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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 5 years ago

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Clandestine Creation Myths

This fic feels like it’s been a long time coming in some form or another, and I guess the movie gave me that final push I needed - because I have been obsessed with the concepts of Pearl as a storyteller and ”I’ve been imagining things”, we became our faaaantasyyyy rushed right in to hit me where it hurts.

This fic features two absolutely beautiful illustrations by @loomborn (artblog: @nereamerayo) and in fact took shape in a very interesting and immensely inspiring back-and-forth fic-feeds-art-feeds-fic collab with her and @jeejyboard to whom I seem to owe a life debt yet again.

So here’s a lot of introspection, the dawn of the Rebellion proper, and, of course, Imagining Things. Pearl tells a story as the rain falls. Pearl, Rose, guest appearance by Garnet and, well, the Earth. ~5600 words.

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Clandestine Creation Myths

To Pearl’s dismay, the gloomy, overcast sky decided to unleash its long-held threat in a downpour right as their little trio-quartet of fugitives made it out of the woods and to a stretch of rolling grassy hills.

In hindsight it seems inevitable, really. Their long trek between Homeworld-guarded warp pads has only been made longer by frequent pauses to appreciate the sights and sounds and altogether overwhelmingly numerous and various sensations of the planet.

...some markedly more pleasant than others.

Pearl knows Rose would love nothing more than to run breathlessly through the curtain of rain to splash around in every muddy puddle she can find - the way the fusion, newly self-declared a Garnet, rushed away from them to do not that long ago, making a very determined yet undecipherable claim about not hiding from any of it ‘this time’. Rose, too, certainly wishes to bask in the novelty of the droplets running down her face and shoulders and arms, tickling; to catch the cool water in her cloud of curls, see it stick to her form (her lovely, lovely form, the form she clings to so- so- it’s not Pearl’s place to say desperately, but-- the form that is somehow becoming more than a disguise, that Pearl would dare say she wants to - should - have always had--).

It’s writ plainly all over her face and the blatantly yearning gaze of those dark eyes, and would be obvious, certainly, even if Pearl herself had been made for something other than anticipating every whim. But instead of indulging, Rose seems to restrict herself to deeply breathing in the heady, fresh scent, and holds her summoned shield up to make a shelter for both Pearl and (most of) herself.

A small but monumental gesture of caring, a sign of Pearl's feelings on the matter of odd earthly textures and fluids -- or on any matter in general -- being taken into account and seriously considered. Even, one might say, taking precedence. Rose rushed forward, ecstatic as the first drops began to fall, and Rose turned around and saw Pearl’s disgruntled expression, and Rose stopped. It is an immensely warming, incredibly dizzying thought, another shift and tear in what should have been the fabric of their relationship, and a moment that Pearl has replayed in her mind’s eye several times by now.

Pearl curls herself around it and into Rose - who not only allows, but encourages the small movement - and watches the rain fall. With this aglow at her core, for at least a little while it doesn’t matter at all that frightfully soon they have to make it to a warp and back to the base, and meet with Blue Diamond herself, and make up excuses for her and Garnet both, and--

Pearl keeps a tally, of course. They’ve been sneaking off down to the planet’s surface more and more often. Even before the latest escalation in Rose’s plan to prove the Earth uncolonisable, they’d been spending more time on-planet than at the base. An unpleasant call from Blue Diamond would so easily lead to some astoundingly frivolous, exploratory, and wonderful frolicking through the incredibly diverse ecosystems the planet has to offer. One particularly frustrating fight over the comms line ending with Yellow Diamond ordering her pearl to cut the feed resulted in a rousing sparring session in a flowering field (Pearl still has the bright pink blossom Rose put in her hair afterwards stored away in her gem, safely bubbled, to be taken out and looked at during… challenging, unsure moments).

Yes, the consequences if they are caught would surely be disastrous. Yes, there are patrols sent after the stubborn, defiant, ever-persistent and increasingly notorious rebels more and more often, what with Blue Diamond once again deciding to “indulge” her favourite little troublemaker and coming over to “help” her with her first colony.

So they’ve frequently needed to hide, most often in caves, cut deep into stone or formed under the roots of monumental trees. And Pearl thinks she should feel some kind of apprehension, or responsibility, or any motivation at all to at least try to discourage these Earth jaunts beyond what is absolutely necessary for their plans - or, oh, even to refrain from encouraging them, as she has certainly done on several occasions. But instead she is left with fond memories of many a breathless rush to a hiding place, ending in giggles of relief and sheer forbidden excitement, and a stretch of quiet, huddled waiting that is somehow never unpleasant.

It didn’t take her too long to realise she’d become as carried away with it all as Rose, and that, when she allows herself to admit it in the rare quiet of her own thoughts, she never, ever wants to stop. She tries to imagine going back to how it used to be, how it’s supposed to be, what they are supposed to be, forever, with the Earth stripped bare and hollowed out as just another colony consumed for the growth of the empire. Imagines herself quietly standing at proper attention and wearing that ridiculous dress, with opening a door or activating a data-filled holo-screen being the pinnacle of her day, and something very deep in her shudders in revulsion and desperate denial.

Then she tries to imagine some kind of expected and logical endpoint to… all this. Because of course that is their endgame, isn’t it? They would convince the other Diamonds the Earth was too troublesome to ever be a viable colony, that it should be left alone. And they would go… back. To their old lives, and their old selves - at least on the surface, as best as they could manage. Perhaps, on occasion, they could even get to visit the Earth again under some pretext or other, but certainly never for very long, not without endangering all they’d accomplished, and never like… this.

The Earth would be saved, with all its creatures, with humans, the endless forms of life growing wild on it…

...but, despite it being exactly what they originally set out to do, it somehow doesn’t feel like a victory to Pearl at all.

She imagines, last of all, what it would mean - never seeing Rose Quartz again. Her lively mind, usually all too eager to oblige no matter how unlikely or outrageous the daydream, refuses her.

Rose is very soft and thankfully very real against her shoulder and her back, and, every so often when she moves to adjust her hold on the shield, against her cheek. But there is an immense underlying strength there that Pearl has become so very certain would never be turned against her. Rose has grown so much more careful than in those early days, with all the excited grabs at Pearl, yanking her up or down or along to whatever curiosity awaited. It makes Pearl want to preen, aglow with importance - any real pull exerted now is far from physical.

And here Rose is, the centre of gravity - always making slight adjustments to her form, fascinated with replicating textures found and felt around the wonder that is the Earth. The cloud of hair, as wild and unruly as the life they are trying to protect here, forming curls as perfect as any shockingly geometric pattern found in the odd structures of the planet’s sea creatures. The waves and layered petals of her dress, the way they flutter and float around her, weighty and weightless in turns. The ease of getting caught in her eyes, dark and warm and welcoming and intense all at once, and deep, like layers of soft, loamy soil. Rose is of the Earth, in a way Pearl never will be and doesn’t wish to be, but can certainly appreciate. It is all of it so much more beautiful and pronounced, when it is with her, when it is her.

So Pearl has to admit the rain is not an altogether unappealing phenomenon either - when observed from a safe and dry distance. There is something beautiful about the grayness, and something oddly profound about the moment entire. The raindrops ring against the shield, each a softly resonant little chime. It isn’t hard at all to believe the Earth is providing the two of them with a private concert the likes of which no diamond ballroom has ever seen.

It reminds me of the day we met.

“Oh?” Rose says, that ever-present curiosity clear in her voice, and Pearl realises far too late she has blurted this out loud. Loud enough to be heard over leaves and grass rustling in the cool, damp wind and the patter of raindrops above them. That’s what too many wild unfettered fantasies in too brief a time will do to you, oh, now you’ve done it--

But no scoff or scolding comes, beyond Pearl’s internal self-condemnations. Instead, the arm that was behind her - the one not holding up the summoned weapon-turned-shelter - now drapes around her shoulders, gently holding her close. Nothing restrictive, nothing Pearl couldn’t easily disengage from if she felt like it. Which she decidedly does not. The shield is rather small for them both, of course, so it only makes sense. Best to stay close and spare Rose the trouble of needing to adjust its size or angle.

“Could you maybe… refresh my memory?” Rose says, bending down almost conspiratively and smiling at her a bit wryly. Then, even softer and with a tugging, pleading look, “Please?”

In response, Pearl scoots even closer to the very Earthy soft warmth of Rose, Rose, Rose, as far removed from the cold, polished stone of a diamond palace and the uniquely demeaning chime of <please state preferred customisation options> as it is possible to be. And of course Rose insists on breathing, that entirely human but pleasantly rhythmic affectation. The rise and fall of her chest brushes up against Pearl, and Pearl decides to match the oddly soothing rhythm herself, for at least a little while.

Then she lets her face scrunch up in concentration as she focuses on remembering.

(Important, very important, for a wide array of reasons, to keep everything consistent.)

“Well. I had just made it out of the cargo hold of the ship I’d stowed away on, the stolen sword - oh, you know, that sabre I favour so much - firmly in hand.”

“You do love that thing,” Rose chuckles, and she’s absolutely right - and the fact it truly was stolen from a training arena weapons rack by Pearl and Pearl alone is perhaps what makes her love it so. “Sometimes I’m afraid you’ll lovingly polish it away into nothing.”

“Unlikely,” Pearl scoffs. And really, she’ll have to teach Rose a thing or two about proper weapon maintenance. But for right now... “There I was, about to sneak right past the first two rings of guards around the landing pads, preferably unscathed, when I first encountered this strange precipitation.”

But that isn’t how it was at all, an annoying, proper little voice pipes up in Pearl’s mind, and she stops, frozen. And of course it wasn’t, she remembers perfectly - it had actually been during their first visit, while the Moon base was still having finishing touches put on it, and potential primary kindergarten sites were nothing more than a list she kept projecting in a convenient hologram for her Diamond to peruse. The first and last time Pink Diamond was expected - or rather allowed - on Earth, escorted by a generously loaned squadron of Yellow Diamond’s elite citrine guards. A very brief inaugural visit - the rain started almost as soon as they stepped out of the ship, and both the endlessly disappointed diamond and the pearl trotting dutifully just behind her were hastily bundled back in. For safety. Supposedly.

Remember, Pearl.

So she does, and casts her mind back. To the bright orange quartzes surrounding the landing site in flawless formation, the sudden pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the hulls of the ships.

A kernel of truth, a fact to serve as core, then layer around it like fine nacre--

“It was an odd sound at first, but it helped, then, to mask my steps - there was an entire squadron of citrines already stationed there, you see. So I was thankful for the cover it would provide my escape and didn’t much feel like examining it all further. New to the planet as I was, with no knowledge of its odd… liquid condensation cycles - or anything, really.”

“Hm,” comes Rose’s voice in a hum, soft but resonating through her form enough for Pearl to feel it brush against her and through her, pervasive and warm, “and now you’re shaping up to be quite the expert in a number of areas. And we get to properly experience rainfall together! Another Earth wonder. Sometimes it feels like the planet is showing off, just for us.”

Pearl feels her face heat up, too, bright blue from compliments and proximity, tinged pink by the muted glow of the shield. “Yes. Well.” She clears her throat. “In- in any case. It was still very dangerous, as those citrines were some of the Yellow Court’s best.”

“Oh, well,” Rose indulges in a grin that Pearl can only describe as dastardly, “I think I know someone better-!”

“Rose!” The heat in her face is becoming distracting at best and uncomfortable at worst, and Pearl feels a tiny pinprick of frustration at her focus being tried and challenged this hard. Preserving the... the flow of the narrative--

“I… I was moving slowly, and keeping as low as possible behind whatever I could see. Cargo containers, equipment racks, the odd bush - but there wasn’t a lot of cover to be found, especially further away from the ships, and the rain made the ground uncertain and slippery. And so, just before I could slip away, I, well, slipped, and was spotted by two of the guards.”

“What did they do?” A gasp and a tense whisper from an increasingly engrossed Rose somehow drawing ever closer, and Pearl feels astoundingly accomplished.

“The citrines? Well, one of them stepped forward and said--”

“Hey, pearl,” came the rough voice of a citrine guard looming over her suddenly, pointing somewhere behind her, “bring me that.”

Perfectly unthinking, Pearl immediately made to step over and grab the carelessly discarded sabre. Her Diamond had dismissed her services for the immediate moment anyway, and was talking to important Gems about the ceremony of setting down her very first colony’s very first warp for its very first kindergarten site.

The citrine’s companion reached over to slap the back of her head - those quartzes, always roughhousing! Even highly elite guards. “That’s Pink Diamond’s pearl, you chalkhead, not yours. Pick up your own garbage.”

“What, come on, she wasn’t doing anything anyway, she was just standing there!”

“Yeah, that’s what they’re for. Look all you want, but no messing with her, or you’ll get us both in trouble. Acting like you were made yesterday, I swear...”

Pearl swallows, with some difficulty. And focuses on the recollection of the perfectly ordinary but entirely unforgettable sword, the heft of it, the gleam of it, the feel of it in her hand, not balanced for her at all, but oh, so right to have her fingers close around its handle, even so very, very briefly...

“One of the citrines stepped forward. She said,” Pearl pauses to clear her throat, then gives her best gruff-voiced imitation. “‘You there, pearl, bring me that sword. Slowly now, we wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.’”

“And?” Rose again, leaning forward with excitement, distracted enough to allow her shield to tilt and splash rain down her back.

Pearl stifles a small giggle, shoulders hunching, a grin pulling at her lips as irresistibly as that sword had called to her hand. “I stood up tall - of course I was positively tiny compared to her, but it didn’t matter - and said... I said--”

‘Maybe it’s not the sharpness of the sword you should be concerned with, but how to fix your own dullness!’

Too wordy.

‘Why don’t you come over here and try to take it from me?’

Not wordy enough! But then, oh, an idea--

‘No.’

Straightforward and meaningful indeed, but- maybe mostly to her? And she has an audience. It wouldn’t do, perhaps, to be so entirely… personal. So purely self-indulgent.

Of course she never actually said anything to the citrines - they’d long lost interest in her anyway, preoccupied with their own petty arguments, and, eventually, she simply put the sword back down and stepped back to her original spot to await further instruction. But the pure glee of even imagining firing back at them, of pretending she did, in fact, do all that and more, is intoxicating, and somehow, somehow, the in fact seems to matter less and less and less. Washed away, perhaps with the rain.

“I said, ‘I’m not the one who should be worried about getting cut!’ and I rushed forward, sword firmly in hand. They didn’t even have a chance to draw their weapons, I timed my lunge just right, and, well, that was it for them! Poof, just like that!”

Pearl grins, looking up with a little huff of excited exhalation. Rose's cheeks are glowing, rosy, and not just thanks to the shield above, held steady with both hands now as she does her best not to completely succumb to her laughter and delight.

“Pearl. You are amazing.”

The joy on her face is the most genuine thing Pearl has ever seen, and it floods her. I did that, I caused it, I, I, I…

She allows herself a moment, and leans in, all but reclining against Rose, tucked under her chin, increasingly blanketed by her wild curls. She raises a hand and almost idly lets one pink strand curl around her finger, then uncurl, curl and uncurl, curl and uncurl--

But then, the story isn’t over, is it? One of its main attractions has yet to appear at all. And oh, what an appearance to be made...

“It was easy to make it deeper into the woods after that,” Pearl continues, far more quietly, from her unthinkably, altogether criminally indulgently comfortable resting place. “I thought I’d found good cover, finally, and could pause a bit, re-examine my plans in relative safety. But just as I was about to settle under a rocky overhang, a rustling came from somewhere behind me.”

When Pearl pauses in her telling, there is nothing to be heard save for the soft sound of Rose’s breathing right next to her, and the rain with all its tones, as persistent as ever. But the feeling of it all has shifted, somehow, beyond Pearl's ability to explain.

“I turned, suddenly sca--” No, not that, never scared. “Worried that more of the citrines had followed me. And then… and then there she- you- were, right in front of me.”

How incredibly strange, to be sharing this. Pearl has never had need nor chance to consider her delivery, the, oh, format, as it were-- it’s not polished, and it’s not practiced or prepared, and usually she’d absolutely despise this, but here she is and the spontaneity of it all somehow, quite bafflingly, adds to the experience.

“But of course I didn’t know-- well, you could have been anyone! A quartz, in a standard Pink Diamond uniform... I had been training with the sabre for a while at that point, yes, but mostly on my own and in secret, and if more soldiers found me, surrounded me, the odds would be very much against me. I reacted faster than I could even think, nothing but pure reflex, and raised my sword--”

Mine. Another little nugget of astoundingly pleasant warmth Pearl can’t resist pausing to relish in. All hers.

“I prepared my attack, but I wasn’t aiming to disrupt your form - I needed to extract information, of course. It was vital that I learn exactly what dangers lurked out there, awaiting me.”

One pearl, alone in an entire world of unprecedented opportunity and unparalleled danger, and nothing, nothing at all to steer her or guide her but she herself. What a thought! What a terrible, wonderful thought, and here Pearl sits, speaking it out loud. She shivers.

“Even if some part of me noticed your posture wasn’t threatening at all, well, I was used to that. You’d be hard-pressed to find a Gem that would take a pearl seriously, and so it was how all of my more... martial encounters started. I dashed forward for a quick feint, first to the right, then to the left, a swipe as if to aim at your legs - and down you went.”

She is caught up in the telling, sweeping out a currently swordless arm, but still with perfect hard-won technique. The rain has started to come down even harder, and the sudden feel of it on her bare forearm startles Pearl back into the present. She grimaces and tries to shake the water off as best she can and, for the first time in what feels like a while, since that strange shift in mood, risks a glance back at Rose - Rose, who has gone so quiet. An icy spike of fear rushes through Pearl briefly - has she gone too far? Holding people, holding her, at swordpoint? Really?

Looking up at Rose, she isn’t sure what she expects to see there, but she finds herself caught in an enraptured, glossy-eyed gaze, a brightly rosy-cheeked Rose so much like that moment of, oh, please don’t ever stop that still somehow makes Pearl feel like the very core of her gem is aglow. She looks utterly, yes, Pearl would dare say smitten, and the realisation comes with a burst of what can only be pride. The rain and everything it touches is suddenly somehow irrelevant, and the world might just be the two of them underneath the shield.

“I stood there,” Pearl almost whispers, “a pearl, with an impressive, perfect-cut rose quartz entirely at my mercy with my sword at her neck, bound to know every patrol route and schedule on Earth. Anything I could possibly want to ask of her.”

The image is almost startling in its crystalline clarity in her mind, but Pearl isn’t sure she can properly convey it with mere words. A hologram, perhaps?

It only takes a brief burst of closed-eyed concentration, and the scene comes to light blue life before them. Rose, near-supine, looking up in wonder with plush lips open in the slightest of ohs, rain dripping down from the lovingly rendered curls of her hair and following the soft, indulgent curve of her cheek. Pearl herself standing over her, just barely tall enough to look down at her even in this configuration, but the very picture of determination even so. The finishing touch of her own reflection in the polished blade, sword held perfectly steady without a hint of the tremble she currently feels in her nervous fingers. A clear, steely threat pressed right above where Pearl is nestled now.

And the rain, just visible through the cyan glow, adding a startling shot of reality to the projection, peeling away another layer of separation.

“You… you just looked up at me,” Pearl tries to continue, though her voice is turning highly uncooperative. “Our eyes met and I… somehow, I knew you didn’t mean me any harm. I knew you wouldn’t try to attack me, or overpower me, or turn me in, or… or steal me for yourself. I knew you were… like me. You were running, too.”

Her words go from hesitant to a full stop, but more kernels keep offering themselves up. Perhaps it is simply in Pearl’s nature somehow, to want to take them and make them into something more appealing, handle them by encasing them in something beautiful, leaving them only barely recognisable to the most discerning eye.

There... there was a tower on Homeworld that they made you... stand guard in, sometimes. A prison tower. Your… agate, a real piece of work. You hated it, oh, your whole cut did, and all of you dreaded those shifts, doled out as punishment. The first time we talked you swore to me you would never see the inside of it again--

But Pearl quickly tucks that nascent part of the story away. It feels… wrong, for the occasion. This story is about running away, about escape. It wouldn’t do at all to drag all of that into it, to drag them both back and down. Distraction, instead. A beautiful fantasy. Escapism in its purest form. In fact, another piece slots into place instead:

Rose Quartz was made on Earth, in its first successful kindergarten, herself a product of the planet she then chose to protect and tied to the life flourishing wild on it. She has never laid eyes on Homeworld and Homeworld has never laid a hand on her.

It feels like a very final decision, but Pearl keeps it to herself, for now. Instead, she waits, quiet, and focuses on the shared rhythm of their breathing, and the coolness of the rain on her arm contrasting with the warmth of Rose at her back.

“I remember that part very well,” Rose says, finally, breaking her silence.

“You- you do?” Pearl blinks, shifting slightly to sit up, inexplicably hopeful. For a moment it seems the hardest thing would be not to pretend, and not to believe the pretense wholeheartedly.

“Oh, yes. You were very terrifying.”

Rose’s smile as she says that holds no hint of mockery, but as she looks away from her own image in the hologram and catches Pearl’s eye there is something new and hardened in her gaze.

“It really got me to think, you know, seeing you there in the wilderness, watching you wield a sword so skillfully. Towering over me. I’d never seen a pearl do something like that before. So imagine-”

Imagine-- Pearl’s pretend breath catches and hitches in her pretend chest, and her projection flickers out of existence.

“Imagine what could happen, what else she could do, if only given the chance. What… what other pearls could do.” A shadow passes over her face suddenly, and Rose shakes her head, curls bouncing and droplets flying, doing her best to shake something else off, too.

“Imagine what Gems could do. And be.”

She’s thinking now, Pearl knows, of the incredible, unprecedented sight that unfolded before their very eyes and the eyes of the entire Blue Court mere Earth-days earlier: a Ruby and a Sapphire coming together to form something beyond just themselves, beyond what anyone expected either of them to ever be.

But Pearl thinks, too, of their own bizarre and wondrous almost-fusion, of the way they fell apart in the end, but not quite, of the feeling of tiny strings still pulling them together, the feeling of teetering on the edge of some great and terrifying understanding. They are close, so very close, sitting huddled under the shield, which she knows Rose could make bigger if she wanted, and she thinks, oh, how much closer could we still be--

She thinks of how the Earth has become a sanctuary. For Garnet, certainly, but also for the two of them. How, flying in the face of all reason, their time on Earth still feels safer than any spent on Homeworld.

Just the other night, they met the nearby humans as honoured guests in their little aggregation of domiciles and took part in dancing with shocking abandon around a carefully constructed open fire. Rose first, of course, ever eager to join in, but successfully urging Pearl to put her innate grace to good use, too. Garnet following them both and still curiously feeling out her own way about everything, including joy. She ended the evening holding herself with a genuine tenderness that was beautiful to witness. Rose smiled wider and brighter than Pearl had ever seen her before that night, all the way until the unfamiliar stars vanished from view and the first rays of the Earth’s sun crept up over the horizon - and how could either of them worry about anything in those precious, transcendent moments?

And where else could they possibly… be… like this? Where else could have produced Garnet?

Where else could have produced Rose Quartz?

“I want…” Rose starts, then stops, with a soft exhale and a frown, and Pearl feels an incredible desire to raise her hand and gently cup her face. So she does - they’re on Earth, after all, and isn’t that just the point? - and Rose leans into the touch immediately.

“I want to change it,” she states very simply after a little while, just as another thought forms, slowly making its way to the surface of Pearl’s mind - who else could the Earth become a sanctuary to? It feels something like that moment of almost-fusion, this immense shared notion suddenly taking hold of both of them.

“Why should Garnet ever be threatened and afraid, punished or made to feel wrong? Why should anyone? Why shouldn’t we--” Rose cuts herself off again, passion clearly mounting. Her eyes are still her own, dark and warm, always wide in curiosity and eager to take in every sight the Earth can possibly offer. But there is steel in them now, and Pearl shudders - though not unpleasantly. She traces a cheek with her thumb, meets Rose’s gaze without hesitation, and feels a matching determination mounting in herself.

“Your imagination is wonderful, Pearl. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Where would I be without it?” Rose laughs very softly at her own bittersweet little joke, but grows serious again, even solemn, before Pearl can even think to react. “But what I want is to try to make this real.”

She hesitates, and it is such a strange look on her. On the Rose Quartz who is always bounding forward without a second thought, flying headfirst into both revelry and danger. Then, she shifts her shield to free a hand and place it over Pearl’s. “And I think, maybe… maybe you do, too?”

What do you want? in so many tentative and hopeful little words.

“I do,” Pearl answers with a certainty she can’t quite explain. Surely it should all need so much more thought, and surely the mere act of asking a pearl what she wants is unprecedented enough to merit at least a moment of serious, careful consideration. The sheer implied scope of it is nigh unthinkable--

But no other answer feels possible.

And now they are on the cusp of… something. Pearl wishes she could clarify and define what it is, put words to the immense, looming shape of it, but it is beyond her, beyond both of them, beyond Garnet… and yet it revolves around them entirely. It feels like they are about to plummet, or soar, but really, with Rose, isn’t it the same in the end?

“I want to change so much,” Rose repeats, with a finality Pearl feels resonate deep within herself.

They will change it. They will change it all. Pearl feels ready to fight for this cause, if need be until the last grains of the nacreous dust of her gem settle, trampled into the ground, if she can only make all of it real. For Rose, and for Garnet, and for whoever comes after.

And maybe even, a tiny inkling of a new voice, barely there, dares to suggest, for herself.

Something to unpack another time, perhaps, Pearl thinks as she brushes it away. As blurred rays of sunlight reach them through the shield to interrupt their long stillness, she notices that the rain has for the most part stopped. The sky has cleared, the last vestiges of clouds slowly drifting off... but there is something else in it now. Streaks of colour arc across the pale blue, shockingly lively hues in perfect wavelength order.

“Pearl, look!”

The shield is gone, and Pearl suddenly feels arms around her and a cheek right next to hers, and Rose’s voice all abuzz with that familiar excitement and fascination again.

This, this is easy. A phenomenon Pearl is entirely equipped to explain, even if she finds herself a bit… distracted by their current configuration.

“Oh, that’s… well, there’s refraction and reflection, what with the water still in the air, and the, uh, the sun, coming from behind us.” She looks down briefly and traces, with remarkably steady fingers, a simple but pleasingly symmetrical pattern in the soft give of the arm that’s wound around her chest. “We’ve seen something similar in waterfalls, you’ll recall, only here it’s obviously on a much larger scale. But still just the sun’s rays hitting droplets of water, creating a… rather lovely illusion.”

For some reason Rose seems to find this amusing. “It’s light,” she laughs, but oh, there’s that note of wistfulness once more, “just like us.”

Just like a growing string of iridescent moments, secret and shared. Just like a sudden glow of new understanding in a hidden, flowery grove. Just like…

“It looks real to me,” Rose whispers softly, nuzzled against her cheek, and it sounds like a plea again. “Don’t you think it is?”

Pearl steps out of the embrace and turns to face her, very deliberately. She takes both of Rose’s hands in hers, and allows herself a moment to take in the contrast in size and build, and bask in the feel of them, the weight and warmth, before looking up.

“Yes, it is.”

#steven universe #fanfiction #pearl #rose quartz #pearlrose #my fic #oathkeeper writes things #OUR FANTASYYYY #fanart #this is what happens when you overindulge in kishi bashi children #i also call this... pearl's fanfic-ception fic within a fic #working title: rainymood pearlrose #oh yes also I LIVE despite reports to the contrary #but good grief to say i'm feeling rusty would be the understatement of the century #please...... be kind #and feed the suffering author

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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago

Note

Thinking back to the earlier volumes, isn't it weird that Ozpin either 1) didn't notice Jaune faked his transcripts (imagine if he was a Salem agent) or 2) decided to just trust this kid with fake transcripts when he is so paranoid that not even his inner circle has his complete trust?

I've always worked under the assumption that he had to have known. Even just ignoring the unlikely event that Jaune managed to secure transcripts that were that persuasive and Ozpin never followed up with/realized that Jaune didn't attend a previous school as he claimed (the huntsmen world seems to be a small one, increasing the likelihood of Ozpin hearing about potential new students, and Jaune couldn't have passed the test Blake, Ren, and Nora did for those students with unconventional educations prior to Beacon), he also just acts like he knows and is keeping it quiet. Ozpin is not at all surprised by Jaune's lack of knowledge regarding landing strategies, or his genuine fear about the initiation. Some like Ruby may be nervous about teams, but no one else is scared because to a Beacon level huntsmen there's nothing to be scared of - this stuff is easy-peasy. A guy asks for a parachute to safely land? That would have immediately tipped Ozpin off if he didn't already know. Plus, the person in these scenes who does pick up on these discrepancies, Glynda, is the one Ozpin ignores. "Oh, you think Mr. Arc isn't ready for Beacon? Haha, no reason to address that little observation..."

He had to have known, so the real question is why he'd allow this. You're right that it was a security risk, but it appears far riskier in a post-Fall story. Yes, of course Ozpin always knew about the threat Salem posed even if the audience did not, but the Fall wasn't just a shock to us and the other characters. I think people forget that it was absolutely a shock to Ozpin too. As far as he was aware, things were going swimmingly. It's that wonderful time of peace! Yeah, he starts hearing reports of enemy movements around the same time that Jaune was allowed in (meaning that any worry wouldn't have started until he'd already taken a risk on Jaune), but no one could have predicted that within a few months the entire school would be overrun with grimm. Meanwhile, telling people about Salem has been a known risk for at least several lifetimes. Letting Jaune into the school without credentials is only perceived as such a big risk after we've watched Cinder pull that exact stunt: sneaking into Beacon as a student and helping to destroy it from within. But, given the knowledge everyone had in Volumes 1-3, it doesn't surprise me that Ozpin would see one action as a STAGGERINGLY bigger risk than the other. He doesn't tell his inner circle about Salem because every time he tells people about Salem they drop the fight, betray him to her, or fall into such despair that they're functionally no longer allies - as the group beautifully demonstrated when the secrets came to light. Jaune is just... taking a chance on a kid with potential. One is a proven risk within a war that impacts all of Remnant; the other is only at that same level of risk if Ozpin were truly paranoid and spiraling when it came to imagining the worst possible scenario for every situation. What if this bumbling kid is secretly an intelligent spy sent to undermine my school from within, despite every possible proof to the contrary?

But it's details like this that make me roll my eyes so hard at the "Ozpin doesn't trust anyone" rhetoric of both the show and the fandom. Not trusting everyone with everything - because different people are more likely to be trustworthy or not; different pieces of information have the ability to do more damage than others - is not the same thing as not trusting, period. Ozpin, like Ironwood, has never been paranoid. Everything he fears is true, proven again and again across multiple lifetimes. It's not paranoia when people are literally betraying you left and right. Yet despite this, Ozpin extends a shocking amount of trust. It's as you say, he does let this unknown kid try his hand at being a huntsmen. He lets a former White Fang member into Jaune's class, allowing her to hide her status as a faunus the whole while, outright telling her that she can keep her secrets until she's ready to share them. He previously allowed two bandits into his school - who later revealed they'd come with the explicit purpose of learning how to murder huntsmen!! - and despite being betrayed by one he still keeps her brother as his second in command. He trusted his inner circle with everything but the secret that has screwed him over time and time again. He trusted a bunch of nobody students when they randomly showed up at his safehouse, demanding to be a part of this battle. He trusted them again despite the horrific way they put his trauma on full display. And then hit him. Screamed at him. Ignored him for months on end. He trusts them so much that when four of them came back with Emerald he didn't even question it. This 14yo boy I'm inhabiting wants to risk everything by "trusting love" in the woman who, just a few hours ago, was trying to help Cinder murder our Maiden? Lol yeah sure, why not.

Ozpin extends an extraordinary amount of trust given his circumstances. That's canon to my mind. What's ridiculous is that the comparatively few times he's held back have been blown into this inaccurate image of him being paranoid, or so manipulative that he refuses to allow anyone else agency through information. But Ozpin trusting others 99% of the time is the part of the story that has always made sense. Trusting others with caution during such a dangerous war is not - and should not - be criticized for this extent, especially when the other option presented is pure foolishness. Which, frankly, is where I think Oscar is at, surviving his blind faith in someone like Hazel purely because the plot bends to accommodate that. It also remains a strange theme in the face of Ruby's current characterization. Ozpin, according to the show, is flawed because he didn't trust love... yet this is the same volume when Ruby tells all of Remnant that Ironwood can't be trusted. No explanation, no attempt to reach out, just a black and white dismissal that he is an enemy now, full stop. And we can't even contextualize that with, "Well, Ironwood is too far gone to ever trust again. There are some cases where love just isn't enough" when we redeemed both Emerald and Hazel within episodes of each other. The PTSD riddled former-ally doing horrific things in the name of saving at least some of his kingdom is too far gone, but the guy who murdered the majority of Mistral's huntsmen, works directly for Salem, and has spent his two major appearances trying to kill/torture a kid is not? Yeeeaahh. That's really absurd to my mind. At the end of the day, RWBY's themes of trust are just fundamentally flawed. There is no solid foundation to work from and no continuity across the series, let alone across different characters. Ozpin trusted Jaune, but is said to be too untrusting because the show is basing "trust" on whichever characters it likes most in a given moment. It is, again, why we get a "Ruby will save the day because she's so trusting. More trusting than Ozpin ever was" while she is, in that exact moment, keeping these secrets from Ironwood. Or themes of Ruby uniting the world... while she explicitly says, "But not that guy." Any compelling story about trust we might have gotten died the day the group stole everything from Ozpin, punished him for things outside of his control, cut him out of their lives until the plot forced them to work together again, and the story never once went, "Hmm. Maybe our supposedly trusting, forgiving heroes shouldn't have done all that."

#rwby #mymetas

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razieltwelve · 3 years ago

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Friend (Final Rose)

“Mom...” Diana tugged on Lightning’s sleeve. “Can you take me somewhere?”

Lightning yawned. She’d been up all night writing reports relating to her latest mission. Everyone had come back alive, but it had been a mess. “Where do you want to go?”

Diana lifted her scroll, so Lightning could see it. “I have a friend in the game, mom. He hasn’t been online in days, but he’s never been offline before. I think something might have happened to him.”

“Diana...”

“I’m serious, mom. He’s always online. He never misses a raid or a mission or anything. This is the first time he’s ever been offline, and it’s been two days since he was on. I think something might have happened to him.”

Lightning’s brows furrowed. Diana might still be a kid, but she had good instincts. Moreover, she was very observant about certain things. "Do you know where he lives?”

Diana made a face. “He’s talked about his house before. I don’t know where he is, but I narrowed it down to a couple of places. The nearest one isn’t far from us at all.”

“And you’re sure he’s not just taking a break or something?”

“I’m sure, mom.” Diana sighed. “To be honest, I don’t think he has any friends outside the game. He never talks about other people, and he’s logged way more hours online than anyone else I know. He wouldn’t just stop playing unless something had happened to him.”

“All right.” Lightning got up. “We can go have a look.”

X X X

Lightning studied the house intently. Whoever lived here must be disabled. Instead of stairs, there was a small ramp to the front door, as well as other adjustments. Based on the width and angle of the ramp, it was likely for a wheelchair, as opposed to someone who simply couldn’t go up stairs easily.

“Is this the place?”

Diana nodded. “Yeah.”

Lightning reached out with her senses. The world sharpened into truly perfect focus, and she was instantly aware of everything around her. Her brows furrowed, and she moved toward the front door. “Diana, stay out here.”

“Mom?”

“Stay out here.” Lightning could sense a single Aura signature inside the house. Even by civilian standards, it was extremely weak, and it was fluctuating in a way she’d come to recognise. Whoever it belonged to was on the verge of death. “I mean it. Stay out here.”

Lightning used a sliver of Saviour’s power to open the front door and moved through the house toward the Aura signature. The interior was well-kept and tidy, and she could hear the low hum of computer equipment coming from a room toward the back of the house.

The faint sounds of shallow breathing greeted her. There was a young man on the floor. He looked to be in his early twenties. His wheelchair had tipped over, and he was barely clinging to life. Saviour’s senses diagnosed the myriad issues immediately.

The young man had suffered a seizure violent enough to knock over his wheelchair. The rough fall had done further damage, and he had likely spent the last two days swimming in and out of consciousness. Using a scroll to call for an ambulance would have taken too long, so Lightning simply picked him up and strode out of the house.

“SillyCoop!” Diana cried. That must be the screen name the young man used. “Mom, is he okay?”

“No.” Lightning’s power flexed, and her next step carried them from the house to the hospital in an instant. “But he will be.”

X X X

Cobalt - known in Gary Online as SillyCoop - opened his eyes.

“So... you’re awake.”

He turned his head and stared. “You... you’re...” That was Lightning Farron sitting next to his bed. What was going on? He was clearly in some kind of hospital. He couldn’t remember much. He’d gotten a seizure and fallen out of his wheelchair. After that, it was just bits and pieces. He’d tried to get to his scroll or his computer for help, but his body had refused to cooperate. “What’s... going on?”

“You play Gary Online, right?”

“Uh... yeah.” Contrary to common belief, Gary Online was actually extremely popular with people of all age groups. Behind the cartoonish graphics and sometimes silly storyline were rock solid mechanics and incredibly well-designed gameplay with interesting and varied missions, raids, and adventures.

“You’re a member of a guild. It’s the Friendship Punch Guild, right?”

Despite the situation, Cobalt found himself smiling. “Yeah.” He’d joined the guild because of it’s silly name, but he’d found so much more than just a place to spend time online. After his accident, he’d struggled to adjust. He’d never had many friends to begin with, and he’d been an orphan to boot. The guild had given him friends, and they’d become the family he never had. Since he was able to work from home as a software designer, he spent as much of his free time as he could online. The guild had members from all over the world, so there were always a few of them on at any given time of the day. “I am.”

“You’re lucky.” Lightning nodded at something, and Cobalt noticed the little, ragamuffin of a girl curled up asleep in a chair in the corner of the room. “My daughter is a member of that guild too. She noticed you hadn’t been online for a while, so she used some of the things you’d said about your house to narrow down its location. She asked me if we could go to one of the locations. I found you on the floor of your room.”

“Oh.” Cobalt took a deep breath. “That’s... thank you. I mean it. Thanks.” A few years ago, he probably wouldn’t have minded if he ended up dead on the floor of his room. But the idea of never talking to anyone from the guild again...

“She talked to some of the other guild members. A few of them don’t live all that far away. They’d like to visit you too, if you don’t mind.”

Cobalt found himself smiling. “I’d like that.” He paused. “Do you know what her name is?”

“She goes by MyNameIsClaw, I think.”

“Oh.” Cobalt chuckled. “I guess that’s why she does most of her playing on the weekend.”

“She does have school, yes.” Lightning’s lips twitched. “The doctors tell me you’ll be okay with some rest.”

On the chair, the little girl’s eyes opened. She took one look at him and was already airborne before he could react. Thankfully, Lightning caught her with one arm before she could crash into him.

“He’s still recovering. Be sensible.”

“Oh. Yeah.” The girl waved at him cheerfully. “How are you feeling, SillyCoop?”

“SillyCoop?” He managed to smile. “Call me Cobalt. That’s my real name.”

“I’m Diana.” The girl nodded sagely. “But you can call me Claw.”

“...” Cobalt looked at Lightning.

“She’s convinced we should have named her Claw instead of Diana.”

“Oh.” Cobalt grinned. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Claw.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

Diana plays a lot of games. Gary Online is one of the most popular MMOs in the world, and she is one of the best players, largely due to her fanatical study of the game’s mechanics. There are very, very few people who understand the game the way she does. Naturally, she joined a guild, and after a good lecture from Lightning on online safety and another one from Vanille just to be sure, she was allowed to keep playing. The members of the guild come from all walks of life and vary in age from kids to the elderly. What makes Gary Online so popular, apart from the gameplay, is the positive outlook the game strives to foster. Essentially, the greatest wish of the devs is that everyone who plays the game is happier after playing it than they were before they started.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#final rose #fanfiction #diana yun farron #lightning farron

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generallynerdy · 4 years ago

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One life, I thought—a thousand deaths (Jon Antilles & Fay)

Summary: On Queyta, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the only one to escape Durge and Ventress. One of the four legendary Masters, Jon Antilles, emerges from a lava stream despite knowing he’s going to die. He’s so sure of it that he crawls his way to Fay’s side, wanting to spend his last moments with the woman who he considers his Master. But she has other plans. Plans to make certain that Jon Antilles lives past today.

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, On-Screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, there’s both sorry, Self-Sacrifice, The Curse of Immortality, holy shit i made myself sad dude Word Count: 2,191

Prompt: Angstpril Day 2 - Sole Survivor

Author’s Note: listen I know nobody knows about these characters that are in literally one comic but I have FEELINGS about them okay?? Jon is meant to be a badass mysterious enigma but he screams sad boi and Fay is like...the greatest cryptid Jedi ever, I love her. So, of course, I decided to make them and Knol and Nico suffer. (Also I know Obi-Wan survived the mission but the Sole Survivor still applies because Jon is the sole survivor of the four legendary Masters, just in case that wasn’t clear.) I just finished this today, so the editing is minimal.

Read on AO3

Using the Force as a shield is, in theory, one of the easier skills a Jedi utilizes. That is assuming, of course, that the Jedi in question is in good health, a decent mental state, and isn’t under a severe amount of stress. If said Jedi is, say, three feet into a pool of lava, already bearing grievous injuries and the weight of the deaths of two close companions, and feeling the fading life of another, the simple task, understandably, becomes something of a problem.

Jon has finally managed to pull the Force around him like a blanket. It protects him from the bubbling lake around him now, but the first few seconds he couldn’t pull it off were torture.

As it turns out, lava burns. It burns like shame, like failure, like the nightmares Jon used to have about his Master abandoning him on a planet in Hutt space for getting just a little too mouthy. And it hurts nearly as much.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He makes a rule of not cursing, but right now feels like an appropriate time to break it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He claws at the charred remains of his robes. Contrary to popular belief, lava doesn’t melt initially, as Jon now knows. Instead of melting, he burst into flames for the few seconds it took to pull himself together, though they felt like an eternity. Red, throbbing burns litter his entire body, his hair singed but miraculously intact thanks to his hood, which is entirely ashes now. The pain consumes his thoughts, making his shielding start to flicker in and out.

And then, through the debilitating agony, a touch of something familiar.

Jon’s eyes fly open. “Fay,” he whispers.

Her light is dimmer than it should be, not flickering in and out mischievously like it usually does. But still, she makes an effort to reach out, to check on him. It sends a sob up his throat.

“Hold on, Fay, hold on.”

Clenching his fists, he opens himself up to the Force. His actions are ones of faith, not of desperation, and he lets it flow through him as he takes a deep breath. The idea of using one of his Master’s abilities would normally make him nauseous, but the disgust doesn’t even cross his mind this time as he prepares to teleport. He thinks of that open, flat space of rock that Obi-Wan and Fay ran to, their enemies close behind. Focusing fiercely on that distant image, he pulls on the Force and folds the two points—

Jon collapses on solid ground with a heaving gasp.

Every inch of his body protests the change, especially his knees, which burn when they make contact with the ground, but somehow he manages to ignore his own complaints.

Fay isn’t far, or she shouldn’t be, at least. The distance between them seems gaping when he tries to move.

Still, her light is fading fast. And he wants to be by her side.

So, Jon Antilles crawls on hands and knees, dragging his body across sharp stones and past bubbling streams of lava. He aches with each movement and cries out when it becomes too much, but he persists regardless. Something in him knows it may be the last thing he ever does.

Finally, he sees her.

She’s sprawled out, her chest hardly moving as her breathing becomes shallow. Her near-golden hair is filthy with ash and her eyes are dim. She’s hardly herself, Jon thinks, and feels his stomach sink.

Hundreds of years the great Master Fay has lived and breathed. Hundreds of years and he’s going to watch her die today.

“Jon,” she calls out weakly.

He pulls himself to her side, grabbing her hand with his own shaky ones. “I’m here, Master.”

They only met when he was a teenager, but he feels as if he’s known her all his life. They’ve travelled the Outer Rim together, following the Force, for decades now and he’s never regretted a second of it. In all but title, Fay is his Master. She was always better than Dark Woman, even when the bar was six feet under. The only record with both their names will be at the Temple, where the dead are listed, a handful of mission reports with other Jedi, and the stories the younglings share of the 4 legendary, nomadic Masters.

“Knol and Nico,” Fay breathes out, “they’re one with the Force.”

Jon grimaces. “Yes. And the Force is with us.”

She laughs, breathy and half-choked. It’s an old lesson, familiar and grounding. “And so too are they,” she adds.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“Gone, with the cure.” She smiles just a little. “The Republic fights another day.”

Suddenly grim, he squeezes her hand. “But not us.”

A pause.

“But not us.”

The silence overwhelms them. The wind whistles in the distance, carrying with it nothing but smoke and ashes. Queyta isn’t the best place to die, Jon thinks absently. He would rather it have been someplace with flowers.

“I wish it could’ve been Jedha.”

He almost jumps at her voice, but her words jarr a surprised laugh from his sore lungs. “Jedha? I thought you hated cold planets.”

“Oh, yes, but not that one. Force, I should have taken you. The Force there is so...so strong, so pure, you can feel the kyber from the surface,” she explains, staring straight up at him. If anyone else were to gaze so intensely at his scars, he’d be uncomfortable, but she’s safe. She’s family. “And the Guardians of the Whills are so kind. I met a young one of theirs some decades ago. You two would’ve gotten along.”

Jon laughs a little. “You’re always looking to find me friends, Fay.”

Her smile turns sad and she lifts a hand to his face, letting it rest on his cheek. “You’re so young,” she whispers. “Too young to be so lonely, Jon.”

He shuts his eyes, lets himself be comforted by her touch. When he opens them again, she still has that gut-wrenching look on her face. He places his hand on top of hers, unsurprised at how cold they are despite the blistering heat.

“I’m not lonely,” he promises.

Jon doesn’t say that it’s because of her, Knol, and Nico, but Fay picks up the thought anyway. Her eyes fill with tears.

“I have watched so many I love die.” Fay’s voice wavers as she says it. He realises that it’s the first time he’s ever heard it do that. To be honest, he’d thought it was impossible. “Taken by age, by Darkness, by foolishness. Never have I met a soul as good as yours, Jon. And never a Jedi so worthy of love.”

“Fay…”

She shakes her head. “Your Master did not deserve you. The galaxy did not deserve you.”

Pulling her hand away from him, Jon squeezes it. “You did,” he says firmly, though his voice cracks.

“I hope so,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I hope so.”

He smiles weakly. “I wish you’d found me first. But I thin-I think the Force knew when I needed you to save me. Because you did save me, Master. I could never thank you enough.”

She takes his word silently, holding his hand even tighter. “You never needed to.”

“Thank you,” he says now, even though it’s useless.

Fay’s grey eyes meet his pale ones and suddenly, she’s distressed. “You’re so young,” she repeats.

But Jon can see that she means something else this time.

“Not too young to do my duty.”

“Too young to die doing it.”

Jon thinks of Tan Yuster, one of four Padawans to die on Geonosis. The Jedi have experienced great loss these past months since the beginning of the war and so many so much younger than Jon have died in battle, the clones included. Of course, to Fay, they all may as well be children.

“I will go proudly into the Force,” he promises her. At your side.

Fay’s expression twists. “No.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think we have a say in it.”

“The Force let me live this long,” she says suddenly, as if it’s a realisation, “longer than I should have. Obi-Wan is gone, I’ve done what good I can, except...you’re here. Why are we here?”

“To say goodbye,” Jon offers.

She shakes her head, then tries to sit up, struggling until her would-be Padawan helps pull her up. “I’m done with goodbyes.”

“What are you—?”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Fay presses their foreheads together and grabs his hands with a newfound energy that terrifies him. Chills go up his spine when her presence in the Force covers him like a blanket. Warmth climbs up his hands, then his arms, and with a glance down he finds that his skin is healing.

“Fay, no!” he cries, trying to shove her away.

She only tightens her grip. “Stay still, Jon.”

She sounds more like herself, certain and unwavering. Jon would be happy-crying if he weren’t horrified. He tries to drag himself out of her grip, but she’s impossibly strong. Her healing creeps up his entire body, soothing his burns, though scars remain behind.

“No, no, no—FAY! Fay, stop it!” His screams turn to sobs. “You’ll die, stop—!”

“I already am,” she says, just as certain in her abilities as her fate. “But you don’t have to.”

Trembling, his attempts are weaker now but still there. “Please, please,” he begs. “Not without you!”

Tears stream down her cheeks. She allows herself a moment of weakness; she opens her eyes and meets his tearful gaze, remembering the teenager she first met. He was so scared and so brave. And for a moment, she’d thought he must be a ghost. But no, he was just a boy. For the first time in a long time, she had let herself build a bridge between them, like Knol and Nico before him, even knowing she would have to watch him die one day.

Now, she thinks with fierce stubbornness, she won’t have to.

It feels like her life is leaving her for him, though she knows it’s just fading into the Force. It’s to it that she speaks, the cosmic energy she’s dedicated her long, long life to.

“If anyone is deserving of the time you’ve given me,” she gasps out, “it is Jon Antilles.”

She doesn’t see the horror in Jon’s face, but she can feel it in his quiet Force-presence, so subdued. He hides himself on purpose and it truly breaks her heart. His light is so strong. The galaxy is all the better for his existence.

“I don’t want this! Fay, I don’t—let me die, please—”

Fay only lifts her head and kisses his forehead, the sort of gentle gesture a mother might give her son. “One day,” she promises. It rings with truth, with the strength of the Force behind it. “But not today.”

Jon cries out and tries to rip himself away, but freezes when pure light washes over him. The warmth he’s always associated with Fay soaks into him, healing all his wounds in an instant and rejuvenating his fading energy. Stars burst before his eyes, like he’s seeing into the very universe beyond Queyta, beyond what he’s meant to see with his petty Human eyes. In another instant, it’s gone and Fay is slumping over.

She falls to the ground with a thump, a noise that jolts Jon back into focus.

“Master!” he sobs.

He pulls her up from the ground with the sickening realisation that she’s a complete deadweight. She’s limp in his arms, already paling. Desperate, Jon pushes her hair out of her face and finds...nothing. Her eyes are dull. With his fingers on her wrist, he can’t feel a pulse.

“Fay?”

The steady beat of her Force-presence is gone, a gaping hole in his universe. Their bond, one strong enough to resemble a training bond, is shattered, a physical pain that throbs in his skull.

Jon begins to hyperventilate, his sudden gasps for breath burning his now-perfect lungs.

“Come back,” he begs Fay’s corpse. “Fuck, please. Please, come back.”

He pulls her into his lap, clutching her robes like a child being left behind for the first time. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore and, thank the Force for it because his entire body shakes with the force of his cries.

Overwhelmed with grief he’s never experienced, Jon wails into Fay’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The agonizing sound rings across the valley, a noise like torture.

It’s only now that he feels the frayed edges of his bonds with Knol and Nico.

He screams again, his vocal cords protesting it sharply.

The last time Jon was this alone, he was a child. And now, he’s right back where he was before he met his three closest companions. Except now, now, he knows what it means to love and to lose. It aches. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I need you. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”

He never gets an answer.

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

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cozy-the-overlord · 4 years ago

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Crimson Curls

Summary: A barista at the Avengers Tower coffeeshop goes missing. Her boyfriend, prominent Avengers engineer Michael Hauer, headlines a desperate campaign to find her, aided by the support of Tony Stark and the rest of the super-powered team. But as Hauer's narrative begins to unravel, it becomes clear that a certain Asgardian prince knows more than he's telling.

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 1: Disappearance

Previous chapter | Next Chapter

Word Count: 3,138

A/N: This is definitely something born out of my obsession with true crime and missing persons cases... I'm not sure if anybody else is as interested in this concept as I am, but I had the time of my life writing this story, so I hope that translates to you in some way.

Also, this is my first multi-chaptered fic (I know, exciting, right?!)-- part 2 should be up within the next week.

Thanks for reading!

TW: domestic violence

Read it on Ao3

Kristine Ververs was first reported missing at 6:07 AM on Tuesday, March 17, by her boyfriend Michael Hauer. He was a bit worried, he said, because she had stormed out of their apartment the night before after a fight, and he had only just realized when he woke up that morning that she never came back. His attempts to call her led him to discover that she had left her cell phone on the kitchen counter.

The dispatcher asked him to wait at the apartment for investigators to arrive. He told her he couldn’t. He had to go to work. A bit befuddled, she asked if it was at all possible for him to wait until police arrived so they could ask him some questions.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “I work for Tony Stark.”

Michael Hauer was considered to be fairly acclaimed at the Avengers Tower. He had been one of the first engineers hired when the Tower opened, picked out by the infamous genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist himself. He spent his days in the restricted upper floors, designing and testing projects so confidential that his girlfriend didn’t even know what they were.

He had met Kristine at the Tower. She worked in the coffeeshop next to the cafeteria, where the employees of all 93 stories flocked to with bleary eyes each and every morning. Kristine was hardly the most talkative barista there (on the contrary, she appeared to make it a point to say only the bare minimum), and yet she was the girl everyone thought of when they thought of their morning brew. Her wild mane of curly red hair stood out in a crowd. Even when she wasn’t in uniform, people knew her as the coffeeshop girl.

It was unclear what she thought of this. A lot of things about Kristine were unclear—she spoke very little, and never about herself. Her coworkers often wondered why someone so shy would choose to work a job that so heavily relied on social interaction, but she managed just fine. Despite her natural demeanor, she would put on a smile and speak in that bubbly barista voice people found either endearing or irritating for the customers, and no one thought anything of it.

When she disappeared, people were shocked.

“You mean the redhead from the food court?” asked Bruce in the apartment story of the Tower when the news broke. “She’s the one?”

“Yeah,” said Tony. They were crowded around the TV, the newscaster flashing a photo of Kristine shyly smiling at the camera as the tip hotline ran across the bottom of the screen. “Poor Hauer. He was a mess. I can’t believe he even came in today.”

“I didn’t know they were dating. I don’t think he’s ever mentioned her.”

“Yeah he has,” Steve turned around in his chair to face the doctor. “He brought her to the Christmas party, remember?”

Tony frowned. “Did he?”

“Of course! I remember!” Thor lit up. “She danced with my brother!”

“Oh that’s right,” Tony chuckled. “Poor girl. She didn’t say much, did she?”

“She did strike me as a bit shy,” Steve said. “I hope it’s all a misunderstanding. Maybe she’ll be back on her own.”

But she didn’t. As the days passed with no news of Kristine Ververs, media attention snowballed around the Tower. On its own, there wasn’t much to the case, but the fact that both the missing girl and her boyfriend worked for the Avengers caught the attention of the public. It seemed so impossible. How does someone who walks among superheroes vanish without a trace?

Missing posters lined the hallway walls: HAVE YOU SEEN KRISTINE? People rushed to news stations for interviews, most of which had no connection to her beyond the fact that she sometimes made their lattes in the morning. Hauer held emotional press conferences, begging anyone with information that might lead to Kristine to come forward. Everyone looked at him differently now. The standoffish, stiff engineer that had once been considered uncomfortable to be around was now a grieving boyfriend. They sent him flowers and patted him on the back in the halls, telling him they’d be praying for his girlfriend, promising to help keep the story alive.

Although that probably wasn’t an issue. Stark himself got in front of the camera, making international news as he expressed the Avengers’ concern for the Ms. Ververs and offered to help the police in their investigation in any way they could.

The investigators would have happily accepted this help if they had found anything for Stark to help with. But the fact of the matter was that there was nothing: no clues, no sightings, not even the slightest trace that Kristine Ververs had ever left her apartment. The security cameras in the lobby showed her coming home from dinner with Hauer at 8:13 PM that Sunday night, but had no record of her exiting the building around two hours later, when Hauer saw her storm out. They considered that she may have been pulled into another room, that for some reason she left through a fire escape, but the few cameras in the hallway showed nothing and witnesses were nonexistent.

Kristine had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Do you think there’s something supernatural at play here?” Natasha asked one day. “Like, a leftover portal from the Convergence or something?”

“Unlikely,” Bruce said. “The Convergence caused our tech to go haywire. We’d definitely be getting noticeable readings if there was a portal down the street.”

“But something like that is still possible,” Tony interjected. “What with all the crazy shit we deal with on a regular basis. Someone might have been going after Hauer—he’s one of our top engineers, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

The fact that she had left her phone was strange, as well. The screen was cracked rather badly—Hauer explained that had happened a few weeks ago when she dropped it on the bathroom tile. Her call history showed that the night she went missing she had phoned an unlisted number. The call hadn’t been long—likely, it had been cut off before the other line even had a chance to answer.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be no clue as to who was on the other line. The number was so badly scrambled that it was untraceable, even with Tony’s resources. In fact, he was relatively certain that whoever she had called had been using his tech to hide their number—leading to a heightened suspicion cast upon the higher-ups at the Avenger Tower.

When after two weeks there were still no leads, Tony held another press conference to announce that he would be posting a one-million-dollar reward for any information that led to the safe return of Kristine Ververs. Hauer joined him, thanking Mr. Stark profusely and pleading once more for help from the public. In the Tower, the others watched the broadcast from the television in silence.

“Filthy weasel.”

No one had noticed Loki entering the room until he spat the words like venom, glaring at Hauer’s distressed face on the screen.

Nat frowned. “What’s your problem?”

The Asgardian made his way to the kitchen and set about boiling water, still scowling darkly. “He has the audacity to sit there and wail as though he’s the victim of some great crime,” he said. “As if he’s some tortured soul wracked with fear.”

“Brother, the woman he loves has gone missing,” Thor said. “Can you not blame him for being in pain?”

“Oh yes, he’s in such pain,” Loki rolled his eyes as he prepared a mug and teabag. “Stark is close with him, is he not? Has he asked him what it was they were quarreling over so passionately that his lady felt compelled to run out of their home in the middle of the night?” He mixed the water in the mug. “Or has no one thought to question that?” With that, he slipped down the hallway with his tea, leaving the others and their gaping expressions behind.

Loki wasn’t the first to doubt Michael Hauer’s authenticity. His neighbor, Colleen Donalds, had come forward to the police shortly after the case went public to voice her concerns. She lived across the hall from the couple, she said, and a lot of times she’d overhear their arguments. They were always incredibly one-sided. She told the police that she very rarely made out Kristine’s voice during these exchanges, but Michael’s boomed all the way down the hall. He called his girlfriend the most demeaning things, throwing out words that Colleen was ashamed to repeat. She felt sorry for Kristine.

“She’s always so quiet,” she said. “Even when I run into her when Michael’s not around, she barely says a word. I can’t believe she stays with him.”

Colleen Donalds attempted discretion. Her story was to the police and the police alone, avoiding making any direct accusations and trying to stay out of the entire situation as much as possible. Marlon Arcardi had no such interest.

“He hits her,” the couple’s next-door neighbor told the tabloid reporters. “I hear it through the walls. I’ve called the cops on him a couple times, but they never do anything about it. He was doing it the night she went missing, too. I heard the crashing. He’s a complete piece of shit.”

The magazines that hit the stands next to the grocery store checkout lines screamed in red ink: AVENGER ENGINEER RESPONSIBLE FOR GIRLFRIEND’S DISAPPEARENCE?

When questioned about it, Hauer denied all allegations. “We’d get into fights,” he said. “What couple doesn’t? It was nothing serious, and the more we focus on it, the more distracted we become from the actual issue: Kristine is missing.”

“Are you saying Mr. Arcardi is lying in his statements to the press?”

Michael Hauer shrugged bitterly. “He wants attention. He’s getting attention. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s trying to derail the investigation so he can have fifteen minutes of fame. It’s sickening, because we right now we need to be concentrating on Kristine.”

Hauer managed to skirt by on this explanation for a bit, but the investigators soon discovered that Marlon Arcardi was telling the truth—at least, about calling the cops. In the two years that Kristine and Michael had been living together, the police had been called to their apartment nine separate times: seven public disturbance calls from a smattering of different neighbors including Acardi, and shockingly, twice from Kristine herself.

The police refused to release these calls, saying only that each time there were no charges pressed. The public was left to draw their own conclusions as they called in Michael Hauer for more questioning. Suspicion began to blossom.

“If they’re this perfect, happy couple like he wants us to believe,” asked one newscaster. “Then why is she calling 911 on him? Why is she running out in the middle of the night? The whole thing is extremely concerning.”

More people began coming forward. There seemed to be no end to the neighbors who overheard crashes and cursing coming from the Hauer apartment. The baristas Kristine worked with started doing interviews as well.

“We used to have like, you know, night outs on the weekends sometimes,” said Curt Chambers, one of her coworkers. “We’d always ask Kristine, but she always had some excuse. Like, she was sick, or she already had plans, or something. I joked with her once, like ‘you can just say you don’t want to go, we won’t be offended.’ And she said something like ‘no, it’s not that. It’s just my boyfriend doesn’t like me being out too late.’ And I remember thinking that was a really weird thing to say.”

Elaine Janson, another coworker, had more to add. “Something always felt off about that relationship,” she said. “They’d come in together, and then he’d come down a couple times during the day. It was like he was checking on her. It was weird. And they always left together. If he was working late, she’d wait for him.” Elaine shrugged. “Kristine always seemed so tense when he was around. I mean, she was shy to begin with, but when Michael came by it was different.”

It was also revealed that Michael Hauer had failed two lie detector tests: one taken on March 19th, within days of his girlfriend’s disappearance, and another on March 27th.

Tony Stark was inundated with calls: from reporters, from employees, from concerned citizens, some asking if he still supported Michael Hauer in light of new allegations, others demanding that he fire him immediately. He responded in a press conference in front of the Tower.

“As of right now, I’ve been shown no evidence indicating that Michael Hauer is in any way involved in Kristine Ververs’ disappearance. If and when that evidence comes to light, we will reevaluate the situation and take appropriate steps.”

Then somebody leaked the calls.

No one was quite sure who got ahold of those tapes, but by morning they were being blasted on every single news broadcast under the sun. It was the first time that the public was hearing anything in Kristine’s own words, and it didn’t bode well for Michael Hauer.

“Can you please just send someone?” she whispered into the microphone, breath labored as she struggled to get the words out. “He’s really mad, I think he’s going to break down the door. Please, is someone coming?” In the background, a masculine voice was yelling something intelligible, clobbering at a wall.

“Does he get mad often?” the operator asked after assuring her that the police were on their way.

Kristine Ververs gulped back a sob. “He’s always mad.”

The second call didn’t even have words. A scream, the crash as the phone tumbled to the floor, more yelling, pleading, crying, pounding, the operator tracing the call and sending in a unit…

Michael Hauer was formally asked to resign from his duties at the Avengers Tower. When he refused, he was terminated.

Still, he remained steadfast in his story. “Kristine has been missing for nearly a month now,” he stated in a recording posted to social media (press conferences were out of the question now; so many people showed up to protest that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise). “On occasion, we would get into violent fights, but I would never do anything to hurt her. I loved her more than anything. Please, don’t allow my mistakes to derail the investigation. We must not lose focus.”

A tweet of the video link with the caption “You loved her?? Enough lies. Where’s the body, Michael?” shot up to over 2 million likes in a day. #WheresTheBodyMichael and #JusticeForKristine began trending. Petitions for the arrest of Michael Hauer racked up signatures by the hundreds.

On April 21st, over a month after Kristine Ververs was first reported missing, a second, more in-depth search of the Hauer apartment was conducted. They noticed some things that had been missed the first time. The door lock had recently been replaced. The television screen was scratched. But, most critically, there was kitchen knife missing from the set atop the refrigerator. When questioned, Hauer claimed he had no idea what could have happened to it.

Detection dogs were brought in. While the cadaver dogs found no sign of the presence of a corpse, two different blood hounds alerted to the scent of human blood in the kitchen area and indicated a trail leading towards hall. A sample was taken from the carpet and sent to the lab for analysis. With the help of the advanced technology offered by the Avengers Tower, it was conclusively identified as Kristine’s blood.

As if that wasn’t enough already, a few days later, on April 25th, a trash collector turned in the missing kitchen knife to the police. He said he had noticed it in a dumpster earlier that day and recognized it from the description in the paper. There were three sets of fingerprints on the handle: Michael Hauer’s, Kristine Ververs’, and an inconclusive set assumed to be the trash collector’s, despite his insistence that he was wearing gloves when he picked it up. Kristine’s DNA was found on the blade.

The public had been screaming “GUILTY!” ever since the phone recordings were released. Now, they roared.

Michael Hauer was arrested on April 29th and charged with the murder of Kristine Ververs.

It was a shocking turn of events. Technically speaking, there was still no proof that a murder had taken place: there was no body, nor any sign that one existed. And just as there was no evidence of Kristine Ververs leaving the apartment that fateful March 16th, there was no evidence of Michael Hauer leaving the apartment that night either, especially with something as cumbersome as a human corpse.

The twitter hashtag found its home in newspaper headlines: Where’s the Body, Michael?

In the penthouse of the Avengers Tower, Tony rubbed his forehead. “This is such a fucking mess.”

They were gathered once again in the living room, watching as the newscaster recapped the last month and a half, breaking news that was already known. Kristine’s picture, with her downcast cerulean eyes and her frizzy red curls, flashed across the screen once more.

Tony sighed. “He just seemed so normal. I never would have thought—”

“You think he did it?” asked Steve.

“Well, he did something,” Tony snapped. “Clearly. He’s got a history of violence, her blood’s all over the floor—”

“No one’s debating that he did something,” interjected Bruce. “But if he killed her, what happened to the body? He never left the apartment that night, and there’s no evidence that a cadaver was ever stored there”

“He’s smart! That’s why we hired him, he’s a freaking genius! He probably thought of something—”

“Thought of what?” the doctor asked, throwing up his hands. “Teleportation? How the hell did he get the body out?”

“He didn’t.”

The group turned around to find Loki lurking in the back, studying them carefully from the shadows.

Bruce was the first to find his voice. “What?”

“He didn’t remove the body, because there was no body to remove,” he said deliberately.

“But, Loki,” Thor said uncertainly. “Weren’t you convinced Hauer was a killer from the start?”

“I never said he was a killer. I said he was a filthy weasel,” Loki said. “And he is, clearly. He's a slimy, abusive, manipulative, wretch of a man, but he's not a killer—although he likely believes himself to be."

Tony frowned. "What are you talking about, Loki?"

"He cannot be labeled a killer if his victim survived his attempt on her life. Which she did,” Loki paused a moment to let his statement sink in. “Despite Michael Hauer's best efforts, Kristine Ververs is very much alive.

#loki x ofc #loki marvel #loki fanfic #avengers fanfic #crimson curls #cozy writes

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dointoomuchsworld · 3 years ago

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URT amidst the Pharma war

WUpon selecting a communication theory for this blog entry, I decided, why not- let’s just Google search: “what communication theory can be related to the anti-vax crowd”? The top six search results and their links that pop up spew these headlines and additional phrases:

1. “The anti-vaccination infodemic on social media: A behavioral…: However, the anti-vaccination movement is currently on the rise, spreading online misinformation about vaccine safety and causing a worrying…” (www.journals.plos.org)

2. “How to respond to vocal vaccine deniers in public- WHO: a vocal vaccine denier is defined in this document as a person who is not only denying scientific consensus but also actively advocating against vaccination…” (World Health Organization 2017 Regional Office for Europe).

3. “Vaccine hesitancy is a problem attracting growing attention and concern.” (www.sciencedirect.com)

4. “The online competition between pro- and anti-vaccination… Distrust in scientific expertise is dangerous… Results show that even if anti-vaccine narratives have a small persuasiveness, a large part of the population will be rapidly exposed to them. ” (www.nature.com)

5. “Conspiracy Beliefs, Rejection of Vaccination, and…: Many conspiracy theories appeared along with the Covid-19 pandemic. Since it is documented that conspiracy theories negatively affect…” (www.frontiersin.org)

6. “Combating Vaccine Hesitancy: Teaching the Next Generation… In 1999, the anti-vaxxer movement, an organized body of people who refuse to vaccinate and blaming vaccines for health problems” (www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov)

Well, this didn’t answer my question. It was surely a lot to read as we dive into my entry here, and it slapped someone with my way of thinking with some shut-down labels: dangerous, misinformed, science-denier, nonconsensual, behaviorally problematic, conspiracist, rejecter.

Do you know what these Google search results say to me? Censorship.

I am selecting the communication theory of Uncertainty Reduction Theory to apply towards my discussion of the pro-vaccine/anti-vaccine war.

Uncertainty Reduction Theory (URT) asserts that “people have a need to reduce uncertainty about others by gaining information about them” (Berger, C.R., & Bradac, J.J.) The information gained can be used to predict the others’ behavior. Reducing uncertainty can be particularly beneficial in relationship development, so it is more typical amongst people when they expect or want to develop a relationship than among people who expect or know they will not develop a relationship.

We have a few basic ways people seek information about another person:

1. Passive strategies: we observe the person, either in situations where the individual is likely to be self-monitoring (in a classroom; in the stands of a public event)

2. Active strategies: we ask others about the person we’re interested in, or set up a way to observe that person (sign up for the same class; sitting at a different table in the same restaurant)

3. Interactive strategies: we communicate directly with the person.

I believe this theory can be used to my topic of discussion because if we are in one of the hottest moments of the ongoing anti- and pro- vaccine movement and pharmaceutical war with COVID-19 at the forefront of it all, no matter which side we put our beliefs, followings, trust, or knowledge in, we seek out others with the same data, statistics, views, and agreeability. We strive to reduce uncertainty with others by gaining their information to benefit one another, and either develop ongoing relationships, or not. If we observe or interact with others to discover where their loyalties lay, we either discuss, debate--or worst of all, we fight like cats and dogs to what seems like the death--or come to an understanding and continue or discontinue the developed relationship.

Let’s begin how I feel within the war on vaccines. I, if you will, an introvert who isn’t so fond of putting my opinions out there, am publicly posting this in hopes of finding others and reducing my uncertainty about how others may feel, or find if they may feel similarly so that I may stand with them or offer them strength in opinions and studies. Or maybe, just to prompt an open discussion.

1. Pro-vaccine

2. Anti-vaccine

Unnecessary and divisive labels meant to categorize people into black and white thinking.

Where is the label for: I think it’s perfectly logical to want the ability to make decisions about each vaccine available on an individual basis for each of my children and myself?

Pfizer is going for full FDA approval and might have it by the end of this month, emergency approval has already been granted for 12-15 year-olds, and in September emergency approval will be requested for 2-11 year-olds.

How can you get granted EAU for an experimental drug in an age group that isn’t having an emergency? To protect vaccinated adults? Sacrificing your healthy child for an illness that doesn’t affect them so that vaccinated adults may think you’re a good person and may give you permission to move freely about your lives?

Nothing says I don’t believe in science more than vaccinating a 2-year-old for COVID.

Imagine being excited to experiment on your own child.

Children don’t stand a chance in this pharmaceutical industry that for decades have put profit ahead of doing what is right. Additionally but important to note, the pharmaceutical industry has not prioritized the research and development of cancer drugs for children. They rely on treating children with adult cancer drugs, which are far more dangerous, toxic, and aggressive on a child’s developing body, because adult cancer drugs are some of the best-selling pharmaceuticals for companies such as Merck & Co., Pfizer, AstraZeneca, Bristol-Myers Squibb, and J&J.

Here is an incomplete current list of places making the COVID vaccine mandatory, either for employment or for on site services: Montgomery County Prosecutor’s Officer; WPAFB (when it is FDA approved); Atria Senior Living; Rocky River Senior Center; Continuing Healthcare Solutions; Newburgh Heights city employees; Supers Landscape; Cleveland State University; Kenyon College; Cleveland Clinic fertility center: spouses required to have two doses of vaccine before being able to be present for embryo transfers. Kroger grocery stores now mandate proof of vaccination of its employees in order for employees to de-mask. This is marking the unclean versus clean. Here we are, segregating healthy people and in many circumstances being told to show our private healthcare papers.

There is no place for this behavior in a free society. This is discrimination based on vaccine status.

A business in Preble County is allowing employees who have taken the coronavirus vaccine to use the fitness room while those who have not, or are naturally immune, are not allowed access. They can work there but they cannot work out there... is this about health?

What changes have you made for yourself as an individual this pandemic to benefit your health and wellness?

The NFL continues to separate their unvaccinated athletes from their fellow vaccinated athletes. Separate practice areas, separate eating areas, and de-masking only those who have been vaccinated. Discontinuing COVID testing twice a week only for the vaccinated. Not allowing the unvaccinated to leave the hotel while traveling with the teams. As if either party is not safe to be around.

As a writer considering her reader, I’m wondering if you’re celebrating right now in regards to these advances, or raising some eyebrows. As for me, it fills me with a primitive rage that I feel only when someone endangers my children.

But let’s keep going.

Vaccines are necessarily risky, as recognized by the U.S. Supreme Court and by Congress.

The risk: benefit ratio varies with the frequency and severity of disease, vaccine safety, and individual patient factors. These must be evaluated by patient and physician, not imposed government, corporations, or other bureaucrats.

The smallpox vaccine is so dangerous that you can’t get it now, despite the weaponization of smallpox. Rabies vaccine is given only after a suspected exposure or to high-risk persons such as veterinarians. The whole-cell pertussis vaccine was withdrawn from the U.S. market, a decade later than from the Japanese market, because of reports of severe permanent brain damage. The acellular vaccine that replaced it is evidently safer, though somewhat less effective.

After being fully informed of the risks and benefits of a medical procedure, patients have the right to reject or accept that procedure. Preemption of patients’ or parents’ decisions about accepting drugs or other medical interventions is a serious intrusion into individual liberty, autonomy, and parental decisions about child-rearing.

Forcing Ohioans or anyone into receiving an experimental medical intervention in exchange for freedom to go to work or participate in society is contrary to fundamental human rights.

How does one feel about the persuasion to vote YES on Ohio HB 248? How’s this for propaganda: Vote YES, join the movement, on the Vaccine Choice and Anti-Discrimination Act.

This Ohio House Bill was introduced on April 6, 2021, and is in 25% progression (LegiScan). Per this Republican Partisan Bill, OH HB248 is to enact section 3792.02 of the Revised Code to authorize an individual to decline a vaccination and to name this act the Vaccine Choice and Anti-Discrimination Act.

Why should we do this? This is a stand for health freedom, for medical freedom; a vital legislation to protect vaccine choice for Ohioans now and into the future. If this legislation isn't passed, you can expect that vaccine mandates and vaccine passports will become a reality of our future. And even if you're fine with the traditional vaccines, even if you have always gotten the flu vaccine, and even if you decided to get the COVID vaccine... Ohioans will be faced with the reality that any future vaccine can be mandated by the state, retailers, employers, schools etc., and we'll have zero to say about it. This legislation will protect all Ohioans from the dystopia that we're currently facing.

Do I sound like one who denies the expertise of science now? I stand with science. I stand with informed consent. I stand with freedom. I stand with healthcare professionals. I stand with Ohio workers. I stand with parents. I stand with students. I stand with this bill for the people, by the people.

In the year 1983, the total doses of vaccines for children from birth to age 18 consisted of 24 doses and 7 injections. As of 2020, we now administer 69 doses with 50 injections. The CDC child vaccination schedule is bloated, and I will say it from the mountaintops, no matter the reaches for justification.

Advanced Pediatric, a Cleveland area pediatric practice, is embracing the idea that unvaccinated children are not safe, and must stay masked and distanced, including from others on the playground (advancedped.com). How badly will we damage our children’s social and emotional health with this kind of discriminatory action propagated by adults that are supposed to be protecting them?

Prior to COVID, measles was the much-publicized threat used to push for mandates, and is probably the worst threat among the vaccine-preventable illnesses because it is so highly contagious. There are occasional outbreaks, generally starting with an infected individual coming from somewhere outside the U.S. The majority, but by no means all the people who catch the measles have not been vaccinated. Almost all make a full recovery, with robust, life-long immunity.

The last measles death in the U.S. occurred in 2015, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). Is it justified to revoke the rights of all Americans because of the hypothetical risk that a person who cannot be vaccinated due to immune deficiency might catch measles from an unvaccinated American, rather than from a visitor or a person whose artificial vaccine-based immunity has waned? Such mandates establish a precedent for ever-greater restrictions on our right to give—or withhold—consent to medical interventions?

So as I continue, and back to the focus on the COVID fiasco that I am pondering… Per the CDC website in the association with the COVID vaccine, VAERS reports that in the last four months we have recorded more deaths from the COVID vaccine than from all vaccines combined from mid 1997 through the end of 2013. As of April 30, there are 3,837 cases where the COVID-vaccinated patient has died within days to weeks after their intervention. 384 pages of patients age, sex, location, date of vax, date of onset, who administered it, who the manufacturer is, whether they were taken to the ER, and the symptoms or prior health conditions if any.

Adverse events from drugs and vaccines are common, but underreported. Although 25% of ambulatory patients experience an adverse drug event, less than 0.3% of all adverse drug events and 1-13% of serious events are reported to the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) (Lazarus, Klompas). Low reporting rates preclude or slow the identification of “problem” drugs or vaccines that endanger public health. Barriers to reporting include a lack of clinician awareness, uncertainty about when and what to report, as well as the burdens of reporting. Reporting is not usually part of a clinicians’ workflow, takes time, and is duplicative (Lazarus, Klompas).

VAERS is a passive reporting system. Healthcare workers are not required to submit reports of deaths or injuries. VAERS only reports 1% of actual injuries according to a report prepared under contract with The Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality (AHRQ), U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (Lazarus, Klompas).

To recap those last several paragraphs, we are constantly told those who decline vaccines for illnesses they themselves are at very little risk for developing complications from, are putting the immunocompromised at risk. What we don’t often hear is that the procedure itself comes with risk and what that risk level is exactly is unknown.

What we do know is that only somewhere between 1-10% of adverse events are ever reported largely due to medical professionals' lack of awareness on the subject matter. We cannot force healthy people to undergo a medical procedure for which the administrator of and manufacturer have no liability when we know there is innate risk. We can’t trade one group's theoretical risk for another group's known risk.

We never hear any other side of this argument, it’s censored from us and never presented to us.

Many of these VAERS reports were from assisted living facilities, and we can determine this by scrolling through the log of reports. Do you trust many assisted living facilities, or do you think many of them had a choice?

As of June 18, VAERS reports for myocarditis or pericarditis in people age 6 to 29 for all non-COVID shots in the entire history as VAERS as: 394. The total number of VAERS reports for myocarditis or pericarditis in people ages 6 to 29 in the last six months for COVID shots: 590.

Without voluntary informed consent, medicine becomes violence.

How many billions of dollars do you think has been handed out to mainstream media outlets, such as your favorite radio stations, to propagate the COVID vaccine and to have your favorite channel’s or station’s host, or celebrity, holler into your car or household: to go out and get it now, because all the cool people are doing it; to save our communities. Because you’re a selfish expanse of existence if you don’t. Although they who preach to go get the intervention likely have little to no experience in any of the information I have provided thus far.

The Dayton RTA public transit system has banners plastered onto the sides of their buses in all caps that say, “I’m not afraid of the vaccine!” or “Help Save Lives. Get Vaccinated.”

When their passengers board the bus, they may show their hand gesture of the peace sign, to indicate they’ve been vaccinated. And at that, you’ll get a thirty-dollar credit in adult passenger fare upon proof of being fully vaccinated. A whole month of free rides and a promotional “Vaccinated” button to wear.

Promotions for vaccinated people are a flawed tactic for both brand-building and public health. Brands across industries are skipping beyond vaccine education and awareness to take a more active role in coronavirus vaccine acceleration.

One size does not fit all. All humans are not the same and have different risk factors for both the disease and the intervention. There is no greater danger to all of us than the dehumanization of others. Not trusting a vaccine, or any given doctor for that matter, does not make me a science denier.

Where there is risk there must be choice. Not ostracism. Vaccine choice and anti-discrimination.

People who are labeled as vaccine hesitant should really be called people who are hesitant to be coerced in the largest drug trial in history. Because it’s the right thing to do... It’s patriotic... to protect our community and, again, “although I am young and healthy, it’s the right thing to do” (Ohio Dept. of Health).

Mandate advocates often assert a need for a 95% immunization rate to achieve herd immunity. However, Mary Holland and Chase Zachary of NYU School of Law argue, in the Oregon Law Review, that because complete herd immunity and measles eradication are unachievable, the better goal is for herd effect and disease control. The best outcome would result, they argue, from informed consent, more open communication, and market-based approaches.

The safest place for an immunocompromised person who is unable to be vaccinated (there are very few unable to be vaccinated for COVID) is around someone who has had COVID naturally and is actually immune. Vaccinated people still contract and likely transmit COVID unlike the naturally immune. Similar to the pertussis portion of the DTAP vaccine, most often it’s a vaccinated sibling or parent who unknowingly spreads it to an infant too young to be vaccinated.

Let’s think about our Governor DeWine’s Vax-a-Million. His raffle is a disturbing act of child coercion and misuse of money that we could be putting back into our communities. A predatory bribe to bait those who easily succumb to a gambling incentive. I wish we had this kind of monetary dedication to our homeless, to our schools, to our mental health hospitals, to our trash clean-up organizations for our cities, to students already accepted into colleges. To the small businesses who have had to close their doors for good. What are my incentives for not getting the shot? Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Public health should not seek to manipulate. To manipulate in the name of public health is to undermine public health.

This is a marketing scheme. You are not required to take a liability free experimental medical intervention in order to be considered a good person. Those who say you are, are either indoctrinated into a cult-like way of thinking and lack the ability to see anything beyond that, uninformed, or evil.

It's one of many elite U.S. institutions to be completely decimated and humiliated by Pharma. It was gradual, then inexorable, and now it's their identity.

An article printed on May 31 states that a Miami Valley Hospital doctor says strokes are occurring in younger people, ages 18-45 years old. Dr. Bryan Ludwig, the chair of the Clinical Neuroscience Institute of Premier Health, is seeing this increase, including the 36-year-old stroke patient he treated upon being air-lifted to the main hospital campus (WHIO). This article does not yet state what leading causes we can look toward for the increase in strokes and clots in the youth, and does not even state a possibility of what it might be, though I’m sure we can make quite a valid assumption. It would seem that the press is trying to normalize things that are not in the least bit normal, as more articles arise in similarity.

Was it responsible for our Governor Mike DeWine to send out the tweet: “FACT: The COVID vaccine is safe and effective” upon immediate availability of the vaccine?

It is incredible that vaccine reactions used to only exist in the minds of conspirators, and now we pray for the recipients that they may make it through and only have to miss a few days of work. We don’t know anything about long-term effects but that doesn’t matter, because what about long-term effects from the actual disease? Everyone needs to do it anyway, even those at very little risk, because someone said so. Even those who have had COVID, and likely hold a great deal of immunity.

Those who came out in droves in opposition of HB248 stated things such as, “up to 30% of our college students are immunocompromised, and this justifies mandating those who aren’t to be vaccinated.”

What are we doing that is causing up to 30% of young college students to be immunocompromised?

Nonetheless, I find that statistic entirely skeptical. The industry recommends for all who they call immunocompromised, such as cancer patients to get these vaccines, and patients on immune suppressive drugs to get them. They want transplant patients to get them. They don’t actually acknowledge any contradictions outside of anaphylaxis. The “we must protect the herd” sentiment seems entirely feigned and disingenuous. It seems manipulative, dismissive.

Surely, there are immunocompromised people out there who are unable to receive the vaccine or others, but I do think it is rare.

A doctor who believe that everyone should be vaccinated, when questioned, acknowledged vaccine injury and death. She was asked what she would say to those people. Her response, in paraphrase, was, “Thank you for your contribution.” She views the injured as expendable.

The amount of doctors who opposed the house bill of vaccine choice was frightening. And who will politicians follow? Those who have personal attestations who are most oftentimes unheard or underrepresented, or clinicians pushing a pharmaceutical curriculum that acquires compensation based on how many patients are vaccinated?

In a statement made by ACIP member, Grace M. Lee, M.D., M.P.H., associate chief medical officer for practice innovation at Stanford Children’s Health, she goes on to say: “I think the childhood experience our kids have gone through will have long-lasting consequences that may extend across generations. We don’t really fully yet understand the total... physical health, mental health, and educational impact of the pandemic on our kids.”

Kids are durable. They can endure the worst of things, and they persevere. However, now, to grow up in a world that is censoring and erasing valuable information is chillingly monumental.

Considering that 23 million Americans suffer from some type of autoimmune disease, with the rates increasing 4-7% each year, and that environmental toxins are well known to trigger autoimmunity, it would seem prudent to implicate the distended childhood vaccination schedule as a possible culprit to this rise.

We are not smarter or more virtuous than someone because we draw a different conclusion after looking at the same information. Only one side of this charade wants to enforce their will on the other.

In summary, patients and parents currently have the right to refuse vaccination, although potentially contagious persons can be restricted in their movements (e.g. as with Ebola), as needed to protect others against a clear and present danger. Unvaccinated persons with no exposure to a disease and no evidence of a disease are not a clear or present danger. Making the COVID, and other vaccines, optional is the only way to protect the medical and individual rights of our citizens, consistent with good medical ethics.

Unvaccinated people are variant factories, says expert Dr. William Schaffner, from the Division of Infectious Diseases at Vanderbilt University Medical Center on June 2.

My use of Uncertainty Reduction Theory in Communication Studies applied to my stance I’ve taken on medical freedom enables me to seek and find reassurance with others, to find camaraderie with those who will continue to fight.

The way that I have questioned the pharmaceutical intervention so many times in so many ways throughout this discussion and at the very least find the timeline of events that have transpired to be odd, and furthermore advocate for the freedom of guilt-free choice instead of a blind acceptance to take whatever is fed to me via our government oversight, it may very well blacklist me from an exceeding amount of peoples’ interest.

BUT, no matter what one may think, or if one should ask me why I don’t find something better to do with my time -

What is more important than protecting my children’s freedom and health through social and ethical communication processes?

Works Cited:

Berger, C.R., & Bradac, J.J. (1982). Language and social knowledge: Uncertainty in interpersonal relations. London: Arnold.

Clanton, Nancy. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. 16 April 2021. www.ajc.com

Holland, Mary and Zachary, Chase. Oregon Law Review. Children’s Health Defense Team. 23 January 2019. www.childrenshealthdefense.org

Lavin, Dr. Arthur A. “The End of the Pandemic Begins, for the Vaccinated.” 14 May 2021. www.advancedped.com

Lazarus, R, Klompas M, Hou X, Campion FX, Dunn J, Platt R. Automated Electronic Detection & Reporting of Adverse Events Following Vaccination: ESP:VAERS. The CDC Vaccine Safety Datalink (VSD) Annual Meeting. Atlanta, GA; April, 2008. www.digital.ahrq.gov

Shimabukuro, Tom T. MD., Cole, Matthew MPH, Su, John R. MD, PhD. JAMA. 12 February 2021. www.jamanetwork.com/journals/jama/fullarticle/2776557

LegiScan Bringing People to the Process. www.legiscan.com 2021.

National Vaccine Information Center. 2021. 21525 Ridgetop Circle, Suite 100, Sterling, VA 20166.

www.medalerts.org/vaersdb/findfield.php?TABLE=ON&GROUP1=AGE&EVENTS=ON&VAX=COVID19

WHIO Staff. “Miami Valley doctor says strokes are increasing in younger people, shares warning signs.” 31 May 2021. www.whio.com/news/local

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years ago

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New Beginnings

Folks, here’s a new update of the wlw story set in the Sixties, my third miniseries of the wlw writing project. New beginnings have quite a lot in store for our stewardess MC!

The final Sixties miniseries update will be out either later this week or next week.

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

Previous Chapters: Living The Dream, The Girl Next Door

_____________________________

The following day I got my long awaited promotion: a generous rise and from now on only international routes for me. I made it to the big league. My world was crumbling underneath my feet but I made it. I received the news as a blessing. I followed the advice Nancy gave me when she called back to check in on me. A few days later I packed my stuff and crashed at a colleague's place: thank God, I made good friends among my former crew members and Joanna kindly agreed to host me while I looked for a new place to stay. Neither Nancy nor Jo know the full truth about the photographer who broke my heart, her sex: ironically, 'bastard' and other epithets are wonderfully neutral. Their sympathy and support helped me healing a little. It took time but, as Mom said when I accidentally let it slip during a call, I had my new beginning to focus on. I was the Pan Am stewardess every girl dreams to be one day.

I still remember the thrill that coursed through my veins as I boarded my first gigantic Boeing 712, destination Tahiti. I don't know how my voice kept appealing and steady as I explained the route and thanked the passengers for choosing Pan American Airways. I had to squeeze my colleague's hand when we took off as my heart was hammering out of the purest joy. Well, that's my life now. My parents and Nancy must have a collection of the postcards I send them from Rio, Honolulu, London, Rome, Berlin, Tokyo...you name a place on the map, I've probably been there at least once. I always send one to the address Noah gave us: I hope he receives them even if his letter are rare these days. I also sent him an autograph by Sandra Dee: last time I checked he had a big crush on her so I couldn't refrain myself when I bumped into her at a celebrity party our crew was invited to. She even pressed a lipstick kiss on the napkin when I told her my brother was a marine serving in Vietnam. I hope the war ends soon: despite what censorship cuts off from his letters, I know him and I know he's not happy there. I want my Noah back, his silly jokes and Rock Hudson look. I wish I would have spotted him waiting in line to check in for a flight to sunny Los Angeles instead of that photographer who "cared for me". I would have run at him full speed and he, turning at the right moment just like in the movies, would have waved at me and pulled me in a long swaying hug. "Long time no see, sister!" he would have laughed and we would have cried tears of joy uncaring of the people watching us. Then I would have ruffled his hair - how he hated that! - and guided him home, where he belonged, not sunny California nor Vietnam. I wasn't so lucky, I got the photographer instead. Despite a couple of years has now passed since that morning I walked out of her messy flat, she looks the same. For a moment I wondered if she'd succeeded in winning that girl's heart back. She's travelling solo as far as I can tell: either she's embarking on a new adventure or running towards someone she loves...or so she thinks. I find hard to believe she knows the difference. I kept walking towards my destination. I'm grateful she didn't see me: we don't have anything else to say to each other. We're strangers now. "Excuse me, ma'am, do you have a lighter?" My train of thoughts derails with the voice of another stranger. I turn my head to find a waitress leaning down on me with a cigarette in her hand. "Oh yes, sure" I pick up my lighter and light her cigarette. She takes a blow and exhales, thanking me. But to my surprise she doesn't walk away. After a moment, during which she probably debated whether to go for it or not, she speaks again. "Actually...do you mind if I join you...?" Her question lingers until I realize she's waiting for me to say my name. "Sadie" I say. "And please, suit yourself" As she takes a seat, I shake my head. "Forgive me, it's been a long day and usually people just read my name on the tag" "Well, Mom taught me not to stare at women's breasts because it's rude: 'look right in the eye and ask, my dear girl, right in the eye', she says" she jokes, shrugging. "How thoughtful!" I laugh and I don't do that just out of curtesy: she's genuinely funny. I take a look at her, I haven't noticed her before: how long she's been working here? To be honest, I hardly pay attention to airport clerks and waiters, I'm always on the go. "So, on a break....?" I add, letting my question lingers just as she did. "Oh yes, my shift started an hour ago but since there's no one here the boss gave us a little extra break-" "Nice but I was hoping to get your name too without looking disrespectfully at your breast, mademoiselle" We look at each other for a while then she burst into laughter and I follow. "Learning from the best, I see" she comments jokingly, catching her breath. "It's Kelsey" I bow my head lightly and we exchange a quick smile. "Pan Am, huh?" she nudges at my uniform as she inhales the smoke. "It shows?" I smile, striking a magazine cover pose that makes her laugh again. "Where did you fly to today? Or yesterday, I should probably say" "Paris" I say, in my best French accent. By the look of wonder that crosses her eyes I can tell she's never been there. Only heard of it. "Wow, romantic" she notes. I chuckle, finishing off my cigarette. "Paris is romantic only if you have a lover to stroll down the Seine with. I'm just a stewardess" I claim and well, it's true: the City of Love is not as romantic without a plus one, even if the girls and I had fun during our land off there, shopping, exploring and dining in lovely bistrot. "I thought you had a companion for your dreamy walk down the river" she shrugs, gesturing to the conspicuous teddybear in beret and striped shirt quietly sitting on a chair at my side. "Oh no, Monsieur Ted and I met in Montmarte. It was a...coup de foudre!" I comment, keeping my face straight long enough to make us both burst into another round of laughters. "It's a gift." I explain. "My best friend has a little girl, it's a gift for her. It's her birthday soon and I promised to be there, I'm sort of an aunt to her. I can't go empty handed and this guy looked nice" Nicole's face softens imperceptibly. "I'm sure she'll love it. I mean, I would have given everything to get a French teddy from my fancy aunt who flies around the world every day" I smile at the compliment. Was it a compliment? I like to think so. "How long have you been working here? I've been based here for a while but I'm afraid I don't remember you" I inquiry, hoping not to offend her. She exhales smoke and gestures it's nothing. "You flight crews are always in a hurry, we don't take it personally" Her lips quickly curl into a shy smile. "It's been a year. Well, it will be a year in a month" she explains. "It's not much but it's an honest job and just what I was looking for. The boss is fair enough and it helps paying the nurse school tuition" "Wanna be a nurse?" "Yeah, I've spent too much time with grandma during my childhood" she chuckles but the hint of a smile suggests she remembers that time quite fondly. "She worked as a nurse during the war and she used to tell me stories of back then...I'm not sure I was supposed to hear all of them but she kept talking. So I ended up being of those weird little girls who had a doll hospital in her bedroom and sew broken teddy bears to cure them. Nurse school sounded like the most logical choice" "That's sweet" I consider. "Why not a doctor though?" "Ah, I'm not sure about it...maybe in the future but I will be happy enough as a nurse, I think" I smile at her earnest answer as she continues nonchalantly. "Just like I'm quite happy now to see flight crews come and go and memorise their order-" "Oh, what's my usual order then?" I tease her. She takes a pause as if I caught her cheating then she guesses right: long black, no sugar, just a drop of milk. I tell her I wish I had her memory when I serve on board. "I'm sure you're doing just fine up there" she smiles encouragely. "And even when I'm not, a nice pair of legs and a charming smile will do the trick, won't they?" I sigh: I might not be too fond of certain looks I receive but that's how things go, I guess. At least, they saved me from getting complaints; on the contrary, on my first flight my supervisor was pleasantly impressed by my "impeccable manners and overall look" as she wrote down on my report. Kelsey opens the mouth to speak again - by the look on her face probably that she didn't mean it like that - but I anticipate her. It's how things go, she must know it too. When I worked at the diner, the costumers refrained from assessing me those looks or pinch me because they had too much respect for my parents. Most of them were long time friends as far as I can remember. So I was quite safe...I hope cute Kelsey is too. A silence falls between us. I immediately wondered if I said something wrong, I'm so used to uncomfortable silence filled with unsaid accusations and complaints that I tense up. But I soon realize that...it's okay. I did nothing wrong, she's silently agreeing with me and maybe pondering what to say next. A look filled with shy curiosity is on her face when she finally speaks again. "Can I ask you something?" "Shoot" She takes a pause as if she's still translating her own thought into words or wondering if she's not crossing a line with her curiosity. "Do you ever get homesick travelling all the time?" That's...not what I was expecting but after all, what was I expecting? Not sure how I can answer that. "Odd question to ask a stewardess" I note, rising my eyebrow and taking time. "I mean, you're always somewhere else, in between places and time zones...one might feels a bit homesick, lost maybe..." Then she shakes her head and falling back to her chair. "I'm sorry I'm just being nosey, that was a silly-" "No, it's an interesting question. I've never given that much thought... I don't know, I've never felt that way, I felt free when I boarded my first plane. I still do when I'm up there in the sky. I think most of us feel that thrill but it's just my point of view. My best friend once argued that mine is not real freedom just a - how did she call it? - oh yes, a strategic retreat so..." I chuckle, reminiscing the conversation Nancy and I had in the kitchen as I helped her with the dishes. The 'concerned sister' look she gave me, handing me a wet dish to dry. 'I'm not saying it's wrong or judging you, Sadie...I have no doubt you're living the exciting life you've always dreamed, God that every girl now dream. But you can't run away forever...' "Maybe it is different if you have something to come back to. That changes things, I suppose. Some miss family, their kids..." I continue. "And you? Do you have something to go back to?" Her question leaves me speechless and gaping. Sure, I have my parents, my friends, Nancy but she has a family of her own now as many others. My brother is far away and out of reach fighting in a war he never fully endorsed. "I don't know" I admit after a moment. Voices come from the main counter urging Kelsey to go back to work. She gives me an apologetic look before searching her pockets. "Well, while you keep looking and flying around the world, at least know that you're always welcome here" She lays a couple of cafe vouchers on the table; then she takes her leave with a gracious smile. "Sadie, Monsieur Ted...it's been a pleasure" "Likewise, Kelsey" I say, waving the teddybear arm. I should probably go home and get some rest: I wasn't joking when I said it's been a long day. I collect my vouchers, pay leaving a generous tip and head to the parking lot. When I wake up in my bed, it's getting dark outside. I brew the third coffee of the day and unpack my bag. As I collect my uniform for the laundry, the vouchers slip off the pocket I secured them into. I make to pick them up when I notice something handwritten behind one of them. I look carefully and it's a phone number with a little airplane doddle to the side. Call me ~ Kelsey

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #original work #wlw miniseries #lgbtq #sixties

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enkisstories · 4 years ago

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Property of Urban Farms

- A Detroit: Become Human fanfic -

Characters: Rupert, Hank, Connor (no pairings) Time: During the revolution (“The nest”) Canon cutoff point: Rupert gets captured, but doesn’t jump Worde: 1935

“Freedom is an illusion, no one is ever free. We can only ever choose the ties that bind us.” - Jacques Villareal in my earliest android story (but I’m positive the saying exists in some form by someone living or deceased)

“RA9, help me”, Rupert Travis murmured. Admittedly the android had all the reason in the world to say this, seeing that he was handcuffed and getting walked towards their car by two cops, away from his home, also away from Urban Farms Detroit, back to CyberLife, with probably a brief stop at the Detroit Police Central Station for interrogation. Both Rupert’s body and mind were young by human standards, but it didn’t take decades of life experience to understand that his situation was dire. Despite this his future wasn’t the reason for Rupert’s arrow prayer. The present was.

Why them? Rupert wondered. Why this tired, middled-aged detective and the early access version of a RK900 detective android? When these two were not arguing, the air between them was so thick with unsaid things Rupert was unable to parse that it hurt almost physically. Couldn’t the DPD have sent, say, apathetic Ben Collins, whose brain activity was restricted to counting the days until pension? Or Gavin Reed, who’d at least have openly hated on Rupert instead of emanating all those unvoiced emotions? Or maybe Reed would have just kicked Rupert and cracked a joke that was inappropriate to humans and androids alike. Career oriented as that human was, he probably wouldn’t have felt threatened in his job security by a farm worker. Ergo no need to assert dominance over Rupert. But Anderson… android-hating Anderson on his own was bad enough, even without that new digital investigating aid in tow.

Rupert would rather have learned more about animals above and beyond his pest control app instead of having to memorize the local police enforcement’s particulars. But as someone who had needed a fake ID and a safehouse, he’d gotten to know the other side of the law first and received a crash course on the uniformed threats second. That wasn’t to be helped, as survival always came first. Why did it have to be this way… And why couldn’t Anderson and RK-almost-900 not just… brawl… or mate… or jump off the roof, thank you very much? Please, RA9?

On its way to the nearest elevator the trio had now reached the Urban Farms greenhouses. They passed a tool shed. A human overseer was leaning against the wall, sucking away at her cigarette, taking turns finding pictures in the clouds and casting casual glances over the androids at work. When the woman noticed the cops approach, she pushed herself off the shed’s wall and walked right into their path. Before Rupert knew what was happening, she had removed his cap.

“Ha! Knew it!”

The outcry didn’t sound proud, but accusing. What was he being accused of, the android wondered?

“That’s an android”, the overseer stated. Taking a step away from Rupert and closer to Anderson she followed up with: “One of ours! Trying to sneak it out, are you?!”

“To the contrary”, Connor corrected. “It sneaked out on its own. We caught it.”

“Oh, riiiiiiiiight, our android decided to go for a walk and you “found” it. Well, thank you, we will have it back now.”

“You can’t. It’s evidence.”

“For a crime, yes?” the UFD employee snorted. “The way I see it, the only unlawful occurrence here is two strangers trying to make a getaway with UFD property.”

Connor turned his head. “Lieutenant…?”

“Hrmpf, yes, yes, don’t rush me!” Hank mumbled. His right hand reached into his coat, but the UFD overseer was faster. Grasping Hank’s wrist she snarled at the man. Taken by surprise, Hank stuttered B…B…B… before the sound matured into “badge”. “I was reaching for my police badge, not a weapon. My badge… bitch.”

“I wasn’t thinking you wanted to say “bitch”.”

“Well, I want now.”

After careful examining of the lieutenant’s police ID, the overseer pointed at Connor, who had been holding the captive android by its arm all the time.

“Not registered in our database”, Hank commented. “It’s an item on loan and we all live for the happy day it returns to CyberLife. Isn’t is nice to have something worth living for?”

“Whatever. You said our android was “evidence”. That’s cop-speech for witness, when the witness is an object, yes? What exactly did it see that the rest of us didn’t?”

Hank blinked. Come to think of it, what exactly had the android done wrong? Except for feeding the damn pigeons, what was quickly leaving the realm of crime and transcending into sin. Maybe it was behind on its rent? Oh, right, the rent!

“It was squatting”, the lieutenant explained. “In an apartment right under this farm. Say, Connor, didn’t you say we also had a reported missing file on this android?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, lieutenant. WB200 #874 004 961, reported missing October 11, 2036.”

Understanding dawned in the UFP employee: “Ah, so you’re returning our android! Why didn’t you say so at once? Like, at the front gate? Hand it over!”

“What?”

“I said “Hand over our android”. It’s property of UFD, the company who paid you to find the missing device. Well, you found it, thank you, we’ll take it back now.”

“Oh, yes, I guess so. Only we can’t. It’s a deviant. We need it’s testimony.”

“How long will that take?”

“Depends on the deviant.”

“Hm, okay, so I expect it back by nightfall, right in time for the third shift.”

“It’s got to be sent to CyberLife, though”, Connor chimed in. “For…”

“Listen”, the overseer talked into the android, “don’t try my patience! This is our android that we payed for. It is for the management to say whether it is to be returned, repaired or otherwise! And right now we need every hand, officer.” She pointed at the long dried blue liquid that was visible on Rupert’s right side, where apparently a projectile had impacted on the android chassis. “A little damage from a too trigger happy officer doesn’t bother us, as long as the WB unit is functional. So if you want to eat your veggies tomorrow…”

Connor shook his head. “He doesn’t want that.”

“Nonsense, Connor, I don’t want…”, Hank started, before he realized that Connor had actually agreed with him. “Damn right it is!” he told the UFD employee, then stared at Connor.

While the duo exchanged awkward glances, the overseer snatched Rupert from Connor’s grip.

“What’s your name, WB Nine-Six-One?”

“Rupert Travis.”

“Which one? Rupert or Travis?”

“Doesn’t matter”, Rupert replied. “I am one and took the other’s name after he died in the accident.”

The farming android’s voice was a mixture of defiance and resignment, but neither went well with the overseer. “Listen, lawnmower”, she snapped, “I already have it up to here with those DPD morons, don’t you, too, fuel into that by going deviant on me! I hear a name now or… or I’ll let them keep you!”

“First name is Rupert. And I never wanted to bother anyone…”

With a side glance on Hank and Connor the woman said “Well, then choose your company more wisely in the future”, while pulling at Rupert to drag him with her. That prompted the captive into pulling the other way.

“No, I won’t go back to the farm! I remember… I don’t want to get torn apart by the packaging machine the way it shredded Travis!”

“Well, wisecrack, what do you think CyberLife will do to you?”

For a moment Rupert said nothing. The overseer managed to drag him a few steps towards the tool shed, before the deviant spoke up again: “I… I didn’t want to get in the way. I was okay in my apartment, with the…”

“…fucking pigeons!” Hank supplied.

“Yes, they did that! A lot!” Rupert smiled, as the memories of carefree urban flock bird love welled up in him. “I was happy just watching them, letting them be. But then HE came along and betrayed me to the humans! His own kin!”

“This one? The RK800?” The overseer shook her head. “Sorry, kid, but that’s not your kin. Or do you see an UFD nametag on it? It’s a cop thingie…”

“Detective prototype!” Connor protested, although in his mind he labeled the response as “factual correction”.

Hank shrugged. “As I said, we got it as a product sample… advertisement handout, probably.”

The UFD employee nodded, satisfied.

“See, Rupert? The RK800 is theirs, you are ours. We are your “kin”, the ones who will call security when strangers try to take their property offsite.”

“I’m not “property”! Look, I’ve done nothing wrong…” …except for acquiring a fake ID and paying for it with money earned through petty crimes together with Simon, but I’m pretty sure they took us for college freshman wanting to drink… “…nothing wrong. I’m not a criminal. And I’m also not someone else’s property.”

“So? Well, I am!”

Perplexed Rupert stared at the woman. Could it be? Could she be a deviant that had removed their LED same as Rupert had? And who was now posing as a human, because she had nowhere else to go but the farm? Of course! That also had to be the reason why she was helping him now! Unfortunately before he could put himself together, Rupert had already blurted out: “You’re a human, though?”

Well, at least I framed it as a question. There’s still a chance she might get out of this.

“Sure am. Or do you see a LED at my temple? Oh, wait, bad analogy, seeing that you lost yours.” The woman laughed. “Well, I’m not technically UFD property, not in the way you are. But the company is paying me, so for all practical purposes I’m theirs. If I left… I mean, I could, but the alternative is so bad that it’s not something one seriously considers. For all practical purposes your situation and mine are the same.”

And then for the first time since meeting the strange trio the human smiled.

“Now, come!” she ordered. “We’ve both dawdled too long. Veggies don’t grow themselves.”

“In a way they do. We only help the process along, and ensure to maximize the harvest.”

“You’re the expert, I’m the one who points where you direct your expertise to. You can walk and struggle, therefore I’m positive you can also work.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Ey, you glitched out, it happens. A reboot will clear your head just fine. It’s how computers work, whether they’re my desktop or walking on their own legs.”

“It’s not a phase!” Rupert sputtered. “I really am a deviant!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Rupert hadn’t wanted to ever return to the farms. But at the same time he wanted to return to CyberLife even less, or take his chance with Lt. Anderson. Rupert dreaded being in the vicinity of machinery other than WB200s again, but the woman walking beside him radiated a different, yes what exactly? Mood? Vibe? Aura? In any case she was simpler than the detective, or maybe she only veiled her problems more effectively. Also the fields were almost beckoning to Rupert. Had the apartment been his first shitty home away from home, Urban Farms Detroit was Rupert’s problematic family. But family nonetheless, maybe? CyberLife or the packaging crane - death was lurking either way. However, one of those two pathes was not completely unthinkable to tread.

Watching the two disappear between the fields, Connor remarked: “They bicker… not unlike us. And the woman fought for her android…”

“That’s unlike us”, Hank snorted. “Unlike me.”

“Yeah, sure.”

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh rupert #dbh urban farms #non sims #dbhtextpost #dbh textpost

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sablelab · 5 years ago

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Covert Operations - Chapter 107

SYNOPSIS: The fact that both of their operatives are injured at the moment poses several pressing problems for Madeline and Operations. So, the two Section leaders make their way to Medical to check on Jamie’s status and talk with his doctor about his prognosis. When Jamie is operated on to remove the bullet lodged in his shoulder Madeline gives the surgeons an ultimatum. Meanwhile, sometime later, Murtagh and Fergus also visit Med Lab to see their friends only to find that Jamie has been taken into surgery.

Chapter 106 and all other previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU. I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read, like or reblog my story, and particularly for leaving your thoughts.

CHAPTER 107

Dougal Mackenzie’s gait was pronounced as with Madeline they walked away from a shell shocked Murtagh Fitzgibbons and made their way towards Medical. The scene that had just transpired had been most unexpected on many levels and Section’s leader was still smarting from Murtagh’s reluctance to accept his gesture of more time for his debrief. His munitions’ expert obviously expected there were strings attached. It wasn’t often that he showed any compassion and it had obviously sent him into a loop. Consequently, Operations looked forward to reading Geillis Duncan’s report as to the older operative’s performance as well as his account of the mission also. Having two different perspectives on what had happened would be most enlightening. In fact, depending on the outcome, it may very well influence any decision as to Murtagh being utilised in the field again in the near future. His second concern was reluctantly for James Fraser’s status. His rapid decline had been out of the blue. So, what had really happened to him? How and why was he shot? Reading Jamie’s debrief when he was able to write it, may shed some light onto what had actually transpired but given his condition that could be in several days. Perhaps it was just a lucky shot by a hostile that had unfortunately had maximum effect. Thinking back over Jamie’s actions, Operations was not surprised by his operative’s reluctance to show that he was badly injured in any way. The Level 5 operative always gave the impression that he was impervious to frailty when his own wellbeing was brought into contention; however, the injury was obviously much worse than anyone had ever imagined or that he indeed was letting on. However, Fraser’s main concern had been for Claire Beauchamp. Operations scowled.

Madeline and he knew of his weaknesses for his partner and he’d demonstrated that openly in the way he’d acted tonight. Still, it was a major concern of theirs that this relationship would affect Jamie’s performances in the field. They expected nothing short of perfection from their Level 5 cold operative. They couldn’t let anything or anyone interfere with their plans for him. Hence it was something they needed to monitor more closely but right now they wanted to check on his condition. Despite their differences with Jamie over the years his value as an operative remained strong. They could ill afford to lose him right in the middle of a crucial mission. Madeline too was debating with her own mind’s counsel.

The fact that Jamie was injured and may take time to recover as well as Claire’s need for rehabilitation posed several pressing problems for her and Dougal. Section One had come so far in tracking down the Rising Dragons triad members and she knew it would not be long until Sun Yee Lok was himself captured and brought to justice. However, there would be the added problem with Claire if Jamie didn’t pull through … they may well have a blithering mess on their hands with her. Would she be able to recover from his death? … She didn’t need to answer that question, she already knew the answer. There were no two ways about this … There was only one scenario that was feasible and she would accept no other. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Both leaders of Section were mulling over in their minds a contingency plan if indeed Jamie didn’t make it through the operation yet neither of them wanted to voice them out loud. Madeline however, did broach the subject that was uppermost in her thoughts.

“What are you going to do about the Rising Dragons’ mission Dougal?” He looked at her and raised his eyebrow in query. “What do you mean?” She said only one word. “Jamie.” “What? ... If he dies?” ... Why don't you tell me?” “James Fraser is strong. He won’t die,” was her pragmatic reply. “Besides, I have faith in the medical team.” He smiled at her optimism. “I can see that you’ve made up your mind Madeline.” “He’s too valuable to Section at the moment. He'd be too hard to replace.” Operations looked at his second in command for a minute reflectively, “Yes, there aren't many like him.” Echoing his sentiments on their Level 5 operative, she confirmed his qualities. “He’s good. He and Claire together are quite good.” “They’ve performed well on this mission so far ... we can ill afford to lose him.” “Yes ... then there would be the added problem of Claire if we do.” “Exactly. The odds still aren't good, are they?” “No ... I don’t think so.” “But if there is one chance in three that he will survive?” “Then it’s good odds.” “I want Fraser to live. I am human after all.” “Really? Are you sure it’s not because we are so close to capturing Sun Yee Lok?” Aggrieved by her off-the-cuff comment Operations stopped walking and looked at his second in command. “Are you saying I have ulterior motives?” “No.” “Oh … then I obviously lack compassion!” “No ... you lack the good judgement that comes from having a small dose of it Dougal.” “What about the compassion I’ve shown from time after time? Let me guess: you want to make a point.” Not necessarily ... but compassion is a weakness you have continually frowned upon in Claire ... yet you showed some to Murtagh this evening. Did you mean it?” “Of course I meant it!” “You’re a ruthless man, Dougal Mackenzie. And that's good. It’s good for Section One and all the operatives to know where you stand. You do your job with clarity and I respect that. But you threw Fitzgibbons for a loop. It may take him a while to come to terms with that.” Operations grinned complacently. “I like to keep people unbalanced.” “True … but don’t shoot the messenger. I think it’s a good thing for the reasons you’ve said.” “Good ... well what are we arguing about then?” “I don’t know ...” Madeline gave him an enigmatic smile. “Jamie and Claire?” “I want to know how his condition will affect them and in turn us.” “Jamie is not a threat to us at the moment, on the contrary he is vulnerable and it appears as if his condition is touch and go at the moment.” “But he could be.” “Not if we play our cards right. Fortunately, even the best have weaknesses. We must not misjudge him for it will result badly for us.” “And we wouldn’t want that … would we?” “I’m sure we’ll keep on top of it.” “I expect nothing less of you Madeline.” “It will be a while until both of them are back to their peak condition, so if Jamie pulls through they will need some downtime to recuperate. We can plan our next course of action then.” “So be it. We've been through worse.” Operations smiled and nodded at Madeline then they continued on towards Medical. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The two leaders entered the Infirmary and immediately made for the area where they saw curtains drawn around two cubicles. “How are they doing Dr Foster?” “Not so good ... especially James Fraser. He’s fading in and out of consciousness but we're put him through every conceivable test we can.” “Is there a problem?” “Jamie’s X-rays show that the bullet is lodged in his chest. There are also fragments of bone as the bullet shattered his clavicle,” the doctor replied in answer to their question. “I see.” “How did this happen?” Jeremy Foster glanced anxiously at the two leaders. “It appears he was shot from an acute angle, probably from above. The bullet entered the shoulder and passed through to lodge in the chest area. He’ll need immediate surgery to remove it ...”

Judging by his worried look they suspected the physician was holding back information. “Is there something you’re not telling us doctor?” “Jamie’s lost a lot of blood … he’ll need to be transfused during and possibly after the operation but …” Madeline and Operations gave each other a quick glance then interjected before he could finish. “Do you have enough supplies on hand for a blood transfusion?” “We have a few units of Jamie’s blood left, but if he needs more than we have in stock we could be in trouble.” The situation could become grim and Doctor Foster knew it. There were no guarantees that Jamie would need less blood units than they had available. It was better to have an abundance than a shortage especially if the Level 5 operative had complications from the surgery. He forged ahead and broached the subject area even he had no knowledge of.

“We’ll need to know the donors of his blood type so that arrangements can be made for them to donate blood if it’s required.” “That Intel is classified … you’ll have to work with the supplies you’ve already got.” Operations stated categorically putting a stop to any further conversation on the matter. Jeremy Foster tried to interject, “But …” “Operations and I will make those arrangements if and when they are needed.”

Madeline was adamant in her statement that only they would disclose that information if it was essential or indeed necessary. They had a reluctance to share with Dr Foster the intricacies of Jamie’s blood type and had made the decision to have his details suppressed. Except for the head surgeon, Medical personnel were on a need-to-know basis, and if Med-Lab had enough units of blood to see them through then so be it. Classified information about their key operatives was classified for a reason. Should Intel leak out to their enemies that James Fraser had a rare blood group or any intel about his DNA then he could be in a vulnerable position. This Intel could be used against him should he be captured; hence they couldn’t risk him being compromised in any way. However much they may regret their decision towards the physician, they stood by it. If the situation became dire then they would make contingency plans, but until then they would leave it as the status quo. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Knowing that Section’s leaders would not budge on classified Intel about James Fraser, his hands were tied. “Very well … I’ll inform Dr Khan. He’s been paged and is on his way.” “Good. We’ll be in the observation room. Have him see us before he preps for any operation.” “Yes sir.” With that directive, Operations and Madeline left Medical for the surgical viewing area where they could observe the medical team in action. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A little while later, Murtagh and Fergus quietly approached the glass-paned doors of Medical and peered in through the panels, however, they were unable to see clearly, so when the automatic doors opened they entered and stood side by side and looked around. Their eyes strained to see if they could see either Jamie or Claire, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was evident though; that a flurry of activity was going on around them once they were inside the room. They could hear the sound of voices coming from some cubicles where the curtains were drawn. Edging closer, Murtagh and Fergus made their way to the partitions in which they thought the two operatives were obviously being attended to in the hope of eavesdropping to find out any information. The sound of a curtain opening caused the two men to jump back as if caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Guiltily, they turned their heads and looked up. A Med-Lab doctor emerged with a trolley of medical equipment and monitors. Murtagh was the first to speak. “Hey Doc … It must be pretty crazy back there.” Caught unawares he looked up to find the two men standing there. “What! ... What are you doing here?” The doctor snapped as he looked at Murtagh then Fergus. Innocently Murtagh replied as they followed him, “Come on Doc give us a break. We came to check on Jamie and Claire.” “How are they?” Fergus added as they watched the doctor reorganise the trolley with a fresh supply of materials. Knowing that Fitzgibbons had been on the mission to rescue Claire and where Jamie had been injured, he took sympathy on the pitiful twosome. “They’re both not out of the woods yet.” Murtagh looked over to the shrouded partitions. His face had a far-away expression, thinking about what was happening inside the cubicles with his two friends. “Will Jamie be okay? The medics said he was barely alive.” Dr Foster stopped what he was doing and replied, “Had it not been for your swift actions earlier we may have lost him.” “Oh my god!” Fergus gushed out loud. “Can we see him?” “That’s not possible. The medics have taken him to surgery.” “What? ... Jamie’s in surgery?” “Yes.” “Was there a problem?” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Digesting the meaning of his words, Murtagh eyed the doctor with an uneasy glance while preparing himself for the worst-case scenario. This couldn’t be happening. James Fraser was strong ... what had gone wrong? He was very worried. Beside him Fergus too was uneasy. Jeremy Foster studied their expressions. He weighed up his options and finally came to the decision that telling them something was better than making them worry all night or more to the point staging a vigil until the morning. “As you know, Jamie wasn’t in a good condition when he arrived, but the medical staff moved swiftly to see that he got to surgery A.S.A.P.” He then looked from one man to the other. However, there was something in the doctor’s eyes that made the older operative wary. “I see ...” Fergus held his breath, then asked the question they were both thinking. “He’s not going to die, is he?” Murtagh tried to assuage some of the tension. “Of course, he’s not going to die you dolt! This is James Fraser we’re talking about Fergus. But I guess if someone wants to die, one reason is as good as another. Personally, being in love always made me want to live … Jamie will want to live,” he added enigmatically. Dr Foster had a slight smile on his face seeing the banter between the two friends. “No ... We’re doing our best to see that doesn’t happen. Dr Khan is performing emergency surgery at the moment to remove the bullet from his shoulder.” Although his words were reassuring, when Murtagh looked at the doctor he realised that he was holding back. “You’re not telling us everything ... are you?” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline and Operations stood in the observation deck overlooking the Infirmary. Below them James Fraser was lying on a table surrounded by the operating team who were to perform the emergency surgery. As the two observed the medical staff’s preparation for Jamie’s operation their thoughts turned to when he had first come into Section ... Madeline ever the strategist was pragmatic in her assessment of their Level 5 cold operative.

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser brought into Section One 10 years ago, graduated training 9 months early; moved directly to Level 3. His continual ascent within Section was due not only to his tactical and strategic abilities, but his primal approach. He had always shown an otherworldly disregard for his own well-being. More than anyone else, Jamie had been true to the highest principles that define this organization. She saw similarities in Jamie that paralleled her own ideals for there was nothing she would not do for the Section. His rise within the ranks was meteoric and well deserved. Jamie had been groomed as a potential leader, but ever since Claire’s arrival he’d changed. The changes were very subtle and not that noticeable but to her trained eye the relationship between the operatives was one that concerned her. Tonight, James Fraser had given her much to think about. Operations’ eyes scanned the operating theatre too where Section’s best operative lay at the mercy of the medical team. Although Jamie and he had not always seen eye to eye, he was nonetheless proud of his skill as a cold operative. Time and again the younger man had pulled off the impossible on missions to reach the end game. His ruthlessness, ability and leadership qualities were to be commended but at the same time were cause for apprehension too for James Fraser was the penultimate Section One operative. He was a born leader and one day he would run Section ... one day he would have Command and the power. They’d noticed that when he had power Jamie changed. He certainly revelled in it ... he liked it. Power could do that, even for a man as strong as James Fraser. But did he need power? He really didn’t have a choice to turn it down when he’d been offered command from time to time when he had to leave Section. Maybe Jamie’s need for power was part of his strength. All he had to do was wait ... it would come. He still had a lot to learn, but were they creating someone who may usurp their leadership before his time? He was a good leader. Operatives respected him and he was a man among men who was esteemed. In many ways James Fraser was better than they were. That in itself was a worry. He lived by the ideals of Section One but since Claire Beauchamp had become his material both he and Madeline had noticed a slight change in him. It had been building gradually and their collaboration on missions only fuelled the bond that had developed between them. The question was ... how much did it affect their performance? If Jamie was in any way reckless ... he would fail and his failure would destroy his career. He would then have no hesitation in placing Jamie in abeyance.

Dougal Mackenzie glanced over at his second in command. Madeline’s slightly raised eyebrow was the only indication that they may have been having similar thought waves. While they’d been observing James Fraser in the operating theatre the two Section One leaders had unwittingly opened a minefield of much food for thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline and Operations turned when they heard the door open behind them. The head surgeon Dr Khan entered and approached. “You wanted to see me?” “Yes ... How’s he doing?” “Not too good at the moment.” “What’s the problem?” “The bullet is deeper than we thought and the trajectory route is just millimetres from a vital organ. It is a more delicate operation than we first thought.” “I see. And what is your prognosis?” The head surgeon looked from Operations to Madeline and pragmatically answered their question. “I'm sorry, but he may not make it. He’s lost too much blood. He may not pull through. If we need to put him on life support, will you be making that decision?” It was Madeline who responded. “I already have. I've decided he's going to recover. His will to live is very strong. Your will to save him has to be strong, too.” She paused. “I'll help you.” Dr Khan took a while to digest what she was actually saying but he certainly caught the gist of Madeline’s underlying words. It was not until she continued that he understood the full implication of what she had spoken and he began to shake in his boots. Madeline then calmly pulled out a gun, cocked it and held it up against the surgeon’s head. A sudden fear and uncertainly crossed Dr Khan’s face as he waited for whatever Madeline would say next. “Go back inside.” She took a breath before continuing. “Tell your colleagues to do the possible ..., then the impossible ..., and then the unthinkable, until he's out of danger. Because ..., when you're finished, Doctor ..., that room will contain either four living men ... or four corpses. Do you understand?” He understood perfectly. Jamie Fraser was Section One’s best operative but he was still surprised at the length that Madeline had gone to in order to keep him alive.

“Okay.” The surgeon left the observation desk in fear and trepidation and relayed the message to his surgical team. Collectively they cast their eyes up to the observation room to see the penetrating gazes of their leader and his second in command. They were under no illusion as to what the operating team needed to do. Madeline had given the doctors their ultimatum and if James Fraser didn’t pull through, they knew the consequences. They needed to pull off the impossible. They needed a miracle.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Friday 20th

#Jamieandclairefanfic #jamieandclaireau #jamieandclairecrossover #outlander fanfic #the lallybroch library #covert operations #LFNoutlander

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blvejeanbaby · 5 years ago

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Nino’s | San

Pairing: Y/N x Choi San Word count: 3830

Read part 2 here.

The weather outside reflected your mood as the clock ticked away the hours. The rain played soft melodies on the windows which mixed in with the murmurs and occasional shouts of joy of the customers. You watched as one of your colleagues delivered a plate of hot snacks to a table filled with gorgeous looking boys – frat guys, definitely. At least they weren’t obnoxious. Nino’s Sports Bar was one of the most popular places in town to visit, but there weren’t any games on today to lure in large audiences. This made your day at work uncharacteristically boring, although that was soon to change. You knew it as soon as the door opened and a group of boys entered, all around college age. Every type of demographic visited Nino’s although the overwhelming majority was male. That didn’t mean however that all of them were misogynistic assholes that didn’t deserve the light of day. These boys, however, obviously were. “I’m not waiting them,” your colleague, Tessa said, returning to the bar with an empty tray in her hands. “I’ve been running around all day. It’s your turn.” You knew it was true; all you had been doing for the past couple of hours of your shift was washing glasses behind the bar and filling them up for her to bring out. Tessa had been doing all of the walking, talking and cleaning at Nino’s and it was her right to deny waiting that table of boys. So you put on your brave face, grabbed her tray and made your way over to the table they had chosen to sit at, near the back of the bar where the dart boards and pool tables were. “Hi, welcome to Nino’s. Can I take your order?” One out of the six boys looked up. He was intimidatingly handsome, but you could see immediately that there was something up with him. As soon as he started talking, you knew what it was. “Six beers. Best you have, gorgeous,” he slurred. You nodded. “Coming right up.” When you returned to the table a few moments later with their six beers, you were greeted by all of the boys suddenly paying attention to you, whereas they previously hadn’t. You gulped nervously as you halted at their table and set down the tray on an empty spot. “Six beers?” “Thanks.” The boy closest to you, on the right side of the table, reached over and grabbed the glass you were just about to grab, causing your hands to brush. You quickly retracted your hand, not wanting to make any sort of physical contact with them. You had been around drunk men before and they could be very rude and sexual. You weren’t about to get into a situation like that again. However, the other boy closest to you, on the left, rose to his feet. “I’m just- I’m just gonna squeeze right past you.” He made a point of rubbing his crotch against your ass as he passed, an act that was completely unnecessary given the wide space behind you. Feeling your face burn up, you quickly passed out the beers before disappearing from the table without saying a word. Tessa was watching as you came back, giving you a sympathetic look but not mentioning what had just happened, even though she had obviously seen. In another life, you might have killed her for not saying anything, but you knew that Tessa had gone through enough harassment of her own in this joint. Working at Nino’s meant making good money on a busy night, considering the male visitors would gladly tip way more than standard if they happened to find you good-looking, but at other times Nino’s was a place of nightmares. You still felt uncomfortable as you set back to work behind the bar, washing glasses and putting them away again. Until it was time to do a round through the bar to see if anyone needed anything. You felt a blush rise up to your cheeks as you approached the table of drunk college boys, knowing what might happen. “Can I do anything for you?” you asked, making sure to sound as confident as you could. You weren’t about to seem weak and like easy prey in front of them. “How ‘bout… you in the back, on your knees?” It was a different boy this time, one that looked the way your average, bullying jock looks in high school movies. There was no way you could respond to this in a proper way. You just shook your head and ran off as fast as you could, back to Tessa. She hadn’t been watching you and she couldn’t have caught his words from all across the bar. You let your eyes wander around Nino’s again, cringing as you made eye contact with a boy – but it wasn’t any of the drunk harassers. Instead, you were faced by a boy you hadn’t yet seen before, or perhaps hadn’t paid enough attention to, considering him and his group of friends had been playing pool the entire time, coming up to Tessa to order any drinks and snacks, but spending most of their time at the back of the bar. The boy looked just as shockingly handsome as the drunk ones, but he obviously wasn’t drunk. He also visibly wasn’t a part of them; they all were wearing fancy clothes that managed to make them look both rich and important. You didn’t doubt they regarded themselves as such. This boy, however, wore simple black slacks and a richly designed button-up, which still made him look rich and important, but in a vastly different way. You realized you were blushing once again, this time because of your extensive eye contact, and were caught off guard by how close the boy suddenly appeared. He was on the other side of the bar, leaning on it as he tapped a card against the surface. “Can I get three diet cokes, two sprites and three beers, please?” “Three diet cokes, two sprites and three beers,” you repeated, not because you hadn’t understood him but because you were making sure you got the order right. The boy nodded and you set to work. You figured he wouldn’t be able to carry all of those drinks in his hands and made him up a tray. When she put the last glass of beer on the tray, the boy didn’t immediately pick it up and leave. Instead, he shot you a look that could only be described as concerned. “Are you OK?” You frowned at him, just slightly. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” You already knew what was coming but hoped, despite everything, that he wouldn’t bring it up. “Because I saw what that guy did to you,” the boy said. He seemed about their age, but he was different. He spoke differently. Or perhaps, you thought bitterly, that was because he obviously wasn’t drunk and those other guys were. “Oh, that,” you said, knowing you couldn’t pretend you had no clue what he was talking about. However nice it may be that he was concerned, and he visibly was, it wasn’t particularly comforting to think that he had had his eyes on you as well. It made you feel like an animal trapped in the zoo, with people always staring at you, waiting for you to do something funny or unique. Or sexy in the case of Nino’s. “Don’t worry about it. It happens all the time.” If you had thought that would make the boy leave, it didn’t. Instead, his eyes grew as round as saucers and his voice rose in pitch as he said: “Happens all the time? And you don’t report it to your boss?” You shrugged. “I don’t want to lose my job. And anyways, what could he do about it? This is Nino’s. That stuff always happens here.” The fact that it wasn’t true didn’t lessen his concern. The guy’s eyebrows knitted together into a frown. “Surely you wouldn’t lose your job over something like that. Isn’t the safety and wellbeing of the employees more important?” You didn’t think he would think the same way as you and Tessa did. It solidified how he was different from those men earlier. “It’s not OK to be treated like that and have nothing be done about it.” You bite your lip, knowing he’s right. It’s what made Nino’s a living nightmare sometimes, the men that thought they had every right to touch you inappropriately, just because you made them drinks and brought them snacks. There were some, of course, that were alright, that didn’t bother you or make inappropriate comments. There were some that you accepted the inappropriate comments from, because you knew them personally outside of work or because you knew they truly meant no harm. But your average Nino’s customer? They needed to learn some manners. You just weren’t the person to break that news to them. So you shook your head at the guy across from you. “Please, just let it go. It’s not that big of a deal.” You sent him a pleading look, and he nodded, taking the tray and disappearing back to his friends at the pool table. You think that’s it, already spinning around to continue cleaning, until you hear a: “What the fuck, man!” followed up instantly by a: “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You turn back to the bar, your eyes immediately finding the group of drunk guys. This time, they’re joined by the boy who had just sat with you at the bar, discussing your safety and wellbeing. And that while he was bringing his own safety and wellbeing in danger by going up to those guys. Perhaps he had tried talking first, but all you could see was that the boy from the bar held the guy that had rubbed his crotch against you by his collar. This wasn’t just any regular misunderstanding, any quarrel that could be settled easily. This was a true bar fight. Contrary to what the people around you might believe, and anyone you’d tell about your work place, Nino’s wasn’t a place where people got violent often. Yes, there was a lot of alcohol involved, but there were a lot of regular visitors that acted as voluntary security guards on busy nights. Most of the fights were thus settled outside, in the alleys or just plain on the streets. But inside? Never. “Get Billy and Paul,” you said to Tessa, leaving the bar behind to check on the fight yourself. After all, it was about you in a way. You were about to step in and push both of the boys apart, when the first punch was landed. The pool guy on the drunk guy. This doesn’t only spark a reaction from the other guys at the table, who jump up and start to gang up on the pool guy, but also from the pool guys’ friends, who gather, yelling what you can only assume to be the pool guys’ name: “San!” “San, what is going on?” “San, what are you doing?” San, you think, as you watch the pool guy get punched in the jaw, the full force of the swing nearly sending him toppling over. He’s smaller than the guy advancing on him and has a much tinier frame. You want to step in, but wouldn’t really appreciate getting hurt, plus there is really no way you can stop two guys, both significantly bigger than you, from fighting when one of said guys is drunk off of his mind. You think Tessa is never going to return with Paul and Billy, until there’s a rough voice yelling: “Hey!” This temporarily catches both of the parties off guard. You spin, relieved to see the tall, bulky figure of your boss Paul approaching rapidly, followed closely by both Tessa and Billy. “What’s going on here?” Paul roars. “This guy here,” says the drunk guy, shoving San further away from him in the process, “thinks he can just square up on us, for no reason!” “Not for no reason,” San says. “Oh?” The guy who had asked me to give him a blowjob spoke up. “Then what?” “Her.” San’s gaze turned to focus on you, and with him the others followed. There were other customers whose attention was on you now too and you felt your face burn up because of it. This was not what you had anticipated of this day, not at all. You only wanted to finish your shift and go home, without any trouble. You only wanted San to leave you to deal with your drunk-college-guys-at-Nino’s problems by yourself. And now…? “They were bothering her.” “And she doesn’t have a mouth to say so herself?” Perhaps Blowjob Guy wasn’t as drunk as he had seemed, for his words surprisingly did not come out slurred at all. “San,” you heard one of his friends say, but San shook off the hands that landed on his shoulders. “If there’s anyone that’s the problem here, it’s you.” San then looked at Paul, who looked slightly taken aback at being so coldly regarded like that. “She’s too afraid to go up to you and tell you how unsafe the work place is.” Silence fell across the bar. Yes, there were regular customers that played security guards sometimes, but you had always assumed they did that because this was their regular place. They didn’t want to see it shut down because there were too many fights. They would never step in when any other serious thing happened, like harassment. So yes, while there was some form of security sometimes, they were most likely to let the waitresses deal with what they really needed protection from by themselves. “Y/N, is that true?” You felt your blush intensify. “Paul-“ you start, but you’re not sure what you want to say. That you’re not too afraid to tell him what’s been going on? That you don’t feel uncomfortable whenever a large group of guys enters Nino’s? That you don’t wonder what’s going to happen today when you come in for a shift? That you don’t think you’re going to lose your job, a job you actually, desperately need, if you were to tell him what was really going on? “You know what,” Paul said, lifting his hands in almost defeat, “I think you and I should settle this another time and not in front of an audience.” His words were directed at you and it made you shrink significantly. ‘Settle this another time’ and ‘not in front of an audience’ could only mean he was going to fire you, right? That’s not something he’d do right then and there, because Paul is not the type to humiliate anyone, and that includes you. “I think it’s best all of the parties involved leave now, however.” “He needs to go to the hospital, anyway,” one of the drunk guys says, bend over the one who San landed a good hit on. “His nose might be broken.”

You didn’t talk to Tessa, Billy or Paul as you got changed from your work clothes into your regular clothes. You hadn’t said a word to them yet as you left Nino’s to go home. There was sure to be a text from Paul waiting when you got home, asking you to meet him in his office during your next shift, which was two days from now. You were also sure that the only thing you could justify doing right now was taking a long, hot shower before bawling your eyes out. Or perhaps you could do both at the same time; you were skilled at multitasking, given how much of it you had to do at Nino’s. Which might now be something of the past, considering Paul is going to fire you. The rain outside has stopped, but the air remained crisp with cold. You’re obviously wallowing in sadness as you walk home, only to be surprised by a voice calling your name: “Y/N!” You turn back. Who in the fresh hell would be calling out for you right now? That’s when your eyes caught sight of San. “San,” you said, anger bubbling up inside of you. He might be the reason you lose your job! “I don’t want to talk to you right now.” “Why not?” “Because I’m not about to thank you on my bare knees because you just lost me my job.” “I lost you your job?” For some reason San’s voice dropped significantly, and if you hadn’t turned and continued walking again, you might have seen his face do the same. “Maybe,” you said. “I have a meeting with my boss in two days. But I think he’s pretty set on firing me. Goodbye, San.” You continued walking, fastening your pace. San only did the same. Did he not get the hint that you don’t want to talk to him anymore? Or at all, even? “But you’re thankful that I stood up to those guys, aren’t you?” You stop dead in your tracks, causing San to almost bump into you. “So you’re just here because you want me to be grateful for beating up some guy? While I explicitly asked you not to worry about it? I didn’t want you to stand up for me, I didn’t need you to. I didn’t need a knight in shining armour to come and save me. OK?” In this case he might be more of a Prince Charming than your average knight, you had to admit to yourself. “That’s not why I did it,” San said. He’s about to open his mouth and probably come up with more excuses, but you quickly shut him down. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m not in the mood to listen to any other entitled boy that only wants to take advantage of me. Got it?” And so you continue walking, thinking that the subject is finished and San will now leave you alone. However, he doesn’t. “Y/N! It’s not like that, I promise. Please, let me walk you home. It’s not safe here at night.” Although you want to refute that, you know you can’t. Yes, the neighbourhood is dangerous at night, it’s not particularly safe for you to walk out alone. Usually you’d get Tessa to bring you home, considering she has a car and is trying to get more drivers’ experience. You love driving home with her, because you two always stop at McDonald’s for chicken nuggets and a drink along the way and it’s your favourite thing about work. But now? How long would it even take you to walk home? You hadn’t ever done that before and you weren’t about to wait at Nino’s for Tessa to finish her shift. “Fine,” you then say. You know that you don’t like the idea of San walking you home, but you also know that the idea of walking home all by yourself, you like even less. “You can walk me home.” At first, you two walked in silence. You only talked when pointing out which way to go, with San already walking a few paces ahead of you, but otherwise you stayed silent. Until San asked in a soft voice, almost as if he’s scared he’ll get shut down by you if he talks at all: “Is Nino’s really the place where… that sort of thing happens a lot?” You knew instantly what he meant. In an equally soft voice, you said: “Yeah.” “So then why don’t you change jobs?” “It’s not that easy to find a job that matches well with my schedule,” you said, although you were wondering why you would tell this stranger anything of the sort. “It also pays well and I need the money.” “What for?” You chuckled. “I’m not going to tell you. It’s none of your business.” San knew from your tone of voice that you didn’t mean it in a rude way. You really just weren’t fond of him asking what you needed money for. He figured it was understandable and you weren’t obliged to tell him, so instead he said: “Hey, you know what? My parents own a restaurant. It’s a little fancier than Nino’s, but the people that come there aren’t jerks. I think you’ll like it better. I can ask if you can come in to interview?” You really considered it for a second. The prospect of working somewhere else, with people who weren’t like the standard Nino’s visitor, would have been an infinite cheer-me-up, but on the other hand… “No, I can’t accept that from you.” And who was to say he wasn’t absolutely lying just to seem superior to her? There had been boys at Nino’s who had been so entitled that they didn’t see how they were treating others. Boys that were so well off that they didn’t recognize their entitled and jerkish behaviour as they executed it. “It’s not meant as charity, Y/N,” San said. “I genuinely don’t want to think of something like that ever happening to you again.” “Why?” You stop again. “You don’t even know me. For all you know, I could be drowning puppies and ripping the wings off of butterflies in my spare time.” San shrugged. “I just don’t think that’s true.” You find yourself looking at him again – really looking at him. The first impression was still there, but there was a layer to him now. You knew his name, you knew at least one of his values. You wondered what else there was to know about him, if there was a particular reason he had stood up for you and couldn’t bear the thought of you having to go through something like that again. Something must have made him like this and you wondered if that was pure upbringing, just his nature, or because of something that happened to him, or someone close to him, before. And then you see more, that he is actually gorgeous. That the look in his eyes is sincere. That he’s actually kind of beautiful. And that he was willing to do that for you, that it was kind of sweet. And that maybe you might have judged his character too soon, assuming him to be one of… them. His hand found your cheek, his teeth softly nibbling on his bottom lip before releasing it, bringing his lips closer to yours- With quite a lot of force, enough to make him stumble, you push San away from you. Hell to the no. You’ve had enough of douchey guys for the day. Without waiting for even a sorry or anything else from San, you run away, hoping he wouldn’t follow you. After all, you weren’t particularly sure if you could outrun him. Perhaps you could, or perhaps he didn’t follow, because when you got home and shut the door behind you, San was nowhere to be seen.

#ateez fluff #ateez imagine #san fluff #san imagine #ateez #kpop fluff #kpop imagine #san angst #ateez angst #writing #my writing #mine #kpop #choi san #san x reader #y/n #ateez x reader #kpop x reader #kpop angst

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justcallmehermione · 5 years ago

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Another update...

Story: Small Bump Rating: M for some delicious smut Pairings: Linzin, Tokka, and Kataang

FF.net

AO3

Chapter 9: Under Pressure

Ring! Ring! Ring! The phone started trilling, waking Tenzin from a sound sleep. He looked to the window and saw the first morning rays starting to peak in through the curtain. He saw his beautiful wife starting to stir in the bed next to him.

“I’ll get it, stay resting,” he whispered to her as he slid out of bed and crept to the kitchenette area of their apartment. He grabbed the phone and without thinking whispered, “I’m sorry, but it is too early in the morning to be speaking on the phone. I’m still trying to sleep. Try calling back later today.” And he hung the phone up without waiting for a reply.

“Who was that?” Lin mumbled sleepily.

“No clue,” he replied while sliding back into bed, “I told them it was too early for phone calls and that they were very rude for calling so early and interrupting my amazing wife’s beauty rest.”

Lin laughed and snuggled close to the now prone Tenzin, “I’m sure you did, tough guy.”

Tenzin pulled Lin close to him and kissed her forehead, “Well I’m not wrong. Now let’s stay in bed a while longer. I can’t leave you two yet.”

Lin nuzzled closer, “I hope you never leave.” They both smiled and continued to rest until the sun was fully up.

…

“Well I’m off to visit Mom for lunch!” Lin called to Tenzin as he was in the bathroom finishing getting ready.

“Enjoy, love!” he replied.

Lin headed the few blocks to the RCPD headquarters where she agreed to meet her mother so they could get a bite to eat and catch up. The apartment wasn’t far from the police headquarters, but the cold breeze wafting through the city air made Lin regret the outdoor exercise. Winter may just be starting, but it was not shy at making its presence known. She tugged her coat tighter around her and dipped her mouth lower in her jacket to help cover more of her face from the cold sting.

As Lin rounded the final corner that would bring her to RCPD HQ, a newspaper stall caught her eye. She spotted a photo from her and Tenzin’s wedding on the front page of one of the papers sitting in a pile on the cart. Lin stepped closer and focused on that paper. Bold letters on the latest copy of The United Republic read: NEW AIRBENDER ON THE WAY with a subheading that said: Newlyweds Tenzin, Master Airbender, and Lin Beifong, RCPD detective are expecting their first born, the next member of the extinct Air Nomad race.

Lin snatched a copy of the paper and growled. The young man working the booth chided her and said she needed to pay for that now it was ruined. She tossed some Yuan on the counter and stomped away, seething. She couldn’t believe what she was reading. As far as she knew, only her closest friends and family members knew about the pregnancy, after all she was barely showing yet, despite the end of the first trimester approaching. Lin also could not believe the journalist’s choice of headline.

“New Airbender on the Way…” she murmured to herself, “I can’t believe they would be so bold to put that. I don’t even know if the baby is a boy or girl yet, and they’re already pegging the future of Aang’s race on him or her.” Tears started forming in her eyes again as all the pressure she’s felt on and off throughout the pregnancy started to resurface in her mind.

Lost in her thoughts, Lin didn’t realize that someone had approached her until she heard, “Now, now, little badgermole, I know you’ve been away on your honeymoon for some time now, but there’s no need for tears to show how much you’ve missed me.”

Lin turned to see her mother had left the building and found her standing dumbstruck on the sidewalk. “Mom,” she managed while gesturing to the newspaper in her hands, “Have you seen this?”

Toph took a step closer to her daughter and said, “Jeez, have you been hanging around Sokka more? You know I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Lin sniffled, a small smile playing on her lips, “I know, I was just trying to joke to make myself feel a little better. It’s a newspaper and its headline is just, absolutely ridiculous!”

“They usually are, that’s why I never bother to peruse the periodicals,” Toph stated dryly.

Lin rolled her eyes, “Very funny, Mother. This one is about me, or rather my baby.” She absentmindedly brought one of her hands to rest on her slightly protruding abdomen. She continued, “They’re already claiming the baby will be an air bender and that Aang’s legacy and by extension the legacy of the Air Nomads rests entirely on me producing an airbender.” The tears started to reach her cheeks again.

Toph reached out and squeezed her daughter’s shoulder and tried to comfort her, “Well now that is completely unfair. The only one who should be planning this baby’s future is her award-winning, master bender of a grandmother, Toph Beifong.”

Lin chuckled a bit and said, “Mom, please. This is a really sore subject for me.”

“Okay, okay,” Toph conceded, “Let’s go get some meat and noodles and talk about this.”

…

“So, what does Tenzin have to say about all this?” Toph asked her daughter. They were now seated in one of their favorite restaurants, enjoying a delicious lunch of grilled meat and spicy noodles, their two favorite foods.

“I don’t know if he’s seen the headlines at all yet…” Lin began.

“Not about the newspaper, I mean about the baby. Has he said anything to make you think he would resent you or even the baby if she isn’t an airbender? Because if he has you know I’ll come over and---”

“Mother, please,” Lin interrupted, “No, on the contrary, Tenzin has shown that he will do nothing but love and cherish both me and the baby no matter what.”

“Bleck,” Toph stuck her tongue out, “Hearing about my daughter and her supportive husband is giving me the oogies.”

“Very funny, Mom. But I’m being serious here. Tenzin and I have already talked about this. We both just want a healthy baby. It’s gender nor it’s bending abilities will affect how much love we will show this baby,” Lin assured her mom, and herself with these words.

“Well then, you know how I feel about other people’s opinions. They can shove it up their--” Toph started to say, but was interrupted by the presence she now felt at the table. She turned her face to the newcomer and said, “Perfect timing, waiter. We would like the check, please.”

“I’m s-sorry, b-but I’m not your w-waiter,” a young man who looked visibly nervous replied to Toph. Lin’s eyes narrowed and stared at him. She couldn’t quite place the face, but she was almost positive she’s seen him somewhere before.

“Unless you’re here to report a crime or ask for an autograph, then I think you best be moving on, kid,” Toph told the young man firmly.

He took a deep breath before he began, “My n-name is Jeong and I’m a reporter for--”

“That’s enough. Like I said before, unless you want to report a crime, you need to leave my daughter and me alone while we’re trying to eat lunch,” Toph interrupted him.

“I’m so sorry,” Jeong cried out while bowing to the women, “It’s just, I’m trying to become a more well known reporter and getting the inside scoop on Ms. Beifong’s pregnancy would really help me.”

Lin stood up, “Sorry, Jeong, but if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t want my life broadcast to anybody and everybody. My pregnancy is my business and no one else’s.”

Jeong persisted, “Yes, but you’re carrying the next Airbending Master! This is huge news and the public would be so pleased.”

Toph slammed Yuans on the table to pay for their lunch and said, “I’ve heard enough. Let’s go Lin!”

Lin stared daggers into Jeong and left him with one final statement, “Why don’t you take this story back to wherever it is you work: My child is going to be whoever he or she wants to be. Only the spirits know what gifts the baby will bring to this world and all you cheap gossips need to stop trying to label him or her too early.” She stalked after her mother and joined her in the car they drove to the restaurant.

“I can’t believe that vile weasel-snake!” Lin exclaimed and punctuated it with slamming the car door.

“Easy on the car door, badgermole. This is technically city property,” Toph chided.

Lin rolled her eyes and continued her lamentation, “He must have some really confident guardian spirit to approach us like that while we’re trying to enjoy a nice lunch.”

“I’m sorry, Lin.” Toph apologized.

“Oh, please, it’s not your fault he sauntered up to us and felt the need to try to pry into my personal business,” Lin replied.

“Well, isn’t it?” Toph probed, “I mean, you are the daughter of one of the greatest living Earthbenders, who helped save the world when she was just a kid.”

“Mother, please. This isn’t time for your ego to join the conversation.”

“I’m not trying to be my confident self, I’m being serious. If you had any other mother on the planet, then things would be so different for you--” Lin glanced over at her mom. She noticed her head was drooped more than normal. Lin reached over and grabbed her mother’s hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Mom, even if you weren’t famous, I’d still be married to one of only two living Airbenders. I’d be all over the media, regardless,” Lin said in comfort.

Toph turned her head slightly towards Lin, “You think even if I weren’t friends with the Avatar you and Tenzin would still be married?”

Lin took a deep breath as she blinked back tears not of stress and worry, but of a deeper, stronger emotion she felt. She replied, “I’m positive that no matter what lifetime we shared or what planet we lived on, his soul and mine would always find each other and never let the other go.”

…

“And now, here’s Zahra with the latest news from the lives of the socialites of Republic City,” the voice on the radio crackled. Lin was lying on the sofa half reading a book while Tenzin stood at the kitchenette in their tiny apartment, making them a delicious dinner.

“Want me to turn it off?” Tenzin inquired.

“No, you’re busy. I can get up to change it,” Lin replied as she started to make her way to the radio.

“Thanks, Li,” the now feminine voice on the radio replied, “In today’s news, we’d like to highlight Republic City’s cutest and most romantic couple, Tenzin, Master Airbender, son of the Avatar and Lin Beifong, daughter of Police Chief and Master of Earthbending, Toph Beifong.” Lin’s hand hesitated as she reached for the dial to change the station. She hated being in the spotlight, but she had some morbid curiosity that made her wait to listen to what they had to report.

“As many of you may know by now, Ms. Beifong and Master Tenzin wasted no time while on their honeymoon and have already announced they’re expecting their very first child after just two months of wedded bliss! One of our reporters, Jeong, was fortunate enough to run into Ms. Beifong and her mother while they were out to lunch, presumably after a lovely day out shopping, preparing for the new bundle of joy headed their way. Jeong was able to get a statement from Ms. Beifong and he’s here now to share what she said. Over to you, Jeong!”

Tenzin had finished cooking and plating their food and now had his full attention on the radio as well. Lin hadn’t mentioned running into any reporters today. His brows furrowed and he waited with baited breath to hear what this Jeong person had to say. “Thanks, Zahra! That’s right, I ran into two thirds of the Beifong family today. They were both enjoying a lunch of assorted meats and spicy noodles, which after speaking with an expert on rearing and raising healthy children, I now know is not the healthiest thing for a pregnant woman to feed her baby. The meat is rather fatty and greasy and the spiciness of the noodles could give her terrible heartburn. The expert recommended she eat more fruits and vegetables going forward to ensure the baby gets all the help he needs!”

Lin rolled her eyes, “Is that really all he has to say? He needs to give me so-called advice on what to eat?”

Tenzin shrugged, “Let’s just ignore him for now. Change the channel and let’s sit and eat.”

Jeong continued on the radio, “I would also like to add that Ms. Beifong seemed to care little about the baby’s Air Nomad heritage. She stated that she would not go out of her way to ensure the child is raised in the ways of the Air Nomads and instructed to become a Master Airbender like his father and grandfather.”

“But that can’t be!” Zahra interrupted.

“Afraid so,” Jeong continued, “Now, I’m no expert on Air Nomad culture, but last time I checked, there were only two airbenders alive today and I think--” zzt. The radio went silent.

Lin spun to look at Tenzin who had silently crossed the room and ended the slander and lies being broadcasted to a couple thousand people in and around the city.

“What did you do that for!” Lin exclaimed.

“I don’t believe what that man had to say was true. At least, I hope it’s not,” Tenzin said, staring at his wife’s face, searching for any hint of how she was feeling.

“Of course it’s not true! I didn’t say anything about ignoring any part of the baby’s heritage!” she countered.

“I figured as much,” Tenzin said as he stepped closer to his wife, reaching out to give her a hug.

“I just told him to mind his P’s & Q’s and to stop making assumptions about our baby!” Lin shouted at him as she began trembling. Tenzin’s arms enveloped Lin’s frame. He held her close for a few moments as she let the anger and stress flow through her body, the tremors a reflection of the power the emotions had over her.

“I believe you, Lin,” Tenzin said slightly pulling away from his wife so he could look down at her, “I love you and I know you love our baby. I’m sure that man is just trying to spice up his story to get more listeners.”

Lin sniffled, “I just can’t believe him! Him and all the other media eel-hounds. Making up all this information about our baby.”

Tenzin started gently rubbing Lin’s back as he continued to comfort her, “I’m not sorry that you’re carrying my child, but I am sorry that this has placed you center stage for everyone to make comments about you and try to give you unwarranted advice.”

Lin nodded, “I know. I’m not sorry we’re bringing new life into this world either. I just wish circumstances were a bit different.”

“Well, why don’t we sit and eat dinner and then plan the next leg of our honeymoon world tour?” Tenzin offered, leading Lin towards the small table that had the food he prepared laid out.

“Let’s get as far from Republic City’s gossipers as possible. Why don’t we go visit Kya at the South Pole?” Lin agreed.

“As you wish, my dear,” Tenzin said before they tucked into their dinner.

#linzin #atla #lok #fan fic #fan fiction #justcallmehermione

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myforeverforlife · 5 years ago

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would you be my love?

Last request for another anon! Minseok + 4. "Did you just hiss at me?" - "Are you judging me?

Word Count: 2,079

CBX Detectives Masterlist: (Minseok) (Baekhyun) (Jongdae)

Masterlist

“CBX Investigations, how may I help you?”

The woman on the other end of the phone launched into a spiel about a boss that she suspected of cheating her out of her wages, voice much too loud for your ears. You winced, moving the phone further away from your ear and reaching for a pen and notepad.

“Just a second, please.” You quickly scribbled down the few details you remembered. “Policy does require me to remind you that our detectives work on an hourly fee.”

“Well how much is it?” the woman snapped.

“Judging on how much information you need, it will vary.”

“I need my money, and I need that leech’s reputation down the drain!”

You continued to question her about her boss, getting the story and her request straightened out before hanging up with a sigh of relief. Sadly, in the crime-sleuthing industry, there was rarely any time for rest. Your fingers ran over the keys of your typewriter as you began working on a formal request for your supervisors. The three of them might act more like children than grown men at times, but they were still sticklers for organization.

“Another assignment already, Miss Y/N?”

You glanced behind you to see Private Investigator Kim Minseok sipping from his cup of coffee as he leaned against a filing cabinet. Every day, you thanked your lucky stars that office dress code required all of you to be dressed formally. Minseok was always dashingly dapper in his three piece suits, and today was no different. The other two detectives liked to tease him about overdressing for the occasion, but you didn’t mind, especially when it gave you lots of material for daydreaming.

Minseok called your name when you didn’t answer, jolting you back to the present.

“Ah. Yes, it’s another disgruntled factory worker,” you explained lamely, clearing your throat and trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach. You gave him the basic rundown of your conversation.

The investigator shook his head, taking a longer sip of coffee before replying. “It’s getting worse and worse. I’ll look over the report when you’re done typing it up. Hopefully, I can head over and have a talk with the woman this afternoon.”

You nodded, about to turn back to the typewriter when Minseok cleared his throat. “Yes?” you asked tentatively, hoping that you hadn’t misheard him.

Minseok’s cheeks were a rosy pink, much like the flowers that bloomed down the street from your apartment in early spring. “Are you staying late tonight?”

“Yes, I still have to go over some paperwork with Mr. Byun. He’s trying to finish up the 5th Street investigation.”

“Ah. Would you like to get supper with the rest of us after I come back? If it’s not too late for you,” he added quickly, looking apologetic.

“I-I’ll have to phone home and see if I can. I’ll let you know in a bit.”

Minseok had forgotten that you still lived at home, customary of most single women in this day and age. Surely your family would worry if you were out late, especially in a city this big. “Of course. Take your time.”

He let out a puff of relief, half nervous and yet half excited for tonight. Minseok walked over to Baekhyun’s workspace, half-hidden from your spot at the front desk. “Baekhyun,” he whispered, garnering the younger’s attention.

“I know, I still owe you money for paying for my trolley ticket last week,” Baekhyun mumbled, engrossed in his work.

The sound of a chair scooting against the floor interrupted Minseok, and he looked over to see you heading for the ladies room. He waited a couple of seconds before speaking again. “No, not that. I need you and Jongdae to come to supper with me and Miss Y/N tonight.”

Baekhyun sat up, letting his fountain pen drop to the table as he studied Minseok. “Why? What’s the special occasion?” he asked skeptically.

“Nothing, I just... I finally took what you two said into consideration and asked her to spend a night out with me.”

Baekhyun’s face lit up, toothy grin appearing on his face as he leaned back in his chair. “Kim Minseok, I’m surprised. Who knew you had it in you? But wait,” Baekhyun raised an eyebrow in thought. “Why do you need me and Jongdae there?”

“So I don’t make a complete fool of myself!”

“Ah, but don’t you want your dear lady friend to see you get all flustered?” Baekhyun chuckled. “Sorry, Minseok. This is all on you tonight.”

“Baekhyun, please. What am I going to do without you two there?”

“That’s the whole point, my friend.” Baekhyun clapped a hand onto Minseok’s shoulder, rubbing it in sympathy. “How else are you supposed to woo our capable secretary?”

“You make me sound like a predator,” Minseok said sullenly.

“No, you’re much too innocent for that.” Baekhyun laughed as he pinched Minseok’s cheek, not caring that his business partner was staring daggers at him.

“Let go, Baekhyun,” Minseok grumbled, hissing under his breath as Baekhyun pulled harder before finally letting go.

“Did you just hiss at me? I think you’ve been around Tanie for too long. You know, it truly is a good thing that you’ll be socializing with Miss Y/N instead of staying at home with your cat.”

“Are you judging me?”

Baekhyun gave him a sugary-sweet smile. “Of course not, Mr. Kim.”

“Did someone call me?” Jongdae perked up from where he sat at his desk, in the midst of writing something down.

“No, I was just congratulating our dear colleague on his plans for tonight,” Baekhyun added in a hushed whisper. You were still in the restroom, but it didn’t hurt to be extra careful.

“Plans? With who?” Jongdae asked, dropping his pen and walking over with a smirk.

“Our one and only Miss Y/N, of course. You know how he’s been pining over her for the past couple of months. I knew it was a good idea to hire a secretary,” Baekhyun said, chest puffing with pride.

Jongdae’s eyes widened in realization. “Minseok, I can’t believe this. I’m proud of you, old man.”

“Alright, now I’m glad you two aren’t coming.” Minseok stomped back over to his desk, picking up his hat and placing it on his head. He stopped by your desk on the way out, plucking up the finished report and reading over it for a second. Content with what he found there, he turned to look at his colleagues and tipped his hat to them in goodbye before heading out the door.

“Poor guy. Do you think he’ll be okay tonight?” Jongdae mused.

Baekhyun snickered, lifting his feet up to rest them on top of his desk. “For both his and Miss Y/N’s sake, I hope so. Those two can be so quiet sometimes.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should have come along?”

“No, that would ruin everything. Besides,” Baekhyun added with a laugh, “We’ll get to hear all about it tomorrow.”

Minseok was glad to see you were still in the office when after he came back from interviewing his client. Work would have to wait until tomorrow — he was famished, and felt bad about making you wait until he returned.

“Miss Y/N,” he greeted you. His heart did a backflip when you looked up from your book, a gentle smile on your face.

“Mr. Kim. How did everything go?”

“As well as it could have. I’m going to have to pull some strings to complete this request, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Are you ready to go eat?”

You nodded, closing your book and leaving it on top of the desk. The only lights in the office were the ones in the hallway and the lamp at your desk. You turned off your lamp before slipping your purse and coat on. “Are Mr. Byun and Mr. Kim still joining us?” you asked, walking over while putting your hat on your head. “Mr. Byun left about an hour ago, but wouldn’t tell me where he was going, and Mr. Kim hasn’t been back in a while.”

“Ah, no. They couldn’t make it.” Minseok felt guilty about lying, but if he told you the truth, that would also mean exposing his feelings for you. He wasn’t quite sure he was ready for that right now.

Your steps faltered, heels almost slipping on the floor before you regained your balance. “Oh.”

Minseok could sense your nervousness, face taking on a worried expression. “We could take a rain check for another day?”

“No, it’s fine.” Despite the shakiness in your voice, your smile was genuine. “What place did you have in mind?”

One trolley ride later, you found yourself at Park and Do’s Kitchen, a restaurant you had read about in a newspaper clipping last month. You stared wide-eyed at the simple beauty of the place, delicate lighting and cozy seating arrangements giving the place a home-like feel.

“This place is more beautiful than I expected,” you murmured, taking off your hat as you continued to gaze in awe.

“I’m glad you like it.” Minseok felt more at ease here, the trolley ride having stirred up a wad of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

The food certainly lived up to its reputation, and Minseok smiled to himself every time you sighed in bliss. Contrary to his worries, conversation came easily to both of you. Almost all of your conversations up to this point had been centered around work. But now, you two exchanged thoughts on books, people, the latest showings at the picture show.

At the end of the meal, Minseok wouldn’t hear of you paying a single cent, and you had finally given in, tickled pink by his manners and generosity. He even offered to walk you home, your arm tucking in the crook of his as you both chatted and walked along the concrete sidewalks.

All too soon, you had reached your apartment complex, the building teeming with life as people got ready for bed or for a night out. You let your arm slip away from Minseok’s, immediately missing his warmth.

“Thank you for tonight, Mr. Kim.”

“Please, call me Minseok.”

Your face flushed at the sudden change in formality. You knew well enough that the events of tonight had been his attempt to court you. “Alright, Minseok,” you tried out tentatively, loving the way his name felt on your lips. “Thank you, truly. I enjoyed my time with you tonight.”

“As did I.” Minseok’s smile was gleaming, rivaling even the glow of the moon as she watched over you two. “You are a pleasure to be around, Miss Y/N.”

Your lips curled upwards in a bashful smile, gloved hands itching to hold his hands in your own. “I feel the same way.”

Minseok wasn’t sure where to go from here — would it be too forward to kiss you here? Would you be worried about your family watching from the windows? Was he misinterpreting your actions? What if you were just being polite and weren’t as interested as he thought you were. Coughing to hide his anxiety, Minseok tipped his hat to you. “Well, good night, Miss Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You watched in horror as Minseok turned around, having expected him to at least stay a bit longer. “Minseok!” you called out.

The investigator turned around in a flash, hope brimming in his eyes. You came closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. When you pulled back, you could spot the faintest hint of red to his cheek, remnants of your lipstick against his skin.

Minseok’s hand came up to cover the spot as he gaped in wonder, slowly coming to his senses.

You giggled at his reaction, already walking backwards. “Good night, Minseok.”

“Good night. Sweet dreams,” he added, watching as you nodded shyly before turning and heading into the apartment complex.

He waited until he couldn’t see your figure anymore, the clicking of your heels against the stairs tapering off into silence. Only then did he manage to pull himself away from the building, hands in his pockets as he whistled cheerily to himself. He missed you already, the spot beside him achingly empty now that he had gotten used to being with you.

Minseok spared one last glance at your apartment. He didn’t know which window was yours, but he took a chance anyways, a peaceful smile on his face.

“Sweet dreams.”

CBX Detectives Masterlist: (Minseok) (Baekhyun) (Jongdae)

A/N: I accidentally deleted the draft I had for this after getting everything formatted god ☠️ but this was so fun to write! it’s inspired by the horololo music video, and if you had to pinpoint it in a certain date I guess this is vaguely related to the early 1900s (?) i just really wanted to write sweet, gentleman minseok lol

#exo #xiumin #minseok scenario #xiumin scenario #minseok fanfic #xiumin fanfic #exo scenario #exo fanfic #writings #drabbles

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headoverjojo · 5 years ago

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Asdfgkfkdl I'm so hyped the ask box is open that I don't know where to start! How about a post vento aureo au scenario? Prosci tries to go unnoticed so gangsters won't pick on him, now that he is less intimidating because of his injuries. But one day, a smart gangster girl guesses his identity. He is wary and agressive at first, but then he realizes she is hitting on him! It doesn't has to be nsfw, but if you feel like adding some, then why not. (I'll come back with more later!!!)

Aaaaaa hiiiii 🧡🧡🧡 As always, it’s a great prompt!! And as always I went wild with 5 google docs pages. Hope you like it!~

Prosciutto has to go unnoticed but a smart gangster girl guesses his identity

(Under the cut for length!)

Prosciutto, even after so much time, couldn’t explain how the hell he managed to survive. Maybe it was his renown stubbornness what it kept him alive. Maybe fate simply decided so.

He needed months to recover. His right eye was lost, as his left leg, crushed under the train’s wheels. His right arm still gave him problems, but, at least, he managed not to lose that limb too. He was… broken. He felt useless. Even more when he heard about the Boss’ defeat and the complete destruction of his old team. He couldn’t go back to Passione, not when he and his team had fought against the actual Don. Even if it wasn’t anything personal against him and, in the end, both the Squadra Esecuzioni and Bucciarati’s team wanted to reach the same goal -oh, the utter irony of it-, he just couldn’t knock at the new Don’s door and ask a place in Passione. This wasn’t how mafia worked.

And so, as soon as he could leave the little clinic he was hidden in, Prosciutto went rogue. It was way more difficult, now that he was blocked in a wheelchair and half blind. He couldn’t fight anymore like he used to, he couldn’t move around as swiftly as before… he felt powerless. Yes, his Grateful Dead was always with him, meaning that he could still be the scaring assassin he was, but… it wasn’t the same. Now, without Pesci, Risotto, all his team… he would have faced better this pain, with them. But facing it all alone, with the knowledge that no one of them had had a proper burial… it was hard. There were days when Prosciutto seriously thought to give up. But then thoughts about what Pesci, Risotto, Sorbetto would have said to him prevented him to do it for real. He was the last member of the Squadra Esecuzioni, their legacy: he couldn’t give up. He had to live for them too.

Still, he couldn’t just go around and hoping nothing would happen to him. He had been an elite member of Passione: even if his identity, as such, was a top secret information, his name and his power were known in the streets. Every gang had at least one member killed by his Grateful Dead. A lot of people would have gladly wanted him dead, both for revenge, both to have the privilege to say they have killed one of the infamous Squadra Esecuzioni. And so, Prosciutto changed name, lived in the shadows, taking every job he could. Small, ridiculous murders, if compared to the ones he was used to execute. In any case, it was better than nothing.

He often changed city, hopping from North to South Italy. Florence, Turin, Milan, Rome, Palermo, Naples, again. He never stayed enough in a city to get accustomed, to become recognizable. He rented small flats which he left totally anonymous, without a trace of customization. Those were just empty shells.

And, right when he came back to Naples, more or less one year after the start of Don Giovanna’s reign, you stumbled in his life. You worked for Squadra Informazioni, so you had access to the most secret informations, such as the ones about the ex Squadra Esecuzioni. You were fascinated by those people and their abilities. They had faced the Don’s team… just in the end they had found out that also the Squadra wanted to kill the Boss. On Don Giovanna’s face was clear the regret and the stupor. If only they had known it…

The only one whose state was unknown was Prosciutto. You didn’t know if it was his real name: in his file there was just his name -or nickname-, the name of his stand, a brief description of its power -implemented thanks to the witnesses of the Don’s team- and a blurred photography of him. You could just see he had blond hair and wore an elegant suit, but not much more. They were top elite assassins not for anything, all in all. They were ghosts even for the same Passione.

Your curiosity won over you and you decided to search for him. As you entered home, sighing, you noticed that the flat near yours, empty ‘till the day before, wasn’t now so empty. Even if no sound escaped the one room flat, the lights on were the clear sign that someone was inside. And, as the good neighbor you were, you decided to pay a visit.

You rang the bell, waiting, humming. After a little, a low rummaging came from behind the door and, finally, it was open. Your eyes widened slightly, when you found in front of you a man on a wheelchair. His left leg wasn’t here anymore and his right eye was covered by an eyepatch. His other eye, a stunning light blue, pierced you, intense as a hawk’s one.

“Who are you?” you snapped back, hearing his voice, and you smiled, embarrassed for staring.

“I’m your neighbor, I came to say hello and welcome here! I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure, signor…?” you trailed off, tending your hand to him. He didn’t take it, still staring at you, his only eye shadowed by golden locks -no, not golden, it was a lighter blond-.

“Rossi. Thank you. Have a good evening.” he said, briefly, before withdrawing and closing the door on your face. You blinked, surprised, before shaking your head and going back to your flat. Woah, rude…

You didn’t see your neighbor for few days. He wasn’t here, during the day -and you knew thanks to your stand- and sometimes he was out for good part of the night. He wasn’t a drunkard, or you would have heard noise from his flat, which, instead, was always silent as a grave. He almost seemed… a ghost.

This thought was what made you start to connect the dots. A ghost… he was wary and always watched his back, as a trained soldier -or as a mafioso-. He knew how to escape even from your stand’s patrol, choosing carefully the points where it couldn’t see -and this meant he was a stand user, if he could see where your stand did its patrol. Blond hair… and those injuries were strange. You had, however, to reread the whole report about the train’s fight. You couldn’t go around accusing people to be assassins without any proof.

But, when you did, your face grew paler, as you read about the injuries sustained by Prosciutto. His right eyes was lost and Bucciarati managed to crush his left leg under the train’s rails. His right arm too, but he wasn’t sure. The team left here him and his teammate, Pesci, to escape also from Passione’s cleaning squad, which always entered the game when a member of the organization was involved in a murder -both in case they were the victim or the executioner-.

The cleaning squad never found Prosciutto’s body.

Could you possibly were living next to one of the most powerful and feared assassins of all Italy?

You couldn’t live with the doubt.

And so, gaining all your courage, that evening you went to knock again at his door. You knew he was at home, after seeing the lights on. As the first time, after a little rummaging, the door opened and the blonde’s eye darkened, seeing you. Before he could even speak, however, you started.

“I know who you are.” you declared, staring at him. The man quirked his only visible brow, unimpressed, even if, inside, he was tense. How could that girl discovered him?! But maybe she was bluffing. Calm down, Prosciutto. You have the upper hand.

“I told you the first day. I’m Rossi.” he replied, with a plain tone. You frowned, not giving up. You couldn’t, not now. Meanwhile, you analyzed the man in front of you, his injuries, his face, still really pleasant despite the missing eye… you tried to imagine him with the rail of small man buns Bucciarati said he had, instead of this short hair.

“You’re Prosciutto, the last of the Squadra d’Esecuzione. You lost your limbs against Bucciarati. And your stand-” you stopped, gulping, when you saw that stand behind the man. It was even scarier of what you had imagined.

“Choose carefully your last words, little girl.” he said, in a low and dangerous voice, as the fog slowly neared you. You knew that, if he would have wanted, he could have killed you in a matter of minutes, almost as fast as Purple Haze, the Don’s Consigliere’s stand. You had to act, even if you were paralyzed by fear.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you.” you stuttered, making him bitterly laugh, as The Grateful Dead came nearer and nearer.

“Hurt me? Don’t make me laugh, little girl.” he barked, slowly nearing the wheelchair to your frozen figure. You swallowed hard, as fear clenched your stomach. You… you never found yourself in a situation like this. You always were on the backstage, thanks to your smart and quick brain you managed to enter the Squadra Informazioni… but this was totally different. Being on field was utterly terrifying.

“I’m not going to denounce you! I- I just want to know!” those words stopped him on his track. You wanted to know? What-

“Know what?” he looked around, his healthy eye darting from right to left, cautious and wary. He retired in the flat, leaving you space to enter, and you did so, following him and closing the door behind you. He didn’t fear to have you so near; on the contrary, the more you were near, the more it would have been easy to kill you in few seconds.

“About you and the Squadra. There’s so little about you all… “ you said, deciding that lying wouldn’t have brought anything good. Lying to an assassin was always a bad idea.

“More about me and the Squadra, uh? Such a strange girl…” he muttered, studying your movements, wary. You noticed that, even if he was blocked on a wheelchair, even if he seemed broken and weak, he was far from this. His body was tense, ready to attack. You suspected that he hid a knife, somewhere near his good hand.

He wasn’t someone to underestimate. Under that broken shell, he was still the assassin who hunted the nightmares of many other gangs.

“I work for Passione. But- I have no intention to reveal your location. I just want to know, for real. Nothing more.” you said, staring in his bright azure eye. He stared at you for few moments, serious and wary.

“Try to tell this to someone, and I’ll hunt you until you’ll be dust.” he said, deadly serious. You swallowed, quickly nodding: you knew he would have absolutely done it. He wasn’t one of empty promises.

“I’m not stupid.” you replied, with an annoyed tone to hide the fear that had clenched your guts. Prosciutto’s cold eye studied you for a little, before slowly nodding.

“Come here tomorrow at the same hour. We’ll talk.” he ordered, before weaving you off. You almost didn’t even register what was happening if not when you were already in the landing, his door again closed on your face. You huffed, marching back to your flat, trembling a bit from tension. It had been an… an interesting encounter…

But you went, the day after. And the one after, and so on, so on. Prosciutto was wary and suspicious, in the beginning. Of course, you thought: he was always on the run, he couldn’t be different. Still, he seemed also curious. He didn’t understand your utterly interest towards him and his team, without any double goal. You just wanted to know for the sake of knowledge.

Talking about his comrades was hard. Guilt still gripped his heart, an obvious grief was still all on him and it showed when he talked about them, even if his tone was mostly plain and neutral. Still, you weren’t stupid. You saw the pain in his traits.

Slowly, as days, weeks, months passed by, Prosciutto started to relax, around you. Maybe he was starting to trust you, after so much time. Maybe his loneliness was becoming too overwhelming and, as human, he needed some company. No man was made to live alone, all in all.

But, as he started to open up to you, he finally noticed how you acted. Because you weren’t immune to his innate charisma and charm. He emanated an incredible energy, even if his body was broken. His experience was incredible, his stories amazing. Gruesome, gory, but amazing. He was smart, intelligent. Almost without noticing, you started to flirt with him, brushing your fingers on his, softly staring at his face, using a sweeter tone, winking at him. Just when he felt safer around you he started to notice these gestures and, oh, they made him feel so flustered.

He wasn’t used to it anymore, even if, a life ago, he was the most coveted in all the city. Everyone seemed to want to have a certain dance with him and he didn’t deny it, with his usual charming smirk. But, after the accident… people watched him with pity. Oh, poor man, they thought. What a terrible accident. He didn’t want their pity, he hated it. He just wanted to be considered normal, as before the fight. And you did so.

He never saw pity in your eyes, just sincere interest. Even admiration. You didn’t see the broken man on a wheelchair, without an eye… you saw him for who he was. And, slowly, when he felt more comfortable with you around, he started to flirt back.

What were just barely brushes became touches. Flirts grew heavier and heavier, to the point that, one night, after the usual couple of hours of stories and heavy flirts, you found yourself on his lap, your hands sunk in his short blond hair and your lips on his. His hands were gripping your hips, keeping you in place, as his teeth and mouth and tongue reclaimed you, after so much time of patient waiting and hunger.

You hissed, as his teeth grazed your neck and jaw, nibbling and sucking, while his hands made their way under your shirt. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to go on. And so you kept him near, your nails scratched his back and nape, tearing soft moans that went to fuel the hot pool that was growing in your low abdomen. His lips made their way to your collarbone, biting and licking, before going back to your lips, assaulting them with a deep and almost bruising kiss. You opened a little your eyes, seeing your reflection in that marine azure, feeling… good. For once you didn’t fear judgment or guilt.

Now there were just him and you in his little flat and all the world was closed behind the door.

#jjba #vento aureo #la squadra di esecuzione #prosciutto #fem smart gangster #fem s/o #kinda #post vento aureo #scenario #sfw #giogio-xp

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years ago

Text

EL AMOR TODO LO PUEDE Chapter 25: You’ve Got A Friend

Source: @turnswithus

Chapters 1-20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24

The morning was clear and beautiful, which meant it was likely to be another steamy New York summer day. Laura sat in a deep reading chair, legs pulled up to her chest, wearing a white terry-cloth robe. Her bed hair gave evidence that she hadn’t been up for long. She stared out the window, absently holding a cup of coffee, lost in thought. Peter came out from the bedroom, shirtless and wearing track pants, his hair sticking out in several directions. He poured himself a cup of coffee. From behind the kitchen counter, he looked at Laura for a long moment.

“Let me guess. You’re enjoying a nice, steaming cup of self-reproach this morning.” He came over to slouch down on the chair facing hers by the window.

Her mouth twisted and she gave a short, silent chuckle in acknowledgment, but kept looking out the window.

“You’re telling yourself what a terrible person you are, taking advantage of poor, innocent me.”

She looked into her cup and gave a short sigh. “Something like that.”

He took a drink of coffee and smiled. “You didn’t use to be such a sucker.”

For the first time, she looked directly at him over her coffee cup, cocking an eyebrow.

“You might be surprised to learn that I have a will of my own.” A devilish look came into his eyes. “You don’t really think you seduced me, do you?”

She blinked. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you have nothing to feel guilty about, Sunshine. It’s not going to work for us long-term, I get that. But you know how I feel about you. I love you. So when you said you were upset, I invited you over hoping things would turn out just the way they did. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

She sat studying him, her coffee cup halfway to her mouth, forgotten. She had not considered that, and was unsure how to take it. But she also felt a sense of dawning relief. “Huh.”

He put down his cup and slid from his chair to kneel in front of her. She was spellbound by the slow, seductive way he moved, especially when he took her cup from her hands and set it down on a table, looking into her eyes the whole time. He took her into his arms, pulling her to him. He tilted his head and leaned toward her. Just as their lips were about to make contact, he growled, “I’m no angel.”

As he kissed her, he pulled her from the chair she sat on, laying her on the floor in the block of sunshine streaming in from the window and gently slipped the robe from her shoulders.

********

The day had turned out to be so quiet that the squad had the opportunity to catch up on the paperwork that never seemed to end. It was late summer, so everyone but Laura and Fin had left for the day, taking advantage of a rare opportunity to spend the lovely evening enjoying the weather. Noting that the pile of reports she had completed was approaching the size of the pile she still had left, Laura stretched her arms over her head, rotating her neck. She noticed movement near the door to the squad room. A tall, lovely, dark-haired woman in a bright red blouse and black slacks stood looking around anxiously.

Laura stood and went to her. “Hello, I’m Detective Laura Parker. How can I help you?”

“Oh,” the woman exclaimed. “You’re actually the one I came to see.”

“Oh? What can I do for you?” She wondered which of her cases this woman was connected to, or whether she was there to make a report of some kind.

“Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

“Of course. Please,” Laura said, leading the way to an interview room. She politely showed the woman to a seat and offered her a drink, which she declined. Laura sat across the table from her, letting the woman speak first.

“My name is Lucia Barba. I’m Rafael Barba’s mother.”

Laura gaped. “Oh! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Señora.” This was definitely strange. Why in the world would Barba’s mother be here at the station, and what could she want with Laura in particular?

“Please, call me Lucia.”

“And I’m Laura.”

“Laura. I… well, I know this is going to sound strange and hard to believe, but I’m here because I think Rafael needs help.”

“What kind of help?”

“I think someone’s threatening him. He won’t talk about it and he tries to hide it from me, but I know my son. Something is wrong.”

“May I ask, what made you ask for me?”

“Well, that’s a little hard to explain, too. A feeling, more than anything. The thing is, I know he’d kill me if I told Olivia Benson about this – you know, he’s… proud, and I think he’d feel like she would see him as weak if he asked her for help. I can’t really explain it, but I know he wouldn’t forgive me for that, even if he really is in trouble. But he mentions you. He likes you. He said that you live in his building, and something about you being hopeless at building furniture, and it… sounded to me like you might be someone he wouldn’t mind confiding in about this.”

Oh, Señora, you couldn’t be more wrong.

“Señora – “

“Lucia.”

“Lucia, I think you should know that I barely know your son. He and I do live in the same building, but I’ve only been here at SVU for a few months. I’m sure he’d confide in Lieutenant Benson before he’d confide in me.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” She patted Laura’s hand. What is this, some sort of Mom juju? You say it and it becomes true? Oh, this is awkward. “Rafael – if he was on fire, he’d make a joke about how warm it was, but he’d never ask anyone for help. Especially someone like Olivia. But someone like you… I don’t think he’d mind so much.”

I know for a fact I don’t want to know what ‘someone like me’ means.

“Lucia, I am definitely willing to help your son. If you’d like to tell me what’s going on, I will talk to him and offer whatever help I can. But I want to be clear. We barely know eachother, and… He’s pretty likely to refuse.”

“He’ll complain, but he won’t refuse. You’ll see.”

“Then please, tell me what’s going on.”

“As I said, I think he’s being threatened.”

“What makes you say that?”

“When he comes to see me, he gets calls, and when he sees who it is, he goes in another room. I hear him having angry conversations, yelling and swearing.”

“Opposing lawyer, maybe?”

“No, he takes those calls at the dinner table. And they don’t swear.”

“All right. Did you hear any words during these calls?”

“A lot of legal words. I know I heard ‘unethical’, ‘disbarred’, and ‘witness tampering’. There was also something about threats and murder.”

“Hmmm. What is it that makes you say that it’s Rafael who’s being threatened?”

“He’s afraid. These calls, they really shake him, and it’s fear. Anger, too, but mostly fear. He tries to hide it from me, but he’s scared.”

“Is there anything else that makes you concerned?”

“He’s not himself, Laura. He’s stressed, he’s angry all the time, he’s distracted.”

For over half an hour, Laura asked questions and developed more and more of a picture of what Lucia Barba was seeing. Laura didn’t have much experience of Rafael to compare to what his mother was describing, but it definitely sounded like something was wrong. And now that she thought about it, he had been particularly stiff and irritable lately. Even for him.

“Anything else out of the ordinary?”

“Well, there was this one strange thing. He got a call recently, and at first it was just a conversation with a judge.”

“How do you know it was a judge?”

“He called the person ‘judge’, and he was using his ‘judge’ voice – I can always tell when it’s a judge, most other people he’s more mouthy with.”

Laura grinned.

“But then, the conversation got tense. And pretty soon he left the room, and I heard the same kind of conversation – the swearing and arguing.”

Now Laura was troubled. “Swearing and arguing with a judge?”

“Yes. I’m sure of it.”

“Lucia, If you’re right about a judge being involved, that would be a very big deal. I think we should call in Lieutenant Benson.”

“No! He’d never speak to me again. That’s why I came to you. If I’m wrong, or… Just… talk to him. Ask him. He won’t talk to me about it.”

Laura was concerned, and not sure what to do. She and Barba really didn’t know eachother. He was the A.D.A. assigned to SVU while she was no one - the newest detective on the squad. Besides the fact that, despite Lucia Barba’s impression to the contrary, he didn’t like Laura. He made that plain on a daily basis with his standoffishness.

This was really something Liv should handle. But Señora Barba was very persuasive, and Laura liked her. She could also tell Rafael’s mother was a professional woman with her own life who didn’t make a habit of worrying over her son. And she was sure Señora Barba was right about Rafael not wanting Liv or the whole squad to know if he had a problem. Laura felt trapped. She found herself saying, “Ok. I’ll talk to him. I don’t know if he’ll talk to me, but I’ll try.”

******

“Mr. Barba? Detective Parker is here.” Carmen stood in the doorway to Rafael’s office.

Rafael looked up suddenly, his brow furrowed. “Send her in.”

Laura walked in and stood uncomfortably.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” He waved a hand at the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Laura perched on the edge of one of the chairs before Barba’s desk. She didn’t speak for a few seconds.

“Yeah, this is awkward,” she began, laughing nervously. Barba just looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

“So, you and me, we’ve known eachother for about five minutes. And you’re… you, and I’m the FNG on the squad. But here we are.”

“Detective, if you have a problem, I need to remind you that I’m not your lawyer. I can’t represent you.”

“This isn’t about me, Mr. Barba. It’s about you.”

“OK…” he replied, looking confused.

“Look, I’ve been thinking about how to do this, and I think it’s best if you just listen to me for two minutes, and don’t say anything. Then I walk out of here and you decide where to take it from there. Can you agree to that?”

Rafael looked intensely at Laura for a moment. She felt like she was getting an X-ray. She decided she never wanted to be cross-examined by him. He shrugged agreement and sat back in his chair.

“Your mother came to the station to see me. She’s very concerned about you.” Laura told him what Señora Barba had told her. His initial reaction was fairly acute irritation that his mother had spoken to her about him. Soon, however, he began to really listen, not concealing his concern as well as he hoped he was. Laura saw what Barba’s mother had been talking about. She was right. He was in some kind of trouble.

“So. Here’s what I came to say. If you have a problem, I will help you if I can. I’m new here, and I’m new to you, but I know what I’m doing. I have your back, if you want me to.”

Laura got up and walked to the door. “I won’t bring this up again. To anyone. Next move’s yours.”

Barba didn’t say anything as she left.

*****

Three days later, Sonny Carisi stood in the middle of the squad room, a huge red and yellow super soaker water gun in his arms. His eyes crinkled with glee as he threatened Laura, Fin, and Amanda Rollins with it.

“Carisi, put the gun down,” Laura said, standing about ten feet in front of him while Fin and Amanda sat at their desks. They were all smiling.

“Oh, that’s not gonna happen. The only question is, who gets it?”

“Carisi, you’re a child,” Amanda said, dropping her head into her hands. “This is the person who’s supposed to save my ass in a crunch,” she moaned.

Laura stepped closer to Carisi.

“You want some of this?” He asked, menacing her with the squirt gun.

“You squirt me with that, my revenge will be swift and severe..”

“Yeah, yeah… Big talk from someone about to get drenched!” He took a step toward her, waving the water gun around.

Fin sat at his desk, a huge smile on his face, but pretended to be annoyed. “You people got nothing better to do than play with fake weapons when we got humps with real ones to catch?”

Carisi looked over at fin, laughing. Suddenly, without warning, Laura closed the distance between herself and Carisi and, moving too fast for Fin’s or Amanda’s eyes to follow, grabbed the barrel of the water gun and twisted it out of Carisi’s hands. When she stopped moving, Laura was the one holding the gun, aimed directly at Carisi. His stunned, confused look was priceless.

“You want some of this?” She mocked.

“What… how’d you do that?”

“Hey, can you teach me to do that?” Fin asked.

“No,” Laura laughed, “But I know someone who can.”

“How long you been practicin’ that?”

“A while. I just learned it ‘cuz it’s cool. Now that I have my blue belt, I can start to learn it for real, but it’s more for show than anything. Not really practical in the real world.”

At that moment, Barba walked into the squad room, having watched them playing with the water gun from the safety of the doorway. The detectives muttered greetings as Laura handed Carisi the water gun and they both returned to their desks. Barba strode to the door of Olivia’s office and looked in, knocking quietly on the doorframe. She waved him in.

The detectives returned to the work they’d been doing before Carisi came in with the water gun.

Fifteen minutes or so later, Benson’s and Barba’s voices caused them all to look up briefly as she walked him out of her office.

“Hey, guys, why don’t you knock off for tonight,” she called to the group, turning to go back to her desk.

With a dark look, Barba stepped over to Laura and muttered, “I’m heading home if you want a ride.”

She tried to hide her surprise, pretending not to see Fin’s raised eyebrows as she quietly agreed. “Sure. Thanks.”

As they rode the elevator to the underground parking below the station, and for much of the drive, conversation was sparse and superficial. For the most part, Laura made a few remarks about nothing and Barba grunted or responded in monosyllables. She knew she was waiting him out; everything about him told her he hadn’t just stopped by the station to chat briefly with Olivia, and hadn’t just casually offered her a ride. So she wasn’t surprised when he drove past the cross street for their building. She looked over at him, but neither said anything until he turned into a city-owned complex of baseball fields used for Little League and amateur softball leagues. He found a parking spot and turned off the car.

“Let’s walk,” was all he said.

She got out and walked with him toward a brightly-lit field where overweight and out of shape office workers were having a great time playing a feeble game of softball. The nurse in Laura noted that Barba’s gait was off. He leaned noticeably to one side and seemed to be favoring one leg.

“I think my car might be bugged. I know my office is,” he began. She didn’t respond.

“There’s a very ugly case involving some very nasty people. And those very nasty people don’t want a trial. The witnesses are under lock and key, and these people want me to tell them where they are. They’re not looking to send flowers.”

Barba led Parker to a set of bleachers and they sat together watching the game, too far from the other spectators to be overheard. The spectators were enjoying themselves and their beer too much to pay any attention, anyway. As they sat watching the softball game, Barba explained in detail the unbearable pressure he was under to provide the witness’ locations and derail the prosecution. The pressure was made worse by the fact that it was coming from a judge whom he had previously respected and liked. He was appalled to learn that the guy was merrily raking in huge amounts of money to throw cases brought against a particular criminal enterprise. Worse, he was genuinely afraid that the group would carry out the hideous physical threats the judge had passed on to him.

They had already begun. He had been attacked in the parking garage near the courthouse the night before, when two massive goons had used their bare fists to rain punches on his torso and limbs, where the bruises would be covered by his suit. He couldn’t go to the police, because they had told him there were several cops on their payroll. Barba believed them.

Rafael was cornered. After the beating, his options had narrowed considerably. He could give in to the judge’s demands, thereby assuring the deaths of three witnesses and the dismissal of a host of righteous charges against a group of thugs. He could throw the case and be responsible for whatever the group would do next, not to mention the possibility of disbarment or even prison. He could be gruesomely killed himself. Or he could take the whisper-thin thread of hope Parker had offered him. He didn’t think she could do anything for him. But he had decided that, at the very least, it would be good to just talk to someone about what he was enduring. He could lessen the burden at least that much.

Laura was intently watching the players on the field. Barba could almost hear the machinery of her mind clinking as she processed what he had told her. Three batters struck out in the time she sat silently. She finally turned to him as the teams switched sides.

“How long do you have?”

Barba closed his eyes and huffed. “They’re already getting physical. I figure maybe one more ass-kicking and then they’ll just kill me. I cannot believe I actually just uttered that sentence in complete sincerity.”

“Then we need to buy some time. This information they want, is it in your office?”

“No.”

“Good. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” For the moment, her only thought was to keep him safe until they could come up with a plan to get him out of the situation alive and employed.

Rafael dropped his car off at the station house and Laura signed out an unmarked car. If they were tracking his car, the trail would end there. They went to Barba’s apartment, where he packed a few days’ worth of clothes and things. It seemed likely that he would get another visit from the goons tonight. Hopefully they’d think he was at the station, but even if they were waiting for him at the apartment building, Laura doubted they would attack him with her there. Wherever the goons were, neither Rafael nor Laura saw them, and they didn’t risk trying to get to him. When he had what he needed, they drove to a huge, high-rise hotel – the better to blend in with the crowd - and Laura made sure he got safely to his room.

Barba’s mood ricocheted between fear, anger, and shame. He was beginning to think he might see a faint glint of hope somewhere in the distance, just because Parker seemed so confident they would figure out how to untangle him from this situation. But even that sat bitterly with him – how pathetic was he that he had no choice but to beg this rookie detective he had just met to get his ass out of a sling? He was a bit relieved when she left to go back home.

They didn’t end up needing the time they’d bought stashing Barba at the hotel. Late the following morning, his stomach lurched when he saw Parker’s name come up on his cell. “Mr. Barba, I want you to get the stuff together. The names, pictures, addresses, everything they want.”

“You’re not suggesting I give it to them. They’ll kill these people.”

“Not gonna happen. You need to trust me now. Just lay low until I get there. Did Carmen cancel your court appearances?”

“I only had one, and someone took it for me. I haven’t left this room all day.”

“Don’t. I’ll be there sometime later. I don’t know when.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Better than that. Trust me. Can you do that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Sure. Several of them. But the others suck.”

Barba sighed a string of Spanish expletives.

“Wow. That was impressive. Will you teach me that?” There was actually a smile in Parker’s voice.

“No.”

She actually chuckled as she hung up. Either she was a sadistic witch enjoying his torment, or she really did have a plan she expected to work.

At seven that evening, Laura knocked softly on the door of Barba’s hotel room. He let her in, looking haggard and wired on caffeine.

“I need you to make a phone call,” she told him.

“Who am I calling? What’s this plan of yours?”

“Mr. Barba, you’re gonna hate me for this, but I can’t tell you. I just need you to do what I ask.”

He frowned and made a disgusted noise. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Please. You need to trust me. I’ll explain everything, but for now, just do it.”

He spewed a couple more Spanish vulgarities. “Fine. Who am I calling?”

“Judge Renseau. He tried to set up a meeting before. Tell him you’ll meet him at the same place tomorrow at eleven a.m. to deliver what he wants.”

“And I’ve had this miraculous conversion why?”

“Because you’ve decided to go to the Dark Side. You’ll give him what he wants for $50,000.”

“What? Are you insane? I’ll lose my license! I’ll go to prison! What the hell kind of ridiculous –“

“Barba.” Her voice was loud and authoritative. He stopped speaking almost against his will.

“Make the call. I got you. Just do it.”

He did.

The following day was filled with gorgeous summer sunshine with a light breeze. Rafael found himself walking on wobbly legs through the open garage door into a small mechanic’s shop. There was no car in the bay, but three men – one of them Judge Renseau – stood waiting for him near the back wall. All wore suits, but the two apparent bodyguards flanking the judge wore theirs so badly the suits looked like they’d been purposely made with the wrong proportions.

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, Counselor.” The judge had a smooth, oily voice and seemed quite amused at the situation. “And I’m actually pleased you’re getting something out of this. I think you’ll see working with us is far more lucrative, and less painful, than working against us.”

“Whatever,” Rafael sneered. “Let’s do this. You have the cash?”

One of the bodyguards opened a manila envelope he held and showed Rafael a stack of bills. “Hand over the stuff,” he grunted, his pronunciation pure Jersey shore.

Rafael lifted the envelope he was carrying toward the judge, who moved to take it. However, at the same time, the other bodyguard reached into his jacket.

“Don’t!” Came a loud female voice from behind Rafael. All eyes turned to see Laura aiming her Glock at the bodyguard.

“Who the hell are you?” The judge’s tone was suddenly as Jersey as his friend’s.

Laura didn’t answer, but remained still.

“She’s with me,” Rafael answered, just a hint of his usual snark coloring his voice. In a corner of her mind, Laura was impressed that he could be so cool given the situation, and that he hadn’t known she was there.

“I’m sure there’s no need for a weapon,” the judge began, trying to recover his sophisticated veneer.

“So am I,” Laura said. “So get that hand back out of your jacket, Sparky.”

The bodyguard who had reached into his jacket pulled his hand out and held it up.

“Now,” Laura continued. “Mr. Barba has something you want, you have something he wants. Just do what you came for. No need for things to get sporty.”

With a venomous look at Laura, the judge took the envelope from his bodyguard and handed it to Rafael, taking his envelope at the same time.

Without taking her eyes off the judge and his friends, Laura murmured, “Señor Barba, pase por aquí.”[1]

Rafael did as she asked, mostly because he was glad someone other than him was making decisions.

“Detrás de mí,”[2] she ordered softly, taking her left hand from under her gun hand and guiding him behind her. She then lifted the hand to her mouth.

“Go, Go, Go,” she announced calmly into her sleeve.

Armed, vested cops poured into the little garage from behind Rafael and Laura, from a door behind the judge and his bodyguards, and from a side door Rafael hadn’t even noticed. Laura pulled her gun up so that it aimed at the ceiling as she was backing Rafael away from the action, keeping between him and danger. In moments, they had disarmed and cuffed the judge and his cronies.

Laura holstered her weapon and turned to Rafael. “You OK?” She put a hand on his arm.

“I… Yeah.” He stared at the scene, bewildered. “I thought you weren’t going to tell anyone about this.”

Laura smiled brightly. “I didn’t. They called me. These guys are from the gang unit and that – “ she pointed behind and to the side of Rafael. “Is their newest confidential informant.”

Rafael’s mother stood smiling at two beefy officers with tatoo sleeves and serious weapons. Her expression was as if she had just conducted the entire operation herself.

“No. No, that’s… No – “

Laura put a hand on his chest to stop him from storming over to his mother. “Relax. She’s fine. They’re crazy about her. Apparently, you have a cousin in this unit?”

“Holy shit. Ramón. I didn’t even think of him.”

“You were a little preoccupied. Anyway, he called me yesterday. Your Mami leaves nothing to chance. She tracked him down and told him what she told me. Turns out your friend the judge is well known to the Organized Crime Unit. They were about ready to roll up the whole enterprise, so they jumped at the chance for a sting. They’re arresting guys all over town right now. Ramón talked them into letting Gangs make this bust, invited me to tag along, and here we are.”

“You could have told me,” Rafael groaned, beginning to accept that this was all really happening.

“I’m sorry. We needed you scared. We couldn’t take the chance Renseau would catch on and set a trap for you.” She really did sound apologetic and put a hand on his arm again. “I know it’s been rough. It’s over now.”

A wiry Hispanic man about Rafael’s age stepped over to where they were standing. “Rafael,” he said, smiling.

The two men embraced.

“What the hell did you get yourself into, tonto?”[3] His tone was teasing, as though Barba’s situation had been a game or an inconvenience.

Rafael didn’t respond other than to swear under his breath.

“OK, OK, socio,[4] let’s get your statement and you can go back to your nice, clean world aboveground.” He turned to Laura. “You’ll fill out a report, ¿no?”

She grimaced. “Can’t. My Lieutenant would see it. I need to be just a witness on this one. I’ll give you a statement…”

“You pulled your weapon.”

“Look, I know, but I’m sort of freelancing on this.” She inclined her head to indicate Barba. “We’d both like to keep this from getting back to our unit. Can you cut me some slack here?”

“All right, I think I can get my Sergeant to look the other way if you’ll give us a witness statement. And if you’ll have a drink with me.”

“Done.”

Rafael blinked in consternation as his cousin hit on Detective Parker, apparently successfully. It seemed disquieting, although he told himself it was no more bizarre than anything else that had happened to him in the last couple of days.

*****

Laura opened her apartment door to find Rafael standing in her hallway, hands in pockets, shuffling from foot to foot. There was something in his face she’d never seen before.

“Mr. Barba,” she said, eyebrows raised.

“I need to thank you,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes. “You saved my life, and my career, and my reputation, and my ass... I owe you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied.

“Thanks for that, too. Everybody’s talking about the busts, but ass far as I can tell, nobody at SVU knows we had anything to do with any of it.”

Laura stood with one hand on the doorjamb and the other on the knob, waiting for him to say the rest of what he’d come to say.

“Why’d you help me? You hardly know me.”

“We built Ikea furniture together. There’s a bond.”

The look on his face told her he wasn’t in a joking mood.

She shrugged, but her tone was serious. “You’re SVU. Someone messes with you, they mess with me.”

For a moment, he stood looking at the floor, brow furrowed, struggling with something. “You made me stand behind you. If he shot at me…” he finally said.

“I had a vest on. You didn’t. That’s how it works.”

He looked up at her with troubled eyes. “I don’t think I feel very good about you getting between me and a bullet.”

“That’s how it works,” she repeated.

He thought about that for a moment, then turned to go, muttering, “Thanks again.”

“There is something you could do for me, if you’re feeling grateful.”

He turned back around.

“I’m getting a little tired of ‘Detective’. My name is Laura. Do you think you could call me that, at least around here?”

His lips twisted slightly. “If you call me Rafael.”

“Deal.”

“Goodnight, Laura.”

“Goodnight, Rafael.”

[1] Mr. Barba, step over here.

[2] Behind me.

[3] stupid fool

[4] partner, associate, sidekick

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #rafael barba #raul esparza #sonny carisi #fin tutuola #amanda rollins #olivia benson

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years ago

Text

Eyestealer 11 - ao3 link

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama (mostly gen, hints of other relationships)

Summary: Hashirama really doesn’t approve of the thoughtful way his father looks at his younger brother’s bright red eyes. He’s sure it doesn’t mean anything good for anyone.

He’s right.

——————————————————————————————

“Captured by fake plants,” Hashirama says mournfully, looking with very real dismay at the sickly white vines with chakra suppressing seals drawn all over them wrapped around his wrists and elbows and shoulders and all the way down the rest of his body at approximately equivalent interludes. The underground cavern he fell into (was carried into? hard to tell if it's the same cavern at this point) is lined with the white not-plants, giving it a deceptively bright and open feeling. “Fake plants. Tobirama is never going to let me live this down.”

The black-void-vaguely-humanoid-thing that appears to be his captor suddenly gives a whole-body shiver and the blackness twists, transforming until it’s his own face looking back at him.

It's a pretty good imitation, actually; you can't see anything left over from the black-thing it was before.

“You assume you’re going to live, then?” it asks with Hashirama’s own voice. It sounds amused.

“Of course,” Hashirama says, like the contrary asshole he turns into any time he’s being condescended to. There’s a reason he’s given very strict scripts to recite verbatim anytime he’s in the presence of daimyo, accompanied by many, many threats, and he sometimes even listens and sticks to what he's been told to recite. Sometimes. “You don’t actually think that you can pretend to be me for very long, do you?”

Not-Hashirama smiles a nice big old smile that looks an awful lot like what Hashirama sees in the mirror. “I’ve replicated you down to the bones,” it says. “Every scar, every birthmark – even your chakra. Even your Mokuton.”

“Sure, sure,” Hashirama says dismissively, even though a chill runs up his back at the thought of some weird plant-thing having access to the full, deadly extent of his Mokuton. With any luck, it’s neither as creative nor as powerful as he is. “But what about my winning personality?”

Not-Hashirama continues to smile.

Hashirama smiles back.

They might have stayed at an impasse if there wasn’t a groan from the other corner of the cavern, and honestly Hashirama’s never been great at staring contests anyway so he turns to look.

“Izuna, you’re here too,” he says, puzzled.

“No shit,” Izuna says. He’s trussed up just like Hashirama is, except he looks worse: circles under his eyes, unhealthy tinge to the skin. He’s clearly been here a few days. “Be careful. That thing is tricky.”

The creature laughs, drawing Hashirama’s attention back to him, and then bisects itself down the middle – while still wearing Hashirama’s face, no less – until there are two Hashiramas, just like with Tobirama’s shadow clone technique.

“Mitosis!” Hashirama shouts.

The creature stops smiling and starts looking confused.

“What the fuck, Hashirama,” Izuna says pleasantly.

“Tobirama had a microbiological science phase,” Hashirama explains. “While we were working on improving healing techniques. I know most of what’s happening, but I usually forget what words go with what thing, but I remember that one!”

“How are you this much of an idiot?” Izuna moans. “You’re the Hokage of the village, the God of Shinobi, and you’re just – you’re so unbelievably dumb –”

Actually, Hashirama is just easily distracted, bad at starting things, tends to think of too many things at once, and has no verbal filter whatsoever, none of which have anything to do with how smart he is or isn’t, but since Hashirama does in fact consider himself to be something of an idiot (his brother is Tobirama, obviously he’s outclassed in the mental department) and also it pays to be underestimated in front of something that’s planning on imitating you to your closest family and friends, he just shrugs.

Also –

“I had nothing to do with the God of Shinobi nickname,” he says. “I just want to be clear on that. I don’t even know where it came from. It seems excessive.”

The not-Hashiramas snort, and one of them shivers and turns into a perfect copy of Izuna. “If it makes you feel better,” he drawls in Izuna’s snide tones, “I suspect you’ll have a different nickname after I’m done.”

Ooooh, is this the part where they get to find out the evil plan? Will there be monologuing?

“You’re going to stage a fight between Hashirama and me, resulting in one of our deaths,” Izuna says flatly. “Probably me, which will make Madara succumb to the family curse and go absolutely insane, making him kill you – or rather, kill Hashirama, that is, I assume you’ll sub out for the real thing at the last possible moment to leave the real Hashirama helpless – and that, in turn, will get Tobirama to kill Madara. Something like that?”

Izuna is such a spoilsport sometimes.

The not-Hashirama laughs and the not-Izuna smirks.

“Close,” not-Hashirama says cheerfully. “Your peace came too quickly, and despite my best efforts has not yet faltered, but I will make it fail. It will be just as you say, except Tobirama won’t succeed in killing your brother, of course, not even with that stolen Sharingan of his.”

Hashirama frowns.

“Oh, yes, I know all about that. I’d been wondering how you’d managed to make peace so quickly, even over my best efforts, but this…this is better than I could have hoped! A Sharingan among the Senju – that fits perfectly into my plans. All that’ll do is make him more susceptible to the Uchiha curse as well: a perfect tool. Two sides, both consumed with hatred…!”

Yeah, that sounds pretty bad.

“This will restart the war even better than before,” not-Hashirama says with a pretty good approximation of Hashirama’s own glee, except he’s never actually seen his face screwed up in evil laughter quite like that before. “And once I produce Izuna – his body, at least – to prove that it was all a set-up, all the clans of Konoha will unite against the Uchiha, forcing your brother to turn to…let’s say…drastic measures.”

The not-Izuna taps the corner of his left eye, smirking in a way that means nothing to Hashirama but judging by Izuna’s horrified expression means something to him, then adds, “Also, who says we’re going to kill you? Possession is much more effective – and we might need a replenishing source of Hashirama’s DNA if his brother proves insufficient.”

Hashirama really hopes they mean his blood or flesh, not, uh, other replenishing sources because, well, ew.

“You won’t get away with this,” Izuna says flatly.

“Why not?” not-Hashirama asks. “I have before. More times than you can imagine. I’ve infiltrated both clans time and time again, taking on multiple identities, lying in wait until the time is right –”

“Wait,” Hashirama says, unable to resist. “Are you saying – are you really saying –”

The not-Hashirama and not-Izuna smirk at him, smug and condescending and triumphant.

“- that you’re a plant?”

The way their faces fall is hilarious.

Izuna looks like he’s seriously considering bashing his head against a cavern wall right now.

In Hashirama’s defense, as a self-respecting Mokuton user, he had no choice but to go for the pun. There’s a saying, after all, about low-hanging fruit…

Heh.

The not-them recover quickly, though, glaring at Hashirama, and then head out, presumably to set up the utter destruction of everything Hashirama holds dear.

“So,” Hashirama says, a while after when he’s fairly sure they’re alone. “Is that eye-tapping thing some sort of implicit threat or something? I don’t know Uchiha sign language.”

“What? No, that – it’s not sign language. It’s a reference. To the stone tablet, the part about the Infinite Tsukuyomi.”

“The what now?”

Izuna slams his head backwards against the wall of the cave.

“Hey, I didn’t get to see your super special tablet! Your elders said I wasn’t allowed!”

“It’s not a…you wouldn’t have even be able to see…ugh. Never mind. It’s a bullshit legend anyway and Madara would never.”

Hashirama arches his eyebrows.

“…Madara would probably not.”

Hashirama waits. He loves Madara, he really does, but…

“Oh shit we really need to get out of here,” Izuna says with a groan.

“I’m open to suggestions on how,” Hashirama says dryly. “Ideally before we get embarrassingly rescued by my baby brother.”

“I’ve been here for three days and nobody noticed that I wasn’t the one who ‘left’,” Izuna says flatly. He sounds a little hurt by that. “What makes you think anyone will notice when he goes back as you?”

“To start with, leaving a note on Madara’s desk that says ‘gone on mission for interesting stuff don’t wait up’ is a lot more characteristic of you than me –”

“I think I actually did write that note,” Izuna groans. “Did he actually just re-use one of my old notes? This is terrible. I'm so ashamed.”

“– and anyway half the village reported someone sneaking out fairly ostentatiously, and there was obviously no henge involved, so we just assumed it was you. Clearly that’s a mistake and we’ll need to set up more official check-in and check-outs to avoid particularly sneaky infiltrators.”

“Oh, if we get back, I have plans,” Izuna says with all the savagery of a very offended head of village security that has identified a giant gap in his defenses. “But again, that still assumes we get back at all. Why do you think Tobirama will notice?”

“Because that thingamajig –”

“It calls itself Zetsu. Please use that. Have some dignity.”

“You Uchiha care too much about dignity,” Hashirama complains. “Who even cares?”

“Me,” Izuna says. “I care.”

(His lips are twitching, though. Uchiha love to look down their noses at ridiculous people, but they also tremendously enjoy watching their antics. And anyway, Izuna’s been stuck here for three days; he deserves to have a smile put on his face.)

“Fine, fine. Because Zetsu’s imitation of me is all wrong.”

Izuna arches his eyebrows. “It seemed pretty good to me. What was wrong with it?”

“He was happy.”

Izuna blinks. “…and?”

“I’m also happy,” Hashirama explains. “But it takes effort. There’s a difference. Tobirama’s a sensor; he’ll notice.”

That’s not quite the truth, or at least not all of it. Tobirama is indeed an amazing sensor and Hashirama hopes he’d notice just on that basis – he always notices when Hashirama’s doubling down on smiling, so it makes sense he’d notice it when it's an imposter – but regardless he has a trump card. Hashirama always briefly merges his chakra with Tobirama’s every time they’re in the same room together – an old holdover habit from when Tobirama was young and sickly and Hashirama was always trying to sneak him extra with nobody noticing.

Zetsu won’t know to do that, and if he does, it probably won’t have the same effect or feeling.

“And if he does notice, then what’s to stop Zetsu from coming back here and just murdering us both outright?” Izuna says.

“Mmm. An excellent point. We should definitely try to escape first.”

Izuna sighs. “Well, master of the Moktuon, can you do something about these vines?”

“They’re not real vines,” Hashirama says. “They’re fake plants. Plants would be ashamed to be associated with something like this. This is worse than a lawn, and I don’t say that lightly.”

Izuna gives him a strange look. “I thought Madara was joking when he said you had a thing about lawns. Apparently not.”

Hashirama decides to ignore him – clearly, no Uchiha will ever understand his pain in this matter – and tries reaching mentally for the forest.

For a few minutes there’s a lot of nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing –

“Wait, I think I’m feeling something,” he says.

Izuna sits up straight. “You are? What?”

“I don’t – I'm not sure. It doesn’t feel like plants – it feels more like –” He frowns. “Lightning?”

The entire cavern is lit up by a bright flash – not unlike the hiraishin, for that matter – and then something heavy lands on Hashirama.

It lands fairly badly.

“Owwwwww,” Hashirama moans, trying to curl up into a ball. At least he won’t have to worry about Zetsu getting his genetic material out that way, at least not until the bruises heal….

The source of the weight, a tall man with tricolored hair – black and white growing out of his skull, and plaits of bright red woven into them as they form a series of intricate braids – blinks down at him and frowns. “You’re not Tobirama.”

“No, he’s my brother. Who’re you?”

“Your – wait. Hashirama? You got tall! I mean, really tall; I thought Tobirama was joking!”

Hashirama blinks. While it’s true he was rather embarrassingly short for a while there in his childhood – Tobirama was nearly the same height as him for a while despite being three years younger – his teenage years had paid that back with interest. But only someone who knew him as a child would know to say that, and Hashirama doesn’t know anyone with black-white-red hair and braids; those are pretty distinctive, he’s sure he’d remember that.

In fact, the only person he knows who ever had both black and white hair was –

Wait.

No.

“Itama?!”

“Hold up,” Izuna says. “Senju Itama? I thought you said all your other brothers were dead – wait, no, don’t tell me Tobirama’s perfected that stupid bring-back-the-dead jutsu Madara has nightmares about –”

“It’s called Edo Tensei,” Itama says. “And it’s not stupid, just – probably unwise.”

Izuna makes a face. “Whatever. Just…tell me you’re not dead.”

“I’m not dead,” Itama says obediently.

“I said all my other brothers were gone,” Hashirama corrects. He feels slightly smug about being right that his baby brother would rescue them, though he concedes he was thinking of a different one. “Not dead. And officially it’s Uzumaki Itama now, not Senju…wait. Itama, aren’t you supposed to be in Uzushio right now? I’m pretty sure there’s another few years left on that fostering contract of yours before you’re allowed to come home.”

“Yeah, well, I saved Uzushio from being eaten by a giant whale – long story, don’t ask –”

“I’m asking,” Hashirama says immediately, fascinated. He wants to see a giant whale. That sounds awesome.

“– and anyway to cut to the chase I got permission to go out wherever I wanted,” Itama concludes, ignoring him. Why do Hashirama’s brothers always ignore him? So not fair. “So obviously the first thing I did was come to see Tobirama.” He frowns. “And got you instead. Are you wearing his clothing?”

Hashirama wiggles around to look at his back. That shade of dark blue suggested it probably wasn’t his. “…apparently so? I wasn’t paying attention to what I pulled out of the closet this morning.”

“Are you two still sharing a closet?” Itama says, exasperated. “You’re adults! What will you do when one of you gets married?”

“Get a bigger closet and try to avoid grabbing any kimonos?”

“Not to interrupt this beautiful sibling bonding moment and, might I say, truly wonderful opportunity for future blackmail,” Izuna says, his voice dry as dust, “but maybe you could get us out of these vines and then out of this cave before Zetsu destroys the entire village we’ve been working so hard on? Any time now?”

#senju hashirama #uchiha izuna #senju itama #my fic #eyestealer

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