shape of my heart

He may play the jack of diamonds He may lay the queen of spades He may conceal a king in his hand While the memory of it fades

I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier I know that the clubs are weapons of war I know that diamonds mean money for this art But that's not the shape of my heart That's not the shape The shape of my heart

If I told her that I loved you You'd maybe think there's something wrong I'm not a man of too many faces The mask I wear is one

But those who speak know nothing And find out to their cost Like those who curse their luck in too many places And those who fear are lost

Three short bell-like sounds signaled that they had reached the destination. Adam got up from his seat and got out of the subway wagon. He crossed the platform, squeezing through the thickening crowd, and climbed the stairs. He found himself on a long street on either side of which stood rows of red brick houses with white windows and box gabled roofs. Jensen remembered perfectly where Rupert lived, although it had been some time since his last visit. After a few minutes of brisk walking, he arrived at number 101. Two low stairs led to a small, square, covered porch.

The man pressed the doorbell, and a moment later a cheerful female voice could be heard from the inside. "Just a second, Mr. Jensen!"

It still amazed Adam how Demelza knew it was him and not someone else. Yes, he had an appointment for an exact time, but that does not exclude the possibility that someone else could come at the same time. Mrs. MacKenzie, who had just opened the door for him, was a fairly corpulent woman, close in age to Rupert, who was in his mid-fifties. She had curly red hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head, blue eyes that seemed to be laughing, and full lips embedded in a face with a pale pink complexion. She was wearing a flowery green dress and was wiping her hands on a frill-decorated kitchen apron.

"Rupert is already waiting. I'm glad you finally visited us. I baked cookies. You can't refuse," she said in a singsong voice as she led him through the narrow, long hall along which were the doors to the rooms. The walls were made of gray stones of various shapes and sizes and covered with portraits of ancestors, clan coats of arms, and deer antlers hanging on them. Several dark wood cabinets stood there as well, with decorative vases and bowls on them. Adam took off his coat, already wanting to hang it on the coat rack, but the woman interrupted him in mid-motion.

"And don't worry about the vase, boy."

"What v..." he did not finish because while hanging his coat he had just hit one of them. The vase fell to the wooden floor, shattering to pieces just like his life. "Sorry, I'll try to buy it back."

"I told you – don't worry," she reminded. "I have to watch the cookies. You know the way, right?" she asked, staring at his embarrassed face.

"Yes, of course," he replied, walking slowly towards the door in front of him.

Above them was a wooden plaque with an inscription: Temet Nosce carved on it. Adam was pretty sure he saw a similar one somewhere before. After a while, he recalled it was at Laura's apartment above the entrance to the kitchen. Jensen hesitated for a moment before finally knocking.

"Oh come in Adam and stop with these games of politeness," muttered an offended MacKenzie in a Scottish accent when Jensen entered the study. He actually preferred the Gaelic version: MacCoinnich, but he had to get used to the more common one.

"Yes, I know, forgive me. It's been a while since I've been here. My habits from the company spoke up," he tried to explain.

"Adam..." sighed the man sitting behind the massive desk, removing his thin-rimmed glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You'd better sit down before you come up with something stupid again," he said with a hint of playful annoyance, pointing an armchair upholstered in dark green fabric placed across from him. "Unless you'd prefer the standard session on the chaise longue," he offered, pointing the piece of furniture standing more against the wall by the bookshelves that reached up to the ceiling.

Rupert had gathered here an impressive collection of books containing some unique specimens. He was interested in history, geography, he read crime novels and horror stories, he reached for fantasy, but he did not touch psychological books for anything in the world. Of course, this concerned the non-professional sphere. Because when it comes to the professional part of him, he had read most of the literature about the human mind, behavior, or impulses that stimulate them.

"How was your day?" Rupert asked, which did not remind Jensen at all that he was visiting a psychologist at the moment. It always seemed to him that such a visit was mostly about answering a series of questions, looking at pictures of awkward shapes, and completing tests. The Scot completely changed his perception of this area of medicine.

"Fatally," he replied briefly but truthfully. MacKenzie could sense when he was lying so there was no point in concealing anything. Besides, he came to him for help, so he should be honest with himself first and foremost.

Rupert frowned, seeing that Adam wants to but cannot tell him everything. "I know a better place to talk," he said in a friendly tone in which even a shadow of a professional note could hardly be found. "Come with me, please," he encouraged with a hand gesture, rising from behind his desk.

On the left side of the study, was a narrow passage leading to the other part of the library where two armchairs stood, the same as the one Adam had sat in earlier. Between them stood a table and on it a lamp with a white pleated lampshade. MacKenzie walked freely, holding his hands behind his back. He was wearing tartan trousers having a green and dark blue pattern with white and red lines crossing each other. The man fixed the sleeves of a loose, light cream-colored linen shirt laced at the neck. Jensen looked at the brooch pinned to it depicting a flaming mountain surrounded by a belt with a gold buckle with the inscription: Luceo non uro, which meant: I shine not burn. When they sat down in the armchairs, Rupert reached for his pipe and lit it with almost ritualistic gestures. The ex-SWAT admired Scot for paying attention to such small things, which for him were common. Rupert did not smoke because he wanted to kill problems with it, he treated it as a form of art, celebrating the moment, savoring the aroma of tobacco. Before they started talking Demelza brought on a tray a plate of the freshly baked raisin and chocolate cookies, two porcelain cups, a jug with milk, a teapot of tea, and a sugar bowl. The not very tall woman did not say a word. She gave them both a cheerful smile once she had arranged everything on the table and left. This was another surprise for the Chief of Security. The woman knew perfectly well when she should enter in order not to disturb or hear something she should not know.

The Scot unhurriedly poured tea into cups. "Some milk?" he asked, to which Adam nodded affirmatively.

Jensen stirred the tea slightly with a silver spoon and set it down on a saucer, which he picked up along with the cup. He slowly took a few sips and closed his eyes. He did not know where to start and how to say it so that it was true, but at the same time not reveal everything. He was afraid he might expose Rupert as well, and he would not want that. "I doubt if anyone can help me," he muttered looking across towards the bookcase. The books were arranged thematically and then in alphabetical order. The most valuable specimens were enclosed in glass display cases, and copies took their place among the rest of the book collection.

"The lost boy doubts before he told me anything. Such little is your faith in people?" he asked with a note of indignation in his voice.

"It is all terribly complicated. I don't know what I should do. I care about someone pretty damn much, maybe even too much," he confessed quietly, leaning back comfortably against the backrest of the armchair. "Unfortunately for her sake I had to give up my feelings and stay away. I'm the only one who knows the truth, the others think I'm a monster."

MacKenzie mused for a long moment. He took a few sips of tea. "Try the cookies first, then I'll tell you something."

Adam wanted to say he didn't want those damn cookies, or tea, much less sitting around wasting time when Laura might be in danger. The Scot's narrow lips twisted into a slight smile, and his high forehead wrinkled lightly. The man ran his fingers through his red-gold short hair, which was always tousled. He knew Jensen was consumed with anger right now, that he was drowning in helplessness and frustration. He had to wait it out or else his story would just be words thrown to the wind like a handful of feathers, and he did not like to talk pointlessly. Rupert looked to his left towards the window, it was slowly getting darker, but not yet enough to turn on the light. The remnants of the sun were coming through the window in narrow streams, illuminating a few spots on the brown carpet. The neighborhood was unusually quiet as if Scot's house was in some other dimension.

Jensen reached for a cookie that instantly reminded him of the kanelbulle. He was unaware that the Scot, even by the way Adam held and ate the cookie, could read what he was feeling and thinking at any given moment.

"Sweets must be associated with pleasant memories," he stated in a measured tone that had the calmness and matter-of-factness of a psychologist. "At the same time, they cause you pain, why?"

"L... She..." he began, but Rupert interrupted him immediately.

"She has a name," his voice took on a roughness. "In this case it is important."

"Laura baked some kanelbulle while we were in Sweden. It was only two days, and I have a feeling that at least ten years have passed. It's been a long time since I felt so wonderful and alive," Adam began to open up to the therapist.

"And yet you fell and burned your wings," remarked the man while biting his cookie.

"I fell, but not of my own free will. I was forced to do this," he admitted openly, though he didn't want to.

"Listen to me, boy. I'm going to tell you something, and you will do what you want with it because I can't dictate to you how to interpret my words," MacKenzie glanced at the Chief of Security, who nodded slowly. "Not much more than thirty years ago there was a boy who was becoming a man. This boy soon met a pretty girl whom he loved with all his heart and soul. They met at every possible opportunity, celebrated every moment as if it were their last. They were planning a long life together somewhere in Scotland with a bunch of children by their side, beyond any civilization," he paused for a moment, taking another sip of the already chilled tea. "Everything was like a fairy tale, but when he came to her with the ring on which he had spent most of his savings, he saw her lovely pale pink, freckled face all in tears. In one moment he realized something bad had happened."

Adam listened attentively, casting all his problems aside. He focused his gaze on the framed photos standing on the shelf between the books. They looked like family photos.

"The girl was promised to be a wife, and her husband supposed to be some rich man over twenty years older than her. The boy was forbidden to see her. He wanted his beloved back, but he didn't know how to do that. He faced a force beyond his power, so he fell into the darkness. The boy raised sturdy walls around him and pushed away everyone close to him. When he thought all was lost, his friend came to him. At first, he furiously reminded the boy of how foolish and selfish he was, then they had a very long conversation. His friend told him one thing before leaving: United we stand and divided we fall," Rupert paused again, this time reaching for a cookie. "It was he who gave him strength. He had contacts, had unused favors with them, he pulled all possible strings, and thanks to that they managed to win the fight. The boy regained his beloved, but the rich man hurt her severely, so their dream of children was lost. Nevertheless, they are still together and have an affection that nothing can destroy."

"You were talking about yourself and Demelza, right?" Jensen asked quietly when the psychologist finished telling his story.

"It doesn't matter, Adam," Rupert let out a long sigh, focusing on the Chief of Security's face. "If you have friends, go to them. If you love – fight for it to the end."

"The last person I could call my friend left me this morning," he muttered.

Rupert shook his head, intertwining his arms across his chest. "True friends don't just go away. They only give us signs that we are straying. They always are and always will be. They wait when we realize our mistakes and learn from them."

"You still don't understand, do you? That's what friends do – they help each other." Adam was stroke by a memory of Laura’s words. What did he do for her? First promised to move heaven and earth, hire the police, SWAT, FBI, CIA even the INTERPOL and in the end, he abandoned her. The man bit his lip hardly in grief.

MacKenzie looked at the Chief of Security in silence, but with a smile. That sadness and grief were a sign of catharsis, understanding, and moving on. The lost boy’s wings are healing and soon he will be ready to fly again.

When they had finished drinking their tea, the Scot walked to the key-locked cupboard on the far-right side of the room. He took out a bottle of Girvan 47-Year-Old whisky and two glasses. Rupert poured the beverage into both of them, raising his glass in a gesture of silent toast to what each of them wished.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked savoring a sip of whisky.

"Better. I think I've figured out what I need to do, or at least how to start solving the problem," there was some optimism and a willingness to fight in his voice now.

"You're finally speaking with sense," he admitted with a smile.

"There's something else I'd like to ask, but I feel obliged to keep it a secret..." he tried to explain, but Rupert interrupted him.

"Let's start with what your intentions towards this person are," the man tried to guide Adam to make his goal clear and specific.

"I care about her. I want to help," he replied, crossing his legs.

"You have a huge heart. You can't help yourself, and yet you care about others," the Scot admitted appreciatively and took another sip of whisky. "Okay, let's put that aside. Sincere intentions, in this case, may justify breaking a secret. Besides, you know very well that everything you say is safe with me."

"How to deal with a person who was..." Jensen paused, because saying this word caused him both pain and rage. "Raped, probably for an extended period, and yet I have a feeling that somewhere deep down she is defending the perpetrator? My knowledge is quite limited, but I know of such reflexes under the name of Stockholm syndrome."

"This is what it is called in the textbook, but you know very well I don't like closing anything into terms. It would be easiest if she came here. If you don't convince her or she finds it unnecessary, there's not much you can do. Of course, support and understanding are helpful too, but not always effective. Sometimes it takes a strong jolt for a person to realize they are doing the wrong thing."

"I see," Jensen nodded slowly in thought. "I will respect her decision, whatever it would be. Although personally, I would like her to accept your help, so I will offer her this solution if at all…"

"Enough!" MacKenzie raised his voice. "You haven't even left this place, and you're already using those awful words."

The ex-SWAT smiled with the corner of his mouth. "You're right, I didn't even try to fight, and I'm already giving up."

"The three of us can always meet on neutral ground. You will not tell her who I am, maybe she will gain confidence and decide to come by herself. I know it's a little cheating, but the intentions are good."

"We'll be in touch. I'll let you know when I know something, but in the meantime, it's time for me to go. It's getting late, I'd like to take care of one more thing."

"Perhaps we can meet soon for a game of chess at Crann Tara," he suggested.

"With pleasure, Mr. MacCoinnich," Adam replied, and Rupert smiled at the words.

"I'm glad you're leaving my place changed, Adam," he said as they shook hands.

"Thank you, Rupert. The credit is all yours," Jensen replied, managing to smile a little.

The Scot shook his head. "You're the one who helped yourself. I only showed you the way. Hold on to it, and you'll see everything will be easier than you think."

As the Chief of Security was putting on his coat in the hallway, Demelza came out of the kitchen and handed him a box of cookies.

"It's really not necessary," he said with embarrassment. "Thank you."

"Everything in this world has a purpose. So if I gave you these cookies, it would be definitely for a reason," the woman smiled and walked him to the door. "Do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."

Adam decided he had to act and not allow to be intimidated by Damien. The subway trip was terribly long, he hoped Faridah would still be at the company. From what he remembered, she was supposed to stay longer today. As soon as the door slid open with a soft hiss, he moved with a quick step to the exit, squeezing at times quite brutally through the crowd of people.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the company, he did not look around and did not let anyone stop him, cause at the sight of him several people already wanted to approach him with something. With a quick motion, Adam entered the code to his office and without taking off the coat he began to think how he should let Faridah know they needed to talk. He thought about asking Pritchard for help, but he would grumble too long. The box of cookies and Demelza's words began to combine into a logical whole. When telephones, the Internet, and all electronics were not known yet, people used letters for communication. Adam started looking for a scrap of paper and a fountain pen. When he found them, he wrote a few words and put the note in the box of cookies. Adam locked the office and headed to the second floor. Fortunately, there was light in Malik's office. He knocked, though he rarely did, and slowly stepped inside after permission was granted.

"What are you doing here? You should be sitting in a cozy apartment a long time ago," she muttered to him, still angry about what had happened in the morning.

"I came to apologize," he said completely calmly, handing her a box of cookies.

"Do you think you can bribe me with what's inside? Forget it," she snorted scornfully. "You acted like a simpleton and a boor."

"I did, but I'm sure you're curious about what's inside, like every woman," saying this, he looked at Faridah very suggestively, letting her know she should listen to him.

Faridah sighed. "You're such a pain in the ass," she replied, opening the box. Adam was a little afraid that the woman might pull out the card, but she didn't. "You brought me cookies. Do you want me not to fit into the flight suit?"

"You’re far from it," he muttered.

"Not bad," she admitted eating one. "But you'll have to try harder to please me," she replied, closing the box.

"I didn't count on you forgetting right away. You're probably tired and some boor is wasting your time. I'll go now, until tomorrow," he left pretending to be worried.

Adam might be paranoid, but he didn't really know how Damien worked. If he could somehow see and hear his conversation with Fly Girl, that way he would know everything. Adam hoped it came off naturally and if indeed this motherfucker had access to the cameras then he wouldn't get suspicious. Jensen had to take that risk, though originally he wanted to keep everything to himself.

A dozen or so minutes later he was at home hanging the coat on a coat rack. The man paced around the living room, smoking a cigarette. He turned on some music to calm the nerves a little. Adam sat down on the sofa and waited in the dark room, slowly losing hope. He got up. What if Rupert was wrong this time? A quarter of an hour passed, which the ex-SWAT had spent on further wandering aimlessly across the apartment. Ten minutes later an electronic voice announced he had a visitor. Jensen hurried to the door, beaming at the sight of the Chief Pilots.

"Come in, please. It's good to see you," he invited her inside and closed the door.

"Whether it's good remains to be seen," she muttered as she entered. Faridah took off her jacket and hung it next to his coat.

"No one followed you? No suspicious people? Did you turn off your phone?" he asked with a hint of concern.

"Just my shadow. No one but it. Yes, I turned it off," she replied shortly, shrugging. "You dragged me here for some unknown purpose. I'm tired so to the point please."

"Where is Laura? Is she safe?" Adam ignored her words.

"You suddenly care? Seriously? After all this?" Malik was outraged and had every right to be.

"Sit down and listen to what I have to say and then judge. Agreed?" he offered as calmly as he could.

"Agreed, but on the condition that I get a mug of coffee," she announced sitting down on the sofa. Why is it so dark in here? Do you have a power cut of some sort?"

"Safety reasons," Adam announced from the kitchen. After a while, he returned with two mugs of coffee. He handed one of them to the woman, then took a seat next to her.

"Adam please..." she began but he interrupted her.

"This is not a joke. The matter is more serious than we thought," he tried to explain everything as simple as possible.

"Of course it is! Laura was repeatedly and brutally raped and you...!" she didn't finish, she just let out a loud exhale.

"And Damien started threatening me!" he couldn't stand it and raised his voice, rapidly getting up from the sofa.

Faridah raised her eyebrows surprised by his words and blinked several times. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. What do you mean by ‘threatening’?! What are you talking about?!"

The Head of Security walked towards the window but instead of a view of the city, he only saw black shutters. "If you'd let me explain, we would have gotten this over a long time ago. Can I speak?" he asked crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head towards her.

"Yeah, sure," she said with a soft voice. "Forgive me for being so rude," Malik added apologetically and took a few sips of her coffee.

"It started with a lock of hair and a note that someone had taped to my door the same evening I walked Laura to your place. I determined that I wasn't going to give in to some blackmailer I knew nothing about. I've known similar cases. They always hit a sensitive spot hoping that the person will succumb." Jensen returned to the sofa, sat down, and rested his elbows on his thighs. "The next day passed calmly so I was convinced even more that it was just a clumsy attempt of intimidation, nothing more. Unfortunately, the last time Laura and I worked together at my office, he decided to show himself again. We call him Damien but we don't really know who he is. We were supposed to go out for lunch when I got the message. He ordered me to watch as Laura dies," the ex-SWAT looked at the woman who didn't know how to react. "I saw it with my own eyes. She fell lifeless to the ground," Adam said, trying not to raise his voice. He stretched out his arms slightly in front of him, palms open towards the ceiling, wanting to accentuate his words, emphasize their importance. "He told me to stay away from her. So I obeyed."

"You didn't have to tell her all that. Laura now punctuates that she's a slut in every spoken word. I know that doesn't help you at all, but I tell it like it is."

"Yes, it was mean, inhuman, and beneath my dignity, but I wanted to be believable, to push her away… Anyway, you're right, I don't have a good explanation for that. I don't expect everything to be like it used to be, I am aware of it. I just want you to know," his husky voice was filled with pain and remorse.

"You had no choice, you wanted to protect her," she said softly. "It must be awful living with this," she bit her lip, set the mug down on the coffee table, and ran her fingers through her cropped black hair. "I have no idea what to do. How is it even possible that he has control over her?"

"I asked Frank about it. I thought he could somehow control her through the prosthetic leg, but the hacker denied it. If that wasn't enough, Laura heard my conversation with Megan about the ball."

"I persuaded her to talk to you. She took a few... With her... Oh, fuck…" Malik cursed quietly, covering her face with her hands. "What have I done..."

They were both equally broken and helpless, but at least Jensen wasn't left alone with it all.

"Laura can't leave the company. I won't let that happen," the ex-SWAT growled. "And she has to be at that ball. I don't know how to do it, but I'm not allowing any other possibility."

"Apparently Pritchard is incredibly mad at her. He ordered Laura to be at the ball but knowing her temper... You know best yourself."

"I know. Laura is ready to leave me with all this Washington mess. Anyway, it is the least important. She doesn't even care that Sarif will close her doors to all companies with one nod." the man looked down blankly at the floor and carpet.

"Adam, look at me," she ordered him calmly. "This was beyond your power. You can't predict someone else's behavior," she tried to lift his spirit as he looked in her direction. "I'll try to persuade Laura to go to the ball, but I doubt she'll agree. How long are you going to listen to this psycho anyway?"

"As long as it takes," he answered shortly and firmly.

"You know... I'm not going to lecture you, after all, you worked in the police, but you have no guarantee that Laura will survive." Maybe you're just helping him carry out a sick plan?"

"I've thought about it for a very long time, but what choice do I have?" he asked irritably.

"Tell her?" Faridah suggested the simplest solution. "I can do it myself. Damien will suspect nothing."

"Out of the question," Jensen protested firmly. "Assuming Laura will believe and understand, she will definitely want to do something stupid, or at least tell me not to worry."

"So I have to remain silent until further notice, and you will wait for the situation to resolve itself? Great!" she snorted.

"That's exactly what you're supposed to do. I shouldn't tell you anything at all. But..." Adam suspended his voice, rubbed his temple.

"But?" Malik looked at him attentively, waiting for him to finish.

"I treat you like someone I trust, like a… friend. That's why I decided that you should know and perhaps manage the situation properly when I can't," he said, feeling the words are struggling to pass his throat. "Of course, I don't require anything of you," he added.

"I will try to control the chaos, however, we cannot wait forever.

"Give me time until the ball. Then I'll try to explain it all to her myself somehow."

"You said that guy wrote to you. Show her the messages. That's your best option," she suggested while sipping her cold coffee.

"I don't have the messages. He deleted them. I don't know how or when, but they're gone," anger mixed with fatigue could be heard in Adam's voice. "I thought Frank would help me find a clue but alas."

"There has to be a trace, anything. It's impossible to be that thorough. Maybe Pritchard missed something?"

"I'll try to talk to him again tomorrow, but you can understand how hard it is to talk about a problem in a way that you can't tell who is involved. Besides, I doubt he'll want to do anything after today's row." Adam sighed lighting a cigarette.

"Approach him tricky. Tell Francis that thanks to this Laura will stay in the company, and if he starts asking questions, you can gracefully tell him to keep his fat nose out of your business." Malik grabbed Adam's left wrist, on which he wore an elegant watch. She wanted to check what time it was, at which the man raised his eyebrows as if to ask what she was up to. "I'll go now. I'm falling off my feet, and more flights tomorrow. No flight today? Flight tomorrow! There’s always flight tomorrow!" Faridah mumbled while getting up from the sofa. "And you shouldn't smoke that much. You won't solve any problems with it, and you will only harm yourself," she instructed him, at the same time reminding Adam that someone had said similar things to him not so long ago.

Adam wanted to believe that it would get better and that everything would somehow sort itself out. Unfortunately, there were no signs of that. When Faridah left, he took a quick shower. Jensen felt a little better when he shared his burden, but at the same time, the thought that he had dragged another person into this overwhelmed him.

Detroit. Faridah’s Apartment.

Laura was sitting on the sofa sipping hot cocoa and stroking Stalker who was napping in her lap. She was wearing gray sweatpants and an orange t-shirt that Faridah had to lend her. She had stuffed the one from Adam deep in the closet, not wanting anything to do with it. The woman was just listening to a broadcast on a new radio station called The Masquerade. She knew Malik would be back late, so she could afford to spend time in the company of cheap, romantic stories with a drop of vampire blood. Besides, whoever told these stories had an unearthly, deep voice that made her shiver. Clutching a pillow with a blush on her cheeks, she sank into this unreal world.

"The fire still burns brightly in the marble fireplace, fancy shadows fall on the floor and furniture, fueling the mystery of this place. The silence foretells the arrival of someone long-awaited. You are alone here, but you get the feeling that someone is constantly watching your every move. As you try to figure out how you ended up here, there is only a void in your mind. You can say what you have been doing all day, with whom you have been meeting, and what you talked about, but if someone asked about this particular detail, only a quiet 'I don't know' would come out of your mouth. You hear the steady ticking of the antique clock, standing against the wall and the creaking of the parquet floor as you step carefully across the room. You stand on an arterial blood-colored carpet that features a sword crossed with a scepter, both embroidered with gold thread. For you, they are just drawings, but for the master of this house something much more important. You walk to the armchair covered with blue fabric, you touch the armrest and the bat wing that adorns the upper part of the backrest. You walk behind the armchair, your fingers brushing over the other wing. Above the fireplace hangs a painting depicting Cain who killed Abel. Next to the armchair on a round wooden table, you notice a bottle of the noble 18-year-old, 0 RH- Quality True Blood, and you become more and more anxious.

"What is going on here?" - you ask yourself.

Unfortunately, your question will remain unanswered for some time."

Laura felt disappointed that the story was already over, but the announcer comforted her with the news that there would be a continuation tomorrow. She further added that the mysterious voice would stay with listeners for longer because it funds the ‘Rendezvous with V’.

Faridah returned about half an hour later. Only now did she turn on the phone. She looked like human wreckage, so Laura took care of her again, rushing to brew some tea, for which the woman was extremely grateful. Malik went to take a shower and wash her hair which gave her a huge relief after everything she had heard from Adam. At least she was assured that Jensen had no ill intentions and the methods he had chosen were a necessity. Dressed in a loose gray blouse with long cold-shoulder sleeves and black boy-shorts with orange trim she returned to the living room.

"I heard you were leaving the company," she said as she sat on the sofa next to Laura and took a sip of Earl Gray's hot tea.

"Do we have to talk about this?" she asked displeased.

"Yes, because you are making a huge mistake and I'm going to remind you of that until you start thinking logically and rationally," she said firmly but without anger.

"It's my decision. I'm an adult..." she tried explaining, but Malik interrupted her.

"Then act like an adult. Adam acted like an idiot and you want to give him the satisfaction and walk away? Seriously?" she tried appealing to her explosive nature, to bring back that old desire to compete with Jensen, even hatred. Anything just to stay and channel those feelings in the right direction.

"I don't care," she muttered squeezing the pillow tighter.

"Show him what he's losing, let him see, let his jealousy eat him up. He's just a guy, and his main command center is between his legs. Bring him on his knees. Revenge is a dish best served cold," she encouraged her, though perhaps a little too strongly.

"I'm not Megan," she said indifferently.

"It is true. You're better than her, different. You can have anyone. Adam isn't the only man in the world. Don't give him the satisfaction, be like you were at the beginning."

Laura was starting to believe Faridah's words. Why should she be the one to give in, tuck her tail, and walk away? Let Jensen suffer as much as she does now.

"I'll stay at the company, but I have nothing good to wear at the damn ball. I spent most of my money on... Never mind."

"Tomorrow we will calmly review all the options and decide what to do next. Maybe I can lend you money. Just don't protest."

Laura nodded slowly and headed for the shower. Faridah's phone a moment later signaled that she has a new message. She reached for it thinking it was Adam curious as to how her conversation with Miss Werner had gone.

"You want to have her blood on your hands too?"

All chapters can be found: [AO3], [dA], [Wattpad] and [Tumblr]

#Deus Ex #DXHR #Deus Ex Human Revolution #Adam Jensen #Shadowfanfic #crunchy-shadow #Shadow's Showdown #Nifriel #I never asked for this #Fanfiction #Evie Dormer OC #Joe Mando OC #Cyberpunk #Writers on tumblr #Chapter 23: The One Called Navras.

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lotr-stuff-and-imagines-i-guess · 2 years ago

Text

Finding Hope Part 2

A/N: Hey guys! I'm alive. I know I took forever to get around to this, so I appreciate your patience and hope you enjoy Finding Hope Part 2!

Owen x Reader

Main Masterlist

Jurassic Park Masterlist

Part 1

Taglist: @weirdnewbiebie @loveyourppl @thecraziestcrayon @uwucorpse @xhannahbananax03 @lightandshadow31 @babblesoftheinsane @totallovelesson @dark-night-sky-99

Owen POV

“What do you want, Claire? I don’t have time for you right now,” Owen said, taking another sip of his drink.

“I have some news. And I didn’t come until I was sure this wasn’t a hoax. She might be alive. All three of them.” Said Claire, watching Owen drink his life away is not something she wanted to continue to do. She knew the loss devastated him but she didn’t realize how bad it was.

“No, we both saw her hit the water, there was no body. No way she survived,” Owen said miserably. He was lost without his Y/n. The love of his life and his unborn baby. To get his hopes up is just plain wrong.

“Come with me Owen, you’ll want to see the photos we’ve got.” Claire walked out of the bar, and got into her car, Owen right behind her.

“What do you mean, photos?” There's no way she’s alive, is there?

“These.” She pulled out printed photos of Blue, on a beach near the water, with a girl, about 2-3 years old. Not being attacked, but playing. His beta and who he assumed was his child, playing together. Happily. “This is what we’ve found. We don’t see y/n, but there’s a little girl with blue. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Why are you showing me this instead of leaving now? I want my child and wife back dammit!” Owen shouted. He was not gonna lose them again. She started the car and off they went on another rescue mission. Just like before.

Y/n POV

When you awoke next, it was to a seemingly saddened chirp coming from Blue. She had her head resting lightly on your stomach, occasionally moving and nudging your hand. Her chirping ceased when you started moving your hand, bringing it up to rub at your eyes. Now she began to screech and chitter away happily, jumping around for a minute before leaning back down to you.

“Blue? W-what the hell?” You muttered, slowly sitting up while Blue screeches happily and runs around you. Looking around you realize you're still on the beach where you pulled yourself out of the water. Standing up, you wobble slightly and Blue comes close to support you.

“Thanks girl,” you say as your hand touches her back, she shivers lightly all the way to the tip of her tail. So cute!

You smile, thinking back on when you woke up three years ago. Hope was running around with Blue on the beach. Blue, chittering away as she walked behind Hope who ran away giggling. As Hope ran, she tripped over her own two feet and face planted into the sand. Immediately you spring into action and run to catch up and make sure she is OK.

"Babygirl, are you ok?" You ask, kneeling down as she sits up spitting out sand. You wipe her head and hair to get rid of the sand.

"I'm OK mommy. Sand is not tasty." Hope spat out one more bit of sand before getting back up and running around again. Blue pounces right in front of her and she screeches, reminding you of your own similar screech a long while ago.

"Aagghh!!" You scream out, as you have another contraction. Blue was nearby, agitated from hearing your screams. You used to be a nurse before you found Owen and moved with him, so you knew what you had to do. It hurt more than expected with each wave of contractions. As you pushed one last time, out came your little girl, crying with a healthy set of lungs. You swaddled her in a soft blanket and clamped and cut the cord. You clean her off with some sterile water, and then yourself once she's taken care of.

"My little Hope," you whisper as your baby girl calms down. "If only your daddy was here to see you."

A hand touches your cheek, startling you out of your memories. Hope stands in front of you, her tiny hand squishing your cheek slightly.

"Mommy, why's your face like that?" Hope asked, you realized you had teared up slightly and quickly wiped them away.

"Nothing baby. I just miss your daddy, that’s all." You reply.

"Ohh. Alwight mommy." She says, before giving you a peck on the cheek. You grin and return the kiss.

"Let's go back home, hm? It's getting late," You say, holding out your arms to pick her up. She comes close and you put her on your hip while you walk, Blue by your side while making the normal trek home.

As you arrive home, you set Hope down, and she runs into your home, it thankfully wasn’t destroyed when the dinosaurs escaped. You give Blue a pat on her snout and she snorts, before running off to do her own thing.

“Mommy, I’m weddy to plant! ” Hope waddles out of your home wearing a blue jurassic world t-shirt, inside out, attempting to put on a little apron you had made to hold a small trowel to help you tend the garden.

“Oh Hope, come here little one.” You say, smiling at her determination to be independent. She toddles over and you quickly fix her shirt, and tie her little apron around her waist. You go inside and grab yours with all the tools, and make your way to the garden. You hand her a trowel to hold onto while you pull any weeds, and trim any dead plants away. You grin as she sticks it straight down into the apron, still holding it secure. Once you finish you take Hope inside to give her a bath. You drop all your tools on the table and get her set up. She loves to sit in the water so you almost have to force her out after 15 minutes.

“No! I don’ wanna get dry yet!” Hope yells, and you raise your eyebrows at her.

“Oh really? But if you stay in too long, you’ll look old and wrinkly! A wrinkly baby Hope!” You exclaim.

“Let’s get your pretty self dry," You say, and she settles after a few minutes. You grab a towel to wrap around her, and another to dry her brown hair, the same shade as Owen’s. You change her into another blue raptor shirt and a cute pair of matching raptor shorts. You both get settled into your bed, snuggled up under the blankets.

“I love you mommy.” Hope yawns, snuggling into your arms.

“I love you too, Hope,” You say, smiling softly at the little girl who looks so much like her dad.

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

The next morning you awake to Blue chirping for your attention. Slowly rolling over and opening your eyes, you realize Hope isn’t next to you anymore.

“Hope? Baby where are you?” You call out and when you don’t get a response you quickly search through the house before making your way outside. There you find Hope, playing with some dinosaur figures on the steps with Blue watching her intently. “Hope! Why’d you come out here?”

“Mommy was sad in sleep. You cried. I tought I huwt you so I came here.” Hope said, still playing with a blue raptor toy. You must’ve been dreaming of Owen.

“No baby, you could never hurt mommy. She was just having bad dreams, ok?” You say, scooping her up in a hug.

“Alwight mommy.” She hugged you back and continued to play with her toys. Smiling, you go back inside and get ready for the day. As time passes throughout the day you busy yourself outside in the garden, making a pathway for a new crop while Hope plays with her dinosaurs. All of a sudden Blue is nearby chittering and chirping away, Hope runs towards you and hides behind your legs. Turning you see several people. All of a sudden you have strong arms wrapped around you. A familiar scent engulfs your nose and you immediately burst into tears.

“Owen!”

“Y/n/n!” Owen says, and he pulls away for a second. He grabs your chin to look up at him, both of you staring into each other's eyes, and your lips meet, for the first time in 3 years. You missed his scent, his touch, his everything. This time, you pull away at the small tug on your pant leg.

“Owen, I have somebody I want you to meet. Sweetie, this is Hope. Hope, this is your daddy,” You say, picking Hope up to introduce her to her father. Owens eyes widen before he engulfs you both into a hug.

“Daddy? Hi.”

“Hi baby. I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’ve missed you for a very long time.” Owen said, pressing his forehead to Hope's, then yours. “I’ve missed you both, so much. I thought you were dead!”

“I’ve missed you too. And the Mosasaur didn’t get me. I was out of the water before he came up. How did you know I was here?” You ask.

“Sedrick Masrani was searching the island, Claire told me when she knew it to be real. I was lost without you,” Owen replied. “And now I will never be lost again. Let’s go home.”

“Yes, let’s go,” You say, and you kiss Owen one more time to make sure you’re not dreaming.

Life really does find a way.

#jurassic world x reader #owen x reader #owen grady #reader insert #jurassic world fic #owen grady fic #fic #fluff #owen grady x reader #owen grady x reader fic

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hintofelation99 · 3 years ago

Text

The Justice League Hangs out with Duke

Bruce: Duke, it's time we had the talk.

Duke: Uh... nope. No thank you. I'm not getting the sex talk from Batman.

Bruce: What? No! The Robin talk.

Duke: But, I'm- I'm the Signal now? Isn't it a bit late for a Robin talk?

Bruce: Son, it's never too late, not for this.

Duke: Um. Ok.

Bruce: When Dick, Jason, and Tim first started as Robins they created a tradition. A tradition that continued with Stephanie, Damian, and now you.

Duke: And that tradition is?

Bruce: Taking down the Justice League. By being annoying and slightly terrifying.

Duke: OHHHHHH. Is that why no one from the Justice League talks to me?

Bruce: Yes, yes it is. But don't worry. I made an arrangement that will allow you time alone with league members to continue the tradition. You have a week to prepare.

——————

Duke: Cass, what do I do?

Cass raises an eyebrow at Duke.

Duke: For the Robin tradition thing. I have to take down the entire Justice League in a night using creative, outlandish, and original methods. But it's already been done by Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Steph. So what do I do? How can I be better than all of them.

Cass smirks: Take them down too.

Duke looking at Cass like she's crazy: What?

Cass: Take. Them. Down.

Duke: Holy shit, you are terrifying.

Cass just smiles and leaves.

-> One Week Later <-

Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash, Aquaman, Green Lantern, Black Canary, Martian Manhunter, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Steph gather in the Watchtower.

Duke: Hey guys, Batman just wanted to go through some training exercises with everyone. He'll be a little late. Harley and Ivy escaped Arkham and are trying to grow penis shaped shrubs in all the public parks. But, don't worry he asked me to go ahead and start with out him.

Green Lantern: Why are you leading this meeting?

Duke: Batman is running late and he wants me to practice leading meetings.

Green Lantern, glaring suspiciously at Duke: Are you about to do that stupid Robin tradition where you torture all of us?

Duke: What Robin tradition? Also, I'm not even a Robin? I'm the Signal.

Green Lantern continues to glare at him.

Superman: Calm down Green Lantern, the Robins never do this in front of each other.

Every League member seems to relax at this.

Duke acting confused: Uhhh, yeah. Ok, we have a few housekeeping things to do according to the list Batman left. So, I'll have everyone pair up for sparring while I handle these individually.

------

Everyone is in the training room working out or sparring. Duke approaches Tim.

Duke: Hey Tim, Bruce wanted you to look in to that Bludhaven case. Is that ok with you?

Tim: Yeah, why wouldn't it be?

Duke: Oh, I just thought it might be difficult considering what Dick did.

Tim: ...What did he do?

Duke: Wait, you haven't noticed? Oh no, I'm sorry I shouldn't have said anything.

Tim: Duke. Tell me what he did.

Duke: Well, Jason said that he replaced all your coffee with decaf.

Tim: THAT BASTARD. No wonder I've been feeling so tired! I'm going to kill him!

Duke: Wait, just stop! I heard that he hid all of it in Green Lantern's room.

Tim: Wait, why there?

Duke: Something about you being afraid of him.

Tim: WHAT?! I'm not afraid of the Green Nightlight! I'm gonna find that coffee then make Dick pay.

Duke: Oh, well cool, good luck!

------

Green Lantern: Um, what are you doing in my room?

Tim: Where is it?

Green Lantern: Where's what?

Tim: You know what I want. Give up now or face the consequences.

Green Lantern: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

Tim: Fine. Consequences.

------

Steph, sparring with Duke: So, what's it like being the first meta bat?

Duke: Not too bad, but I could do with out the whole 'predict the future' thing.

Steph, laughing: What? You can not see the future.

Duke: I bet you $50 I can

Steph: Your on.

Duke, makes everything around him light up and uses a weird voice: In the next thirty minutes Green Lantern will flee the Watchtower in fear. Soon after Dick will be attacked by Tim.

Steph, snorts in obvious disbelief.

Steph: That was so fake-

Green Lantern runs out of the tower looking terrified.

Steph: No way.

Tim tackles Dick and they start fighting like three year old's on the floor.

Steph, handing Duke $50: Holy shit Magic Man.

Duke makes things light up and does the voice again: Oh my god.

Steph, looking excited: What?!

Duke: The- the sushi. The sushi you brought today, it's made from-

Duke pretends to choke back a sob.

Duke: It's made from the fish who was the maid of honor at Aquaman's wedding.

Steph: HOLY SHIT.

------

Steph and Aquaman sit beside each other for lunch, she pulls out her sushi and looks at Aquaman sadly.

Steph: I am so, so sorry for your loss. But just know that her sacrifice is not in vain.

Aquaman, looks confused for a second then sees the sushi: NOPE. Not this again! I'm leaving.

Steph: Wait! I'm sorry!

Aquaman leaves as Steph tries to chase him down.

------

Jason is laughing and filming as Dick and Tim fight.

Duke, whistles: Man, imagine if that video went on YouTube.

Jason, looking confused: What?

Duke: I'm just saying if the video of Red Robin and Nightwing fighting like kids ever got on YouTube, it'd go viral. Oh and they would be so pissed!

Jason, laughs: Too bad B would kill me if I uploaded this.

Duke: Yeah, I guess so. And you can't upload it here because then Superman would get in trouble.

Jason: Why would the boy scout get in trouble?

Duke: Cause he always uses his YouTube account on the Justice League computer. So it'd look like he uploaded it and B would find out that Superman watches cat videos while he's on monitor duty.

Jason, smirking: Huh, so you're saying if I upload this on the League computer I'd piss off Bruce, Tim, and Dick and get Supes in trouble?

Duke, acting innocent: Huh, I guess so.

-> A Few Minutes Later <-

A call from Bruce comes up on the main computer.

Superman: Hey Batman, what can I do for you?

Bruce: You, Red Hood, cave now.

Jason: What? Why me?

Bruce: Because I saw that little home video you uploaded of your brothers.

Jason: What, that wasn't me!

Bruce: I could hear you laughing while you filmed.

Jason: Dammit.

Jason and Clark leave for the cave pouting like kids.

------

Duke: Hey, Black Canary?

Black Canary: Yes Duke?

Duke: I'm sorry to do this on such short notice, but I'm very worried about Dick and Tim.

Black Canary: Why?

Duke: Well, Tim keeps claiming that Dick is out to get him. Something about Dick messing with his coffee? And Dick feels like he's just being attacked for no reason and is worried about Tim's health. Is there anyway you could intervene?

Black Canary, looking sighing and looking exhausted: Usually I have three days of preparation before dealing with bats.

Duke: I know it's just-

Duke gestures to Tim and Dick rolling on the floor fighting.

Duke: They really need help.

Black Canary: Alright, I'll see what I can do.

Black Canary attempts to intervene only to get pulled into the fight. Now the three of them are tangled in a huge, confusing fight, that's filled with yelling and hair pulling.

------

Duke: Damian! Quick!

Damian: What is it Thomas.

Duke: I think somethings wrong with Dick and Tim and maybe even Black Canary. They're all fighting and won't stop! Can you help me contain them so that we can figure out what's going on?

Damian: Fine. I shall help.

Duke: Ok, just try to herd them into this containment cell.

Damian joins the fight managing to get everyone, including himself, into the containment cell. As Damian is trying to leave Duke closes the cell. Damian angrily yells and bangs on the sound proof walls.

Duke: What? Sorry, can't hear you! My hand slipped!

------

Wonder Woman: Very well done Signal.

Duke, acting innocent: Hm?

Wonder Woman: You tricked Red Robin into scaring Green Lantern away, then into fighting Nightwing. Once that fight broke out you tricked Red Hood into uploading a video to the internet using the Superman's credentials. By uploading that video he caused both himself and Superman to face Batman's wrath. You also used the fight to trick Stephanie into annoying Aquaman to the point of leaving. Then you involved Black Canary in the fight, which was her downfall. And, as a final touch, you managed to get Robin into the fight and trapped all in a containment cell. You successfully eliminated 9 foes with one trick.

Duke: You mean 11.

Wonder Woman: What?

Duke: 11. You see, I didn't trick Red Robin, I tricked Nightwing. I had a week to prepare. In that week I convinced Dick that Tim needed to cut back on the caffeine and that Dick should help by switching all of Tim's coffee with decaf. I also convinced him to hide that coffee in the watchtower, in Green Lantern's room. So that was all true.

Wonder Woman: But, that still does not make 11?

Duke: It does. Because This morning I moved the coffee. I replaced the Flashes decaf with Tim's ultra caffeinated coffee. You see Tim has it specially manufactured to increase the caffeine levels. And, while Flash doesn't usually drink his coffee in the morning, he's always running late and forgets, he does drink coffee during training breaks. Which is now. So in about five minutes we will have an incredibly caffeinated speedster in the Watchtower. And since you're the only one around right now with a chance of catching him, that's your problem.

Right as Duke finishes Flash runs by, majorly hyped up on caffeine.

Duke: Checkmate.

------

Martian Manhunter: It appears that I am the last remaining League member.

Duke: Yeah, I don't really understand this tradition but apparently every Robin ends it by picking a favorite league member.

Martian Manhunter: Out of all the League members, why have you chosen me?

Duke: Your smart and have a lot of cool powers. Also, I dunno, I hear you sometimes feel like an outsider with the league. Cause, the whole martian thing. And I know it's not the same but, sometimes I feel like an outsider with the bats, being the only meta and all.

Martian Manhunter: You have chosen me so that we may bond over our lack of connections?

Duke: Uhhhh, yeah?

Martian Manhunter: Hm. Very well, I assume that this is your “Robin Weakness”. Apparently every Robin has one.

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

<- Previous |

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elainevc · 3 years ago

Text

please stay

fem!reader x levi

⚠️ Trigger Warnings ⚠️: Mentions of weight loss, low appetite, disease, illness, angst

Please take care of yourself if these things are triggering. Stories on the internet are not worth you risking your mental health <3

Levi watched as you scrubbed away at the window. He appreciated the times when you would stay longer to help him. You knew he was particular about his cleaning and felt the need to keep him company at least.

He liked that about you.

Your willingness to help those you cared about was admirable, especially coming from the stone cold captain.

Both of you felt the strange romantic tension, but you were comfortable the way things were, so why would you change it? He was mostly scared of your rejection if he confessed and decided to keep it to himself.

That was until you were sick one day.

Levi's not one to worry, and definitely not about someone he knows is strong. But you didn't join him for breakfast like usual and when he asked Hange, they said you were resting in your room.

She reassured him that you were just feeling a little under the weather and needed some time to relax and get better.

His anxiety was quenched, but only for a short amount of time because you didn't leave your room the next day, or the day after that. Before he realized, it had been weeks since you were bouncing around the halls, offering your assistance to anyone who needed it.

Even Erwin was starting to worry at your state.

Hange did their daily examination when they spoke carefully.

"Some of the cadets wanted to visit you today," her tone didn't have the normal chipperness that you'd grown so used to.

You were sat up on the edge of your bed in your bra and shorts. Hange looked at you and saw the bags under your eyes.

She glanced at your paling skin and chapped lips. Your hair was greasy and knotted and you were starting to smell a little ripe. She could tell you didn't give a damn about your appearance.

You strained a smile and replied, "they can if they want. I wouldn't mind some company, but I don't think they'd want to help me get from the bed and toilet every time I feel sick."

You laughed but there was no amusement behind it.

The days continued and these times were joined by Sasha who always brought a large tray of food--even though you always ate very little--or Connie and Jean doing your paperwork, at least what they can do, or Armin who always brings a book to read and a snuggly blanket.

These kids cared about you too much to let you spend your days alone.

Everyone visited you at some point with reassuring words and hugs. Everyone except Levi.

He was still trying to figure out what to say to you. He had no idea where the two of you stood but Hange encouraged him to speak to you one day after the examination.

They weren't the best at hiding their emotions and Levi could tell your condition was only getting worse.

The short captain entered the room to find you by yourself. The blankets were pulled up to your chin and sweat formed on your forehead.

You opened your eyes to find him standing there, and at first you thought it was a dream.

"Levi..."

"Hey brat," he said without the usual sass on the last word. He walked over and pulled the chair to your bedside. You moved to sit up so you could see his face better.

His cravat was slightly ruffled and uneven. Your hand moved on instinct to readjust it. The motion was slow and tedious. You knew how he liked his cravat and it was strange that he left his room with it in such a condition.

"Sorry, it was kind of tilted," you said as you leaned back. He eyes followed you with every movement. You rested your back to the headboard.

He grabbed your hand in his. You were surprised how warm his palms were wrapped around your cold hand. His eyes didn't meet yours as you watched him think silently.

"How are you feeling," he asked quietly.

"Eh, I still think I could kill more titans like this than you could."

He chuckled. The sound was like music to your ears. No, it was music to your ears. You could listen to that for years and never get tired of how easily it fell from his lips. You wished it was a happier sound, but it was genuine nonetheless.

"Yeah, I'm sure you could," he stated blandly, still avoiding your gaze.

You wanted to make him look at you. You wanted to get lost in his steel blue eyes once again. Every time you stayed after to help him clean, you loved seeing his eyes light up just a little at you. It wasn't something you could notice the first time, but it was something you looked forward to after the second.

"Levi, can you look at me please?"

Your voice cut through his heart. No, he didn't want to look at you.

He didn't want to see the life draining from your face and the same happy expression plastered over it. Even as you died silently in your bed you had a smile on.

It hurt him more than anything to see your cheeks cave into you, and your collar bones pushing onto your skin.

But you wanted to see him. You were asking for him to look at you, so he bit his tongue and did so.

Your smile immediately returned and your hand gripped his. He couldn't stop the tears from forming at his eyes. The first came down quick, then the second, then the third, and soon his face was drenched with his tears and the room was filled with his sobs.

You didn't know what to do. You'd never seen your fellow soldier break down like this and you were confused why it happened so suddenly.

"Um.. Levi? Are you o-okay?"

He put your hand to his chest. The salty tears didn't seem to be slowing down. You wanted to hug him but you were scared it wouldn't only make him cry harder.

His hands were grasping at yours. It felt like he was clinging to you for life. Dammit, what were you supposed to do?

You let him cry for a moment. He sniffled slightly and finally spoke him broken sobs.

"You can't- you can't leave me too," he choked out. "They're all gone and- and you're all that I have left. Please y/n... please just- just stay with me."

There was no hesitation when you grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. He didn't stop as he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You felt the tears on your skin and soaking into your shirt.

You put your hand on his head and softly ran your fingers through his hair.

Despite your weak form your grip on the man was still strong. He wanted to be in your arms for the rest of his life. He wanted to feel your heartbeat and pulse because that meant you were alive. It meant you were with him.

He hated seeing you like this. It reminded him too much of his mother and how she died.

She left him too early, and he wasn't going to let you leave him too. He held you close, and at some point Levi lost track of how long he'd been like this. You were going to stay.

Walls, he needed you to stay. And you didn't want to leave him either.

#aot #attack on titan #snk #aot levi #levi angst #levi x reader #snk levi #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi x you #levi attack on titan #attack on titan levi #rivai ackerman #levi ackermann #aot angst #snk angst #let me cry #in peace #please

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cursedwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Dancing with your Ghost - Fushiguro Megumi

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Warnings: Deals with death, Megumi has various breakdowns, it’s just really sad over all... sorry for making you cry in advance!

Words: 4.9k

Author’s Note: Kind of inspired by this song: Dancing with your Ghost - Sasha Sloan // Also, when they dance, I kinda imagined them to dance to this: Technicolour Beat - Oh Wonder

“Is he still in there?” Yuji pointed at the door by the end of the hallway. Gojo was walking in his direction, his expression unreadable.

“No matter what I tell him, he won’t come out.” His voice sounded tired, almost worn out. The sight must’ve been hard for him to bear. Itadori gulped. He wasn’t sure if he could take it. “You should try talking to him. Maybe he will listen to you. We both know he would regret it if he missed the ceremony.” Gojo patted Yuji on the shoulder, hand lingering for a few additional seconds in silent comfort.

“I’ll try my best,” Itadori nodded, though, he sounded more hopeful than he was. This was going to be rough.

Soon after, Gojo disappeared behind the corner and out of sight. His shoulders were slouching and his head was hanging low as if he couldn’t walk upright. This was hard on everyone. But the person who had it the worst of all was…

“Fushiguro, can I come in?” Yuji knocked on the door three times. No answer. He tried again. This time more forceful. “Hey, Megumi! It’s me, Yuji! Do you mind if I come in?” Still no answer. Itadori sighed, but he pushed the door open anyways, peering into the dimly lit library of the Jujutsu Tech High school. Admittedly, he’s never been in here before. Yuji wasn’t really the non-fiction reader… or anything that wasn’t manga, really. But upon entering the room, he couldn’t help but gawk. The shelves were stacked to the max, piling up above his head in a seemingly endless supply of books. There were books everywhere. The amount of knowledge that was stored in here was immense. And all about curses and jujutsu? Incredible! Maybe he should’ve come here sooner. He bet that there had to be at least a dozen books about Sukuna here somewhere.

“It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any sense.” Itadori was pulled out of his thoughts by the repetitive mantra that was coming from somewhere behind a shelf. He followed the sound that was mingled with quiet sobs and he had to force himself to keep walking. This was more terrifying than facing all the curses of this world together.

“Megumi?” He peered around the shelf, finding his friend sitting on the old wooden floor, frantically flipping through a book with yellowed pages that seemed to be falling apart at the seams. It must’ve been ancient.

“No sense, no sense, no sense,” he repeated over and over again as if that phrase was the only thing keeping him sane.

“Megumi?” Itadori tried again and finally Megumi’s head snapped up and he looked at Itadori like a deer caught in headlights… only way worse. His eyes were bloodshot with dark purple circles underneath them. A stark contrast to his sickly pale skin. Briefly, Yuji wondered if Megumi had slept at all since it happened. Tears were streaming down his face and it felt like they would never stop. An endless river of sorrow and despair. Yuji was sure he heard his own heart shatter in his chest as he looked at his best friend. He wished he could take some of the pain away. Even if it was just a little, but of course that was impossible. “The ceremony will start soon and-“

“That’s stupid!” Fushiguro cut him off harshly, his voice hoarse and quieter than usual. “Why would there be a freaking ceremony when she’s coming back?!”

“Megumi, she-“

“No! Stop it!” He yelled, throwing the book he was reading against the opposite wall. “Stop it! Shut up!” He pressed his palms against his temples as if he wanted to crush his own skull. “I’ll do it, you’ll see! All of you! You’ll see! I’ll bring her back! I’ll bring her back, okay?! I will – I will!” He repeated it over and over again and it was apparent that he wanted to proof himself right more than anything else. Maybe making him believe would help ease his pain? Should he encourage him? No. Despite wishing that he could provide some words of comfort right now, Itadori knew that false hope would be the cruelest thing he could offer. No matter how much it hurt, but Megumi couldn’t go on like this… searching for something that wasn’t real.

“Megumi, please. You’ll regret it if you don’t come,” Itadori tried again, picking up the book that Megumi had thrown away. He flipped through the first pages and he could already tell that the answers Megumi was searching for weren’t in this book. It was mostly about how sorcerers could reincarnate as curses if their dead bodies weren’t handled properly. If they died you had to make sure that the last hit was infused with cursed energy. Usually, that took care of things. However, if they died of natural causes, diseases or accidents there was a special ritual, a ceremony that made sure their bodies were put to rest accordingly. Kind of like a funeral, but then again, not quite. This was the ceremony Fushiguro refused to attend, even though it was highly valued among sorcerers. It was a way to pay your last respects, value their accomplishments and thank them for their sacrifice. He probably refused to go because that would make her death final and he would be forced to move on, no matter how hard it would be… and it was going to be very hard.

“SHE’S COMING BACK, DAMMIT!” Megumi yelled at him, reaching for another book that was stocked in a pile he’d built himself. The tower crumbled with the way he yanked it out, dozen books falling to the ground, scattering to their feet. It was eerily quiet for a second, Yuji didn’t dare to speak. The atmosphere so thick, he doubted even Maki’s demon blade could cut through it. And then, right when he wanted to say something, anything really to get rid of the suffocating silence in the room, Megumi started sobbing. Not like before. Impossibly, it was even worse. His whole body shook with the action, hands that were clinging onto the book were trembling and despite him hanging his head low, Yuji could see the frequent tears that were hitting the old worn out pages of the book, blurring the ink further, making it almost unreadable.

Hesitantly, he took a step forward, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Should he hug him? What could he even say? Should he call for someone? Gojo-sensei? Would he know what to do? Or Nobara? Or, wait! Y/N always knew what to do when it came to him… Oh, right…

Yuji slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. How could he forget?! It really didn’t feel real yet, huh? Itadori tried to swallow the big lump in his throat as he crouched down and gently took the book out of Fushiguro’s shaking hands. He looked so fragile, as if a single slap to the wrist could break his arm.

“I just don’t get it,” Megumi whispered. His voice sounded far away, as if he was underwater or as if Yuji had cotton in his ears, muffling his voice to a point where it was almost incomprehensible. “It’s just so unfair.”

Yuji placed the book on the ground beside him, skipping over the title “Resurrection and the balance of the world”, it read. He gulped again. Could it be possible?

“I know it is.” He laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and another muffled cry escaped Megumi’s mouth. Yuji had seen a lot over the course of just one year, but not once has he witnessed such utter despair. The sight pulled on his heart strings in ways he couldn’t even explain.

“She fought against the most heinous creatures every day and you’re telling me she died because some fucking asshole thought it was a good idea to drive while being absolutely shit faced?!” Some of his words were swallowed by his sobs, but Itadori understood him well enough. “I refuse to believe that! I refuse to accept that!”

Momentarily Itadori was thrown back to the moment they got the call, he remembered it all too vividly. The shock, the confusion and his scream…

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the nurse led them into the room. The air was chilly and it smelled like disinfectant. The stench so unbelievably strong, Megumi thought he might throw up. It burned in his eyes and nose and he distantly felt his cheeks getting wet. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the smell or of what was to come… at this point, it still felt like a sick joke, some twisted game or prank. Just not real, like a dream, a nightmare he would wake up from any second.

There was a single bed in the middle of the room, the body underneath covered by a white cloth. Gojo, Nobara and Yuji gathered around it, hands clutched together in front of them as if they were silently praying. Megumi hesitated. He stood in the doorframe, looking at the scene in front of him and nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Everyone was crying. Even Gojo seemed more tense than usual and he was sure he saw a stray tear slip from underneath his sunglasses.

The room was silent, except for the door falling shut behind him as the nurse left them to mourn in peace. This was a dream, right? A nightmare? How could it be anything else?

Megumi’s footsteps echoed off the walls as he hesitantly approached the bed covered in white sheets.

This is just a dream. This is a nightmare. You’re going to wake up any second now. Just wake up. Wake up! Wake up, dammit!

But he didn’t wake up. Not even as he reached for the white cloth. And he didn’t wake up as he slowly lifted it up. He didn’t wake up when everyone sucked in a sharp breath. And he didn’t wake up as Nobara’s knees buckled and she fell to the ground sobbing. He didn’t wake up as he laid his eyes on your peaceful but lifeless face.

Megumi didn’t wake up. But God did he wish he did.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity. Studying your features. How your hair was softly flowing on the pillow, how your lips were slightly parted as if you would wake up at any given moment and tell him something important. But he also noticed that your cheeks lacked their signature pinkish tint and your lips were more blue than their usual vibrant red.

His hand inched closer to your face, connecting to your cheeks and adoringly caressing it. It was cold underneath his touch. Your skin feeling more like wax than it felt alive.

No one said anything, the only sound was Nobara’s quiet sobs that she tried to stiffle to the best of her abilities. Everyone watched Megumi and no one knew what to do. Neither of them has ever felt so helpless. Even Gojo was rendered speechless at the heartbreaking sight in front of him.

And then, everything slowly started to sink in…

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s really gone! You’re not waking up! Why aren’t you waking up?! Wake up!! No, no, no. This can’t happen. This can’t happen. This isn’t happening! Tell me this isn’t happening?!

Didn’t I just talk to her this morning? Didn’t we talk about going to the beach as soon as it got warmer? Didn’t we make dinner plans? Didn’t she boast about a new recipe she wanted to try? Didn’t this just happen? And you’re telling me that all of that is just… gone? Just like that? In a moments notice… poof?! Evaporated into thin air? You’re telling me that?

“Wake up, dammit! Wake up, dammit! WAKE UP!”

Everyone stared helplessly at Fushiguro. At first no one knew if he was talking to himself or you, but then he started desperately shaking your shoulders, repeating the words over and over again. “We wanted to go to the beach, remember? You told me you couldn’t wait! Come back, and I’ll drive us right now! Come back! Come back to me, please! Please!”

Gojo couldn’t bear the sight anymore. The way he shook your body as if that would change anything. With a few long strides he closed the distance between him and Megumi and pulled him away from the bed. He was thrashing at him, screaming in his face to let him go, but Gojo didn’t listen. He gladly took a hit or two if that meant Fushiguro could get at least some of his frustration out of his body. To Gojo, the room itself was a hard place to be in – for obvious reasons. The energy here made him feel uneasy and on edge. The amount of cursed energy gushing out of Megumi was immense and almost unbearable. He had to get his emotions in check or else…

Megumi continued to yell and thrash. “Let me go, you bastard! Let me go! I need to see her! I need to see her!”

“I understand that this is hard for you, but you need to calm down!” Gojo’s voice was stern. This was probably the first time ever that he actually put on the façade of a responsible adult. Nobara and Yuji watched the two with wide eyes, but didn’t interfere otherwise. “If you keep this up, you might end up cursing her! Do you want that?!”

“Let me go! Let me go!” Megumi wasn’t listening.

“Megumi, snap out of it!” Gojo’s palm connected to Megumi’s cheek, his flesh burning hot where it had connected. For a moment, the room was silent again. Only Megumi’s labored breaths broke through the thick tension.

“You bastard!” Megumi launched himself at Gojo with all his strength, but that was exactly what Gojo intended. It was better if he directed all his energy towards him than having it leak out of him uncontrollably. Otherwise he had the potential of manifesting a new special grade curse that neither one of them wanted to deal with, especially if you were to be reborn as said curse.

Megumi stopped his relentless attacks, knees buckling under his weight as a single agony filled screamed echoed off the walls…

Megumi slowly opened his eyes. His head was aching, blood soaring in his ears. What happened? He looked around himself. The room was dark, only illuminated by the moon light that peered through his partially closed blinds. He was laying in his bed, the room a mess just like he remembered. That was unlike him. Well, ever since that day he hasn’t been himself at all. Now, he more or less felt like an empty shell, existing but not alive.

He groaned, sitting up while he rubbed his temples, hoping to get the relentless throbbing to stop. Ah, that’s right. A few flashes of the previous events reminded him of what had happened. Megumi’s frustration and anger had gotten the best of him and he started throwing books, ripping them out of their shelves and even tearing some of them apart when he couldn’t find the answers he was looking for. Yuji had to call for Gojo and he in turn had knocked him unconscious.

Megumi huffed. Great. Now he was probably not permitted to go to the library again. He should really start thinking before lashing out like this. No, matter, though. If push comes to shove he’d find a way in and if it’s the last thing he did. He didn’t really care anymore anyways. What’s the worst that could happen? Expulsion? That was nothing.

He peeled the covers back, his shirt sticking to his body uncomfortably. Maybe he should take a shower before he went back again.

Reluctantly, he got up and walked towards his bathroom, mindful not to trip on anything that was scattered on his floor.

Once he was there, he turned the shower faucet on, letting the water heat up while he stripped out of his clothes. His head was still killing him and his whole body ached. He shivered, even as he got into the shower and the hot water burned his skin. He was still cold. For some reason he didn’t seem to be able to get warm anymore, as if you took all of his warmth with you, when you left him.

“Ew, stop doing that,” you laughed wholeheartedly as Megumi shook his wet hair in your face after coming out of the shower. “Seriously, are you a dog?”

“No, but I love hearing you laugh.” Megumi wrapped his arms around you, pressing your back against his naked chest as you both watched your reflection in the mirror. “I really love you, Y/N. So much,” he whispered in your ear, not taking his eyes off the mirror. He could see the faint blush on your cheeks and he placed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck to emphasize his words.

“I love you, too.” The smile on your lips and the way your eyes sparkled with joy, filled his heart with warmth and light. He could bask in it for all eternity and he would never get tired of it.

Megumi turned the water off, still shivering. It was to no use. His skin was burning red, though, and the whole room was filled with steam and yet, he had goosebumps all over his body. His teeth started clattering as he dried himself and he put on new clothes.

The clock on his bedside table told him that it was three in the morning. He felt like he forgot about something… something important. What was it again?

And then his eyes widened in shock. No, no, no.

“Hey, look!” Megumi felt your slender fingers wrap around his wrist, your warmth immediately warming his cold skin. You tugged him gently and he followed you. It didn’t take long for you to reach your desired destination and you stopped, eyes shining with awe in them as you watched over the city, lights sparkling and illuminating the darkness. Megumi couldn’t deny that the view was breathtaking, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from constantly looking at you instead. The way your face lit up, the way the lights danced on your face and how your cheeks were always tinted in their usual pinkish color, made him fall for you all over again. His heart hammered in his chest and his pulse picked up. Butterflies assaulting his stomach in the best way imaginable and he felt like he was floating above ground. Never has he felt so happy. “There! It’s starting!” You beamed at him as the first flash of light painted the night sky in a bright blue color, then it changed to red and then green. The sound of other fireworks being set off rang through the otherwise silent night. Here, on top of the mountain away from anyone, it was the most peaceful place he could imagine. But he wasn’t sure if it was only because of the view and the fact that no one was around or if it was because you were here. Whatever it was, he didn’t dream to fight it. The feeling so foreign yet so welcomed.

Suddenly your hand appeared in his line of vision and he didn’t hesitate to take it. What he didn’t expect was you starting to spin around. It took him a moment to catch up. “C’mon, Megumi, what are you doing? Don’t just stand there so stiffly! Dance with me!” You urged him on and Megumi felt his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He could only hope that you couldn’t see it.

“There’s no music, though,” he said, trying to find an excuse to not make a complete fool out of himself. You see, Megumi wasn’t a dancer. Give him a choreographed fighting formation and he could do that no problem, but moving his feet to the rhythm of a song? Nope. That was sure to end in him tripping over his own feet and in the worst case break his leg or arm.

You rolled your eyes at him, but instead of saying anything, you reached into your back pocket to get a hold of your phone. It didn’t take long and the sound of the fireworks was mixed with the soft tune of a song that he didn’t know. “Better?”

Well, not really… Megumi scratched the back of his head, unsure. Better to come clean, I guess. “You see… I can’t really dance… like at all,” Megumi stammered.

“So what? I can’t dance either,” you laughed, spinning around and jumping up and down like it was the most normal thing to do. The smile on your face never faltered and you did another spin, throwing your hands up in the air, moving them around awkwardly. Megumi couldn’t help but laugh at your awkward movements. You looked so silly, it was hilarious. “See? Now it’s only fair that you make a fool out of yourself, too. You can’t leave me hanging like this!”

What the hell, right? Megumi started moving his feet, still super stiffly and anything but graceful, but he did it. He looked at you, following your movements and it didn’t take him long to get the hang of it… well, somewhat at least. He still looked really awkward and helpless, so you reached both your hands out for him again and he grabbed them without hesitation, just like before. You started spinning both of you in circles, giggling at the way his face lit up slightly. He joined your laughter, looking at you with the most adoring smile in the world. It felt… so easy. Everything with you felt so easy.

So now it was just the both of you, spinning around in fast circles, laughing at the night sky filled with stars while in the distance the sound of fireworks slowly died down. The music playing softly in the background, but you didn’t even care that the rhythm of the song didn’t match with your movements at all. Nothing mattered in that moment. Just the two of you. Together. Forever.

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d show up.” Gojo scratched the back of his neck, smiling apologetically. “Maybe I was a bit too rough, when I knocked you out. Sorry about that.”

Megumi stared at him sitting in the front row of lined up chairs. The room was only dimly lit by the candles at the other end. The soft light they cast illuminated a picture of you in a black frame. It was the same one he had saved as his phone background. Megumi gulped, feet moving on their own as he approached Gojo, though, he felt his knees wobble unsteadily. The air became thicker and thicker with every other step he took. It felt excruciatingly hard to breathe. It was suffocating.

Megumi sat down on a chair next to Gojo, forcing himself to tear his eyes off the framed picture in front of him. If he didn’t he was afraid he might break down again. So he shifted his attention to the man in the chair next to him. He was already looking at him, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, as usual. There was a slight frown in his features, though, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line, a stark contrast to his normally giddy self. So Gojo could be serious, huh? Who would’ve thought? Bet you would’ve loved to see him like that…

“Megumi,” Gojo broke the silence first, his tone soft, but there was a certain sternness behind it that Megumi didn’t know he had until now. It left no room for interpretation. This was going to be a serious talk and Fushiguro didn’t know if he was ready for that yet. “I know that losing someone you care about is not easy and I’m not trying to pretend that I know exactly what you’re going through right now, but I’m telling you as your sensei and as a friend… you have to move on. And that means you have to stop looking for ways to bring her back.”

Megumi opened his mouth to tell him off, but Gojo just held a finger up to show him he wasn’t done yet. The crease between Megumi’s brows deepened, but he kept his mouth shut regardless. “The world works under a few distinct principles. Rules that cannot be broken, if you will. Like we know that after the sun sets, dawn will come. With darkness, there is light and no matter how harsh a winter might be, spring will always come next. And the pinnacle of those rules will always be that with life there comes death. We don’t get to choose when this’ll be or how it’ll happen, but from the moment we’re born we know without a doubt that we’ll have to leave this place at some point. Death is certain. It’s but one part of life and disrupting that cycle, breaking one of the unbreakable rules, would cause the whole system to fall apart. It would level the ground for mayhem and destruction, nothing would make sense anymore. The world would crumble. As sorcerers you know that we protect the ones who cannot protect themselves, but we also maintain balance and Megumi… while I do understand your desire to see her again, I have to warn you… even if there is a chance, I won’t let you do it at the expense of everyone else’s life.”

Silence fell between them again. Megumi had a hard time believing that these words really just came out of Gojo’s mouth. Deep down, he knew he was right. He knew it was a futile plan to bring you back. It was selfish and irresponsible, but he was so… desperate. So desperate to hear your voice again, so desperate to listen to you laugh or complain, so desperate to feel your delicate and warm touch on his cold skin. He was so desperate for these things; he couldn’t think straight. His mind felt foreign to him without you there. He didn’t know who he was, who he would be without you by his side. He didn’t know if he wanted to be in this world anymore with his source of warmth and comfort gone. They said, time healed all wounds but as of now that seemed impossible. Just a thing people told themselves to keep moving forward. A lie that was supposed to protect oneself from the cruel and harsh truth that the world didn’t stop spinning, that time passed by and that dawn always came… no matter what. The world moved forward regardless if you were here or not and it felt like a cruel joke to him. Nothing seemed the same. He didn’t recognize anything, looking at the world with different eyes. How could there be a world without you in it? Why was everyone moving forward while he was left behind? And how could they? How could they move on? Why didn’t the world stop spinning? It should. Because nothing felt right. Nothing was the same. And yet… that only held true for him.

Megumi wiped away his silent tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “But I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he croaked out. It was the first thing that came to his mind. He replayed the morning with you over and over again and he couldn’t remember if he said goodbye to you when you left that fateful day. Did he? Did he not? In any case, he would’ve never thought how final of a farewell it would’ve been in the end. “I don’t even remember the last thing I said to her,” he sobbed.

He felt beyond guilty for not being able to recall it clearly. Did he say ‘I love you’? Did you say it back? He wanted to believe he did, but he just wasn’t sure and it drove him insane.

“She knew that you loved her very much, Megumi. I’m sure she knew until the very end.” Gojo patted his shoulder a few times, before he got up. “Take all the time you need.” He left the room, closing the door behind him, but not before he turned around one last time, looking at Megumi with worried eyes. “But remember, Megumi… You have to move on eventually, no matter how hard it is. For her sake and your own… Just know that you have people in your life that you can rely on any time, okay?”

Megumi nodded and Gojo let the door fall shut behind him. The silence that ensued was almost deafening. Finally, Megumi let his tears fall freely, sobbing like a child and sucking in air after shallow breaths.

Everything hurt with you gone. How could he ever move on? How could he ever love again? Megumi was scared he might break in half. How much pain could someone even bear? Though, deep down he knew that he didn’t have a choice… He had to try. And he would try his hardest to keep moving forward, holding on to that tiny glimpse of hope that one day he’d see you again. And when he did, he swore to himself to never stop telling you how much he loved you. Always and forever.

637 notes · View notes

danielxricciardo · 3 years ago

Note

Can you do one with Max, with 46 and 55 from angst list?

Summary: You are suffering from depression and Max tries to be by your side

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of suicide, depression

Word count: 3.6k+

46. “I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

55. “You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay.”

Depression feels like a lot of things.

It feels like sadness, which is what everyone will tell you. It's a pretty common thread.

"I'm worthless."

"Everyone thinks I'm a horrible burden."

So on and so forth.

Everyone in the world is happy but you, and in the end, you are a worthless piece of shit that doesn't belong in this otherwise glorious and happy place. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you are lying there on your bed in the same unlaundered pair of pajamas, wondering why you are even allowed to keep living any longer. Some meteor strikes or lightning bolts should be reserved for people like you because you are taking up space and oxygen and food and other resources that real, happy, productive people need.

It feels like emptiness. You have all these possibilities and none of them seem interesting. You could do some art, or play some music, but that just doesn't feel right. There's no joy in it. You could have sex with your significant other, but you can't muster up the desire. You could play video games, or read a book. But what's the point? There's no real benefit to all of it but passing the time. You could get up and make lunch. But no, you're not that hungry, and if you close your eyes, time will pass a little faster. You can lie there. That works. It doesn't require active effort to do something fruitless. Everything is as empty and fruitless as lying and staring out your window at the clouds and the shifting shadows of tree branches, and so why do anything else?

It feels like fatigue. Standing up out of your bed requires the same amount of bodily effort as climbing several flights of stairs. Managing to get dressed and walk outside is like running a race. Heaven helps you if you try to go to the store or a friend's house -- that may as well be on the other side of the continent. Every step is heavy. Every muscle motion requires ten times the work it used to. Exercise becomes difficult, and control over your body expires quickly. You become clumsier, so heavy lifting is right out. You daze out randomly, daydreaming, even dozing, so biking or running is hard. You feel most at home when you are entirely relaxed, so you lie down...and don't get up again until something like your bladder compels you.

It feels like a loss of control. You have no idea why your brain and body are doing this. You don't want to feel sad. Nobody wants to feel shitty and tired and empty all the time. People will look at you and say, "It's like you don't want to get better." Those people are idiots. You truly, deeply, from the bottom of your soul, have no idea why this has happened or what to do. It's not logical. It makes no sense. You woke up like this, or it crept in overtime or something like that. It's like a fog, a force of nature that sweeps in, occludes everything, and there's not one thing you can do about it from where you stand. Trying feels like taking a paper fan outside and trying to blow away the morning mist. Someone has tied puppet strings to your brain and is playing this hideous dance with it, and you don't have the scissors to cut them away. The dance doesn't make sense; it's arbitrary and rhythmless. If you had any sort of reasoning behind it, you could take control. But you don't.

It feels like desperation. You can't find a way out. You lie there at night, keening into your pillow like a wounded animal, making all sorts of noises that no human being should be able to make. You claw and scratch at the sheets, or at yourself, as the pain wrings itself out through bodily expression. The tears won't stop. You don't know why. All you know is that it hurts, it really and truly hurts, and you think if it goes on any longer, you're going to die. Right there. Bleed out on the floor. So you grab up your phone, and you call someone at 4 AM, and you beg them to please just make it stop. You bury yourself in books and movies because at least then you can imagine something else than yourself. You read nonstop. You have to have your fix. It's like an addiction, no, more like a life support machine. Otherworlds, fantasies of happiness, and real experiences that aren't your horrible existence become the iron lung keeping air flowing in and out. You are alive because you can stop thinking for a while. Your friends come over to comfort you. Their stories keep you sane and well, like dialysis for all the toxins in you. Your mind has failed at being independent, and now it relies on a thousand little machines to keep itself running. You rely on one machine until another comes to save you. You read books until your friends come by. You stretch out your time with friends until you have to bury yourself in a movie again just to keep the thought of real-life away.

It feels like untamed anger. Your friends can't keep this up forever. You fall further and further, and you eventually start dropping commitments. You have become That Person, the flake that everyone knows will back out. People start getting annoyed at you, annoyed at how they have to spend so much time just keeping you afloat, annoyed at how often you're causing them trouble by constantly disappearing and backing out of appointments, and so on. Your workplace gets annoyed at your lack of productivity. And then you can't take it anymore, and you want to scream at them, grab them by the throat and shake them because IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! You start having twisted fantasies, the ones where you walk up to that person who keeps telling you he can't do this anymore, you're just too unreliable, putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. Just to make him know, for once, that FUCK HIM, your problems are REAL, DAMMIT, REAL, and he better FUCKING RESPECT that. And when you're gone, he'll fall to his knees and cry, and he'll say, he wishes he had understood, that he didn't mean to be so unkind, and the scar on his heart from his own failure will remain fresh and knotted for eternity. And then you shake yourself out of the daydream, and you wonder why you have turned into such a horrible person, someone who even considers ending their own life just to spite another human being. Then it creeps back in, the knowledge that the world is getting fed up with you...and the cycle begins again. You start thriving off these daydreams, because at the very least if you can't be happy, you can throw caution to the wind and get the petty, oddly satisfying revenge buried under all those layers of morality that are becoming worn and flaking away. It's just a fantasy, right? And it helps pass the time...

It feels like forever. You have forgotten what it's like to truly be joyful. You can imagine it, but it's not really you in those thoughts. This is who you are. This is your life. This is you.

It feels like you have only one thing truly under your power: your existence. You cannot choose what life throws at you. Your brain and body have betrayed you. Your friends have worn away, and you've fled from your job and any commitments you have.

It feels empowering. You can jump whenever you want.

But he accepted you the way you are. He never reproached you for negatively influencing his mentality or life, even though you knew he felt it too. He always listened to you, he was with you even at 2 in the morning when you were crying on the bathroom floor with your knees to your chest, and you knew it wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to go through, basically, what you were going through. But no matter how much you told him you could do it without his help, Max was coming back more insistently than ever.

He came up with the idea to start therapy. "You have to find out why you feel this way. Go at least once, see how it is, if you don't like it or feel that it doesn't help you, you will give up, okay?" That was a year and a half ago.

The psychologist gave you a diagnosis from the first session: Major Depressive Disorder. Sure you knew what the three words meant, but you didn't know what it meant to have a label on your condition.

"A major depressive disorder is characterized by one or more of these depressive episodes. the diagnosis of major depressive disorder requires depressed mood or anhedonia which is the loss of interest in pleasure and five or more signs or symptoms for the SIGECAPS mnemonic for a 2-week period. (SIGECAPS) Sleep Disturbance, loss of Interest, feeling Guilty, feeling fatigued and low in Energy, having decreased Concentration, decreased or increased Appetite and been agitated and slow and having Suicidal ideation."

It sounds incredible to you. Suicidal thoughts? Not everyone has a thought, somewhere, behind their mind 'What if I disappeared?'

You were prescribed Prozac and Zoloft and it helped. You weren't always sad anymore, you could go to the races with Max and support him as a normal girlfriend does. You apologized to my friends who tried to help me and whose lives you made impossible and you managed to get back to work, from home anyway. Sure, you still had moments when you felt like you weren't 100% yourself but not like before. You did therapy twice a week and the psychologist was happy with your evolution.

But being the stupid ass that you are, you stopped taking the medication. You took the last pill on Friday. Because you were fine. You felt ok, everyone around you told you you were better, you were doing amazing, so you were cured, right? Or so you thought. Saturday was normal. Sunday was not. Your mood and energy were very low. You woke up at like 2 in the afternoon. That is not unusual for you. You’re used to it. You were sad. You were exhausted. You knew that feeling like this was “no excuse” so you tried to force yourself to do it anyway. Typical of your life. You feel like you had already taken so much off work because of the triple-header, you were for three weeks attached to the hips with Max.

The only thing you thought of was dying. And that terrified you. And Max senses something was wrong. But he didn't want to tell something and ending up being wrong and you being upset by his misinterpretation. But, yes, he sensed that you were becoming your old self.

"Hey, babe," he snapped you out of your daydreaming. A tragic one, where you were finally at peace and Max was crying for you. You were on the verge of crying yourself at the mere image of Max in your head. But you pushed it far from your mind, somewhere in a dark corner for you to find it at an appropriate time to fantasize about your dying. "How about we go to a picnic? It's sunny outside."

Yes, the wheater was amazing. It was finally summer and you could go outside and spend some time with Max. But your brain literally is tricking you into thinking you don't deserve to enjoy the sunny day. Why? You don't have an answer.

"I'm not really in the mood, Max. Sorry."

You are not in the mood. That was his affirmation. You are not ok.

"You feeling good?"

"Yeah. Just tired I guess."

"But you just woke up."

You shrugged. He was right. You just woke up, so why do you feel like you were carrying a ton of bricks on your shoulders? You couldn't walk. You almost felt like 18 months ago. And that is when it hit you. And Max, at the same time.

"Still taking your meds, I hope."

Silence. Your mind was like overcrowded and you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed your head and pulled your hair because you wanted it to stop. You were thinking that you didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know how to think. You didn’t know how you felt. You were like anxious-depressed-angry-miserable-irritable all in one. Your head was spinning with thoughts. Thoughts were talking over thoughts. So fast that you couldn’t even make out one complete sentence. It was just too much for you to handle. You just wanted someone to kill you.

Max came to you and he hugged you so hard you thought he could crush your bones right there and then. You calmed down eventually. But now you were embarrassed. Because Max saw you, again, at your lowest. Because you promised you'll get better, and for a while, you were better, but now you are fucked and back into square one. All those money on therapy and your pills, for what? For you to stop taking them because you thought you were feeling better? Well, you definitely were not ok, nor you'll be. So, yeah, being fucked sounded good.

Max brought you the medicine and a glass of water. Taking the pills again? For what? The pills only fuel the feeling that everything is fine and that you are a normal person. Nothing was good and you were not a normal person.

But you took the pills. And you looked Max in the eyes and you wanted to die. He seemed crushed. He was sad, devastated, maybe angry but definitely disappointed. In you. Because maybe you don't realize this, but while you were doing good, he was doing great. He knew you could be on your own so he stopped worrying that much, and that could also be seen in his driving. He was winning more races, he was at his best and now he was at his lowest. Because you were at your lowest; co-dependency and shit.

"I'm sorry, baby. I thought I was doing well enough to stop taking the meds," you say in a broken voice but the tears are yet to appear. He stroked your hair and kissed you on your forehead.

"You should have told me. You don't have to go thru this alone. I am here."

"Yeah, you are here. But you don't have to be!" you snapped. Irritability, one thing your depression came with. "I am just a burden for you. And no, this does not come from the fact I stopped taking my pills. You took care of me like I was a child, and, fuck it, you don't deserve this."

"Stop talking like this, alright? If I would suffer from depression you would have done the same thing. You would have taken care of me. Or am I wrong?"

"You are not wrong. To be honest, I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you, but I don't want you to be. It's obvious that I would never get better. This is me. I am fucked in the head, half wishing I was dead and I am just bringing you down."

"Don't tell me this is a fucking break up, Y/N." he narrows his brows and looks at your features to make sure you were being serious.

“I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

"What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a break-up or a suicidal vocal note?"

You broke down. Crying can be cathartic and healthy, but if it goes on too long it can lock your body in a feeling of despair. Even if your mind works through the problem that caused the crying, because your body is still feeling the physical effects it will cause your mind to revert to the negative state. It's not sadness. It's dread and paralysis. You had a certain feeling of emptiness and purposelessness.

“You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay,” you say between sobs.

"You want me to find you a reason to stay alive or to stay in this relationship? To be frank, I can name a thousand reasons, but it all depends on you."

Max hugs you from behind and you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was stronger than ever. You allowed yourself to inhale Max's scent, a soothing scent you could get drunk on.

"I want to believe you love me. I mean, I love you and I consider you the love of my life, you know? We are so young and I know it doesn't feel like it, but I promise you, I'm gonna marry you someday, even if right now you don't think you're gonna make it till tomorrow. So, yeah, this is reason number one," he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "This is not the worst you have been through in life. Remember where you were 18 months ago; you had no idea what was wrong with you. Now you know and you know you can be better. I know you get sick of those pills, but maybe, in the future, you won't need them. Isn't that exciting? This was reason number two," he said and pressed another kiss to your cheek. He was going to do that every time he would give you a reason. "Have you been to all the beautiful places around the world? Sure, you came to a few Grand Prix, but you never saw Great Ocean Road in Australia, you know Daniel promised he would take us there someday. You never saw Pamukkale in Turkey or Japan in Cherry Blossom season or the Blue Lagoon in Iceland. There are many places you need to visit, baby. So, yeah, this was reason number three. I don't know if you want me to continue but I can give you one more reason. Reason number four. Do it for you, baby. You deserve to live and be happy. I know you can be happy and I promise you I will do my best to help you. You just have to take it one step at a time. You just have to let me in. Let me help you, baby."

You turn around, facing him now. You loved him, with all of your heart. You love him for who he is. You love him because he literally came into your life as your lifeline. You love him because he helped you crawl up the deep bottomless abyss of depression. You love him because he had the patience and the audacity to bear with your depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, your phobias, your mood swings, your temperamental and short-tempered nature, your overthinking, your being overprotectiveness, and possessiveness. You love him because never once he thought of giving up on you in your hard times. You love him because he stands by you like a rock of unwavering support and he’s someone you can fall back on. You love him because he listens to you talking non-stop about your past, your pains, your fears, and your losses without complaining even once. You love him because he rediscovered you and helped you find yourself again when you were lost in darkness. You love him because he filled you with confidence and hope and strength and belief and determination. You love him because he believes you are the best when you set your mind on something and no one can stop you from achieving your goals. You love him because he is protective, caring, understanding, loving, and easy to be with while never being too suffocating or taking up your space. You love him because sooner or later he does everything you ask of him and does with his whole attention. You love him because whatever endeavor he engages in, he likes to give his 100% and hates doing half-hearted things. You love him because he can decode the nuances in your voice and judge your mood just perfectly. You love him because he read you like an open book and he can hear your silence. You love him because he never doubts your loyalty, your intentions, your hard work, and your million issues. You love him because no matter how busy he might get he never forgets that you are waiting for his message or his call. You love him because he keeps you in his priorities. You love him because he gave you a passion you never knew you had. You love him because he very strongly believes that you deserve the best of everything. You love him because he is empathic, kind, magnanimous, thoughtful, and down to Earth. You love him because he has eyes for no one but you. You love him because he wants to see you healthy, wealthy, prosperous, famous and he wants you to hold back at nothing, for no one, he wants you to be a Go-Getter. And most importantly you love him because no one ever loved you like he did.

"I will let you in," you say and you kiss him hard. "I'm sorry for the scene I caused."

"Don't be. It happens."

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