#never gonna recover the time i spent frantically looking through my files

[wretched-day]

was unhappy with other viktor post so i decided to make an newer better one hadn't anticipated that photoshop would corrupt on me 😥😥😥😥

here's what's remains

the study was still pretty useful but holy, wish i could have finished it but better luck next time i suppose :/

[trndsttr0961]

Dark Avengers - Chapter One

P L A N E T :  T E R R A :  1 9 8 4

T O N Y

- - - - - - 

“Father?”

“Hmm.”

“Look, I build it myself! Do you like it?”

His father glanced over at the miniature robot his eight year old son had built.

“It’s not good enough.” Howard Stark simply stated before resuming with his paperwork.

“When will it be good enough?” Tony asked his father, hoping that one day he’d have his approval.

“It will be good enough the day you actually put some effort into making it!” Howard sternly told Tony. “Now leave, you’ve already wasted enough of my time.

Tears filled chocolate brown eyes.

“But papa,” Tony started tugging on his father’s sleeve.

Suddenly, large hands gripped the collar of Tony’s shirt, and he was looking into cerulean blue eyes that were filled with anger. 

“What did you say?! WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!” The elder Stark roared, spittle flying into young Tony’s face.

“P-pa-papa,” Sobbed the eight year old child as he tried to look anywhere but his father’s hatred-filled eyes.

“YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS FATHER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! ” Howard screamed at his son, shaking him furiously.

“Y-yes, I’m s-sor-sorry,” Tony stuttered in attempt to get his father to stop shaking him like a rag doll.

“MY SON WILL NOT BE WEAK, YOU MUST BE MADE OF IRON! DO YOU HEAR ME?!” Howard grasped Tony’s face in his large hands and roughly turned it towards his. He looked his son straight in the eye, 

“You must be made of Iron.” He said, much more calmly than before.

Tony furiously nodded as the words that had been shouted at him in one of his father’s furious rages repeated themself inside his head.

Finally, Howard let go of his son and resumed his paperwork. 

“Now take that atrocious thing you call a robot and Without even looking up from the documents, he took the robot his only son had made, and threw it at Tony’s feet. 

With tears in his eyes, Tony picked up the robot and quickly walked as fast as he could out of the room. 

Looking down, he saw that the robot hadn’t been dented the slightest bit even though his papa father had violently thrown him at his feet. While examining the little robot’s exterior, he remembered the words his father had implanted inside his brain at a young age.

“You cannot be weak, you must be made of iron.”

“Crying is for boys, you must become a man if you want my approval.”

Filled with a newfound determination, he clutched the robot to his chest and hugged it so tight, it was as if he’d never let it go. 

“You’re stronger than I ever could be,” Tony whispered, voice full of admiration down to the robot. “You’re just how my father wants you to be, made of iron. You’re not even real, yet you’re more of a man than I’ll ever be.” Tony finished, almost enviously. 

“You need a name, a name that people will one day fear and respect. I’m gonna call you,”

Iron Man.

Tony smiled to himself, and happily skipped to his room where he spent the rest of the day tinkering with his new best friend and seeing what else he could do to make Iron Man invincible.

A few months went by, and fall turned into winter, and everything seemed to be going fine, when one day, Tony overheard his father and another woman discussing something urgently.

“Peggy, if the Tesseract is really there, then we have to try and get it! We might never get another opportunity like this!” His father urgently told the woman, as if trying to convince her he was right.

But the woman didn’t budge. “Howard, I know how badly you want the Tesseract to experiment and whatnot on it, but we have no idea how the Tesseract will react after being stuck in the ice for so long!” The woman scolded his father, which was a rare sight to see.

Tony didn’t know what this Tesseract was, but maybe if he could get it, his father would love him and he would become a man just like Iron Man!

Eagerly, the eight year old ran to his father’s lab and used the giant computer to search all existing databases for this Tesseract. 

He kept on sneaking down their to do research for a few more weeks, before his father finally caught him. Luckily, Tony had just had a major breakthrough on how to contain any possible explosion caused by the Tesseract.

It was in December, almost Christmas, when Tony snuck down to the lab and pulled up his research file. He was furiously jotting down notes and scribbling equations when a booming voice echoed throughout the lab.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, boy.” His father said, anger building up in his voice. 

“I-I was ju-just,” Tony stuttered, fidgeting with his hands and looking everywhere in the room except his father. 

“Spit it out, son. What the hell are you doing?!” Howard boomed, his patience wearing thin.

Well here goes nothing, Tony thought.

“I was researching the Tesseract!” Tony blurted out.

His father froze, not expecting such an answer. He quickly recovered and with only a small hint of anger asked Tony why he would do such a thing.

“I j-just wanted to m-make you proud, father. I just wanted you to love me.” Tony confessed, secretly hoping that his father would reassure and hug him. “Do you love me?” He slowly asked, trying to avoid his father’s gaze.

“Tony, I- I,” Howard tried to answer his son’s simple question carefully. “Of course I-,” Howard was cut off by a beeping sound coming from the computer. Father and son rushed over and were amazed by what they saw. 

Feeling a surge of pride in his son, something he hadn’t felt in years, Howard gently ruffled Tony’s hair. 

“I’m proud of you son.”

That was all Tony had ever wanted to hear.

- - - - - - 

With Tony’s research as well as Howard and Peggy’s, in a few months, S.H.I.E.L.D. was able to go and retrieve the Tesseract with zero casualties and zero collateral damage. 

As Howard Stark examined the Tesseract in his lab, there was still one mystery he had yet to solve. What exactly did the Tesseract do? Well, there was only one way to find out.

He looked down at the control panel, and used the surprisingly efficient (with the exception of Dum-E which was the first one) robot hands his son had built to gently grab the Tesseract and move it towards him. He was frightened that touching such a powerful object could vaporize him, so he called his son into the room.

“Son, how would you like to become a hero?” He asked his son, throwing out the bait.

“I would love that, Pa- I mean Father.” He quickly corrected, bashfully glancing up at Howard. 

Howard painted a fake smile on his face and looked back down at his son. He kneeled down, so his face was level with Tony’s and softly said,

“Anthony, I’m proud of you. You’re not made of iron yet, but you’re finally becoming a man. If you hold the Tesseract for me to see how we can use it, you can finally become both; iron and man. Will you make me proud, son?”

Tony jerked his head up. He wasn’t stupid after all, he knew the risks when handling the Tesseract. “But what if-” He started.

“Do you want to become a man made of iron, or not?” His father pressed, his patience wearing thin. 

“Of c-course, f-father.” He stuttered, frightened for what was about to come. He tentatively walked towards the glowing blue cube, and he could practically feel the energy radiating off of it. 

“Go on,” Howard encouraged him. He hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped to admire the entrancing object.

Gingerly, the young boy reached out with his eyes squeezed shut and lightly touched the cube with his index finger. He let out his breath which he hadn’t known he was holding when he wasn’t instantly vaporized the second his flesh touched the cube. 

He looked back at his father to see what he should do next, even though he already knew what was going to come.

“Great job, Anthony! Now you just have to grab it and focus on the energy and channel it through your body. 

Hesitantly, Tony grabbed the Tesseract with both of his small hands, and lifted it up and off of the pedestal it was currently on. By now, a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists and specialists had arrived and were instantly alarmed when they saw a boy who looked no older than eight holding one of the most dangerous and powerful artifacts known to mankind, with his father encouraging him to do so. 

“ARE YOU MAD?! HE’S JUST A CHILD!!” Peggy Carter frantically screamed at Howard, trying to press any button to make it stop. 

“Don’t worry, Margaret, the boy’ll be fine. See?” Howard calmly stated, gesturing to the boy who was holding the cube with an awestruck look on his face. 

“Now Anthony, channel the energy through your body and try to make the Tesseract do something.”

Tony did as his father asked, and focused on the Tesseract’s sheer power and energy. He imagined it flowing through his body and tried to think of his happiest memories to make it do something. He thought of the time he and his father, as well as his mother sat in the living room drinking hot coca as snow was falling outside. Tony Stark thought long and hard about this memory and before he knew it, he was enveloped in blue and grey smoke, filled with electricity and power. 

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his father’s lab. In fact, he was in the same exact living room that he had been thinking about in his memories.

So it teleports you! He thought. He ran back down to the lab, grasping the Tesseract in both hands. Tony was panting and sweating furiously by the time he made it back down to the lab, when he realized he could’ve just used the Tesseract to teleport back.

So much for being a genius.

As he approached the lab, he heard his father yelling at all of the scientists and specialists from S.H.I.E.L.D.

Maybe he’s worried about me! Maybe when I come back, he’ll be happy that I’m safe and he’ll finally tell me he loves me! I’ll finally become like Iron Man! Speaking of which, Tony saw the robot outside the lab where he had left it right before all of this happened. He picked up his best and only friend, and walked into the room. What he didn’t expect however was for his father to be hysterical about something missing. Not someone. Something. 

He didn’t care about Tony, all of the frantic screaming and shouting were for the Tesseract, not his only son. With tears streaming down his face, he forgot to compose himself and hesitantly made his presence known. With the Tesseract in one hand, and his robot in the other, he finally spoke to his father.

“Papa?” He asked, hesitantly.

His father whipped around and when he saw the Tesseract, Tony could of sworn he saw a hungry look in his father’s eyes. After a brief second it passed, and his father rushed over and took the Tesseract out of his son’s hands. He had a sick sort of smile on his face and barely even acknowledged his only son. He admired the Tesseract for a few more seconds, and all was silent until Howard broke out of his trance and put the powerful cube back on it’s pedestal.

But Tony couldn’t shake the hungry look in his father’s eyes out of his head.

- - - - - - 

Meanwhile in space, 

. . . 

“Sir, we’ve detected a major energy surge on the planet Terra, it could be the Tesseract.” Ebony Maw informed the Titan sitting on his throne.

“Are you sure?” The Titan’s booming voice echoed throughout the throne room.

“Yes, your lordship.” The Maw pathetically bowed down to him. 

“Maw, set course for the Planet Terra and prepare our finest soldiers.” The Titan ordered The Maw.

“Right away sir.” Said The Maw as he scurried away. 

Once he left, the purple giant felt a smile creep up onto his face.

- - - - - - 

Back on Earth,

. . . 

Tony lay in bed, wondering if his father really loved him. He glanced at his clock. It had been two hours since he’d gone to bed, and it was now just a little past 12:00am. Tony sighed. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight anyways, so why not just tinker with Iron Man a little bit? Maybe his father would be proud?

For a few minutes, Tony just sat there on his bedroom floor tinkering with his robot, when he heard a large boom come from outside, followed by a blinding light. Tony had to cover his eyes with one of his hands, and out of fear, he grabbed Iron Man with the other. 

Right then, a blaring alarm went off, one that his father had placed in case anyone ever came and tried to steal the Tesseract from him, as if it was his to begin with. 

His Father!

Knowing him, his father would immediately rush down to his lab if he wasn’t already there, and prepare himself to fight off intruders. Fearing for his Father’s safety and possibly his life, Tony ran down to the lab and skidded to a halt at what he saw in front of him. 

A huge purple giant was looming over his father as he held a long metal sword against Howard Stark’s chest. 

“Where is the Tesseract.” The giant boomed, making it sound more like a demand rather than a question.

The giant was about to push the sword into his father’s chest, when Tony suddenly screamed out of impulse,

“STOP!” Please don’t hurt him, he’s my father!” Tony sobbed, trying to get the huge man to stop.

The purple alien seemed surprised for a second, before a wicked smile crept up onto his face. With a simple nod of his head, two of his minions appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his arms and wouldn’t let him go, no matter how hard he struggled.

“LET ME GO!!” Tony kicked and screamed furiously. 

When one of the giant’s minions clamped his clammy hand over his mouth, Tony promptly bit down on his hand as hard as he could, drawing blue blood from the alien. 

The alien screeched, and proceeded to stab Tony in the neck, but was stopped by the mysterious purple alien. 

“Maw, do not harm the child,” The titan boomed, with what could’ve been a hint of anger in his voice.

Tony swivelled his head around to get a glimpse of the alien who’d just tried to stab him, and much to his delight he looked rather familiar.

“Squidward?! Is that you?? You’re rEaL?!?” Tony excitedly shouted, confusing literally everyone in the room.

“ExCuSe mE?!?” The Maw spoke in a deadly voice, using his telekinesis to lift up a fallen piece of concrete and shave off the sides to turn it into a dagger.

But Tony just ignored his antics, and hugged the blue and grey alien.

“Does this mean that SpongeBob is real too??” Tony excitedly asked him.

“I AM THE MAW, YOU INSOLENT TERRAN CHILD. YOU WILL BOW DOWN BEFORE ME, YOU INFERIOR INSECT.” The Maw yelled at the insolent child in front of him.

“Enough games,” The Titan interrupted, growing tired of the unusual yet amusing Terran child. “Give me the Tesseract and I’ll let you go.”

“Never.” Howard Stark proudly said, looking the menacing purple giant straight in the eye. 

“Well then, I didn’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice,” The Titan said, his voice hinted with regret. “Hand over the Tesseract, and your child lives.” Knowing that the man loved his child too much to lose him over the Tesseract. However, he was quite wrong, and the Terran man boldly looked him in the eyes and proceeded to break the heart of the young Terran boy and the Mad Titan at the same time. 

“That boy is nothing to me. Take him, kill him, leave him, do whatever you want with him. I don’t care. You’re never going to get the Tesseract as long as I’m alive.” Howard Stark said, not knowing those would be his final words. 

Rage consumed the Mad Titan, and before he knew it, Howard Stark’s dead and decapitated body lay before him and his red Terran blood covered the floor surrounding him. The Titan turned to look at the young boy, expecting to see horror and disgust as well as sadness filling his eyes, but to his surprise, he was met with the blank stare of the young boy without a single tear in his eyes. 

“He never loved me, I knew that. He wanted me to be made of iron, like him. He wanted me to be a man. I was never enough for him, but the Tesseract was. He deserved death, he loved no one and no one truly loved him the moment he died. I stopped loving him the moment he told me he didn’t love me.” Tony finished, looking at the Mad Titan with the same steely look his father had. It was full of determination, something that would be useful in a soldier.

A faraway look crossed the young boy’s face, and for a brief moment, everyone in the room felt sorry for him. An unknown emotion surged through Tony’s body, was it hate? sorrow? love? regret? 

He didn’t know.

But for some reason, he felt powerful. Without a second thought, he held out his hand to the Titan, but not for a handshake. Instead, a bright blue light shone from his palm, and it slowly builded up into a cube. 

The Tesseract  

The Titan gave the boy a look of astonishment and stared longly at the Tesseract, but not with greed or hunger like Howard had, but with hope. 

In that single moment, Tony made a decision that would forever change the course of his life.

“I’ll give you the Tesseract, if you promise to take me with you wherever it is you’re going.” Tony boldy said, filled with newfound courage.

The Titan knelt down in front of him, but still towered over the young Terran. He reached out and gently placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder. 

“You’re father was wrong, you are made of iron,” The Titan firmly told the boy. “I will take you with me and train you to become a fearsome warrior. You have my word.” 

Looking into the Titan’s cerulean eyes, much like his father’s, he handed the Tesseract over to the giant. 

“Before we go, I want to know your name, mister.” Tony asked the Titan.

“My name is Thanos,” He said, with a hint of a smile on his face. “What’s yours, little one?” He asked the young boy, extending his other hand out for Tony to take.

Tony grabbed his robot in one hand, and took Thanos’ with the other.

“Tony. Tony Stark.” 

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (21)

Time to let go

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a VERY steamy scene. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: 3,875 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This starts the next morning, after the big Bastien reveal, at breakfast, with Amara’s POV.

*****

Amara was anxiously waiting for Drake’s reaction, after giving him the flip phone the next morning. The gang--Drake, Amara, Max, Hana, and Olivia--had met after breakfast, once everyone had left. They didn’t have any events that evening, so they all decided to stay put at Ramsford.

‘So? What do you say?’ Amara asks Drake, all the while glancing at Olivia.

Drake shakes his head, his face reddening. ‘What the hell. I can’t believe he would betray--’

‘Calm the fuck down, Walker,’ Olivia said placidly. ‘Getting angry won’t solve it. I know you like your little substitute Daddy, but let’s be honest here, he’s not exactly the most fun dude in history.’

‘Olivia, he’s not a dad substitute, he’s a family friend. I trusted him. Don’t you understand?’

Amara steps in. ‘We do understand, Drake. What is really crucial now, is that you don’t talk to him about it. We have no further proof than him disposing of the phone. He could have been doing this on behalf of someone else, and if we talk to him, he may report us.’

Drake takes a deep breath and nods. ‘You’re right. Sorry. I won’t say anything.’

‘Good. We’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious, but unfortunately, for now, there is nothing else we can do. When we see Bastien again tomorrow though, all of us should be on our guard. We need to have him within eyesight at all times to see who he talks to, and if he gets another burner phone. Besides that...nothing we can control.’ Amara continues. ‘Hana, how are you doing, sweetie?’

The young woman plasters on a big smile. Fake it til you make it, Amara thinks. ‘I’m okay, thanks Amara. I...haven’t received anything from my parents, so I’m assuming the news still hasn’t gone international. But I’ve made a decision.’

Everyone looks at Hana expectantly.

She continues, ‘I’m gonna own up to it. I need to talk to Liam about how to go about it, because I don’t want to hijack his social season, of course. But this whole ordeal just showed me that it’s time.’

Amara reaches across the table and takes Hana’s hand in hers. ‘You sure, babe?’

Hana nods. ‘Yes. I’m 28 years old, it’s time I took my life in my own hands. Plus, seeing this picture of Caroline again…’ she blushes, and takes a sip of her coffee.

Amara looks at Drake, and they exchange a brief smile. ‘Caroline, the woman on the picture?’ Amara asks.

Hana nods. ‘We were together in college, at Oxford. For almost three years. I broke up with her when I went back to China after we graduated. I...couldn’t be honest about her to my parents.’

Max chimes in, ‘Do you regret it?’

‘I do. I know she’s probably forgotten about me now, but I haven’t. It doesn’t matter, though. All it means is, I’m ready now. I’m gonna come out.’

*****

Amara and Drake sit on the balcony, the only two remaining after everyone is gone. Drake is stroking her hair, taking in the view as they sip their coffee in comfortable silence.

‘I missed you last night,’ he finally says.

She smiles. ‘So did I… that’s why I couldn’t sleep. Hence the late night phone rescue mission.’

Drake chuckles. He shouldn’t laugh at that. He was still upset at Bastien’s betrayal, but as Amara said, nothing they could do now. ‘Productive. Did you get any sleep after?’

Amara puts her mug down, looks around, and gets even closer to Drake. She whispers, ‘No. I looked at the employee files from Bertrand. You know, to find the account number that receives the monthly money.’

‘Did you find it?’

She nods. ‘Yup. Does the name Albert Saunier ring a bell?’

Drake gasps. Albert was well known around court. ‘That’s their accountant. He does the books for the Beaumonts, and did my parents’ taxes, too.’

Amara nods again. ‘Well. I guess he found a way to get around the books.’

‘Fuck,’ Drake whispers. ‘I can’t believe he’s scamming them. That’s it? That’s why they’re broke?’

‘I don’t know, though. That’s too simple, right?’ Amara takes another sip of coffee. Drake can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks in the sunlight. She continues. ‘I mean, Bertrand keeps receipts for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, Drake. He buys a new shirt, he puts the receipt in his files. Batteries, even, he documents. How could he not notice? It’s the same amount, a considerable one, every month. It goes to the same account, but with various pretend purposes. Most of them upkeep of the estate. Bertrand would know if any work was being done around Ramsford.’

Drake nods. Unable to resist, he closes in the distance between himself and Amara and captures her lips in a passionate kiss. She kisses him back, and they sit there, tangled, for a while.

Breathlessly, Amara smiles. ‘What was that for?’

‘You’re hot when you’re investigating.’

‘Well, get used to it, Walker, because this is only the beginning.’

‘I guess I’m gonna have to learn to keep it in my pants, then.’

She smirks. ‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ she says before kissing him again, deeper this time. Drake’s blood runs hot through his veins. He pulls Amara closer, until she’s straddling his lap, still kissing him.

‘Wow,’ she says as they catch their breath. ‘We should stop. With everything that’s happening…’

Drake nods. Of course she’s right. But it doesn’t make it ok. He wishes he could whisk her away for the night, but he knows her too well: she won’t want to leave Hana in this trying time, and deep down, Drake doesn’t either. He doesn’t protest when Amara gets up from his lap and gets back to her chair, even though all he wants to do is hold her back and kiss her more. They’re gonna have to be careful, he knows that. But he doesn’t know how long he can pull that off.

‘Hey guys,’ Olivia’s voice interrupts them, as she comes back to the balcony, frantically looking everywhere. ‘Did you see my phone by any chance?’

Amara shakes her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Where did you last see it?’

‘I thought I’d left it in my room but it’s not there. Maybe I brought it down with me.’ She looks around some more, and quickly gives up. ‘Oh well. I must not have looked hard enough upstairs. What’s everyone up to today?’

Drake shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Nothing is planned at court until tomorrow’s brunch with the King and Queen, so I guess we’re free to do whatever.’

Olivia smirks. ‘Look at you, Walker, abiding by the rules of court. If anyone is interested, I’ll be in the Beaumont armory this afternoon. I want to see the goods.’

She waves and walks away. Drake locks eyes with Amara, and they both laugh heartily. ‘Oh Liv,’ Amara says. ‘Only she would call antique weaponry ‘the goods’.’

‘Heh. True. Well, if you want to go visit the armory, I’ll go with you. It could be fun.’

The truth is, Drake could not care less about seeing the weapons. He had seen them countless times already. All he wants is to spend time with Amara. She seems to catch on and responds ‘I’d like that. But before that, I’d like to make a couple of phone calls to France. I found single mom support associations in Paris and daycare facilities that I’d like to call.’

Damn, Drake thinks. She never stops. He kisses her hand and holds it in his for a long time, until Maxwell comes to interrupt them, and Amara leaves to go investigate in her room.

*****

‘Merci beaucoup, Madame. J’apprécie votre aide, vraiment. Bonne journée à vous.’

Amara hangs up and looks at the time. Two hours she just spent, calling people to ask about Savannah. Two minutes ago, she had lost hope. No one knew anyone by that name, until she called this one association for young moms in the 10th arrondissement, very close to the bank in which Savannah had opened her account. The woman had hesitated at first, but Amara knew how to make people trust her. Whenever they had to get a difficult testimony, Jamie would always let her lead. She was the younger one, and that helped, but she was also gentler, and at heart a people person. The woman on the phone let go of her guard very easily.

She looks at the address she just jotted down on her notebook. This could be it.

She is startled by a sharp knock on her door. Quickly, she tucks the notebook under her iPad. ‘Come in!’

Bertrand lets himself in, a serious smile on his face. ‘Hello, Lady Amara. How are you doing?’

‘I’m good, how are you?’

‘Great. I wanted to personally greet you, and make sure you are recovering from the scandal from last night. I just spoke to Lady Hana, she looks determined to take matters into her own hands.’

‘Yes, she is very strong,’ Amara adds. ‘She’ll be ok. And I’m fine. I just would like to know who is doing this to her.’

She watches Bertrand intently, hoping not to see anything suspicious in his eyes. He fumbles a bit, still unreadable, until he finally responds, ‘Well, yes, I would like to know as well. A good woman such as Lady Hana, who would want to tarnish her reputation?’

Amara, ticked off, frowns. ‘What do you mean, tarnish? There’s nothing wrong with the picture that was sent. That’s not what’s wrong. What is wrong is that her choice was taken from her, her choice to come out or not.’

Bertrand blushes and loses his smile for a bit. ‘Of course. That’s what I meant. Of course.’ He pauses for a long time. ‘In any case, I’m assuming she will withdraw from the competition. Or, at the very least, be ineligible. Which, as bad as this sounds, is a plus for us.’

Amara had almost forgotten about Bertrand’s vested interest in her victory. She forces a smile. Now is not the time for breaking the façade. ‘Sure.’

A smile illuminates Bertrand’s face. ‘Great. I’ve arranged for a one-on-one between you and Prince Liam tomorrow, after the brunch. He said he’ll take you for a walk if the weather is nice.’

Great, Amara thinks. Thankfully, Liam seems to have calmed down since Hana-gate, and she didn’t feel as threatened by him anymore. Still, this was a bummer. ‘Thank you, Duke Ramsford. I appreciate it.’

He nods and turns around. Against her better judgment, Amara catches herself calling him back into the room. ‘Bertrand?’

He turns back and says, ‘Yes?’

For some reason, she cannot stop herself from talking. Maybe it’s the excitement from almost cracking the Savannah case. Maybe it’s just because she’s lost her police manners. ‘You put a lot of emphasis on reputation, right?’

Bertrand’s eyes lose focus for a split second, and he fixes his posture. ‘Well of course. When you are part of the nobility, you have a duty to protect your house’s reputation.’

‘Sure. I get that. Would you say you’d do anything to protect it, though?’

Bertrand scoffs. ‘Everything within the limits of decency, yes. Why is that, Lady Amara?’

Amara gives him a feeble smile. She truly cannot stop herself. She has to know if the man she has been trusting has been lying to everyone. ‘No reason. I was just wondering if buying someone off would be within the limits of decency.’

Bertrand’s face reddens. ‘What? What in the world are you talking about?’

‘Nothing. Just wondering why you’re always worried about your finances, and always saying House Beaumont is broke. Could it be the price of your reputation?’

Bertrand looks as if he may explode. ‘I’m not going to even grant this with a response. As you pointed out, Lady Amara, I do not have the financial means to kick you out, because we need your participation. But let me tell you, young lady, you are on thin ice. What you’re insinuating…’

‘Wow, Bertrand, I’m like 5 years younger than you. Calm down. Can we talk frankly? I’m not gonna do anything. I just want the truth.’

She notices that Bertrand’s hands are shaking. ‘What do you want?’

Suddenly, she feels terribly about making him feel this way, but she truly cannot stop herself. She has uncovered a secret, now she has to go all the way. ‘I want to know why Albert Saunier is getting the same amount of money from you every month.’

From red, Bertrand’s face turns white almost immediately. ‘How...how on Earth…?’

So, he knows. He’s not being scammed, he is completely aware of this mysterious transaction. ‘It doesn’t matter. Why are you paying him off? This amount is a lot bigger than just his wages, Bertrand. Are you buying his services for something? His silence, maybe?’

His face falls. ‘This doesn’t concern you. Now please, whatever you’ve been doing, stop it. My brother doesn’t need any more silly ideas implanted in his head. Let’s forget about this conversation.’

He turns around, hesitates for a couple of seconds with his hand on the doorknob, but finally turns it and leaves. Amara sits there, breathless, for a few minutes. He may be right. This doesn’t concern her, not really. But she’s come to really love these people, especially Maxwell, whom she considers like a brother. If Bertrand is hiding something from him, she wants to help him find out.

She takes a deep breath. She’ll figure all of this out later. For now, she wants to tell Drake about her new Savannah findings.

She knocks on his door, and he tells her to come in. She finds him lying on his bed, reading a book. ‘Hey Suarez,’ he says, his face lighting up as she comes in.

‘Hey Walker. Do you have a minute?’

‘For you, always.’

He gets up, peeks his head in the hallway to make sure no one is around, and locks the door. He approaches his window and closes the blinds, too. Amara smiles, watching him. She can’t help but think he’s both adorable and sexy, caring about their privacy, all the while hoping she is here to have sex with him. It’s true that she did not come with this particular agenda, but seeing him in this plain white T-shirt, his hair gently tousled from his reading position… maybe the privacy is an added bonus.

But first, the investigation. ‘I found something. On Savannah, potentially.’

Drake’s eyes widen. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ Amara responds while sitting on his bed. He sits right next to her, and remains silent while he waits for more information. ‘I called a bunch of places, and no luck. But this one association… They have a Savannah, who has a one-year-old. The lady says she comes once every couple of weeks for a mom support group. They have a daycare on the premises but she told me the little boy has never stayed there. He comes along for group, but the mom doesn’t leave him there. The lady doesn’t even know the kid’s name. But the place is in the 10th arrondissement, which makes sense geographically, and Drake...this girl told them she was called Savannah Lemarcheur. Do you know what that means?’

Drake’s eyes widen some more. ‘Does that mean…?’

Amara nods excitedly. ‘Yup. It means Walker in French.’

*****

Drake can’t believe that Amara pulled it off. She did tell him that nothing was certain, she just has an address and still has to work on finding a phone number, but it’s a solid lead, and that’s more than anyone has found in the past two years.

‘Thank you, Amara. Thank you for doing all of this...for me.’ He cups her cheeks in his hands and places a soft kiss on her lips.

‘Of course I want to do this for you, Drake. I’m glad I can help. I hope I find her…’

She kisses him back, deeper this time. He doesn’t want to rush her, he knows she is worried about this climate of fear, worried about them getting caught.

But she doesn’t seem to be too worried right now. Before he realizes it, she is straddling him again, just as they had left off outside, earlier. Her kiss is more pressing, and he feels his pants get extremely tight. He lets out a moan as she pulls his T-shirt above his head.

Her hands roam all over his chest, and he cannot resist any longer, he has to feel closer to her, without the constraints of her clothes getting in the way. Still tangled in a kiss, he has trouble cracking the code of her dress, and his hands look for the answer all over her chest and back. Finally, he finds the zipper right under her arm, and undoes it quickly. She swiftly removes both her straps, leaving her in a cream lace bra, which compliments her olive skin.

‘Fuck, you’re so beautiful,’ he whispers into their kiss.

She lifts herself up and expertly unzips Drake’s pants, which he promptly removes, along with his boxers. He then slides Amara’s panties to the side and teases her already wet entrance with the length of his cock. She rubs herself onto him, almost taking him in with each stroke. Once they both cannot wait any longer, Amara takes Drake’s throbbing penis in her hand and guides him towards her slit. As he goes in, they both gasp slightly, still deeply enmeshed in their kiss.

*****

Amara is still smiling uncontrollably as she zips her dress back up. It had felt like two months since they’ve slept apart, even though it had only been one night. Still, this little late morning escapade was most welcome.

She looks at Drake, who is pulling up his jeans, a smile also adorning his face. ‘You’re gorgeous, Suarez,’ he says.

‘So are you, Walker.’ She gets closer to him and captures his lips in a kiss, before heading out. It will be lunch time soon, and now that Bertrand is back, he won’t appreciate them being late.

Bertrand. Amara had already forgotten how harsh she’d been with him. She debates telling Drake about their conversation, but changes her mind. She doesn’t know enough, yet.

She leaves discreetly, and heads towards the outdoors patio, where they will serve lunch soon. She wonders if she’s been too mean to Bertrand. After all, the payments had been going on for as long as she could tell, months, probably years even. There was very little chance this was linked to the Hana leak, but she could not be 100% sure until she had more information.

When she arrives outside, her friends are already at the table, having what looks like lemonade but what was probably something alcoholic, judging from Hana’s giggle. Still, it felt good to hear her friend laugh again.

‘Hey Amara!’ Hana calls her over excitedly. ‘We’re having Beaumont Lemonade. It’s lemonade, but with vodka and limoncello. Have one!’

Amara smiles and nods. Max pours her a drink, which she tastes right away. The Beaumont Lemonade is definitely the best lemonade she’s ever tasted.

She sits down in front of Hana and next to Olivia, who is texting furiously. ‘Hey Liv, you little millennial, you found your phone?’

‘Hm? Yeah, I did,’ Liv absentmindedly responds. ‘It was on my bed all along, I guess. Those lemonades are good, Beaumont.’

‘Oh thanks,’ Maxwell says, ‘I invented them. Amara, where’s Drake? I’ll go get the salad and the sandwiches when he comes down. Bertrand isn’t feeling well, he won’t join us for lunch.’

Amara blushes. Damn, that might be her fault. ‘Oh, that’s too bad. Drake’s upstairs, he’s coming down soon.’

‘You mean he just went down and now he’s coming down?’ Olivia smirks, finally putting her phone down.

Hana bursts into laughter. ‘Haha, that was hilarious, Olivia! Good one!’

‘Thanks, Lee. Maybe slow down on the vodka, girl.’

Hana shrugs. ‘Why would I? I finally feel good again. I talked to Liam on the phone and we’re meeting tomorrow to discuss a time for me to come out publicly. I feel good, guys.’

She clinks her glass to Amara’s, and Maxwell cheers. ‘Woo! Hana, you’re the best. Oh look, here comes Drake.’

‘Not the first time he’s come today,’ Olivia smirks again.

‘Hahaha, you’re on fire, Olivia!’ Hana yelps, holding out her hand for Liv to high five her. Liv complies, shrugging, but Amara can see a hint of a satisfied smile on the corner of her lips.

‘Hey guys,’ Drake smiles, ‘what are we drinking?’

‘Your fave summer drink, my friend,’ Max says while pouring him a glass.

‘A Beaumont Lemonade?’ Drake exclaims. ‘Score.’

*****

After lunch, everyone lingers on the patio for some more drinks and a game of cards, while two staff members take the plates away. Amara excuses herself, guaranteeing her friends that she will be back for the second round of cards.

She approaches Bertrand’s study, knowing very well that he is there. No way is he feeling sick for real, not after their conversation. He clearly did not want to face her, and she understands why.

She’s been thinking about reasons why Bertrand might need to pay someone off. She’s been replaying their previous conversation in her head. The devastation on his face when she suggested he’d been buying Albert’s silence. The way he winced when Amara talked about Hana’s choice being ripped from her. What Bertrand had said about reputation.

Amara wasn’t sure, but there was a good chance that she was right about Bertrand’s secret.

She knocks on the door of the study, and nothing.

She waits, and knocks again. ‘It’s Amara,’ she says softly. ‘I came to apologize.’

She hears a cough, and then Bertrand says ‘Come in, Lady Amara.’

She obliges. Here he is, sitting at his desk, his back very straight, although obviously he had just fixed his posture. She can tell that he’d been slouching at his desk, from the pile of documents that are scattered around, as if he’d been taking a nap in them. His eyes are red.

‘Are you ok?’ she asks.

He clears his throat again. ‘Close the door, please.’

She closes the door behind her and gets closer to the desk. She puts her hand on the chair opposite Bertrand, and meets his eyes. He quickly nods, signaling that she may sit down.

‘Bertrand, I’m sorry for what I said earlier.’

He looks down. ‘Apology accepted.’

‘Thank you. You were right, I was out of line.’ Bertrand nods, still not looking up. ‘But I was also right about some things, wasn’t I?’

He does not look surprised. He knows she’s here to apologize, but also to get the truth. ‘You were,’ he says solemnly.

Amara nods. ‘Bertrand, it’s ok. I get it.’

He scoffs, but not in an annoyed way. What Amara hears is sadness, and a whole lot of regret. ‘Do you get it?’ he asks.

‘I think so. I know you were really buying your accountant’s silence for all this time. I also think you should stop.’

Bertrand finally meets her eyes. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘Well, I think you should stop trying to protect your father’s reputation. It’s time to let go.’

*****

Taglist:

@andy-loves-corgis @jovialyouthmusic @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs@drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983  @simsvetements @alesana45 @lily1999love @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @drakewalkerwhipped @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakeswalkers @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Not Again, Not Again, Not Again - fic

Characters: Tim Drake, Conner Kent, Damian Wayne, Jon Kent Pairing: jondami for sure, timkon maybe/could be platonic Summary: A Superboy has killed a Robin before. He wouldn’t let Jon kill Damian too. A/N: This whole thing is based on @guerrahilarante ’s caption on their art here, about not getting attached to superboys. Damian and Jon are like 17 and 15 respectively, Tim and Conner are in their 20s obvi. Dick probably knew all of this years ago, before Damian complained to him haha. Like I said, the TimKon here could be seen as romantic or platonic, it’s up to the reader. I hope this angers that anon who told me I’m not allowed to write about the Super family anymore. >:)

~~

From the second Tim met Jonathan Kent, he didn’t like him.

He didn’t like his overly positive attitude, didn’t like how babied he was by basically the entire hero community, but most of all – he didn’t like how much time he spent with Damian.

So he didn’t allow it.

If Jon called, he ‘accidentally’ lost the line. If the Supers were working a case near Gotham, Tim volunteered to work with Damian on a case out of town. If an out of town case wasn’t an option, then he chaperoned. Stayed close whether Damian and Jon wanted him there or not.

And he knew the moment it started to happen. Knew as the two grew into their teens that feelings were starting to be developed. A few extra, secret smiles. More unannounced visits, standing a little too close together.

And he started to hate Jonathan Kent even more.

He was subtle at first, but as the years went on, he became more and more obvious with his disgust. It didn’t bother Damian any – in fact it seemed to just fuel him to hang out with Jon more, just telling his friend, “Drake’s just a freak. I’m pretty used to it. Don’t let him bother you.”

And with anyone else, the hurt look in Jon’s eyes might have made Tim feel guilty or regretful, but here? Here it did nothing but annoy him, and cement why he was doing this in his mind.

Because no one else could see it. Not even Damian with all his training, but Jonathan Kent was a threat. Jonathan Kent was going to kill him.

And Tim wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not to Damian. Not to another Robin.

He also knew the moment Conner was told. Knew the moment Jon went crying to his own older brother about it. Could see the sad look in his best friend’s eyes whenever they saw each other. Whenever Tim lashed out at Jon by separating he and Damian while Conner was present.

Conner never asked. Maybe he already knew, or thought he did. Maybe he assumed it as a Bat thing. Maybe he thought Tim was doing it to upset Damian, and just using Jon as a tool.

Regardless, everyone tolerated it. Damian, Conner, Jon. Even Bruce and Clark – though they more avoided their children’s angst than tolerated it.

But yeah, everyone tolerated it – until they didn’t.

It was a morning in Titans Tower. A Titans case and one Tim and Conner were working turned out to be one in the same, so they all met up at the tower to compare notes.

They were in the computer room, just the four of them. Jon and Damian at the computer, looking for the files, Tim and Conner standing not far behind them. After a few minutes, Damian decided to go get some of their physical evidence, to which Jon disagreed. Damian snorted at him, and playfully, Jon grabbed his sleeve, dragging behind him while gently pulling him back.

And without thinking – Tim reached out, slapped Jon’s hand away with a grumbled, “Don’t touch him.”

Jon released his arm, and instead of looking hurt, just looked annoyed, narrowing his eyes at Tim. “Why not? Who said it was your choice?”

Damian had turned back towards them by now, face as blank as ever. He opened his mouth to respond, probably to tell Jon to calm down and not let it get to him, but he was too late in his attempt, as Tim spoke first. “It’s not my choice, I’m just not a huge fan of people accosting my brother.”

Jon’s face heated up as he turned towards Tim, balling his hands into fists. “I am not accosting hi-!”

Damian and Conner were between them in an instant, Damian shoving Jon against the computer banks, while Conner grabbed Tim’s shoulders and pushed him backwards.

“Okay, enough!” Conner shouted, even as Damian looked over his shoulder at them. “Tim, what the hell is your problem!”

“I don’t have one.” Tim defended coolly. “If anything, it’s your brother who has a problem. Needs to learn to keep his hands to himself.”

There was the sound of Jon lunging forward, and Damian stopping him.

“Loathe as I am to admit it, I agree with Conner.” Damian hummed, looking back once more. “You’ve appeared to have an issue with Superboy for years, it’s about time you explain yourself. And that idiocy you just spewed doesn’t cut it.”

Tim frowned, his heartbeat speeding up. “I don’t have a problem. In general or with Jon.” He shook himself free of Conner. “But if you all think I do and don’t want me here, then fine. I can take the hint.” He turned away, towards the door. “Conner can handle-”

“Tim, stop. You know none of us said that.” Conner whispered, hand slipping gently around Tim’s wrist. Tim froze at the contact immediately, feeling that familiar lump swelling in his throat. “Please, tell us what’s wrong.”

Tim swallowed, but the lump remained. He glanced over his shoulder. Saw concern melting off Conner’s features. Even Damian seemed worried, his head tilted in interest. Jon just watched eagerly.

“Please.” Conner repeated.

Fine. Fine.

“He’s gonna kill him.” Tim said softly. In his periphery he saw Jon’s eyes widen in surprise, Damian’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Jon’s gonna kill Damian, and I can’t let that happen again. Not to someone else.”

“Again?” Conner asked, as Tim pulled his hand away, turned to face the other three completely. Jon was looking desperately at Damian, whispering frantically about how he’d never, he’d die first himself. Damian was waving him off, straining to listen to Tim. “Tim…what do you mean again? To someone else?”

“Superboy has killed Robin before.” Tim murmured. “And I won’t let a Superboy kill a Robin again.”

Pain flashed across Conner’s face. “Tim.” He breathed. “Tim, what are you talking about?”

“When you died, I…I was destroyed.” Tim explained quietly. His heart hurt, it hurt so bad. “It killed me, and I…I never recovered, not even when you came back.”

Conner just stared at him, absolutely devastated himself.

“Not even now.” Tim admitted. “God, Conner. You know I love you, but even now, all these years later, I look at you and all I can think about is the time when you were gone. When you were dead and I was alone and I…I couldn’t breathe. Not for years. And then I couldn’t cope when you came back. Because you came back and it was like nothing happened, and that all that pain and heartache and everything I went through was for absolutely shit. And with you back, everyone seemed better and everyone recovered, and I still couldn’t.”

No one said anything. Damian and Jon just looked at each other.

“And when I look at Jon and Damian, I…I just see the same damn thing happening.” Tim could feel tears in his eyes now, just thinking of the possibility. “Because they love each other. They’re in love with each other and it’s so obvious, and…and Damian’s already been hurt and wronged by so many people he loves. By his parents, by Dick, by me. And the idea that he’d let his guard down for Jon, for Jon to convince him that he loved him, and cared about him, only to up and die and leave him with nothing…”

Tim felt a tear fall, gasped in a breath.

“He’s my brother, Conner.” Tim sobbed. “He’s my brother, and it’s nothing against Jon. Really, it’s not. I just can’t let Damian get hurt again. Not in general and not like I was. I can’t let what happened to me happen to him.” A watery laugh. “I’m bad enough, you know?”

“Tim…” Conner tried. Suddenly he dragged Tim forward into his arms. “God, Tim, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t actually your fault.” Tim chuckled again. But he accepted the embrace anyway. Returned it as tight as he could, buried his face in Conner’s chest. “And I didn’t want you to feel guilty about how fucked up I am.”

“But you could have at least let me help you.” Conner offered. “You didn’t have to go through all this alone. Especially since that’s exactly what you’re trying to save Damian from…”

“I promise, though.” Jon interjected from behind Conner. “I promise I won’t leave him, Tim. I won’t do what Conner did to you. I swear on my life-”

“But the problem is you can’t.” Tim closed his eyes, held Conner even closer. “You can’t promise that Jon, no matter how much you want to.”

“…Drake.” Damian whispered. Tim looked around Conner’s arm to see Damian and Jon had moved closer now. Damian was standing almost-protectively in front of Jon, but they both had a clear look of understanding and compassion on their faces. “I…appreciate your concern. And it…makes sense now, your actions over the years. Keeping Jonathan and I apart would save me the heartache of if he ever died while being stupidly heroic.”

Jon blinked, and slapped Damian’s arm in a display of mock offense.

“Same goes for you, idiot.” He mumbled, rolling his eyes and looking away.

“But I am…happy with him. And I don’t see the pain of losing him ever making me regret knowing him in the first place.” Damian glanced back at the other. Jon looked at him and grinned as bright as the sun, reaching out for Damian’s hand. Damian took it instantly, even as he turned back to Tim. “It didn’t with Father or Grayson. It didn’t with you.”

Tim tried to smile as he pulled away from Conner, and wrapped his arms around Damian instead. Knew it came out wrong. No one said anything though.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into Damian’s hair. Felt Damian release Jon’s hand to hang onto him instead. “I’m so sorry, Damian.”

“An honest mistake.” Damian promised. “But…it is nice to know that should anything happen to him, I can probably count on you to help me through the aftermath.”

“Every day, for as long as you need me.” Tim agreed instantly. He looked at the other teenager. “And…and I will be for Jon, should he ever lose you himself. If he wanted me to be.”

Jon smiled, nodded silently, as if saying that all was forgiven. Tim nodded back to him too.

“I’m sorry, Jon. It really never was personal.” He tried. “Any way I can make it up to you?”

“Let me take Damian on a proper, not-secret, not-having-to-sneak-out-to-do-it date?” Jon laughed. “…Let us take care of you and your trauma, now that we know about it?”

“…Sure.” Tim hummed, even as Damian released him. “At least to the first thing. The second thing…”

“We’ll be doing whether you give us permission to or not.” Conner interjected, throwing his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “So, you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Tim smiled sadly, but nodded all the same.

“Great, so pizza and a bad movie marathon for all of us as a makeshift makeup for Jon and Tim.” Conner decided. “Just as soon as we put this case to bed.” He looked to Damian. “You said you had some other evidence?”

Damian nodded, relief of the conversation being over clear. “Jon and I will go get it.”

And with that, Damian and Jon disappeared through the door, leaving Tim and Conner to themselves.

“…I wish you would have told me.” Conner mentioned again, after a moment of silence. Tim carefully pulled himself from Conner, moving across the room.

“I still wish I hadn’t.” Tim sighed, slumping down in the computer chair nearby. “You know I hate…emotions and all that.”

“Ha, well, sorry to inform you, Red, but you’re human. Emotions are inevitable.” Conner laughed. “Though…maybe Damian and Jon aren’t the only ones in desperate need of a date.”

Tim ran his hand down his face. “Sorry, Con, but I’m not super into double dates. Especially not with my baby brother and a guy so obviously madly in puppy love with him.”

“Haha, oh god, no. I mean just you and me.” Conner explained. Tim heard Conner shift, and glanced over to see Conner crouching, leaning against the arm of Tim’s chair to look up at him. “So I can take care of you properly. The way you deserve. I know it won’t make up for all these past years, but…”

Tim felt his face heat up, even as Conner trailed off. “Yeah, okay.” He whispered, even as he heard Damian and Jon on their way back. “I…I think I’d like that.”

“Good.” Conner grinned as he stood back up, and left a gentle kiss on Tim’s forehead, even as the door slid open and Jon and Damian returned, bickering quietly amongst themselves. Conner smiled down at him, and Tim found himself returning it instantly. “Because I think I would too.”

Conner took Tim’s hand to help him out of the chair, and didn’t let go, even as Damian began speaking about the case once more.

(And later, when Jon took Damian’s hand as they walked their elders back to their plane, Tim, for once, didn’t scold him for it. And it felt nice, not to.

Especially when Damian smiled with an emotion he didn’t let others see very often. An emotion Tim hadn’t felt for a long time himself, but did now, as his brother was content, as Conner knew his secret, and chose to remain at his side.

Clear, unadulterated happiness.)

[ernmark]

Can we maybe get more of the au where Peter's the detective and Juno's the thief?

Excellent timing! I’ve been on-and-off working on this one for a while now, so here’s a chance to show you what I’ve got.

Warnings for blood & gore, violence, and some medical squickiness.

You can find Part 1 here | Part 2

It doesn’t matter how fast he runs. The gangsters coming afterhim could follow at a walk; all they have to do is follow the increasinglywobbly trail of blood that he’s leaving behind. Hell, at this rate, they mightnot even catch up with him before he bleeds out. They won’t even have to finishthe fight, then. They can just throw his body in the trunk of a car and collectthe Kanagawas’ bounty on his sorry corpse. And all the while, Cassie is busyrunning in the opposite direction, making her way into the safety of the sewers.

It’s not a bad way to go, all things considered. A little bitsymmetrical, even: he spent most of his childhood trying to get away from hismom; it’s only fitting that his last act is helping another dame escape fromher stepmom and her army of cameras. He can live with that.

And even if he couldn’t, it’s not like he’d have to live with itfor much longer, anyway. It’s getting hard to see straight. His foot snags on acrack in the concrete, and he sprawls across dirty pavement. He tries to pushhimself upright, but he can’t catch his breath.

A car slides to a halt ahead of him, blocking the mouth of thealley. The realization makes Juno feel a little stupid. Of course they wouldn’tjust be chasing him on foot. Of course somebody would have gone ahead to cutoff his escape.

Someone gets out of the car and kneels beside him. “Oh, Juno.What have you gotten yourself into now?”

It’s not an unpleasant voice. Not unfamiliar, either.

“Juno, I need you to get up. Please.”

Juno can barely breathe, but a name still slips out among hisfrantic coughing: “Rose?”

It’s not Rose, though. It’s Rex Glass, or Christopher Morales,or any of a dozen other aliases that he’s scattered across the city.

Another voice, higher and more grating: “Oh my gawsh—he’s notdead, is he?”

“Stay in the car,” Rose calls. “And get out of sight. Someone’scoming.”

The car slides out of the mouth of the alley, and Rose rises tohis feet. “Hold on, Juno. It’ll be over soon.”

Juno drags himself onto his hands and knees. If Rose is going tokill him, then he can look Juno in the eyes when he does it.

But Rose is gone. Juno is alone in the alley, still bleedingfrom the wound in his chest. There’s only two more shots left on hislaser—three, if he reduces their power to stun. And there are seven gangstersrushing down the alley toward him. They slow down, out of breath from thechase. There’s no point in running anymore when they’ve got him cornered.

Juno is going to die here. He already knows that. But at leasthe won’t go down without a fight.

“I told you I got ‘im,” one of the gangsters says to the others.

“Don’t be an idiot. I was the one who hit him,” snaps another,and a third adds his two cents. While they argue, none of them notice a shadowdetaching itself from the wall behind them. It moves against the dark alley sosmoothly that Juno might have thought he imagined it. At least, until a plasmablade slices through three necks in a single swipe. The bodies don’t even hitthe floor before Rose slashes through a fourth. But by now the others havewised up to the attack. They round on him, lasers drawn—

And conveniently forget that Juno has his laser, too.

Three shots, and they’re down. Maybe not dead, but they won’t begetting up any time soon.

“Thank you for that, Juno.” Rose steps over their bodies.

Juno falls back. The alley is swimming. The only thing he cansee clearly is Rose’s face as it gets closer. “Here for the bounty?”

“Of course not.” He’s coming closer. Almost angelic, that face.“I’m here to help you. You need medical attention.”

Juno’s smile turns grim. “Think I haven’t heard? I’m worthdouble alive.” Maybe more than that, since he helped Cassie escape.

God, he hopes she makes it out.

Rose says something, but Juno can’t understand. Everything soundgarbled and far away.

The last thing he sees areRose’s impossibly bright eyes.

Cassandra Kanagawa has been kidnapped.

That’s how her family is spinning it, anyway—never mind thatshe’s gone on strike four times in the past year, and her streams have beenforcibly interrupted by ‘technical difficulties’ countless times during herrants about her need to escape from her stepmother’s clutches. A mistreated starletfinally escaping the grasp of her manipulative family? That’s the kind of storythat would make people turn off the Kanagawa streams and feeds purely out ofsolidarity.

A kidnapping, though—that’s got people glued to their screens,frantically refreshing in case there’s another update. Especially because thekidnapper has already been identified: the Hellhound of Hyperion City.

Oh, yes, they couldcall it what it really is: one of their employees who got off his leash andstarted going after the kinds of people that the HCPD wouldn’t dare to touch.The enemy of mobsters and kingpins everywhere. But that risks making him looklike a scrappy underdog, and then people might even start rooting for him— imitating him, even— and they can’t havethat. So they paint him as the big bad boogeyman, instead.

That doesn’t keep him from accumulating fans, though. There aredozens of streams tracking his movements and identifying his most recentvictims. There’s even an amateur stream—Houndwatch—dedicatedto uncovering every tiny nugget of information about him. Fortunately for Juno,the bits of truth are indistinguishable from the mountain of misinformation.Rita has supplied quite a bit of the latter herself, borrowed mostly from a fewdozen of her favorite shows. Meanwhile she and Peter sit on files full oflegitimate information.

Juno’s blood type, for example, which Peter found in the policerecords from when Juno was a cop. Those come in handy when he sends Rita out tobuy enough for a transfusion from a local blood bank, along with fresh clothesand several rounds of the most potent antibiotics she can get her hands on.

Meanwhile Peter has to deal with the more hands-on tasks.

“Really, Juno. The sewer? What were you thinking?” Peter sighsas he strips off Juno’s clothes. He goes through the pockets, just in casethere’s anything important, and then stuffs them in a trash bag to be burntlater. There’s no saving any of them.

It’s Peter who has to deal with those tasks, of course. Ritagets squeamish enough about his visits to Valles Vicky’s; there’s no way shewould be able to handle undressing and bathing Juno, even for the most practicalof reasons. Which isn’t to say Peter isn’t bothered by any of this: he may haveseen Juno in a few dozen compromising positions, but he wishes he didn’t haveto see him this way. The laser burn on Juno’s chest is ugly and raw. He’scovered in dozens of smaller cuts and scrapes all over his body. Several ofthem show signs of infection.

It’s a miracle he’s lasted this long.

Peter washes the wounds first, disinfecting them as best he can.The sealant bandages aren’t hospital grade, but they’ll have to do. By the timeRita arrives, Juno is clean and smells like soap and ointment, rather than rawsewage. He’s laid across Peter’s bed, covered with blanket.

Even with Rita’s training,it takes a few tries to properly stick the vein and administer the IV drip.Juno starts to stir a few times during the procedure, but thankfully he doesn’twake. Rita heads home afterward; she has a shift at the HCPD in the morning,and rumors of the Hellhound’s death to spread.

When Juno wakes, he’s pretty sure he’s still dreaming.

He knows this bed. These walls. Those blackout curtains over thewindows. He knows the smell on the pillow—good shampoo and moisturizer mixed inwith exotic fragrances from distant planets.

It’s not a bad dream. Might be better if he wasn’t so tired,though.

And if he wasn’t alone.

He tries to sit up, but feels an uncomfortable tugging in hisarm. There’s a needle sticking out of him. And a tube. And an IV drip.

Maybe it’s not such a nice dream after all.

“What the hell?” he rips off the tape holding the tube againsthis skin. Before he can pull the rest of it out, the bedroom door swings open.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t take thatout.” And there he is: Rex Glass or Duke Rose or whatever the hell he’s callinghimself today, striding through the door to the bedside.

This isn’t a dream at all, is it?

“What the hell is going on here?” Juno demands. He wants tothrow the blankets off and leap to his feet, but he can’t muster the energy.God, he’s so tired.

“You’re recovering, hopefully,” the detective says. “You lostquite a bit of blood yesterday. How are you feeling?”

“Like I took a goddamn laser to the chest. What do you think?”

“Fair enough.” The detective takes a medical kit out from underthe bed and cuts off a strip of tape. “May I?”

“Oh, now you’re askingmy permission?”

“I would have asked before, Juno, but I’m afraid you wereunconscious.”

Juno wants to deny him, just out of spite. But even his slightmovements are making the needle wiggle uncomfortably under his skin. Thesensation itself isn’t nearly as terrible as the knowledge that it’s in there. “Fine,hurry up and do what you’re gonna do already. Just get it over with.”

The detective bends over his arm and tapes the tube back inplace, stilling the erratic little movements, seemingly unbothered by any ofthis, and it’s absolutely infuriating.

“You knew exactly where Iwas going to be,” Juno says. “How long have you been stalking me?”

The detective tutsgood-naturedly. “Please, Juno. Tailing.I’m a professional.” 

“So this is part ofanother job?”

“…Alright, perhapsstalking is the more appropriateword.” At least he has the decency to sound embarrassed. “You’vemade quite a name for yourself, you know. TheHellhound of Hyperion City. It’s got quite a ring to it.”

“I bet it looks great on the wanted posters,” Juno saysbitterly. “So who hired you this time? The Kanagawas? The police? Don’t tell meRita can afford to pay your rates twice. Last time I checked, she doesn’t makethat kind of money.”

The detective sits on the bedside, leaning in. The expression onhis face is earnest and sincere. “Nobody’s hired me, Juno.”

He looked pretty damn sincere last time Juno was in this bed,too. That didn’t exactly turn out well for him.

“Would you knock it off already?” Juno snaps. His knees rise,forming one more barrier between the detective and himself. The short movementmakes his chest wound throb. “I’m too damn tired for this garbage, so how aboutwe skip the song and dance already. Just tell me what you’re being paid to doto me this time so I can get on with my life.”

Goddammit, does the detective really need to look at him likethat? All hurt and sorry? Juno knows he’s a good actor, but damn. “I’m not being paid to doanything, Juno. I promise you, this isn’t a job. I—“

“I said quit it!” He scoots back until his back hits theheadboard and the IV tube tugs at his arm. If he wants to get any further, he’llhave to rip out the needle. He’ll also have to go in the nude, apparently—he’snot wearing any clothes under this blanket.

“I owe you, Juno,” the detective says. “If you don’t believeanything else, believe that.” He rises from the bed and takes a few steps back,giving Juno a little bit of room to breathe. “You could have turned me over to theKanagawas at any point. It might even have saved your position among theirranks—I imagine after a hit like that, they likely couldn’t afford to losesomeone with your skills. But you didn’t, and that’s very likely why I’m stillalive. By my measure, that puts me rather deep in your debt.”

“Bullshit,” Juno mutters, but the retort has lost its teeth. Settlinga debt is something Juno understands. It’s business. It’s fair. It doesn’t hurtas much as the thought of the detective actually caring about him.

Besides, he’s exhausted.

“Shall I leave you to your rest, Juno?” the detective asksgently.

“What, you’re not gonna cuff me to the bed or something?” Junochallenges.

“Only if you ask nicely.” It’s meant to be a light bit of humor,but the joke leaves a bittersweet taste in Juno’s mouth. The detective’s too,by the look of it. “No. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But I do advisethat you wait until you finish this round of antibiotics. You’ve been fightingoff quite an infection. It may get worse if you stop treating it prematurely.”

The detective’s note should make Juno suspicious, but thethought of paying attention to one more thing saps the last of his energy. Rightnow, all he can think about is how the room is so cold, the blankets are sowarm, and the pillow smells so very nice. He just wants to sleep, dammit.

“Fine,” he mutters, curling up against the headboard, his backto the detective. It’s the gesture of a cranky child trying to dodge a nap. “I’llstay. For now.”

“That’s all I ask.” The detective retreats through the opendoor. “Sleep well, Juno.”

[ecotone99]

[MF] Fever From The Orient

His name was Matthew and he smelled of shit. He hadn't showered in 2 weeks, his crotch smelled like a combination of wet dog and rotten meat. The grease down there was thick and smelly, he reached his hands down there, wiped up as much as he could then ran his long, thin fingers through his filthy jet black hair, slicking it back. The film that developed on his inner thighs was so sticky it caused a rash to break out there from all the friction. He sniffed his fingers curiously, the rotten scent had begun to physically arouse him. He had gone stinko for so long that he gained a perverse enjoyment out of the whole thing. Every night as he went to bed he'd swear he would take a shower the next morning but so overcome by sleepiness and a lack of motivation, he also seldom left bed on time. He was chronically late to work at the customer service call center. There he had brought his habit of mumbling things to himself, it had started at home alone, then in the workplace between the all too frequent phone calls until finally, he found out that people either didn't care or just didn't want to know so he brought his verbal tics to the phone, in between sentences as some kind of period.

"Good morning sir fuck shit. What can we do for you today at the Stewards of Environmental Friendship customer service department, oh God kill me."

"Yeah hello I'm looking to file a complaint. My fuckin' tap water is fuckin' brown and it gave my fuckin' wife dysentery meanwhile I can't stop shitting over here, I'm speaking to you from my fuckin' toilet bowl. Now you gonna do something about it Sonny Boy or am I gonna have to come down there and speak to you up close, eh?!

"There's no need for that sir, here at the S.E.F. we pride ourselves on our customer service ,my life is worthless. Please hold while I transfer you to our water quality and inspections department, I have no balls."

"What's that Sonny? I didn't catch that last part? Something about balls?"

"No sir," he replied reassuringly, "I said I have many calls. Hold on, I'm transferring you now."

People didn't care. He was just another blank face in a sea of blank faces. He had grown up thinking that he would matter, that he would have an impact on society. But years of isolation and mediocrity had taught him otherwise. It had crossed his mind that one day he might break and then become one of them. Not that he wanted to, the idea nauseated him. Rather, it was the stark choice that he would one day come to out of desperation: either a purposeless life marked by sheer loneliness or one of assimilation into the mainstream. Feigning normalcy seemed to be the only way out of this god awful state he had fallen into. He could turn into a bland dullard who talked about the latest episode of the current Netflix show with his coworkers by the water cooler. A socialized consumer with the scent of status quo due to all the products he consumed with his fellow man. He had tried to fake interest in those types of things before but it was too taxing. He would rather spend his time staring at the wall for hours, idly twirling his hair and getting carried away by his overactive imagination then pretend to find stimulation from overpaid ex-convicts fighting over some kind of ball. Either that or he could go completely insane and become another type of office fauna; a mumbler, who was to be avoided. He could do his time, get a pension, and then die just like so many others. The bureaucracy had a way of reducing human. life to its lowest, basest form. Those were the paths that were laid out for him, at least until he got an idea.

It came to him one Saturday morning while he was watching the news. A new super virus had started in China. It was highly contagious and though the official number of fatalities given by the Chinese government was very low, they had effectively quarantined 3 cities making a combined total of 23 million people. If the mortality of the disease was so low like they say it seemed like an odd move to make. This had to be much worse then they were letting on, he thought. It could be the next plague and in this modern globalized world it would be very hard to contain. This idea excited him, his testicles shrunk as norepinephrine flooded his system. The news said so far there were only 3 suspected cases of it in America and they were currently being quarantined and treated for the virus. Research on the disease was still in its early stages though so the chances of those people surviving were slim. The world was so boring, every time something exciting was on the verge of happening the government stepped in and squashed it. How very mundane it all was. Mother Nature’s attempts at revenge were always being culled prematurely. Matthew reached his hands down his pants to his crotch and rubbed his inner thighs and genitals until his hands were oily and sticky. He took them out and smelled them with the vigor of a dog nose deep in another one's butthole. Then he ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times and began to think.

Matthew long fostered an unhealthy obsession with infectious diseases. This fetish was born two years ago when he was suffering from an array of unexplainable bodily manifestations that (drove him into a deep depression) started when he was in the midst of a deep depression.* Already being in a fragile state of mind, the symptoms terrified him. None of the doctors could figure out the cause. Their impotence drove him into a fit of monomania as he fell into a spiral of obsessive research and after countless hours spent scouring the Internet for clues he became convinced that he was dying from some rare, exotic malady. Squeezed in the vice like grip of neurosis, his already frail mental state was deteriorating rapidly until finally all the months of severe psychological strain and isolation came to a head when he suffered a major panic attack from which he never fully recovered.

He had gone to the doctor that day to be tested for a sexually transmitted retrovirus, which was impossible for him to have contracted as he was a virgin. In the days before the appointment his insomnia worsened. Every night he laid wide awake in bed contemplating his potential death sentence as the minutes ticked by ever slowly. By the time he arrived for his appointment he was a nervous wreck. He hadn’t changed his clothes in a week, he was too consumed by his thoughts to even notice. After checking in with the receptionist he took a seat in an empty corner of the waiting area away from everybody else. The scheduled time for his appointment came and went as he sat there occasionally muttering obscenities to himself. Nobody seemed to notice though or they pretended not to. It’s easy for a lonely person to lose their mind in this world where community has crumbled and from the ashes of it came a new world of atomized individuals who, like the old society, held mental health to be taboo. Matthew’s heart, strained by stress and sleeplessness began to beat faster. Knowing something was wrong, he tried to take some deep breaths to calm down but his ribcage constricted his longs keeping them from fully expanding. While struggling to inhale his left temple began to hurt then in his chest he felt a heavy, dull ache. A panic enveloped him despite his attempts to stay calm. This is it he thought, a stroke just like his father. By the time the nurse finally called him in he had forgotten the reason for his visit.

By the time the doctor had finally called him he was a nervous wreck. His brain was tingling and he was overcome by lightheadedness. Matthew frantically described what he was experiencing. The doctor nodded then had an EKG performed on him. The results were normal. The doctor left him alone in the examination room with the door closed as his heart beat faster and faster. She came back in with anxiety and depression questionnaires where you’d circle a number from 1-3 to indicate the severity of the symptoms listed with 3 being the most severe. He circled 3 on every single symptom except for the one about suicide. He knew that an honest answer on that one would send him straight to the psychiatric ward. Have you been feeling a sense of worthlessness? 3. Do you think you would be better off dead? 3. Are you unable to experience pleasure from activities you used to enjoy? 3, and so on. The doctor came back in and looked at the results of the survey.

“Doctor I think I’m having a stroke! I almost forgot what day it is and my vision is getting blurry!" He desperately cried.

“The EKG test came back normal.” The doctor replied.

“But an EKG doesn’t test for strokes, look!” He shoved his phone in her face which had a Wikipedia article open. “I gotta go to the hospital doc, I don’t wanna die!”

“You’re gonna be alright. Are you currently seeing a psychiatrist?”

“Yes for 5 years.”

“5 years?! And you are still feeling like this? Are you taking your medication?”

“Yes every day I never miss a dose.”

“Well you had better give him a call.”

“GOD DAMMIT I’M HAVING A FUCKING STROKE AND YOU WANT ME TO CALL A HEAD DOCTOR? I’M GONNA DIE IF YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING!” “If you want to go to the hospital then go but all your vitals are normal.” She replied, then exited the room.

Matthew texted his mother that he loved her,(she replied back with an 'Ok') then dialed 911 and called for an ambulance at the doctor’s office. It felt like an eternity had passed by the time the EMTs had shown up. They looked puzzled as Matthew walked out of the examination room, after all, who walks into an ambulance? They brought him out to the ambulance, sat him down, and took his blood pressure. It was a little high but not enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room.

“So how are you feeling, big guy?” One of the paramedics asked.

“Oh shit, this is all in my head isn’t it?” Matthew replied, burying his head in his hands.

“It’s alright pal just try to relax.”

They let him go after a short conversation where they had advised him to ‘go outside’ and ‘make some friends’.He couldn’t do any of that though, the motherly advice had vexed him and he was so mortified and humiliated by the whole thing, But it had all felt so real though! He had felt like he was going to die there, in the examination room. At the peak of the attack a feeling of tiredness washed over him like a warm bath as he had waited for the doctor to return. Is that what death felt like? Like just going to sleep? Huh, he thought, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be...

The idea had animated him. He got off the couch, put on his jacket, and headed out the door. He arrived in the Chinese quarter an hour later. Most of the shop signs were in Chinese which made his task difficult. He figured an old traditional medicine store would do the trick. Matthew spotted one after a few blocks, he couldn’t read the sign but the windows displayed bottles of what appeared to be ginseng and other herbal medicines. From the outside it looked cluttered, dusty and old, it looked even more so inside. A bell rang as he opened the door and went in. An elderly Chinese man with a bald spot stood behind the counter with his nephew by his side. There were a few people in line to pay and walking around browsing the aisles. He’d have to wait until they were all gone before he made his move. Matthew walked up and down the aisles several times until the other customers had all left. He went up to the counter whistling with his hands in his pockets. The old man eyed him suspiciously, Matthew looked different from his usual clientele. After all, every product in the shop had labels on them in Chinese, why would a white man come here?

“Good afternoon sir!” Matthew said loudly and then quietly: “I’m hoping you can help me find something.”

The old Chinaman looked offended. “What you want?” he asked in a heavily accented voice.

“I’m looking for something that’s been spreading pretty quickly in China, do you sell biological weapons here?”

“Huh? What?”

“Biological weapons, you know like that crazy flu that’s been ravaging China for a few weeks now. Do you by chance have any that I could purchase?”

The nephew looked at him bewilderingly.

“That’s not funny, asshole. I have family back there and they’re scared shitless!” He spoke. Through his clothes and lack of accent Matthew could tell he was Americanized.

“Oh that must be incredible! They’re at the epicenter of God’s wrath!”

“Sick! Sick! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Oh plenty’s wrong with me but I’m trying to get better, I’m trying to fix everything. So can you sell me a vial or whatever of the virus?”

The old man had been silently watching, trying to understand what was being said but he barely spoke English. He barked something that sounded like a question in Chinese to his nephew. The nephew shouted back to him in Chinese. The conversation went on for a few minutes, at first the old man looked positively furious but in the end it seemed like they agreed on something and both started giggling. The nephew turned back to Matthew.

“So you want that flu huh? Well my uncle here just came back from the Zicheng province! He can give you it, we will only charge you $100” Matthew was elated at this news.

“Oh yes! I knew you guys would have it!.”

He took out his wallet and gave him the money.

“So how do I get it? Is he gonna spit in a test tube or something?”

All of a sudden the old man leaned across the counter towards him and hocked a loogie right in his face.

“There, now you have it. Now get out of here you creep!” The nephew said.

“But how do I know I have it? There’s barely any snot in this thing, see?”

Matthew wiped the spittle off his cheek and showed them. Then he put his hand to his mouth and swallowed it. Both the nephew and the uncle’s jaws dropped to the floor.

“Give me more, that wasn’t worth $100.”

The nephew told the old man what he said in Chinese. The old man's eyes lit up.

“More? He want more?”

“Yeah give him some more.”

The old man smiled in delight. He leaned across the counter again, this time Matthew grabbed his face with both of his hands and forced his tongue into his open mouth. The old man let out a muffled scream. Matthew ran his tongue over every part of his mouth, sucking up any saliva that was in there.

“You bastard! Let him go!” the young Chinaman screamed.

After he was sure the virus had been transmitted he released the old man.

“Thank you very much! You don’t know how much joy this has brought to me.”

“You leave! You leave now!” Cried the old man, choking back a sob.

“Alright alright I’ll go. I just want you gentlemen to know that you have just participated in a historical event. Keep an eye on the news.”

With that he made guns with his fingers and shot imaginary bullets at them, making noises with his mouth and slowly backing out of the store. This was it! He thought. Finally I’m gonna make a difference in this world! He felt full of love and euphoria as he walked out into the street. He passed by a homeless man mumbling to himself 5 doors down. Ah, he’s just like me!

“Could you spare any change sir fuckass cock balls?” The hobo asked.

“Of course my brother!” He took out a dollar bill, licked it, then handed it to him.

“Don’t you worry friend, what I’ve given you is worth a hundred dollars! Stay strong my brother! Things will get better real soon!”

The bum looked at the bill then at him.

“You son of a bitch motherfucker crusty asshole on my face!”

He got up and grabbed Matthew by the collar.

“Oh ho ho! You want to make sure I gave it to you? Who am I to deny an eager man like yourself?”

He grabbed the homeless guy’s cheeks with his big yeti hands and gave him a deep kiss. The hobo’s eyes shot wide open in terror as he struggled to get away from him. Matthew let him go after he was sure he had tasted the man’s tonsils.

“Hey mister! What the hell!” he yelled frightened, backing away.

“God bless you sir! You were my first one! I will never forget you!”

“Wh-what? That was your first kiss?”

“No it was my second one, I just had my first one 5 doors down.”

“You’re crazy! Get away from me!”

With that he took off in a sprint. Matthew gazed at him lovingly like a mother looking down at her newborn baby. After he lost sight of him he popped his collar and strolled leisurely back home.

The feeling of euphoria carried over to the following Monday. Usually Matthew wouldn’t talk to anyone at the job but he had undergone an immense psychic change that past weekend. He talked with everybody and anybody would listen. He was constantly dishing out handshakes, fist bumps, and half hugs, taking bathroom breaks every now and again to get more crotch grease and spittle on his hands. His coworkers were frightened at first, but they warmed towards him after the initial shock. One of them, Jessie, caught him in the break room drinking out of someone else’s mug. He wrote it off as an honest mistake. Another one of his coworkers found him licking the water fountain nozzle. These vagaries went largely unnoticed though as the days went by. On Wednesday, Matthew went to his supervisor’s office.

“Good morning Tracy.”

“Hello Matt. So what did you want to talk about?” she asked.

“Well, it’s just that, I’ve been on the phones for 3 years now and I’d really like to branch out to broaden my work experience. Don’t get me wrong, I love this job, I just need something more stimulating, something challenging.”

She eyed him curiously.

“Well Matt, I’ve been hearing nothing but good things about you these past few days. But allow me to ask; what exactly prompted you to come here today and ask for a transfer?”

“Oh, it’s just that I finally broke out of that funk I was in ever since….well you know. Now I want to achieve things, I want to be more useful to the agency, My goal is to get the employee of the month award. I think I’ve always wanted to deep down inside but I never had enough motivation to go after it.”

“Hm, I’m impressed with you Matt. I know things haven’t been the same since that thing happened but I am very pleased to see you are doing well. Now what line of work are you interested in?”

“Well I saw there’s an opening at the front end. I think I’d very much like it there, as I’m sure you know I have excellent customer service skills so I think it would be a good fit.”

“Alright Matt. I have to send some emails but most likely the job is yours.”

Matt jumped up out of his seat like an electric eel.

“Golly thanks Tracy! I won’t let you down I promise!”

“I know you won’t Matthew,” she replied.

He stuck out his hand for a shake. Taking her petite hand into his, he pressed his palm into hers and maintained perfect eye contact. After about 30 seconds she broke her hand away.

“Did you just use hand sanitizer or something? Your hands feel sticky!”

“Yeah right before I came in. You gotta be real careful with all those viruses going around.”

Her eyes widened.

“That’s right! I was just watching the news this morning, they were reporting on that flu. That thing spreads like wildfire!”

Matthew broke out into an ear to ear grin. He bit his tongue to keep from laughing in ecstasy.

“Well thanks a bunch, Tracy. Have a good day.”

He made finger guns and pew pewed her as he shuffled out of her office backwards. At the door he performed a 180-degree spin and briskly walked back to his desk. Tracy stood behind her desk and sniffed her right hand.

He felt exuberant. Things that would usually bother him now ran off him like water on a raincoat. He even stopped mumbling to himself, his neurosis withered away and was replaced with a feeling of contentment. During this time he would go out at night and ride the subway back and forth, occasionally getting off to visit a museum or library where he would ask the librarian which books were popular nowadays then, hidden between the aisles he would inhale black pepper and sneeze on the first few pages. On the weekends he went to the cinema to see the latest blockbuster movie. Mostly they were juvenile superhero movies that he detested but now he didn't mind taking in 90 minutes of high definition opium. His habit of daydreaming which had consumed endless hours of his time had ceased. Now he didn’t feel the need to escape into the depths of his imagination. He took to life with a new zeal and for the first time since he was a child he was genuinely excited.

submitted by /u/bipolarthrowaway01u3 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3dqX2is

[annelixa]

Falling Apart at the Seams Chapter 30

Can also be read on AO3

Prequel I Previous Chapter 

Summary: After many months of attempted healing, Deceit is back and determined to fulfill his goal with his new idea. This time he’s sure it will work which could spell the end of all involved if they can’t prevent his interference in their lives but he may have help from an unfamiliar source.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Nearly a week had passed but no matter what he did, Virgil still felt empty inside. Empty and confused. One of the last conversations he had had with Anxiety had told him so much that he didn’t know. So much that had happened before he even existed. It had left him with so many questions that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend but he knew one Side that might be able to help him.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on his destination.

“Damn it, Roman!” a voice yelled. “I said you had to warn us before you-!”

A quiet gasp cut off the end of the scolding.

In front of him stood a shocked Deceit, mouth hanging open as he tried to understand what he was seeing.

“V-Virgil…?” he asked in a hesitant voice, stepping slightly closer. His eyes searched Virgil’s face for a possible answer to his sudden appearance. “A-Are you really…?” A hard expression suddenly swept over his face and he turned away. “Never mind. I don’t care.”

With that, he turned on his heel and began to swiftly walk away from the other down a dark hallway.

“Wait! Deceit!” the anxious Side called after him, hurrying to follow. “I need to talk to you!” A dismissive scoff was his only reply as the deceiver slipped around a corner. “Please! I’m so confused! Anxiety told me all these things about his past but he faded before he could tell me everything! He said you were his friend! Can you help me?”

Virgil didn’t notice that the older Side had stopped until he ran into his back.

“Deceit? What’s-?”

“Anxiety faded?” Deceit asked in a whisper.

“Yes. About a week ago.”

The other didn’t speak for a while.

Eventually, he grabbed Virgil’s wrist and dragged him further down the hall and into a familiar room. Once the door was slammed behind them, Deceit faced the younger with a steely look in his brown eye.

“Tell me everything,” he demanded.

The anxious Side explained everything that Anxiety had told him while the other listened closely.

“And then I woke up and he was gone. And I could only feel this gaping hole inside.”

Deceit nodded slowly, a faraway look in his eye.

“That makes sense,” he murmured.

“What makes sense?”

The deceiver seemed to snap back to himself at that.

“I was always curious what had happened to Anxiety that resulted in…well…you…” He took a deep breath. “But that does sound like something he would have done.”

Moving closer to the other, Virgil begged, “Deceit. There are so many things I don’t remember that I want to know. Why did I leave here? Why can’t I remember the time that I did live here? If you took care of me, why did I feel like I hated you? I didn’t have a reason, I just did instinctually.”

Sighing, the older summoned two chairs and wearily dropped into one. He stayed silent for so long that Virgil thought he wasn’t going to get an explanation.

“Things were…complicated…when you lived with us,” he suddenly muttered. “Are you sure you want to know?” Virgil nodded, determined. “Fine.” A gloved hand was raised to rest against the arm of the chair and support his head. “As Anxiety told you, you were created shortly after Creativity’s split. Remus had only been living with us for a few months and I was attempting to adjust to taking care of a…should we say…rambunctious child. None of the others wanted to help with reigning him in but instead enjoyed provoking his energy to make more work for myself. Around this time, Anxiety started to grow distant. He spent more and more time in his own room until he was no longer even emerging for meals, so I started to deliver them to him each day with Remus.” His eyes slipped closed as he remembered.

'Thank Thomas that Del agreed to play with Remus today. I need a break,’ Deceit thought as he walked down the hall, a tray carefully balanced in his hands.

He stopped in front of the door and knocked. No answer came and he slowly pushed the door open.

“Anxiety? Are you alright?” he called as he stepped into the dark room. Looking around, he didn’t spot the other so he set the tray down on the other’s bedside table. “Anxiety? I brought you some lunch!”

A shadow moved on the other side of the room and Deceit peered at it before gasping.

The shadow was revealed to be a Side he had never seen before but was cloaked in Anxiety’s violet cloak. The other’s eyes were blank as they stared at Deceit. The lights were quickly flipped on and Deceit was inspecting the new Side.

“Who are you?” he asked quietly.

“Anxiety…” the Side replied in a hollow voice.

Deceit stared at him in shock. This scrawny Side was nothing like the hulking form of Anxiety that he knew. What had happened?

“Nice to meet you,” he replied after a moment, pushing the surprise to the back of his mind. He could deal with it later, this Side needed him now. “I am Deceit.” He gently guided the Side to the bed and helped him lay down. “I’ll take care of you but you look like you could use some rest,” he whispered as he took notice of the dark circles under his eyes. “There’s food here if you’re hungry when you wake up.” He indicated the tray. “If you need anything, just call me and I’ll be here as soon as I can, okay?”

The younger nodded and obediently closed his eyes.

Silently rising to his feet, Deceit slipped out the door and turned the lights off.

Apparently, he was going to have another charge. He knew that none of the Others would look after the new Side. Again he wondered what had happened to the previous Anxiety while he walked.

While he was lost in thought, a being crashed into him.

“DJ!” it cried and he looked down to see Remus grinning up at him.

A soft smile crossed the deceiver’s face and he ruffled the creator’s hair.

“Hello, Remus. Did you have a good time with Del?”

Remus nodded enthusiastically.

“Uh huh! We told Thomas a bunch of paradoxes until he bit his tongue in confusion!”

The older filed that away. It seemed that he would be having a talk with the delirious Side in the coming future.

“I’m glad you had fun. Have you eaten yet?”

“Nope!”

The two walked to the kitchen and a sandwich was placed in front of Remus. He dug into it eagerly, bits of food flying around the room as he decimated it.

* * *

Remus peeked around the corner where the older Sides were gathered, serious looks on their faces and whispering frantically. He couldn’t hear most of what was being said but gathered bits.

“We have to figure out where he came from!”

“He could be a danger to us all.”

“New Sides don’t get created for no reason!”

“There’s a new Side?” Remus asked curiously, head tilted until it was almost resting on his shoulder.

All three snapped to face him.

“Remus!” Deceit scolded. “What are you doing up?!”

Shrugging, the younger Side simply responded, “Nightmare.”

The deceiver pinched his nose and tried to think quickly. Remus had heard about a new Side, they couldn’t hide that from him. They could try to say they were talking metaphorically, working through that possibility but the creator would see through that in an instance. Honestly was the only option.

“Yes, Remus,” the older Side murmured. “But he needs to rest, I’ll introduce when he’s stronger.”

Jumping up and down, Remus cheered, “Yay! I’m gonna have a little brother!”

* * *

Years had passed since Remus had met Anxiety and he was obsessed. While the Side had been recovering his strength, Remus insisted on tagging along whenever Deceit visited him. The Side had developed into an almost exact opposite of the previous Anxiety. He jumped at shadows and nearly always had a terrified look on his face. Panic attacks were common and many a night Deceit found himself calming the younger down after Remus was in bed.

Despite the change, Deceit could see a sliver of his old friend underneath the new layering. He continued to try and bring the old Side out any opportunity he could but nothing worked.

Currently, the deceiver was relaxing with a book in the plush chair next to his desk. Remus was playing with Anxiety yet again so he had about 20 minutes before Anxiety would be too upset to continue whatever game Remus had cooked up this time. Just as he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, the door to his room was thrown open and Remus ran in.

Sighing, Deceit opened his eyes. His calm mood shattered when he saw tears running down the younger’s face and heard his huge, gulping sobs.

“Remus, what happened?!” he asked in an urgent voice.

“A-Anxiety,” the creator struggled to get out between gasps. “A-Anxiety is l-leaving!”

Deceit froze.

“What?!”

He sprang to his feet, summoned Warren to watch Remus, and dashed to Anxiety’s room. He barged inside without knocking and looked around desperately. But as he noticed the clothes missing from the closet, he knew he was too late.

Dropping to his knees, he allowed his own tears to fall. He had tried so hard to watch out for the other and take care of him but now he was gone.

Soft footsteps approached him.

“It’s all my fault,” Remus murmured despondently behind him.

Those words caused Deceit to spin to face the younger Side.

“No!” he snapped and Remus jumped, pulling back a little. He mentally cursed himself before adopting a softer tone. “No, Remus. It wasn’t your fault. If he left, it was his choice.”

“But I hurt him!” Remus cried, eyes welling up again. “I didn’t mean to but I did! We were playing this new version of tag I created where you use frying pans to tag each other. I tagged him and there was this loud snap and then he stormed off, holding his arm and saying he couldn’t stand being here any longer! If I was better, he wouldn’t have left like Ro-!”

Pulling the other into his arms, he rubbed his back.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated in a whisper. “I promise.”

* * *

Virgil’s head spun as Deceit finished his tale.

“None of us saw you for years but when we did finally reconnect, you were acting like we were all monsters, scum, not worthy of your time. We attempted to apologize for the past but you weren’t willing to listen. We were all deeply hurt by your departure, Remus most of all. He took the blame completely onto his shoulders and withdrew from us all. He thought that if he did that, he couldn’t cause us to leave and hurt him further. It took years to undo even a shred of that idea.”

Trying to understand, Virgil asked the last question that had been on his mind.

“Why did you bring me back here the first time?”

Deceit breathed in sharply. It was clear that Virgil had hit a sore spot.

“I…I wanted to bring Anxiety back…” he admitted quietly. “I…missed him. I missed him and so did the Others. I thought that if I could bring him back, things would be better for everyone. The two of us would help Thomas together like we used to and the guilt that Remus is still carrying would finally be lifted off his shoulders.” He looked up and met Virgil’s eyes; the anxious Side could see the deep pain in them as well as a rare sincerity. “I apologize, Virgil. I made a mistake and then I repeated it, making things even worse. I understand if you want nothing to do with any of us ever again. I brought that upon us all. All I wanted was for the past to be the present and to do the best for Thomas.”

The deceiver dropped his gaze and let silence fill the room.

“I don’t hate you,” Virgil whispered. “I’m mad, furious, about what you did. You really hurt Patton and Logan in your conquest.” Deceit flinched. “However, I also could tell from the way that Anxiety talked about you that you were important to him and that you truly do want to help Thomas. I will tell you that I can’t forgive you.” The other deflated on himself. “Yet. You made mistakes like you said and I’m going to be mad about it for a while. The others will probably be angrier longer. But I will forgive you someday. I know that you regret what you did and were committing terrible acts for some rather good goals. And I know that you were doing it for Remus as well as the Others. I’m going to be mad at you for a long time but I’m also going to try to treat you all better. We’re all Thomas’ Sides and deserve the chance to help him.”

A genuine smile broke out on Deceit’s face.

“Thank you, Virgil.”