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The Epic of Zektbach Website - Nyoah Notes - Note 97

冒険者諸君、ごきげんよう。私の名前はニョアである。実に久しぶりとなってしまったが、私は元気である！

Greetings, adventurers. My name is Nyoah.

It's been a long time since I've been here, but I'm fine!

ニッポンも色々な大変な事に見舞われて、冒険者諸君の中にも元気を失っている人も多いと思う。しかし、最も大事なのは今。今現在の瞬間を自分に悔いなく生きる事である。それは人間をはじめ生物の個体の未来は常に不確定であるからである。不確定な要素に巻き込まれた後、後悔しない為には常に現在を自分なりに大切に生きるという意識が大切である。過去や未来で無く、今にゃ。今現在を大事にして欲しいにゃ！

I know that many of you adventurers have lost your energy due to the many difficulties in Japan.

However, the most important thing is now. The most important thing is to live in the present moment without regret.

This is because the future of each individual creature, including human beings, is always uncertain.

In order not to have regrets after being caught up in uncertain factors, it is important to always be aware of living in the present in your own way.

Not in the past or the future, but in the present. I want you to cherish the present moment!

さて、『The Epic of Zektbach -Masinowa-』が君達の手に届いてから月日が経ったが沢山の感想を頂いて、私は大満足だにゃ！繰り返しになるが、マシノワの話はゼクトバッハ叙事詩でも重要な部分であるので諸君も考察を巡らし、アリア・テ・ラリアの謎を解き明かして欲しい。マシノワには非常に重要な鍵が２つ存在しているがまだまだアリア・テ・ラリアには驚くべき謎がある。今後に注目にゃ。

Well, it's been a while since "The Epic of Zektbach -Masinowa-" reached your hands.

I've gotten a lot of feedback, and I'm very happy with it!

Again, the story of Masinowa is an important part of the Epic of Zektbach.

I hope you will consider it and solve the mystery of Aria Te'Laria.

There are two very important keys in Masinowé.

There are still more mysteries to be discovered in Aria Te'Laria. Stay tuned.

ところで、先日ある冒険者よりこんな書簡を頂いた。

By the way, I received this letter from an adventurer the other day.

こんにちわインターネットという不思議な世界で「ツイッター」なるものがはやっているそうですが、zektbach殿はやっていらっしゃるのでしょうか? 公開しているのならばぜひ教えていただきたいです。 (冒険者kirikoより)

Hello there.

In the mysterious world of the Internet

I've heard that "Twitter" is becoming popular in the mysterious world of the Internet, and I'd like to know if you are using it, Zektbach.

If you do, I'd love to know about it.

(From Kiriko, an adventurer)

私もその不思議な世界を知っている。実は私もこの場所が不安定で非常に更新するのが難しいのでついったーにアリア・テ・ラリアから扉を開こうかと考えた事もあったが、冒険者諸君はどう思うかにゃ？その不思議な世界であれば、私はアリア・テ・ラリアの情報を君達にどんどん伝える事ができるかもしれない。諸君の意見を聞いて決めようと思っているにゃ！

I know that strange world too.

As a matter of fact, I find this place unstable and very difficult to update.

I've been thinking about opening the door from Aria Te'Laria on Twitter.

What do you think, adventurers? In this mysterious world, I might be able to share more information about Aria Te'Laria with you.

I'm going to listen to your opinions and decide!

さて、今日は久しぶりに君達の便りに答えていくにゃ！

Well, today is the first time in a long time that I'm answering your letters!

我輩は猫なのにゃ！ニョアとやら、我輩はいつも不思議に思っているのにゃ。地図にはガルキア大陸とエジ―ク大陸があるにゃが、ガルキア大陸の南は何なのにゃ？ファラリエンより南のあの、島というにはやや大きい島のことにゃ！ニョア殿の手記には他の大陸や島のことは書かれているにゃがあの島の事はまだ何も書かれていないのにゃ……！我輩が考えたところによると、あそこにはきっと素晴らしいカルカンがあるのもへ！！　たとえば……��輩の大好きな、ハトの丸焼き味とかにゃ……（ごくりというのは可愛いおふざけにゃ。あの島にはきっと我輩どころか世界中の学者も知らぬようなヒミツがあるに違いないのにゃ。知っているなら教えてほしいにゃ、お礼に我輩秘蔵のカルカンを幾つか進呈しようにゃ！　味はそちらのご自由に、にゃ！教えてくれなかったら最高級カルカンをニョア殿の前で食い散らしてやるにゃ。 (猫の吾輩より)

I am a cat!

Nyoa, I've always wondered about you.

The map shows the continents of Galukia and Eijeek, but what is south of Galukia?

I'm talking about that rather large island south of Fallarian!

Lord Nyoah's journal mentions other continents and islands, but nothing about that island yet. ......!

I'm sure there are some great whiskas there, too!　

For example, ...... my favorite, roasted pigeon flavor. ...... (gulp)

This is just a cute joke.

I'm sure there are secrets on that island that I, as well as other scholars around the world, don't know about.

If you know of any, please let me know, and I'll give you some of my treasured whiskas in return!　

You can taste them all you want.

If you don't tell me, I'll eat up your finest whiskas in front of Nyoah.

(From me, the cat)

まず第一に、アリア・テ・ラリアの中でハトの丸焼き味などと軽率に発言するのは控えた方が良いにゃ。アリア・テ・ラリアにはおそろしい地獄耳を持つおそろしい鳩が存在する事を忘れずに…。と、時すでに遅く君はもうアリア・テ・ラリアに存在しないかもしれないが…。質問の島の事だが、それはル��アビデの事かにゃ？ル・アビデにはこういう古の神話がある。種族を越えて仲むつまじかった２人の男女にある時妖精がささやき、２人は今までの仲の良さが嘘であったかのように豹変し、険悪な間柄になりそれによって多くの悲劇が生まれた、と。神話であるので、どこかのロマンチストが謎多きこの島に想いを馳せて創作した可能性が強いが確かに以前私がこの島をベルナデットと訪れた時、争いに使われたと思わせる謎めいた建造物が数多くあった。この神話の作者は恐らく、かつてこの島で２つの集��の対立があったことは確信していたのだろう。その争いを叙情的に神話として表現したのではないだろうか。しかし、残念ながらその争いが具体的にどういうものであったかは今や誰も知らないし、私も本格的にル・アビデを調査してみないと分からないにゃ。

First of all, it's best to refrain from making rash comments about the taste of roasted pigeons in Aria Te'Laria.

Remember that there are horrible pigeons with horrible hell ears in Aria Te'Laria....

And it may be too late for you to exist in Aria Te'Laria...

As for the island in question, is it L''Avide?

There is an ancient myth about L'Avide.

A fairy whispered to two men and two women who were on good terms with each other.

But one day, a fairy whispered to them, and they turned into bitter enemies, as if their friendship had never existed.

This led to a lot of tragedies.

Since it is a myth, there is a strong possibility that some romantics have created this story with their thoughts on this mysterious island.

It is true that when I visited this island with Bernadette, there were many mysterious structures that seemed to have been used for fighting.

The author of this myth was probably convinced that there had once been a conflict between two groups on the island, and expressed that conflict lyrically in his myth.

But unfortunately, no one knows what exactly the conflict was, and I won't know until I do some serious research on L'Avide.

こんにちは、ニョアさん。わたし、新たな世界を開拓したくて詩人になりましたの！ニョアさんにわたしの詩をきいてほしいの！あなたの瞳は～　らら～まるで石のように～　かったいわ～それはとってもね～　らら～　かったいの～あなたの唇は～　らら～まるでヘドグロピンのように～　あっかいわ～それはとってもね～　らら～　あっかいわ～あなたの肌は～　らら～まるで白樺の木の～　皮膚みたいね～それはとってもね～　らら～　皮膚みたいね～ ……ふふ、どう？婚約者には『鳥が空からぼろぼろと気絶して落ちてくるような歌だね』って誉めてくれたの。もう、とっても優しい人なのよ。　鳥も私の歌に聴き惚れて空から落ちてくるようだなんて……嬉しいわ。さ、本題なのよ。婚約者はそれと同時に『もっと勉強したら良くなるよ』って言ってくれたの。熱を出しながら言ってたのよ……心配だからたくさん歌ってきたわ！　今度ニョアさんにも聞かせてあげるわね、遠慮しなくていいのよ。　たっぷり歌ってあげるから。それでね、私、たくさん歌の勉強がしたいから、まずこの国で流行りの歌劇や音楽を教えてほしいの。 (詩人リーゼロッテより)

Hello, Nyoah.

I became a poet to explore a new world! I want you to listen to my poems!

I want you to listen to my poems!

Your eyes are as tough as stone!

They're very, very tough.

Your lips are like...

They're as warm as hedgropin

It's very, very warm.

Your skin~ la la

It's like the skin of a birch tree

Your skin is like the skin of a birch tree.

...... What do you think?

My fiancé complimented me on the song, saying, "It's like a bird falling from the sky in a faint.

He's such a sweet guy.　He is a very kind man.

I'm so happy to hear that the birds are listening to my song and falling from the sky.

Now let's get down to business.

At the same time, my fiancé said to me, "You'll get better if you study harder.

He said it while running a fever. ...... I've been singing a lot because I'm worried about you!　

I'll play it for you next time, Nyoah, don't be shy.　

Don't be shy, I'll sing a lot.

And I want to learn a lot of singing, so I want you to teach me about the popular operas and music in this country.

(From the poet Lieselotte)

君からは個性的なオーラというかなかなか独特の感性を感じるにゃ。もしかしたら将来アリア・テ・ラリアいちの詩人リーゼロッテと言われる日が来るかもしれない。さて、歌はアリア・テ・ラリアでも人々の生活と密接である。ノイグラード王国の多くの聖歌や労働から生まれる炭鉱歌や農業歌、酪農歌、町の人の生活の上で生まれた町人歌など地域と密接な歌が多い。多くの流行り歌は生活を楽しくしたり物事を効率よりおぼえる為に生まれた事が多い。それとは別に芸術都市のローゼンハイムでは若い音楽家が神話や伝説を題材とした叙情的な歌を数多く生み出している。有能な若い音楽家は王宮で演奏を披露したり、国から多くの援助を受けたりもしている。しかし、歌を人の心を扇動するという理由から国を乱すような曲を作る芸術家は厳しい処罰を受けているという暗部もある。流行り歌というのと意味が違うが、誰もが知っている歌といえばやはり『浄化の祈り』だにゃ。

You have a unique aura, or rather a unique sensibility.

Perhaps one day in the future you will be called the best poet of Aria Te'Laria, Lieselotte.

Now, songs are closely related to people's lives in Aria Te'Laria as well.

There are many songs that are close to the local community, such as the chants of the Kingdom of Noigllado, mining songs, agricultural songs, dairy songs, and the songs of the townspeople, which are born from their labor.

There are many songs that are close to the local community. Many of the popular songs were created to make life more enjoyable and to learn things more efficiently.

On the other hand, in Rosenheim, the city of art, young musicians have created many lyrical songs based on myths and legends.

The most talented young musicians perform at the royal court and receive a lot of support from the government.

However, there is a dark side to this, as artists who compose songs that disturb the country are severely punished for using them to incite people's hearts.

Although the meaning of a popular song is different from that of a popular song, the song that everyone knows is "Purification Prayer".

俺はス……デイビット。　普通の人間だ。猫にしては博識と名高いニョアに聞きたい事がある。どうやらそちらには、俺と同じく「蛇」を彷彿させる人物および組織があるようだな。俺の居た場所にも同じ「蛇」を名乗る者が俺を含め複数人居た。　俺達の関係は……語ると長いが、要約して簡単に言ってしまえば親戚関係にある。そちらの「蛇」達は関係性があるのだろうか？ついでにこれは未確認だが俺とよく似た声の者が居るという話を聞いたが……これは事実なのか。 ……ところで、そちらに段ボールはあるのだろうか？ (忍者デイビットより)

I'm Su ...... David.　I'm a normal human being.

I have a question for Nyoah, who is famously knowledgeable for a cat.

It seems that there is a person or organization out there who, like me, is reminiscent of the Snake.

There were several people who called themselves "snakes" where I was, including myself.　

Our relationship is a long story ......, but in a nutshell, we are related.

I wonder if the "snakes" over there are related?

In addition, I have heard that there is a person with a voice similar to mine, although this is unconfirmed. ...... Is this true?

...... By the way, do you have any cardboard over there?

(From Ninja David)

蛇は一匹でいい、ビックボスは一人で十分だ！ …とは言っても、蛇を彷彿させる者が多くいるのも事実にゃ。蛇神人のギジリ、サザラギ団、アギオナ機関もそうだ。空舟の遺跡にも蛇を彷彿させる紋章が存在するといわれる。話が少しそれるが、人は何故昔から蛇を崇拝もしくは、邪悪の象徴とするのか。蛇は西洋では主に諸悪の根源とされ、ニホンでは古代の女性蛇巫の存在が示すようにあらゆる祭事の根源となっている。他の動物と明らかに違う形状を持つという事もあるが、面白い解釈を１つ紹介する。

One snake is enough, one big boss is enough!

...However, it is true that many people are reminiscent of snakes.

...But it is true that there are many people who remind me of snakes, such as the snake goddesses Gijiri, Sazaragi, and the Agiona Agency.

It is said that there are also emblems reminiscent of snakes in the ruins of the sky ship.

This is a bit of a digression, but why do people worship snakes or consider them to be a symbol of evil?

In the West, snakes are mainly regarded as the root of all evil, while in Japan, they are the source of all rituals, as shown by the existence of ancient female snake handlers.

The snake's shape is clearly different from that of other animals, but here is one interesting interpretation.

カール・セーガンという人物が著書の中で『人類は生物進化の最終段階にいるが、そうした人間の脳の中には当然その進化途上の各段階の生物であった時の部分もくみ込まれている。つまりR複合体とよばれる脳の一番奥の部分は恐竜の脳の働きをしている。つまりそれは人間の脳の中には明らかに恐竜という古代生物が生きているという事である。』と言っている。もしかすると蛇その他の爬虫類に対して人類が懐き続けていた崇拝と嫌悪、あるいは畏怖は、我々の脳の最奥部に潜む恐竜に由来するのだろうか。それは人類の遠祖であると同時にもっとも恐ろしい敵でもあった。蛇に対する感情は、一種の先天的反応とも考えられるかもしれない。

In his book, Carl Sagan writes, "Humans are in the final stage of biological evolution, but our brains naturally contain parts of the organisms that were present at each stage of evolution.

In other words, the deepest part of the brain, called the R-complex, functions like the brain of a dinosaur, which means that an ancient creature called a dinosaur is clearly alive in the human brain."

Perhaps the adoration, disgust, or awe that we have always felt for snakes and other reptiles may have been born in the deepest part of our brains.

They were not only our distant ancestors, but also our most fearsome enemies.

Our feelings toward snakes could be considered a kind of inborn reaction.

君がよく好んで使う段ボールは、アリア・テ・ラリアには存在しないが何故かZektbachが数多く所有していたと思うにゃ。以前、何に使うか問うたところ、一言『ん、これか？見ての通り寝床じゃよ。』と言っていたにゃ。

The cardboard you are so fond of using does not exist in Aria Te'Laria, though.

For some reason, I think Zektbach had a lot of it.

When I asked him once what he used it for, he said

"Hmm, this? As you can see, it's a bed.

As you can see, it's a bed.

ヨア・・・最近見かけませんね・・・。この人は重要人物ですか？資料集にも載ってないものでよくわかりません・・・。 (詩人ぽっぽちゃんより)

Joah... I haven't seen him lately...

Is he an important person?

I don't know... I can't find him in any reference books.

(From Poet Poppo-chan)

重要人物であるがゆえ、なかなか姿を出さないのだ。姿をあらわさないから、色々臆測によりいじられるのだ。君達が思っているヨア像、きっとそれは間違っている。

Because he is an important person, he does not show himself easily.

Because he doesn't show himself, he is tormented by many speculations.

The image of Joah that you have in your mind is probably wrong.

ニョア殿！「オリエンタル樽味噌ロジー」とは一体何なのでしょう。トンカツにかけると美味しいアレのことですか？気になって昼しか眠れません。 (猫のみっきぃより)

Mister Nyoah!

What exactly is "Oriental Barrel Miso Logistics"?

Is it the stuff that tastes good on pork cutlets? I'm so curious, I can only sleep in the afternoon.

(From Mikki the cat)

そんな味噌知らないし、いらないにゃ。昼寝してないでちゃんと勉強するにゃ。

I don't know anything about miso, and I don't need it.

Don't take a nap, study properly.

自分は様々な世界を旅している者である。アポカリプスと蛇神について質問したい。上記の２つを直訳するとアポカリプスは「黙示録」蛇神は「ゾンビ」・・・・となるのだが Zektbach殿、このまま理解して良いのか？ (魔道士ゆさより)

I am a traveler of many worlds.

I have a question about Apocalypse and Snake God.

Apocalypse is "apocalypse" and snake god is "zombie".

It would be ・・・・.

Lord Zektbach, am I understanding you correctly?

(From Yusa the Mage)

だめにゃ。

No, no, no.

ニョアさんの尻尾を上、上、下、下、左、右、左、右の順で引っ張ったあと、耳、ヒゲの順に引っ張ると、何か起きますか？ (元老院ゴランノス・ポンサーより)

If I pull Nyoa's tail in the following order: up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, then ears, then whiskers, will anything happen? (From Senate Goranos Ponsor)

ああ、起きるとも！！私の華麗なる剣舞により、君に身に大いなる危険がにゃッ！！！

Yes, you will!

You are in grave danger from my magnificent sword dance!

こんにちはゼクトバッハさんニョアさん。ゼクトバッハさんの作り上げるこの幻想的で魅力的な世界にどっぷり嵌まり結構経ちました。当初数学が大嫌いだった私ですが、2章の影響で数学を頑張って理解してみようと思い、とりあえず数に心を開いてみたらとてつもなく面白い事に気づき、今では数学がすっかり大好きになりました。他にも哲学や語学に歴史、神話などを勉強する度アリア・テ・ラリアとの共通点などを見出し、よりその世界に興味がわき、考察に使うためにも知識が深まっていきました。支離滅裂でまどろっこしい文になってしまいましたが、簡潔に言えば「知識を広めるきっかけを下さってありがとうございました」です。これからも自由にちまちま勉強しながらも考察を続けていきたいと思います。 (冒険者いかより)

Hello Mr. Zektbach, Mr. Nyoah.

It's been quite a while since I was immersed in this fantastic and fascinating world that Mr. Zektbach has created.

At first, I hated mathematics, but under the influence of chapter 2, I decided to try my best to understand mathematics.

When I opened my mind to numbers, I realized that it was incredibly interesting, and now I love mathematics.

The more I studied philosophy, languages, history, mythology, etc., the more I found similarities with Aria Te Raria, and the more interested I became in the world.

This is an incoherent and muddled sentence, but to put it simply,

Thank you for the opportunity to expand my knowledge. I'd like to continue studying and thinking freely.

(From Ika the Adventurer)

非常に嬉しい言葉である。ありがたいにゃ。 Zektbachが何故吟遊しているか、それは君のように様々な物事に興味を持つきっかけでありたいと考えている事が大きいのである。一��とっつきにくい難しい学問であっても、幻想的で魅力的に表現すれば興味を持てると私とZektbachは確信している。だから、君が書いてくれたような書簡が届く事はとても嬉しい事にゃ！

I'm very happy to hear that. Thank you very much.

The reason why Zektbach is a bard is that he wants to be a catalyst for people like you to become interested in various things.

Zektbach and I are convinced that even seemingly difficult disciplines can be interesting if they are presented in a fantastic and appealing way.

So it is a great pleasure to receive a letter like the one you wrote!

はじめまして。踊り子のたけのです。以後、お見お知りを。単刀直入に聞きます。星の民は男ですか？女ですか？それとも、男をも女をも超えた存在ですか？ (踊り子たけのより)

Nice to meet you. I'm Takeno, a dancer.

I'm going to ask you a straightforward question. Are the Star People male or female?

Or are they more than just men and women?

(From the dancer, Takeno)

意味合いが異なるが、チキュウの遺伝生物学の書物でこんな事が書かれている。

The meaning is different, but this is what is written in Chikyu's book on genetic biology.

ニゴロブナという魚はメスの個体しかおらず、オスの精子無しに卵がかえる。生まれた幼魚はすべてメスとなり、世代が未来へ引き継がれてゆく事が確認されている。哺乳類でさえ本当は性がなくても子孫が残せる。

The fish called Nigorobuna is only female, and its eggs are born without male sperm.

It has been confirmed that all larvae born are female, and the generation is passed on to the future.

Even mammals don't really need to have sex to have offspring.

さて、これは研究者つまり人類からの視点の文章である。これは外側からの視点、メタ視点なわけである。メスの個体しかいないニゴロブナの立場で考えると、ニゴロブナは『我々に性別があるブナ！』と言うだろうか？つまりそういうことにゃ。

Now, this is a text from the point of view of a researcher, or a human being.

This is a meta-perspective, a perspective from the outside.

If you think about it from the point of view of a nigorobuna, which only has female individuals.

Would they say, "We have sex, beech! Would they say, "We are genderless beech!"

That's what I'm talking about.

では、今回はこの辺でさらばにゃ！

Well, that's it for this time, goodbye!

ニョアの手記 97 - Nyoah's Notes 97

2011.06.17

#Zektbach #The Epic of Zektbach #Bernadette #L'avide #Purification prayer #Noigllado #Kingdom of Noigllado

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stories-by-rie · 4 years

Text

87 Rooftops

Glenn Finlay van der Meer had always dreamt of becoming the boss of a shady crime organization ever since he had been a young child. When everyone else was aspiring to become a veterinarian or astronaut, he had already committed to lay out plans and schemes to overthrow the economy, because – as he once explained on the school’s play ground to the nine friends he tried to recruit – the only true rule over the world would be through marketing and catching jingles.

One of those kids, Sibylle, had put her hands on her hips and yelled at him that he was a brat and that she would quit their friendship at that very moment if he didn’t stop speaking about it. At her brave words, the other eight kids felt infected with her heroism and joined her, as kids at such a young age often did.

Now, he hadn’t been successful in winning those friends over, but at the age of only seventeen he had managed to pitch the concept for several products that were especially designed to make people’s lives a living hell. The first was a dust wiper which looked useful, but you actually had to purchase new pads for it very frequently, and now it was popular all around the world. This had been his first step to world dominance and by the age of twenty four he had become some sort of urban legend.

Known as The Money’s Advocate, he did not like to make his hands dirty anymore. Seeing his rising, two of his old childhood friends had changed sides and were happy to place a deadly threat there, steal some scandalous information there and do his bidding ever so loyally.

The finest black suits designed were always sent to him first. The newest laws always lay on his desk before they were passed. He had every judge on speed dial.

The few who actually knew more than romanticized myths hated him more than they thought possible, more than refill pads for ugly dust wipers, more than a winter full of dirty muddy snow, more than the sound of forks and knives scratching over dinner plates. But there was one among them who had taken that hate to an entirely new level.

Sibylle had only to spare a glimpse to a new product to know if it had been designed by Glenn. She also had to find out very soon that the only way to overthrow his cruel rule, she had to become better than him. More cunning, faster, better, even more evil if that meant to beat him.

Without hesitation, but with grief that didn’t weigh any less, she gave up on her dream to become a tenure and land degradation specialist consultant and gave in to her true call.

After highly competitive years, it had now come to this very situation that no one could have seen coming, but which was inevitably bound to happen.

Her blond locks flew elegantly in the wind upon that skyscraper’s rooftop, her cape’s hood had long been blown down and gave away her masked face that sternly looked down to the man at her feet. His expensive suit was ripped at his shoulder from their fight, but he still upheld his composure.

“You’ve changed for the worst.” Contempt dripped from her words as her face screwed up in a painful sneer. No matter how much time had passed, the years they had spent in deep friendship still felt too fresh.

“Coming form you, that is the best compliment I have ever received.” He grinned back at her, ignoring the pain in his bound wrists.

She shook her head woefully and turned back to face the city’s lights.

“You know,” Sibylle muttered, “I really thought back then that our friendship was worth more than this. Than being rich and having friends, power and glory.”

Muffled yells from Glenn’s accomplices sounded outraged and furious, but Sibylle ignored them nonetheless.

“I have the need to remind you that it has been you who quitted our friendship first, Sibby.”

“Don’t call me that name,” she hissed back at him, but he only laughed.

“Oh, Sibby, Sibby, Sibby. You’re still so full of anger and – heroism? So much that you pretty much took the full curve back, didn’t you? That all those years, you have been my biggest competitor, I still can’t believe it!”

“It was the only way to get close to you.” She turned back to him, had taken her mask off now and this only undermined the hurt she was struggling with. “And you’re right, I will never know if it was worth it, bringing all that doom to humanity.”

Glenn laughed again, though this time it was mixed with disbelief and maybe even hidden despair.

“Doom indeed! I still can’t wrap my head around it. All those social media algorithms. Written by you? You put a veto on self cleaning glasses! Ingenious! And here I thought I had finally thought that I reached my goal to become the worst of the worst.” His smile faded a little and a reminiscent look appeared instead. “But I suppose, I have, in the end, only become the worst version of me. Not the worst of the worst. I’m still too-,” a silent sob tied his throat to a knot and his cheerful facade cracked finally. “I’m still too good.” When he looked up to her, tears were filling his eyes, and an apologetic deepness laid in them.

“That’s not true, boss!”, one of his friends yelled in the back, he had managed to get rid of the handkerchief Sibylle had pushed in his mouth to silence him. At those self-shattering words, he could no longer stand to idly sit back. “To me, you are the actual worst! The worst of the worst! There had never been anyone more evil in both mind and heart!”

But Glenn might have been villainous, but not dumb. There was no other choice than to admit that he had lost. Sirens started to sound in the distance, coming closer and closer.

“Please, Sibby, let at least my friends go. They have done nothing wrong, whatever they did in the past, it was only my bidding. They don’t deserve any of this.”

“You know that I can’t. All of us will turn ourselves in, so evil won’t be any longer.”

“But boss!,” the other man yelled now, “There’s still time left! We can do even worse than her! Just trust in our organization, we will surely be saved in any second. The Green Gloved Fixer and The Snaky Henchman will come to your aid. You just have to trust them!”

It was then that Glenn truly listened to their words. The realization struck him like a lightning.

“Do… even worse? Composing more super annoying jingles? Paying more internet trolls?”

“Yes!”, both of his friends chimed and finally, hope returned to him. Ultimately, his look fell back on Sibylle.

“How about we join forces? This is your chance to get high class suits! We could follow my dream together just like I wanted back then!”

But she just shook her head.

“No, how could I give up on my plan now? Ever since then I just wanted to be your friend, but for what price, Glenn?”

“Be… my friend? But Sibylle, I thought you hated me all this time. I did dream of this life, but partly I just wanted to prove to you that it was possible. That I could do it!”

“But you never had to prove yourself to me! I knew all along that you had the guts for this! That was the reason why I wanted to stop you!”

For a short moment there was silence until they both erupted in laughter.

“You know, I guess even if you denied my request back then, you did join me in a way. Being my competitor has driven my creativity to find new places, broadened my horizon! And you were evil all this time. Who knows what else we could achieve together?”

Sibylle kept giggling and put back on her mask.

“I would love to be your friend, Glenn. Let’s keep working together then!”

And thus, the two childhood friends became close once again, pushing the world into even more doom. Glenn did not keep it a secret that Sibylle was partially responsible for his success, and when he introduced her to others he proudly announced her as his partner in crime.

~20.07.2020~

Based on this prompt by @givethispromptatry

#short story #villain #hero #humorous #the power of friendship #of sorts #it's crack let's face it #1400 words #87 rooftops #listening to #i lost something in the hills #by #sibylle baier #yeah guess where the name came from #special thanks to haven for sibylle's dream profession

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70ships-moved · 3 years

Text

untitled | honeymoon suite

very brief summary: patrick can’t sleep. his solution? interview your boyfriend.

pairing: malcolm (oc) / patrick (s/i) | honeymoon suite

words: 2088 (yikes!)

notes: this is the very first fic i wrote about malcolm and it turned a year old like two months ago (wow! i didn’t even know that until now), i didn’t want to change or edit too much because this holds a special place in my non existent heart :), written in the pov of my s/i (first person)

Today I found a magazine with one of my idols (and celebrity crushes) on the cover in my nightstand drawer stashed away like a porno magazine. I remember the exact day I bought it too. I was at a bookstore and I saw it in the checkout area and the moment I saw who was on the cover, I made a mad dash for the checkout area. I did contemplate it though; the magazine was like twelve bucks which is stupid for something no one really buys but skims through and puts back. (When was the last time you bought a magazine? Man, wait until you hear about the internet.) But for who was on the cover, I was more than willing to pay the stupid twelve dollars.

Like any child that picks up a book, I looked at the pictures and read some of the interview. My only takeaway from the interview was that he liked this Bolognese recipe he found- or made himself. I didn’t read it all. He puts bacon bits in it, and he says it’s even good when cold. I took this magazine with me to school almost every day. I really liked the guy, okay? I’d show it to my best and only friend at school at the time who hated my obsession with him. It was weird because she was one of those friends who would always get an ugly boyfriend and would force you to compliment him- no matter how ugly you thought he was but proceeded to get mad at you when you were being honest about his looks. I could handle her opinions about this man I claimed to love but have never met in my life.

Four years later and I finally read the interview. It was a good read. The interviewer had nothing but nice things to say about him, mainly because he was and still is a sweetheart. And he only had nice things to say about the people he talked about. After reading the interview, I had something other than his good looks to admire. As far as I know, there isn’t a hateful bone in his body. When talking about his controversial relationship with his ex (long story short, the public wasn’t buying it), he said he only knew the girl he fell in love with and that’s saying something for a relationship that felt like it only lasted a week.

It inspired me to conduct my own interview with someone who I love just as much, my partner Malcolm. I’ve interviewed other people before rather awkwardly but this is Malcolm we’re talking about. He has walls. We all do. He's a bit on the reserved side but with the time I’ve spent with him, I’ve seen these walls come down. These demolished walls are my favorite part of him. I even went out of the way and got a recording device from a buddy who works in film. I like being extra.

It’s about 2 am. There’s this thing my body does where I just have to wake up at this time. It’s every day too. When this happens, I wake Malcolm up. He encourages me to do so because it is incredibly difficult for me to go back to sleep once awake. Also, it’s kind of boring being awake all by yourself. In these hours, I learned how to call from a private number (*67, for prank call purposes), learned useless but interesting facts about space and how sex can be one hell of a sleeping pill. Tonight, I wanted to do something different.

We’re sat in the kitchen area of the suite. The only thing separating us is the kitchen island. My recording device sits in the middle of us. Are you ready? “Mhm.” Great, I start with an over-the-top introduction of him. Ladies, guys, and people who don’t care what’s between their thighs, it’s two in the fucking morning and I can’t sleep but the man I’m sitting across from makes it all worth it. He’s got great hair and even great taste in men. He’s dating me! The man, the myth, future astronaut, and legend: Malcolm Hall! I feel like a podcast host. It’s a good feeling. “You’re so annoying.” That’s why he loves me.

I have a list of questions I wrote down in less than five minutes. They’re nothing special and I want this to be fun and not so serious. This man constantly throws himself at his work- spending endless hours at a desk. Serious is his middle name. When he’s not in his office, he’s at the bar talking to you about a film he saw with a margarita in front of him or playing blackjack with you and your coworkers. Maybe he’s in suite 505 kicking it with yours truly, telling me about his day while I struggle to put a face mask on his moving face. How are you doing? He chuckles. That fucking chuckle. “Tired. But I’m with you, so I can’t complain. How are you?” I’m not so tired but I can’t complain. You’re here.

I see you’re well-dressed for our interview. A bit too casual but you look good regardless. “Fuck off.” He says this in a whisper but it’s almost too quiet, it almost looks like he’s mouthing it. He’s in a bathrobe, his hair tossed from sleep; strands of it falling into his face. His face is resting in his palm as he looks at me with a tired smile, his eyes struggling to stay open. This is all unintentional, but I think this is extremely sexy of him. These small things have such a tremendous effect on me. They light the pit in my stomach and make me squirm in my seat a little. I’m messing. You look great as always. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.” I know. If I ever die in my sleep, I want to be in the best damn pair of silk pajamas there is.

The coffee machine makes a noise indicating that it’s done brewing his cup of caffeine. That’s a nice coffee maker. When did you get it? I’m going off-script. “This thing?” He taps the machine like the hood of a car. “It came with the room. The interior design people take care of that. I just run the place, so I don’t really know when it got here. But I do know that the other machines were really fucking old.” Oh, interesting. “Not really. You know, I was expecting you to give me much harder questions.” Really? Well, it’s important to expect the unexpected. “Now you’re scaring me.” Good. Part of me can’t tell if he knows I’m teasing him.

I’m not a coffee drinker like him but if it tasted as good as it smelt, then I could be. It’s a hazelnut blend. He mixes it with half-and-half and three scoops of sugar. His sips are slow and cautious. He seems to have bad luck with hot objects. He burnt his hand in a waffle iron one time and a dozen more times while preparing dinner. Maybe a hot object, liquid, or thing is the reason for the tape on his right hand. What happened to your hand? He looks up at me through his mug. “Masturbation incident.” By the way, I am madly in love with this man.

Do you remember when we met? This is a weird transition because it was on my list of questions and my timing couldn’t be any worse considering moments ago, I asked a question and the answer I received was masturbation. The question makes him smile though. He either remembers or he’s pretending to remember. “Yeah. Of course I do.” He takes both my hands, gliding his thumbs across my knuckles. I want dates, times, names, everything. “I don’t remember the exact date, but I believe it was March.” He’s correct. “It was at the hair salon and I booked an appointment with you.” He’s correct again. I cut his hair for free now- well, unless he’s pissed me off. Then, I charge him ten bucks. Twenty if I’m really upset.

Do you remember what time you showed up for your appointment? “Late. Very late.” He came in about two and a half hours late. I was pissed. “You were pissed.” He apologized profusely, and I still cut his hair. I remember it being soft and full. It still is. That's just one of the perks of having a hairstylist as a boyfriend. “I remember when you washed my hair. It’s my favorite part of you doing my hair.” I remember that too. The shampoo had a minty menthol smell. When it was on your head, it added a cooling factor and when you inhaled it, your lungs felt like winter. Basically, vapor rub for your hair.

He got lost in the way I massaged his scalp, his eyes closed and smiling. I can still hear his Yorkshire accent telling me “Tha’ feels good.” After I washed it, I blew it out and started cutting it. That’s when I told him his hair was soft. “Looking back on it, you kept your hands in my hair way too long.” It’s part of the job. “That’s what they all say.” He takes a long sip from his mug, his eyes not leaving mine. “Your hair was...interesting as well.” Interesting, in the way he’s using it, is slang for saying you don’t know whether you should like something because you’ve never seen it before. Back in the day, I’d dye my hair all types of colors. Shit, I thought I looked good.

“The Smiths played on the stereo and your singing was terrible.” That’s a lie. I’m not Morrissey but I try to stay on key. “I’m kidding. But when you moved around the shop, you were always swaying to the music. You were fun to watch.” He winks at me and my face heats up at the memory. I danced like no one was watching. “We talked and talked and next thing I knew, I was asking you out on a date.” The first date was meant to be memorable but due to one incident, I feel like our date was memorable for the wrong reasons. “We went bowling. I’ll never forget it.” I know why. “You slipped and fell in the aisle.” I was so embarrassed. Is that the only thing you remember? Whenever we talk about it, you always bring it up. “That’s how I break the ice. ‘My boyfriend and I went bowling and he fell in the aisle. It was our first date. It's nice to meet you.'"

I’m a little tired now, my eyes a bit heavy and my voice softening. He answered the first date question I had prepared, so I decided to move on to my last one. Have you ever been in love? “Yes. I’d say so. Are you or have you ever been in love?” I’m supposed to be asking the questions, but I answer anyway. Yeah. I am right now. It’s a funny feeling because I’ve never been in love before. “Really? Who with?” You. My eyes can’t take the weight and close. “Good answer.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

It’s a few minutes to 4 now. Our interview is done, and we’re ready for bed. We don’t go straight to sleep though. I listen to him talk some more with my head on his chest, his little chest hairs tickling my cheek. I begin to absently trace patterns across his chest. He says it tickles. His hand goes up my shirt, moving his hand up and down my back almost in a soothing rhythm. Sometimes, he stops, and I think he’s asleep, but I get the feeling that he realizes that I sensed he’s stopped and keeps going until I’m asleep. The hum of his chest when he speaks, combined with his hand and heartbeat is enough for me to call it a night.

His skin radiates a warmth that can’t be duplicated. His hands have a pattern like no other, each touch raising the hairs on my body. Despite it being hours since he’s showered, I can smell the scent of my cherry soap on him. This moment is something I never knew I needed and if it were to be taken away, I would be devastated. I close my eyes. I cannot think of any other place I’d rather be than here.

#puck.docx #💒 | honeymoon suite #self shipping #self shipping community #me getting ready to post this on my blog where ppl can read it: god i hope no one reads this #PLEASE i'm so embarrassed abt my love for this man that lives in my head #who pays NO bills i may add #a year later and i still can't come up with a title smh #ah and the person on the magazine was tom hiddleston who i still love to this day 😌#but fr i think this fic serves as a good introduction to this ship #it saves me the time of having to explain everything or at least that's what i think

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tisfan · 5 years

Text

TSB Blackout, Card 1

@tonystarkbingo Masterlist Card 1

* I actually finished writing this a while ago, but the posting schedule stretched it out until today when I can officially claim it

S1 S2 S3 S4 S5

T1 T2 T3 T4 T5

A1 A2 A3 A4 A5

R1 R2 R3 R4 R5

K1 K2 K3 K4 K5

small links above, full list below the cut

Title: Suburban Warfare Square: S1 - mutual appreciation society Warning: unadulterated fluff, suburban life, Home Owners Association Pairing: Tony/Bruce Summary: When the HOA makes his neighbor take down his adorable little garden gnomes, Tony sets out a plan of revenge, involving flying… robotic… flamingos. Who said suburban living was boring? Word Count: 2,215 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17669516

Title: Anything Goes (and Usually Does) Square: S2 - carnival Warning: hand job, sex in a public place, anal sex Pairing: Tony/Bucky Summary: A night at the fair, anything and everything goes... Word Count: 2,665 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18098183

Title: Let me Sum Up Square:S3 - GRRRR: sorc supreme Warning: inappropriate use of time travel Pairing: WinterIron Summary: Tony has a big problem-- and several medium sized ones, and a dozen little ones… but mostly… what the hell is he supposed to say? Word Count: 939 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210038

Title: Add Three Eggs Square: S4 - learning to cook Warning: domestic assassins Pairing: WinterIronWidow Summary: After a mission, the Hydra team regroups in the safe house and spends a little bit of downtime… just being together. Word Count: 1,624 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721488/chapters/42283466

Title: A portrait of a young man in the park not eating his lunch Square: S5 - writing format: breaking the fourth wall Warning: unrepentant fluff, humor, breaking the fourth wall Pairing: WinterIron Summary: Jan takes it upon herself to arrange a date for Tony Word Count 1439 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940161

Title: Cheesy Pick Up Line Square: T1 - Diner / Restaurant Warning: fluff and meet cute Pairing: Tony/Bucky preslash Summary: There are food trucks outside of Stark Industries. Who knew? Apparently everyone except Tony Word Count: 865 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662211

Title: Sleeper Square: T2 - Red Room Tony Warning: child abuse, red room conditioning, psychological torture of minors Pairing: Tony Stark & Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes Summary: “Something has to be done with the boy, Maria.” Little did Howard know, something, indeed, was being done with the boy... Word Count: 911 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721488/chapters/41808236

Title: Excuse me, I think you have my Suitcase With @27dragons Square: T3 - sharing clothes Warning: lingerie, oral, anal, condom use Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Problem one: Tony and Bucky get their luggage mixed up. Problem 2: Tony’s suitcase is full of lingerie. Hijinks ensue. Word Count: 7,354 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17706326

Title: Neither Charming nor Ladylike Co-written with @27dragons Square: T4 - more than a partner Warning: drunk sex, friends with benefits, older couple Pairing: Howard Stark/Peggy Carter Summary: Twenty years after Steve goes into the ice, Peggy finds herself needing the company of someone who understands. Howard isn’t a good man, but he’s the one she’s got. Word Count: 3,142 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683370

Title: Lost Boys and Girls Square: T5 - lost their powers Warning: fairies, magic, alternate history, dad!Tony Pairing: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Summary: The queen of the fairies wants to meet Iron Man. Why does this sound like a really bad idea? Word Count: 1,690 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721638

Title: Arms Deal Co-written with @monobuu & @27dragons Square: A1 - GRRRR: tentacles 2 Warning: implied/referenced torture, mermaid au, shapeshifting, amnesia Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: When the Hydra finds a fish-tailed man in their trawling nets and makes plans to sell the creature to the highest bidder, Bucky Barnes' lifelong love of the sea sharpens into sympathy -- and something more. Freeing the merman is a risky undertaking, doubly so given the Captain's unforgiving nature, but the pull of Bucky's heart gives him no choice in the matter. Will Bucky's act of kindness ever be rewarded, or will it become an obsession leading him into a deadly trap? Word Count: 15,387 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19440886/chapters/46270126

Title: The Worst Job Interview Ever Take This Job (And Shove it Out the Airlock) Chapter One Square: A2 - AU: Sci-Fi/futuristic Warning: non consenting drug use, drinking Pairing: WinterIron (after this part) Summary: All Tony needed was a job…. But really, press-ganging wasn’t his style. Word Count: 1,487 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18431015/chapters/43658597

Title: From Russia with Purrs Square: A3 - FREE SQUARE Warning: no animals were actually harmed in the writing of this fic Pairing: Peter Parker & Ned Leeds / background Bucky/Tony Summary: Spider-Man doesn’t always get called in to help with the Avengers stuff, but when Peter is given a special, urgent mission from the Winter Soldier, he needs to call in backup Word Count: 2505 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17998925

Title: A Curse on Both of Your Houses (Chapter 2) Co-written by @27dragons Square: A4 - myths and legends Warning: none for this chapter Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Tony appreciates his werewolf boyfriend in both his human and lupine shapes. What he doesn’t appreciate is a visit from Bucky’s old boss, Nick Fury, with a mysterious (and likely magical) device he wants them to investigate. He ought to say no and throw Nick out -- but the thing is strangely compelling. Maybe if he’d read a few more fairy tales, he’d have seen that for the warning sign that it was. Now, he’s cursed, and the race is on to find the owner of the thing, or some other way to break the curse, before it results in something not only unpleasant but unrecoverable. Word Count: 2,324 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851631/chapters/47194783

Title: Vampires and Teens have a Lot in Common Square: A5 - writing format: diaries and journals Warning: none Pairing: Tony Stark & Janet Van Dyne Summary: For @gilajames: AvAc - someone appears in a vampire outfit and the others have to seriously figure out if they have actually been turned into a vampire or not Word Count: 852 (and mixed media) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745359

Title: (Consider this) The Hint of the Century Co-Written by @27dragons Square: R1 - KINK: mind-controlled sex Warning: dub-con (ish), anal sex, ghosts, possession, Bucky has a plan, this wasn’t it Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark Summary: It’s just a box that they found in the crypt of a desecrated old church that rumor says is haunted. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 7382 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19107763

Title: Horrible Working Conditions Take this Job (And Shove it out the Airlock) Chapter Two Square: R2 - quarantined! Warning: none for this chapter Pairing: WinterIron Summary: So... Tony meets his co-worker and it goes about as well as can be expected. Also, Tony doesn’t like being told what to do. We knew that, right? I mean, like, we all knew that. Word Count: 1,916 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18431015/chapters/43975924#workskin

Title: A little bit mean Square: R3 - KINK: held down Warning: blowjob, BDSM, tied up, held down, mild humiliation, self-acceptance, learn to accept a compliment already (NSFW image included) Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Tony wants Bucky to admit that he’s gorgeous. How much sensual torment can the Winter Soldier take before Bucky caves to the admission? Word Count: 2,534 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17698883

Title: What’s His is Mine Square: R4 - writing format: use of symbolisms Warning: humor, fluff, Star Wars quotes Pairing: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts Summary: Justin Hammer is selling his things to pay his legal bills… Tony has. Other plans. Word Count: 720 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18238208

Title: A Curse on Both of Your Houses (Chapter 1) Co-written by @27dragons Square: R5 - Explosion in the Lab Warning: none for this chapter Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Tony appreciates his werewolf boyfriend in both his human and lupine shapes. What he doesn’t appreciate is a visit from Bucky’s old boss, Nick Fury, with a mysterious (and likely magical) device he wants them to investigate. He ought to say no and throw Nick out -- but the thing is strangely compelling. Maybe if he’d read a few more fairy tales, he’d have seen that for the warning sign that it was. Now, he’s cursed, and the race is on to find the owner of the thing, or some other way to break the curse, before it results in something not only unpleasant but unrecoverable. Word Count: 2,764 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851631/chapters/47010508

Title: The Blacksmith Square: K1 - historical Warning: none Pairing: Wanda Maximoff & Tony Stark Summary: During the Civil War (Shield Vs. Hydra) the common people find trouble no matter who the soldiers are. Word Count: 1397 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717330

Title: Accountability Square: K2 - Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier Warning: coffee shop AU, unrepentant fluff Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Tony wants to have a stable relationship by New Year’s Eve. Well, Bucky’s here to hold him accountable. Word Count: 2199 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17925155

Title: Exit Interview Take this Job (and Shove it Out the Airlock) Square: K3 - alien planet Warning: Space travel, anal sex, infinity stone Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Captain America was down there, in the ice. Tony and Bucky are going to get him, or die trying. Tony’s not so keen on the dying part. Word Count: 2,176 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18431015/chapters/44579386#workskin

Title: Beautiful light of madness Square: K4 - Constructed Reality / the Framework Warning: soulstones, dream world Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: In the Soul Stone, time is relative, people are at peace. It is a paradise, but also a trap. Can Tony break the trap and bring everyone home?Especially when he risks losing the only thing that matters... Word Count: 2,672 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914755

Title: Indenture Co-written by @27dragons Warning: indenture, sci-fi AU, gladiator, virgin kink, anal sex, oral sex, fingering, mechanic Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: See the galaxy on a two year work-contract. Well, Tony Stark figures, can’t be worse than home. When he ends up on Sakaar, in the hands of a gladiatorial team, it might be his mechanical skills they’re interested in… or it might be his virginity. Word Count: 14,587 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921301

#tonystarkbingo2019 #masterlist #bingo fills #tisfan

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faean · 6 years

Text

Stein x Negan Meet-up AU

Requested by: @yarabi99

Rating: T+ (Language and Mild Violence)

Word Length: Approx. 1,000+

Title: Remnants Joined

Years have passed since the fall of human civilization, yet humanity still fights on. They struggle, they fight, they lose, they win… They continue to march on. Sure, there are issues, and yes, some people have profited from herding the remnants and establishing control. But there does exist some good. Even if it isn’t readily apparent…

Another day has passed, and the sanctuary state of Death City had remained standing, thanks to the many skilled warriors residing within its walls that fought back against the countless undead. There was one in particular, however, that often oversaw many of the diplomatic missions to form alliances with the remaining remnants of humanity. It wasn’t his intellect or even his weirdly good negotiation skills that made him the best, no, it was his ruthlessness and insane tenacity in battle that made him so. After all, with hordes of zombies chasing you, or the broken fragments of humanity trying to rob you blind and leave you for dead, someone had to be willing to fight.

However, fighting everyday can be tiresome, and isn’t in the best interest of everyone. Thus, the lord of Death City had been trying for an alliance with Sanctuary, and he will be sending a small team to oversee the negotiations with the leader of the Saviors. Within a week the strike team will arrive, and with hope and a little bit of luck, an alliance between Death City and Sanctuary will be formed.

Today, they take their leave. The team consists of half a dozen of the top fighters, hand picked by ‘Lord Death’ himself. The leader of this advanced party was none other than the mad teacher himself- Franken Stein.

A master combatant in most fields, Stein excels at playing his opponents and coming up with strategies mid-fight. Well, when he has the chance to, considering that most of his missions are just defending against the hordes of zombies. That is, when he isn’t experimenting with the undead, terrifying new trainees, or interjecting in negotiations and securing a victory. His role in this mission, however, hinged on a meeting with the founder of the Saviors- Negan.

Now, Negan had a reputation of being a dictator. Most feared him, many revered him, and some knew just how intelligent he is. A man who emphasizes strength and manipulates people with his charisma is not to be underestimated, nor wronged. Especially when his favorite weapon is in his grasp, or he must make an example of someone for breaking the rules.

Although disapproving of his methods, Lord Death could not deny his power; and Stein not only knew this but welcomed a challenge. But first, he had to reach Sanctuary. The arduous journey would be fraught with the undead, cannibals, and other horrors born from the apocalypse.

Then the towering structure known as ‘Sanctuary’ appeared through the woodlands, and Stein marched his way to Negan’s ‘throne room’… with little regard for the numerous members of the Saviors who tried to stop him. And although Stein showed no emotion when he stood before the ruthless man, his team kept their weapons aimed at the slowly growing audience in the chamber, as many had heard about the thriving city of Death, but being nigh impossible to get to with the terrain and undead, most wrote it off as a fairy tale.

Yet, there stood the mad doctor, a scythe strapped to his back, and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, showing no hint as to what he was thinking as his stitched form remained relaxed; but all could feel his presence, and it vied with that of their leader, Negan.

Two men stood in that room, entire communities resting on their shoulders and relying on an alliance. Despite talks of an allegiance, many of the Saviors believed Negan would assimilate Death City into his command, utilizing their vast resources and trained experts to help his goal of saving the world. Steins team thought a bloody, and likely suicidal, fight would be imminent. But, neither side was prepared for what truly happened. Even to this day, myths spring from the kernels of truth as no one present could believe what had happened.

These two, legends, for the lack of a better word, got along like fucking childhood friends. They stared each other down, neither wavering in the glare of the other, and then Negan pulls a gun from his back pocket and fires at one of Stein’s men (Remember ‘with little regard to the numerous members of the Saviors’? Yeah, it was with very little regard. -Legend).

The bullet never reached its mark, a massive curved blade was behind Negan with a scalpel at his throat as well. A gun was pointed under Stein’s chin, and a spiked baseball bat was pressed dangerously hard against his abdomen. Neither moved a single inch, for neither would survive.

The air was tense. No breathing could be heard. All eyes were entranced by the sight before them.

Laughter.

Loud, rumbling, disturbing laughter. It rang throughout the room and terrified those who heard it. Hell itself was quivering in the wake of such a powerful, yet unrestrained sound. But it wasn’t the laughter that people disbelieved, it was the lowering of weapons and shaking of hands. The compliments and jabs at one another. The forming of an alliance that people could not comprehend.

Death City and Sanctuary were now partners. Allies. Friends. All because these two maniacs recognized each other’s strength. Negan’s charisma and psychological warfare could not break Stein, and Stein respected how Negan acknowledged what he had done, and how he kept his word. Although, truth be told, it didn’t stop the two from making numerous attempts on the other’s life. Sometimes a scalpel will be embedded in the wall near Negan’s head, or a bullet tore the cigarette from Stein’s mouth.

Nonetheless, the people finally had hope. Hope that tomorrow would be worth fighting for.

And they wouldn’t have to fight alone.

All thanks to a madman and a ‘savior’.

#the walking dead #negan #soul eater #franken stein #au #cross-over #requested #short story #meetup #anime #tv series #amc #enjoy you heathens

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dreadhaus-literature · 6 years

Text

{January Collection} #29

Concrete Shoes

Be careful what you wish for, be careful who you choose...

“Concrete Shoes? Oh my god that sounds dumb as hell.”

Monica laughed, popping a hot chip into her mouth as she nodded. “I know, right? Who comes up with this shit?”

“Idiot edgelords on the internet, I guess.”

The bottom of Monica’s laptop read 3:19AM but it was a time that passed without any acknowledgement from her, as she was focused on the center of her screen; her best friend Dot’s face was plastered on half, the other half of the pixels full of their shared Rabbit room. The girls were falling down a rabbit hole of internet games that no one in their right mind would play, like The Midnight Man or The Bathtub Game, but the deeper they went, the dumber they seemed to get. At least, that was what the girls were convincing themselves of...because it was dark outside and it was easier to laugh at things than imagine something might actually be real.

“Nothing called Concrete Shoes could be real, or even anything I’d be scared of,” Monica continued, shifting to lie more on her back on the couch. In the background, the TV played a Psych rerun and she gave it a half-hearted glance, before turning back to Dot. “What the hell does it even say to do?”

Dot moved the Rabbit cursor over the screen. “Take your favorite pair of shoes and place them on the floor at the foot of your bed, as if you were standing in them and facing your bed. The toes should be one inch under the bed.”

Monica fished out another chip with a crunch, listening.

“Place the highest denomination of silver coin you have on the toe of each shoe--for example, if you only have quarters, place one quarter on the toe of one shoe, and repeat the action with the second shoe.”

“At what point do I light a candle and say my own name backwards six times?” Monica quipped dryly, which earned her a laugh from Dot.

“Uh, I don’t actually think you do either of those things.” Dot continued reading, leaning in a little closer to her screen. “Once you’ve finished with your shoes, go about your normal nightly routine. Concrete Shoes needs time to find his way to you.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“Once you’ve turned off all your lights and gotten into bed, don’t lie down. Sit up and face the foot of your bed, and in the dark, say, ‘I know you’re there.’“

It’s very easy to scoff at a lot of the things you find on the internet, but if you actually take the time to sit and think about some of these games, what some of these things ask you to do is a little creepy. Monica actually pulled her sweater a little closer at the idea of sitting up in her pitch black room, alone, and saying that sentence out loud. She may not believe a word of this ritual, but that seemed like a real bad idea regardless. You never know who or what might be listening to you.

“You’ll know Concrete Shoes has accepted your offer if you hear the coins clink together after you acknowledge him. It means he’s pocketed your offer, and now you may ask him one thing. It can be a question you want answered, or you can even express a wish for him to grant.” Dot cleared her throat, taking a swig from a can before she continued. “As with most paranormal games, do not ask Concrete Shoes about your death, and do not ask him his name.”

“So his name isn’t Concrete Shoes?”

“I don’t think so, it’s probably just what they’re calling the game to prevent from actually saying his name.” Dot shrugged. “It says, after you’ve asked him your question or your wish, he’ll either answer you with a positive that he’s accepted and will grant your wish in due time, or he’ll simply answer your question, but he may deny you. If he does, do not push him. There’s probably a reason. Simply thank him and tell him, ‘I’d like you to leave, now.’“

Monica tried to laugh at the end of his ritual but something about this wasn’t nearly as funny as some of the others they’d read that night. There was something that felt decidedly more...she wasn’t going to say real. Out of the two girls, Monica was the logical one, the one who needed a bit of tangible proof of something’s validity before she was willing to suspend belief and admit it may be real. Instead, her laugh came out short and a little forced.

“Leave the shoes at the foot of your bed overnight; simply lay down and go to sleep. The following morning, if your shoes have returned to your closet, Concrete Shoes has left and the ritual is completed.”

Dot stopped reading and Monica lifted a brow. “What...happens if your shoes aren’t returned to your closet?”

“It doesn’t say.” There was the sound of Dot’s mouse wheel scrolling as she visibly ran through the list from top to bottom again. “It literally doesn’t say, that’s the end of it.”

Well, that was typical of the internet. Detailed instructions on how to summon what was probably a fucking demon, and no mention at all what to do if the demon decides to just take up residence in your house. Monica shook her head, fighting off a sense of the creeps by turning back to her snack. “And again we’ll ask, who the hell tries this sort of thing?”

A few hours later and Monica was back in her bedroom, staring at her bed before shaking her head and moving deeper into her room. She and Dot of course had no answer for who the hell tries these sorts of rituals but they never did. It was fun to read about them, like walking past the haunted house without ever risking going inside. There was just no need to do that to yourself. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, running her fingers through her short, dark hair in the mirror before she exited back into her bedroom. Her phone was lighting up on her pillow and she walked past the foot of her bed to grab it...oblivious that a pair of her shoes were facing the foot of her bed, the toes exactly one inch under the bed. The glimmer of two coins on the toes was missed by her, so distracted was she by the shimmer of her phone screen.

It was a text. JAYBIRD 😘 lit up her screen and she swiped to answer it, typing out a message to ask how his night had gone. She’d met Jason Todd on a trip she’d taken with Dot to Gotham City--somewhere Dot had been reluctant to go, but had done for her and it had paid off for Monica in a major way. She’d run into Jason by pure chance of fate and he’d seemed taken with her immediately, asking for her number right then and there. They went on two dates before Monica’s trip to Gotham was over and Jason was already begging her to come back to the city. Right now, they kept in touch via texts, phone calls, and video calls. Sexts and nudes were included there, of course.

Monica got into bed, a smile on her face as she rested against the headboard, typing back and forth with Jason as he text her a puppy-eyed selfie to beg her not to go to sleep just yet, that he missed her and wanted to talk to her. Her smiled deepened and she drew her knees up toward her chest.

« just 1 selfie, beautiful? im dyin here. need 2 c u 😍 »

Monica shook her head with a light laugh. She knew better than to tell Jason she was already in bed, that she’d washed her make-up off, that her hair wasn’t properly brushed--he always told her the same thing. He loved the way she looked, no matter if she was all dolled up for him to undress, or if she was beautifully bare just for him. She swiped to open her camera and lifted it, about to flip it to her front facing camera when the image of someone standing at the foot of her bed was captured on the phone’s screen.

Monica couldn’t help it, she screamed.

The being at the foot of her bed paused, inclining his head as his entire body shuddered at the sound she made. Long horns ran parallel to a face that had born witness to the birth of man, with three sets of eyes that would see the death of man and blink, only curious what would come next. The ancient being didn’t seem to have hair, but rather sharp, bony ridges along his brow and cheeks that complimented his archaic features the way hair might on a marble statue. His skin was pale in some places, in others it was dark as night, and as Monica’s scream died in her throat, all six of his eyes opened and focused on her, a slashing silver that nailed her to the bed she was resting against. Her phone dropped, forgotten, onto the comforter, the screen going dark but Monica couldn’t look away from the creature towering over her bed, and he didn’t seem keen to look away from her, either.

“You did not summon me.”

The voice that spoke to her had once shaken the earth, but rumbled across her bed like a serpent, climbing between her legs to whisper of sin, of stolen souls and eternal damnation that she would enjoy by his side. Monica didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know how to speak to such an ancient voice. She could hardly believe what she was seeing.

“Ah. You did not think I was real.”

The being behind the game Concrete Shoes made a show of inclining his powerful head, his broad shoulders relaxing. He wasn’t going to take offense that this frightened little creature had thought him a myth, a legend, something made-up but he was very real.

“It is lucky, then, that I go where I please.”

He moved, then, a ripple of power not unlike the fabled Gods of old and Monica tried to shrink into herself; his white robes, his jacket and layers whispered against themselves, against powerful legs, as his cloven hooves thundered against her floor.

“Is there nothing you wish for, then, Monica? Nothing I can give you?”

Monica could only shake her head helplessly, wide eyes on him.

“Not even to know my name?”

“I-I,” Monica had to clear her throat twice to work up the courage to speak to him. “I-I’m not supposed t-to ask your name.”

“That is only if you were performing my summoning ritual. I came here of my own free will.” The demon closed the distance between them further with an additional step. “You may ask my name.”

This seemed like a trap, but it also seemed...dangerous to not do what he so obviously wanted her to do. He was standing, towering over her at the side of her bed, those silver eyes of his running over her flesh so that she could feel him everywhere--he was touching her arms, her throat, her chest, her belly, between her thighs. He was everywhere.

“W-What...W-What’s your n-name?”

“I am Sannok, the Satisfier. The one who grants wishes, the one who answers the questions of mortals. I give, so you may have.” Sannok lifted one of his legs, indenting Monica’s bed with his ancient weight, giving her a taste of how big he truly was. He was not simply taller than she; his entire mass seemed larger, as if he were something not bound by the laws of humans. Something...inhuman. “Tell me, Monica, what else might I give you?”

That question held such a caress in it’s undertone Monica’s head was filled with the wonderful, terrible things Sannok could offer her. Nights so full of him she was swollen with the physicality of his claim, her middle full to the point of pain and still he filled her, claimed her, still he fitted his ancient mouth over hers and spoke to her in a language that knew her intimately, claiming her in the same way a brand sears flesh to scar for all time.

Sannok pressed Monica back against her pillows, forcing her small body to bend to try and avoid him and all he did was smirk, a showing of sharp teeth designed to feed, to mark, and his spaded tail slipped up her leg, pressing against the center of her thighs. The moment she and her friend had begun reading his ritual, Sannok became aware of Monica, aware of this supple, unclaimed body and he burned with a need for her. Humanity does not understand the rules of demons, of who and why they choose to reveal themselves but she will, in time. Every mortal woman who bends, bows, and breaks for her demons learns that in time. One day, her middle will swell with the unholy seed of him, and she will know then she’s forever lost, forever bound to him and him alone. One of his ancient, mighty hands came down upon her phone, crushing it as he bore down on her, a showing of possession that whomever this Jason Todd was would not have her. No one else would ever have her again. Demons mate for eternity, for life beyond life, and Sannok has been waiting longer than most to be...satisfied.

“You needn’t tremble so, my love.” Sannok’s sharp-tipped tail flicked playfully against her covered clit, his words a sharp contrast to his actions. Mindful of his sharp horns, Sannok leaned down to rest his cheek against her temple before turning to inhale her scent, committing it to memory. “In time, my size will not frighten you so. I promise, I will fit.”

It was no secret what he meant by this, and Monica was left with the understanding that Sannok was about to seal some sort of deal in a very permanent, possibly painful way, if all of him was as big as the clothed parts. She tried to shy away from his nuzzling but his large hand came up, cupping the back of her neck and holding her to him.

“Shh, shh.” He soothed, laying her back against her mattress. “Don’t fret, love. I will make you so happy, you’ll see.”

Monica could hardly think with him so close, dwarfing her as his heavy, ancient muscles pinned her effortlessly to the bed. This was something out of a nightmare, and what she was learning now, is what those demonologists, those paranormal experts don’t even know--demons want many things from humans but most important is what they can never have without humanity.

Love.

That is why demons are so hard to get rid of, why they cling on so tightly and become violent when attempted to be exorcised. You wouldn’t want to leave your true love either, would you?

“I-I,” Monica struggled to remember, to recall the only thing that could save her, now. What was it she was supposed to say?!

“You what, my beautiful girl?” Sannok’s forked tongue sampled her cheek, a rasp of velvet. “Tell me what it is you want.”

“I-I want you to l-leave n-now.”

Sannok froze, before slowly drawing back, all six of those silver eyes raking over Monica’s face until she turned from him but she could still feel him staring. How could he not? She was...everything, and she seemed so afraid her words had upset him. His rough fingers were soft against her cheek as he stroked lightly, a smile curving dark skin until his sharp teeth caught her room lights.

“My love, I have already told you. You did not summon me.” His fingers flattened against her chest, pushing her fully back against her yielding mattress. “You have no power to banish me, and why would you? When I can give you so much.”

Sannok accented his words with another insistent push of his tail between her legs, earning him a whine that he’d remember for centuries to come.

“All you have to do is say you’re mine.”

Monica clamped her teeth together, knowing that was to give herself up for all time.

“No? Unwilling to give yourself to me so soon, are you?” Sannok did not sound the slightest bit worried as he blanketed her body with his, a heated exhale against her mouth making her whimper. “No matter. I will return to you, night after night, until you give yourself up into my care, for all eternity. I will have you, Monica. It’s only a matter of time.”

Monica wanted to cry out as Sannok kissed her, tasting of raw power and sin, so that her eyes fluttered closed, his tail pushing her pajama shorts to the side to find her weeping core. He fed her shame, drank from it as he did her mouth, as demons are known to do. He took from her mouth enough to hold him over until he could make good on his promise to return the next night, but Monica was made aware almost immediately he was just beginning to know her, to explore her body and lay claim to it, as his fingers joined his tail at the apex of her thighs.

“Allow me to satisfy you this night, my love. To show you what you have to look forward to for the rest of your mortal life.” Sannok spoke against her mouth, that serpent’s tongue caressing the seal of her lips. “And once you trade in this mortal life for the next...well. Who do you think will be waiting for you on the other side?”

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : january 2019 #{ yeah i saw that gif and got inspired }#{ so yeah that's what this is }#{character} : sannok

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joanthangroff · 6 years

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SLIDES INTO YOUR INBOX ON MY SOCKS 1, 4, 7, 9, 15, 21, 23, 24, 25 !!

RUX THANK YOU ILY

1. favorite fic you wrote this year

running it up hero! I wrote it within hours of realizing how well the roles fit to one another and it was sooo much fun to puzzle it together.

4. total number of words you wrote this year

According to AO3 it’s been 273578 words, which is…. wow. when? I mean, makes sense if you think about how I barely had stuff to do this year, but still….

7. longest completed fic you wrote this year

buy and sell gravity with 76k words!

9. longest wip of the year

My doc for free fallin’ in the jungle lights is currently at 42k and it’s nowhere near finished.

15. something you learned this year

Starting to post multichapters before they are finished is scary but also really motivating.

21. most memorable comment/review

ao3 user Destiel_Sabriel4eva (if anyone knows their tumblr, please tell me!!!) left a really nice comment under the last chapter of i just wanna have fun (and get rowdy), complimenting everything I wanted to achieve with this fic, so that was really great. Generally, there’s so many that made me smile and laugh that I got this year.

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

I’d gotten the idea of a Teen Wolf (Thiam, specifically) fic where Mason can see people’s auras, but that one would have required to rewatch two whole seasons of the show, so I didn’t get around to do it yet. Hopefully next year.

24. favorite fic you read this year

JUST ONE????? nope, I’m gonna do more. Thanks.

Days of Dark by @alecsimon and @katlisha (why won’t tumblr let me tag them) still keeps me awake at night because it was just so good!!!! and connected the materials (Shadowhunters and Amazing Spider-Man) so well!!! I still can’t believe how much it shook me.

Like the Sunrise by @lovelylittlegrim (again tumblr won’t let me tag them, I’m going crazy) was soooo good. Like? The theme? The plot? THE ENDING???? I still think about this regularly.

Then, of course, and I’ve talked about it before: three steps from the ledge by @eliestarr!!! Y’all know I love me some Under the Red Hood and this was just the perfect way of fusioning it with Teen Wolf. Everything made sense, everything was beautifully written, everything was loved by me.

25. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

Sailor’s Sorrow by @robininthelabyrinth! Everything they write is freaking perfect, but this one!!! THIS ONE!!! God, it’s so good. Even if you’re not in the Legends of Tomorrow fandom, it’s fucking incredible how many legends and myths are connected with one another in this fic. It’s just so good, there’s so much going into it and it makes you go OH HOLY HELL WHAT. so often, it’s incredible.

#yas answers #ruxian #yas writes

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fgodestinyawakenings · 6 years

Text

FGO Destiny Awakenings: Fuyuki Singularity Section 4

Fujimaru Ritsuka

19|XXX High school|[email protected]

Professional Experience

Chaldea Security Organization 2016 - 2016

Field Researcher

Heavy sleeper as being able to sleep through Director's speech for 2 hours.

Knowledgeable in history and mythology.

Silver Medalist for Kendo in High school. Capable of taking down 1 to 2 zombie skeletons at the same time

Bodyguarding experience from protecting the chickened and coward Director

Flirting with the handsome and fluffy Head Doctor in Chaldea after being kicked out from first mission*

Self-taught in ever ready to help preparing burial when killed in action.

Reasons for leaving: Our Tsundere Director fired us because she was worried for my welfare if I would cower at the fear of dealing with those zombies.

Ritsuka: God damn it, Ritsuko! Nothing of that even happen at all! Ritsuko: *laughs* Sure, that's what you always say before having a crush on someone, bro.

Investigate Port Ruin

THWACK!

With her shield slashed against the skeleton, Mash observed it reduced to black dust before dissolving away. The Fujimaru siblings approached and Ritsuka asked, “We have dealt finished on our end, Mash.”

Mash nodded and reported. “The hostile life-form has been removed here too.”

“I didn’t know what would happen with that monster, but,” Olga Marie walked out from her hiding spot as usual when they faced in combat. She approached Mash with a proud grin. “I expected nothing less of a Servant’s body. Such power.”

“Not that it makes them look any less scary,” Mash frowned at her words displeased at the compliment. She set her shield aside on her right. “Director, I have a question for you. The Fuyuki in our data and this Fuyuki are just too different.

“What happened in this city, exactly? What are your thoughts, Director?”

“Let’s see, history must’ve been slightly disrupted. That’s the only reason I could think of,” Olga Marie replied. With their eyes and attention fixated on her, she shifted to them back. “Mash, Fujimaru, I’m only going to say this once, so listen up.

“Chaldea observes the future through an Earth model called Chaldeas.

“At the same time, a familiar called Laplace compiles past records.

“You can say Laplace job to gather data on history that wasn’t made public and information that was buried in the darkness that no one knows.”

The group went down again while tuning in to the Director’s explanation.

“According to Laplace’s observations, an unusual Holy Grail War was confirmed in this city in 2004.”

Mash’s single violet orb widened. “Holy Grail War? You mean the Holy Grail of legend? The magical chalice that is the root of all magecraft, the one that is said to grant its holder’s wishes?”

“Eh? Is it actually that powerful?” Ritsuko widened her orbs in the revelation too.

“From what myths said, the Holy Grail was claimed to be a golden chalice containing Christ’s blood. It’s a chalice used by Jesus Christ, the Son of God, in his Last Supper. And, to collect the blood of Christ upon his crucifixion.

Ritsuka explained to his sister. “With the Grail containing Christ’s blood, it’s undeniably the most powerful source of magic.

“They not only showed up in Celtics and Arthurian legends.

“But many other legends and myths heroes were pursuing it too.”

Olga Marie nodded. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“So, that’s why those Masters were searching for the Grail… A most powerful artifact by the son of God’s blood.” Ritsuko muttered to herself.

“Mages in Fuyuki city competed for the Grail, and in order to activate it summoned seven Heroic Spirits,” Followed by a grim expression, the Director resumed.

“That was the start of the Holy Grail War. Unknown to anyone, Servants were summoned to this town.

“The Fuyuki Holy Grail War is simple. Seven Masters fight each other. The last one standing gets the Grail. Chaldea learned about this in 2010. My father,” Olga Marie shook her head and amended. “I mean, the previous director used this data to build the Summoning System.

“That’s what makes up Chaldeas’s Heroic Spirit Summoning System, Fate.

“Our third invention after Laplace and Chaldeas.”

While the sibling’s pair nodded, Mash noticed and inquired, “Third? Isn’t that the Near-Future Observation Lens, Sheba?”

“That was created by Professor Lev. Well, I guess you can say we both worked on it,” Olga Marie showed a proud beam at the memories. “Anyway, this is where Servants come from. Seven Servants fought here, and in the end, Saber was victorious.

“The town wasn’t destroyed, and the Servants shouldn’t have been noticed by anyone, but,” Another sweeping scan of the city, Olga Marie decided. “Now this is happening. We should assume that the outcome changed due to this Singularity.

“The anomaly in 2004 brought about an alteration to human history and as a result, we’re no longer able to see 100 years in the future. That’s why it’s our job to repair this anomaly. Somewhere here is the reason history has been disturbed.

“Once we analyze and eliminate it, that will complete our mission. All of us will be able to return to the present,” Finished her explanation, the Director shifted her attention to Ritsuka who had raised his hand.

He put his hand back down and asked, “Was there any Heroic Spirits summoned at Chaldea?”

“Of course. But it didn’t go well, there weren’t many successes,” Olga Marie shook her head with a disappointed expression. “According to the data, three were summoned, but I only know of two.”

Three fingers lifted up from her hand, her index finger slightly pulled apart from the other two as she revealed. “The previous Director summoned the first. Second and third arrived after I became Director.”

“The second fused with Mash,” Olga Marie’s orange orbs directed at the violet-haired Servant. She suddenly let out an irritated sigh, “And, well, you know, the third. The weirdo lives in Chaldea. Leonardo da Vinci.”

A second passed, Ritsuka tried to process what the Director mentioned before yelling in shock.

“Did…. Did you say…. Leonardo da Vinci?!!”

“GuOOOOOOO!!!!!” A familiar ear-piercing screech caught their attention. Their head turned to the front to meet a familiar group of armed skeletons heading to them.

“Not these guys again! Get rid of them, Mash, Fujimaru!”

Olga Marie ran off at once to find a shelter from the battlefield.

Ritsuka swept his head to the running Director. “Hold on, is it that Leonardo da Vinci? The same da Vinci that painted Mona Lisa?!”

“Damn it, Ritsuka.

“Save your fanboying of historical people later!

“We got murderous boneheads coming for us!”

Ritsuko dragged her brother’s right arm along as Mash had charged ahead into the battlefield.

Ritsuka stood firm as he tried to pull his arm back. “But, it’s Da Vinci! The one who painted The Vitruvian Man, Mona Lisa, and The Last Supper painting, and invented early flying machines!”

Ritsuko rolled her eyes and pointed at the army of skeletons. “War is hell, Onii-chan. Now let’s kill those things or we have a dead body of our Director to bury later.”

As Ritsuko signaled to him of Mash taking down their enemies alone. Ritsuka huffed with his pipe armed. “Fine, let’s kill these morons first.”

-0-

A moment later, Mash set down her shield with a heavy sigh, “Phew, the battlefield is over, Masters. I’m relieved that we pulled through again.”

“Good work, Mash,” Ritsuka grinned, setting his pipe on the ground with a huff.

Ritsuko patted her back and smiled, “Yeah, thank you, Mash!”

Mash showed a faint blush at their compliments and acknowledged, “Yes. I am happy that I can be useful to you, Senpais.”

As they beamed at each other, Olga Marie’s voice approached them with concern. “Hey, Mash. Is it possible that you can’t use your Noble Phantasm?”

“Noble Phantasm?”

Ritsuka repeated with a curious expression.

The violet-haired Servant nodded with a frown. “Apparently, I don’t even know which Heroic Spirit fused with me…”

She glanced at her shield and added. “And, I’m unable to use the power of its Special Arts, the Heroic Spirits’s secret weapon—known as a Noble Phantasm.”

“Mash-chan?”

On cue from Ritsuko’s voice, Mash shifted to them with her head nodded. “Ritsuko-senpai, Ritsuka-senpai, I’m sorry for explaining this so late. Servants are equipped with a unique skill called a Noble Phantasm. It’s derived from each hero’s legend and great deeds and is a secret weapon.

“But, I am unable to wield my Noble Phantasm.” With another glimpse at her shield, Mash turned her gaze back to the siblings. “I can somehow use it as a weapon, but its output is decreased. I can’t even release its True Name. In fact, I don’t even know what the origins of this weapon of mine might be.”

While Olga Marie remained silent, Ritsuko turned to her brother.

“Any idea of mythical heroes using a shield as a weapon?”

“Not that I can tell,” Ritsuka narrowed his orbs and leaned his head to check out the shield. “Or at least, from what I remember, Ritsuko. My tablet may or not have documents I’ve downloaded on this. Other than that, I don’t recognize this shield anywhere.”

“I see…” Ritsuko nodded solemnly.

“In any case, you can think of me as a failed Servant,” Mash then corrected. “Or maybe just a capable kouhai* that can get even stronger. I have no leads on the Heroic Spirit that fused with me too, but with both of you as my Masters, I will figure it out as I grow.”

“Mash…” Ritsuka stared at with surprise at her faith to them.

Olga Marie nodded in agreement. “That’s true.

“Masters have the ability to analyze their Servants parameters, skills, and matrixes.”

The Director shifted her gaze at the siblings and went on. “Fujimaru Ritsuka, Fujimaru Ritsuko… As a Master, once you both become good enough, you should be able to analyze Mash’s Servant data.

“Any Servants you make a contract with from this point should be the same. First, you need to learn their True Name and Noble Phantasm. As your trust with them grows, your Servant’s power will grow too.”

Turned her head aside, Olga Marie let out a scoff. “Well, it’s not like you both have that much potential in you. The fact that you two can’t use Mash that well shows that. Once we get Chaldea’s Rayshift capability back online, we will shift a first-class Master here.

“Then you both are fired,” The Director with her index finger lifted and pointing at the Fujimaru Siblings.

“Newbies with no combat experience can spend their time terrified in some corner in Chaldea.”

“Wasn’t that you who kept hiding like a coward while we do all the dirty work?” Ritsuka and Ritsuko thought in synch with a glare on their faces.

But, a thought stuck in Ritsuko’s mind. As she remembered from Romani’s words about Olga Marie, Ritsuko asked with a curious expression. “Could it be that you’re worried about us?”

Knowingly she struck the spot, Olga Marie’s face turned red and flustered. “O-Of course! Y-You and your brother especially are only out fighting force here! If you and he gets taken out, who’s going to fight?”

“Hmm, in other words,” Ritsuka picked up his pipe and lay across his shoulders. One of his eyebrows raised as he questioned, “Weren’t you the one scared and spending quality time ‘terrified in some corner’?”

“I wasn’t! Not in the least!” Olga Marie’s orange orbs glared at Ritsuka. Though, it simply caused her glare less taken seriously to the raven-haired Master. She reminded with a yell. “You should be respectful to your elders!”

“Anyway, I’m glad you three understand each other better now.”

Mash stepped in to prevent any further escalation into an argument, “Let’s move before any more of them show up.”

While the Fujimaru siblings nodded to agree, Olga Marie stormed ahead as she grumbled to herself. As they walked off, the siblings grinned at each other while following the Director from behind.

End of Section 4

#fgo #fate grand order #fgo destiny awakenings

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eddiemylovc · 6 years

Text

Cupid’s Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Reddie

Words: 5,035

Other Chapters: Part 1, Part 2

A/N: So this is the last chapter, thank you to everyone who read this! I might do one more chapter but who knows we’ll see :)

Summary: Eddie and Richie's Valentine's Day double date with Ben and Beverly.

AO3 Link

Eddie's room is in shambles. Every piece of clothing he owns is strewn all over the floor; he can't decide on a single outfit. He doesn't know why this should even be such a big deal, anyways. He's never cared that much about what he wears before. It's not like he's trying to impress anybody. Is he?

In one-hour Richie will be here to pick Eddie up for their double date and then they'll be meeting Ben and Beverly at the Derry bowling alley. Before panic starts to settle in, Eddie finally narrows his choices down to two and snaps a picture of himself in each outfit to send to Beverly so she can help him decide. After all she does want the best for him.

Eddie: Please! Help! Me! I'm having a crisis and Richie will be here in an hour! Idk which one, 1 or 2?!?!?

In a rush and without realising what he's doing, Eddie presses send just as he sees that he's sent the photos to Richie by mistake. "Fuck! " Eddie curses out loud. "No, no, no, no, no! Shit!"

His mother knocks on his door. "Eddie? Are you alright? What's going on?"

"I'm fine, Ma! I just...uh—stubbed my toe! I'm okay!" Eddie says as he taps furiously on his phone like it's going to help him in this situation.

"Okay...well, be a little more careful next time, sweetie. I'll be in my room if you need me."

Eddie types out a new text.

Eddie: Omg please ignore that, it was meant to go to Bev.

Eddie throws his phone to the side and lies back on his bed. "I'm so fucked."

His phone dings. He groans in embarrassment as he grabs it and checks the message.

Richie: Wooooww Eds, looking snazzy! Didn't know this date would be such a cause for a fashion crisis! I hope u know that my heart is now swelling at the thought of my opinion meaning so much to you ;)

Eddie rolls his eyes and types out a reply.

Eddie: Who uses the word snazzy anymore? And I don’t care about your opinion dickhead, I just wanna look good for me is that ok with you? :p

Eddie's phone dings again.

Richie: Uhh I do. Have u even met me?? But that is perfectly fine with me, I love a man who’s confident

Richie: And I would go for option 2 btw. Although no matter what you wear I know that you'll look beautiful.

Richie: As always

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up at that. He fails to hold back a smile as the adrenaline dies down from his little mishap. Eddie knows that compliment doesn't really mean anything—Richie’s just teasing him again—and that there’s a possibility they’ll never stay in touch after tonight, but his heart can't help but pound at the thought of Richie seeing him as beautiful.

Eddie: …

Eddie: Shut up.

Before Eddie can become any more of a love-sick idiot, he sets his phone down again and decides to wear option one instead of giving into what Richie wants, so that he doesn't appear too desperate. Also because he’s stubborn as hell.

He finishes up getting ready and before he knows it Richie is ringing the doorbell. Eddie leaves his room to answer the door.

"Who's at the door?" his mother yells from her room upstairs.

"It's just Beverly, Ma!" Eddie lies. "I'm going out with her and Ben for Valentine’s Day, remember?"

"Right. Don't be out too late then, and make sure you dress warmly. It's chilly out there!"

"Yes, Ma!" Eddie grabs his jacket and opens the door to see Richie with a bouquet of flowers. He steps outside and shuts the door behind him.

Richie looks him up and down and smiles. "So, you went with option one I see, even after my advice.” He shakes his head. “Tsk, tsk. Either way you look adorable, Eds."

"Look, I told you it was meant for Beverly, not you. I don't need your validation." Eddie won’t say it but he thinks Richie looks adorable as well.

"Ouch. Whatever you say, Spagheds." He steps forward and leans in to give Eddie a kiss on the cheek. He hands him the flowers. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Once again Eddie doesn't point out that they're not actually dating and have no one to prove to, now. He guesses he's gotten used to Richie's affection by now.

Wrong.

"Thank you, they’re beautiful. You really didn't have to, though, especially after the giant bear you already gave me."

Richie just shrugs. "I like to spoil people."

"I didn't even get you anything," Eddie says. He feels a little bad.

"Don't worry about it. Your existence is good enough of a gift for me."

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Jerk."

"Oh, and also," Richie takes another step closer to Eddie and takes one of the flowers "here's a great way to make your option number one look look even better." He gently places the flower in Eddie's hair behind his ear, letting his fingers linger in his hair for a moment—Eddie's breath hitches—before stepping back. "Voila! Amazing."

"Uh, thanks, I guess? Can we go now? They'll be waiting for us there."

"Sure thang." Richie points finger guns at him.

They drive to the bowling alley with Eddie lecturing him not to embarass him in front of Ben and Beverly. Richie's only response is that he can't 'make any promises'. Eddie elbows him.

Once they reach the bowling alley, they walk inside to meet Eddie’s two friends. He spots Beverly and she waves at him excitedly before bouncing over to give him a tight hug. “Eddie! I’m so glad you made it!”

“Hey, Bev! Hey, Ben!” He pats Ben on the back.

“Great to see you, Eddie,” Ben replies with a smile.

They both look over at Richie. Eddie introduces him to them. “Richie, this is my best friend, Beverly Marsh, and her boyfriend, Ben Hanscom. Guys, this is my date, Richie Tozier, who I was unfortunately matched up with on a matchmaker website, as you may have known.”

Richie hits Eddie’s arm playfully for that before shaking both of his friends’ hands. “I’m actually his other half, he just doesn’t know it yet. Cupid even said so.”

Beverly laughs and raises her eyebrows up at Eddie. “Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about ninety percent of the time,” Eddie protests.

“Ninety-five percent of the time, actually,” Richie says.

“Wow, well, I’m glad you found someone, Eddie,” Beverly says.

“See, Eds? At least someone can appreciate my wonderful existence,” Richie claims. Eddie scoffs.

“Well, shall we get bowling, my friends?” Ben cuts in.

“Oh, I am so kicking all of your asses at bowling!” Richie shouts. “Y’all better be prepared.”

Eddie snorts. “Wait till you see Beverly out there, you should be the one preparing to get your ass kicked!”

“Eddie, stop, I’m blushing!” Beverly cries.

“Hmm, I don’t know, we’ll see about that,” Richie says. “But you are so on, Miss Marsh!”

They take time to set up and grab their lane. When they go to grab their bowling shoes, Richie nearly cries at how tiny Eddie’s feet are when he sees his shoe size. Eddie flushes furiously. “Don’t make fun of me when you’ve got clown feet!”

“Hey, you know what they say about a man with big feet. But, I take pride in my feet and you should too! Every inch of you is adorable, including your little feet,” he teases. “And other things. I imagine.”

Eddie pushes him over while he’s bent down tying his shoes.

Once they’re at their lane, Richie takes the responsibility of putting in each of their names, ignoring all of their protests.

Ben Handsome Molly Ringwald Edward Spaghedward The Man, The Myth, The Legend

“Really? You are so full of yourself,” Eddie comments.

“Just wait, you’re gonna see it’s true when I beat you all,” Richie says as he points at them. He claps his hands. “Alright, Benny Boy! You’re first up!”

Ben steps up while Beverly hypes him up. “Woohoo! Let’s go Ben!!!”

He ends up with a strike on his first try. Beverly cheers wildly and gives him a cheerful kiss on the lips as he picks her up and spins her around. Eddie is very impressed to say the least. “Good job, Ben!” Eddie says to him while giving him a high-five as he sits down.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves an underdog!” Richie exclaims in an announcer’s voice.

“Let’s see you do that, Richie,” Eddie says to him.

“Oh, you just wait, little one. I’ve got some pretty handy tricks up my sleeve.”

Beverly starts off nicely with a spare. Eddie high-fives her as he gets up for his turn.

Richie pretends to be a cheerleader behind him. “Let’s go, Spaghetti, let’s go!”

Eddie grabs a ball and prepares to roll it. “Nice ass, Kaspbrak!” Richie shouts from behind. Eddie gives him the finger. On his first try the ball ends up in the gutter, while on his second try he knocks down six pins.

“Better luck next time, Eds! Now, watch and learn as the real master steps up to the plate.” Richie gets up. He grabs a ball and steps up to the lane. He does a little dance move and blows on the ball dramatically, like he’s preparing it to get him a strike. Eddie laughs fondly at his act. He rolls the ball and it ends up knocking down all the pins in the middle, leaving one on each side. Richie curses. “Fuck!” Eddie laughs harder; the others are laughing, too. On his second try he doesn’t hit any of the pins and the ball ends up in the gutter.

“That was just a warm up so it doesn’t count. You just wait,” Richie says as he sits down beside Eddie.

“God, how long are we supposed to wait for—till Christmas? You can keep saying that, but I don’t believe you. My money’s on Ben or Beverly.”

“Aww, what a supportive boyfriend you are!” Richie pinches his cheek.

Eddie pushes his hand away. “Okay, first of all, you’re not my boyfriend, and second of all, it’s just facts.”

“And what about yourself? What if you win?”

“I already know I suck at bowling and I think you need to face the fact that you do, too,” Eddie teases.

Richie scoffs. “Harsh. Guess who’s not getting you anymore teddy bears or flowers then? I only spoil the people that actually appreciate me and my bowling skills.”

“You don’t have any skills.”

“I think your mom would have to disagree with you on that one, Eds.”

“Bowling skills. Don’t be gross.”

“Eddie! It’s your turn! Are you done flirting?” Beverly interrupts.

Eddie gets up for his turn and the rest of the game goes by fairly quickly, the four of them completely enjoying themselves. During each of Richie’s turns he does a dramatic warm up before rolling the ball. He even manages to get in trouble at least once by one of the employees for sliding halfway down the lane on his knees when he rolls the ball. Eddie’s cheeks start to hurt from smiling so hard. He teases Richie for his ridiculousness but he secretly loves seeing him up there all smiley and goofy. Eventually, Richie finally gets his well-deserved strike and Eddie can’t help but feel happy for him after he’s been trying so hard to get one and claiming he’s the best. They all go wild when it happens.

“WOOOOO!” Richie yells. He picks Eddie up and spins him around excitedly. Eddie is laughing so hard he can barely breathe. Richie sets him down again. “And THAT’S how it’s done, folks!” he preaches.

“It only took you—'the master of bowling’—umm, how many turns?” Ben says. Eddie and Beverly tear up laughing.

Eddie turns towards Richie. “Only because you’ve been trying so hard, I guess I’ll give you a reward.” He plants a soft kiss on Richie’s cheek. Richie beams. Beverly and Ben cheer.

“Man, I need to get a strike more often,” Richie gushes.

“Don’t worry, I can teach ya,” Beverly says, winking at him.

When the game finishes, Beverly does end up kicking all of their asses and lands in first place. Ben ends up in second place, while Richie ends up in third with Eddie not too far behind him in fourth. Beverly brags about her win while Richie rolls his eyes. “I think what matters most here is that we all tried our best. There shouldn’t be any winners or losers because we’re a team,” he says. The rest of them groan in response.

“Now, anyone hungry?” Beverly asks. “There’s a restaurant next door I was thinking we could go to. Plus, I hear it’s karaoke night! ” she sings excitedly.

“Oh no,” Eddie cringes. “Please, no.”

“Oh yes!” Richie says.

“Richie, if you get up there and sing horribly, I’ll officially act as if I don’t know you.”

“You won’t have to do that because I’ll make you come up there with me,” he teases.

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he says, challenging him.

They walk over to the restaurant and grab a booth somewhat close to the karaoke stage. Ben slides in beside Beverly while Eddie slides in beside Richie across from them. They chat while they look through the menu, deciding what they want to eat. Later, a waiter comes over to their table and introduces himself before taking each of their orders. Once he leaves, Richie sits back in the booth and smoothly places an arm around the back of it, behind Eddie. Eddie subtly leans into him, trying not to think about their fake date from yesterday.

“So, has anyone noticed how cute little Eds looks here, tonight?” Richie smirks. Eddie elbows him. Both Ben and Beverly laugh.

“You do look very cute, Eddie,” Beverly says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that sweater before. It suits you.” She smiles.

Eddie blushes. “Thanks.”

“What’s with the flower, though?” she asks, tapping her head.

Eddie forgot it was even there.

“It was my own personal touch,” Richie says. “Did he tell you about his little mishap he had earlier?” he mentions. Eddie puts his head in his hands and groans.

“Please don’t.”

That sparks Beverly’s interest. She looks at Eddie curiously. “No, he didn’t. What did he do?”

Eddie starts to explain. “It was just a stupid text message meant to go t-”

Richie cuts him off. “Well, it turns out he was having a fashion crisis and couldn’t decide on what outfit to wear so he-”

Eddie clamps a hand over his mouth. “Please don’t listen to him. He’s wrong.”

Richie removes his hand. “So he snapped a couple pictures—which were like, selfie goals by the way, we love a fashion icon—and he sent them to me asking which one I liked better and I just felt so flattered that he wanted my opinion. Then he started making excuses about how it was meant to go to you, Beverly, and that it was a mistake. I didn’t believe him so I gave him my opinion anyway and he didn’t even listen! But he still looks amazing so it doesn’t matter.” Richie beams at him.

Eddie scoffs. “I fucking told you, they really were meant to go to Bev, and I also said I didn’t need your opinion I just couldn’t make a decision!”

“Excuses, excuses.” He shakes his head.

“Hmm, I never ended up receiving these photos. Suspicious. Why is that, Eddie?” Beverly says. She smiles mischievously.

Richie gasps. “The plot thickens!”

“Because I finally came to a decision, is that alright with you all?” Eddie argued.

“It’s okay, I believe you, Eddie,” Ben says and smiles.

Eddie places a hand over Ben’s arm across the table. “You always were my favorite, Ben.” He pretends to tear up. Richie and Beverly try to catch their breath from laughing so hard.

“You’re always so fun to tease, Eds,” Richie says. Beverly gives Eddie a suspicious look at that but doesn’t say anything.

“I like you, Tozier,” she says.

“And I you, Miss Marsh,” he replies. They high-five across the table.

The waiter comes around with each of their drinks. “So, how long have you two been dating?” Richie says after the waiter leaves, pointing at Ben and Beverly.

“Over two years now, I believe,” Ben replies. He looks at Beverly with one of the most loving expressions Eddie has ever seen. Beverly places a hand over his and squeezes it, smiling at him. Eddie was so happy for them when he learned that they were dating. He always knew Ben was the one for Beverly and that he would treat her how she deserves to be treated. He admires their love.

“Wow, think we could last that long, Eds?” Richie teases. Eddie nearly chokes on his drink.

“Okay, so, fill me in. How did you two meet?” Ben asks.

“I made Eddie sign up for a matchmaker website and the rest is history,” Beverly says.

“Ohhh, right, Eddie said that.”

“I’m still debating whether or not I’m glad I was matched up with Trashmouth, here,” Eddie jokes.

Richie scoffs. “Admit it, you were so overwhelmingly happy when you saw it was someone as pretty as me you didn’t know what to do with yourself.”

“Pfft, keep dreaming.”

I’m actually so glad it was you—even though I didn’t know you, I think a part of me already did.

Eddie cringes at his own sappy thoughts.

Did I really just think that?

“Wait, so how long have you known each other, then?” Ben says.

Richie and Eddie look at each other, trying to decide how to answer this. Richie lets Eddie answer. “Uh, well the meeting after we were matched together was two days ago, so, not that long.”

“Really? You’ve only met once? You’d’ve convinced me you’ve known each other forever. You two seem fairly close.”

Eddie laughs nervously. “Yeah, I guess you could say we’ve hit it off together.” Beverly looks at him like she knows there’s something more to that.

“Like how I hit it off with your mom?”

Eddie elbows him again. “Shut up. We bond well together.”

They all laugh.

“You two do make a great pair,” Beverly says and winks at them before taking a sip of her drink.

“I completely agree with you on that one,” Richie says. He moves his arm down so that it’s now placed around Eddie. He starts to draw small circles on Eddie’s shoulder with his finger. Chills run through him at that one point of contact.

A little while later their food arrives and they dig in. Oh, and guess what Richie ordered? That’s right; spaghetti. He makes googly eyes at Eddie the whole time while he eats it. Eddie laughs and rolls his eyes at him.

“That was good, but it wasn’t as delicious as you, Eddie,” Richie says once they finish up.

“Oh, really? Because this chicken tasted way better than you,” Eddie replies. Then he realises what he’s just said.

“Tasted?” Beverly asks with a smirk.

“I was kidding,” he says quickly.

“Damn right you were kidding because I taste amazing,” Richie says.

Everyone groans.

“Welp, I gotta make my way to the little boy’s room. Scoot your cute little ass over, Eds,” Richie orders.

“Yeah, me too,” Ben adds.

Eddie moves to let Richie get out of the booth.

“Y’all don’t have too much fun without us while we’re gone,” Richie jokes.

As they leave, Beverly rests her chin on her hand and smirks at Eddie.

“What?” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You know what,” she says. “I think he’s pretty cute. And funny. Looks very much to be your type.”

Eddie scoffs. “I didn’t even know I had a ‘type’, how would you know what it is?”

“Oh honey, with the way you’ve been looking at him I think everyone can tell he’s your type.”

Eddie’s cheeks heat up. “He’s really something, isn’t he?”

Beverly smiles fondly. “He really is. Although, I was wondering, are you sure you two have only met once? Is there something you’re not telling me?” she teases.

Eddie sighs. “Alright, you caught me. But it was the only way!”

“What was?”

“When we met, I told him that I needed a date for Valentine’s Day because I was gonna be going on a double date and I wanted to make you happy that I found someone, or at least tried to. Then he told me that he was looking for someone to be his fake date because he had an ex that wouldn’t leave him alone so he wanted someone who would help him convince them that he’s moved on. Basically, we made a deal that if I went on this fake date with him, he would come on this double date with me and vice versa. It sounds stupid, but that’s what we agreed on and now here we are.”

“I can’t believe you’re only telling me this now!” She isn’t mad at him, though. Only surprised (and overjoyed) that there’s more to their story that he didn’t tell her. “So, does this mean you’ve been on the fake date already and that’s why you’re already fairly comfortable with each other? Oh my God, how far did you guys even go with it?!”

“Yeah, I guess. It was actually a lot of fun, Bev. I’ll tell you more about it later.”

“Oh man, I can’t wait to hear this story!” she beams. “Will you still see each other after this, though? I really hope you do, I love how you light up around him.”

Eddie looks down and frowns, picks at his nails. “I don’t really know…” I hope so. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“Well, I wish you happiness, Eddie.” She smiles at him. Eddie smiles back.

Ben and Richie emerge from the washroom. Richie plops down beside Eddie. He pinches his cheek. “Hey, did you miss me?”

Eddie shrugs him off. “So much, Rich.”

Richie grins. “I knew it.”

Someone taps the mic on the mini stage up front. “Alright, folks, who’s ready for some karaoke?!” People around them cheer and clap.

Richie smirks at Eddie evilly. “Don’t you dare,” Eddie mouths.

“Now, because it’s Valentines Day, we have a special collection of love songs selected for tonight! Who would like to be our first singer of the night?”

Richie’s hand flies up. Eddie sinks down in the booth.

And of course, they pick him. Because no one else raised their hand. Of course.

“Looks like we have our first volunteer! Come on up!”

Richie bounds up to the stage excitedly, at least not dragging Eddie with him. Beverly and Ben cheer for him. Eddie turns to watch him.

He picks through the selection of songs before finally choosing one. Eddie notices a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Oh God, what is he gonna do?

The music starts playing and Eddie recognises the song almost instantly. Beverly laughs and hollers.

Richie starts singing, not even having to look at the lyrics. It’s almost like he’s been preparing for this.

I hear the drums echoing tonight But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation…

Eddie laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. He can’t believe he’s doing this. The audience is practically singing along with him.

…He turned to me as if to say, "Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you"

Richie does a little dance as the chorus comes around.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do I bless the rains down in Africa Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

Eddie is absolutely mesmerised by this boy. His singing voice, Eddie will admit, is not that bad. Once the chorus comes around again, that’s when Richie makes his move. He walks off the stage and walks towards Eddie.

Oh no.

Richie points at him.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you

He grabs Eddie’s hand.

There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do

Eddie glares daggers at him as he pulls him up while winking at him. Beverly and Ben are laughing and cheering.

I bless the rains down in Africa

Eddie is flushing bright red, but he can’t stop his own laughter.

Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

Then, still holding his hand, Richie drags Eddie up on stage with him. Eddie grabs the other mic and they sing the remainder of the song together; Richie’s confidence starting to rub off on Eddie. They point and smile at each other as they sing the lyrics and by that point, Eddie forgets the audience is even there. Richie twirls Eddie around.

The song finishes and everyone claps. They walk back to their table. Eddie is high on adrenaline. “I can’t believe we just did that!”

“I think that’s definitely been the highlight of my year, so far,” Beverly says.

“I told you I’d make you come up there with me, Eds.”

“Yeah, and I’m not sure if I hate you for it or not.”

“I think you enjoyed it,” Beverly teases.

“You guys were amazing, that was hilarious!” Ben gushes.

Richie puts his arm around Eddie. “We make quite the duo, don’t we?”

After they’ve calmed down a little bit, the waiter comes with the bill and they head out the door after tipping him.

Richie gives big hugs to Ben and Beverly before they say goodbye to each other.

“It was great meeting you both! I feel honoured to have met you guys.”

“Aww, you too, Richie,” Beverly says. She bounces over to give Eddie a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see ya later then. We need to have another little talk, just us.” She smirks.

Eddie sighs. “We will, I promise.”

Ben and Beverly walk to their car while waving goodbye.

Richie and Eddie yell bye to them, before Richie shouts, “Don’t let things get too wild in the bedroom tonight!”

Eddie hits his arm. “Richie!”

“Ow! What? It is Valentine’s Day.” Richie snickers.

They walk to Richie’s car and he drives Eddie home. Richie talks about how much he enjoyed himself and how he really loved Eddie’s friends. Eddie doesn’t say much, he’s too busy wondering if him and Richie will continue to see each other or not and what will happen after this. He isn’t sure how to bring it up to him, or if he should.

Once they pull up in Eddie’s driveway, Eddie notices that Richie has started to look a little sad. He smiles but it looks kind of forced. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he says.

“Okay…”

They get out of his car and walk up the porch steps. They stop in front of the door. Eddie turns towards him. “Thank you for coming tonight, Richie. I truly did have a fun time and I think Beverly seemed pretty happy for me,” Eddie professes. “I really liked having you there,” he hints, hoping Richie will get the idea that he wants to see him again.

He doesn’t.

“You’re so sweet, Eds. I’m touched.” He puts his hand on his heart.

Silence passes between them as they stand there for a few moments, not knowing what to say or do next. Then, Richie pulls Eddie into a hug. Eddie notices right away how warm he is in comparison to the cold. Eddie buries his face in Richie’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist. Eddie softens into the hug; he can feel Richie’s breath tickle his ear. They stand there for a minute before Richie pulls away. Eddie feels the lost of his warmth immediately. He stands there awkwardly, arguing with himself in his head on what to say.

Do it! Just tell him you want to see him again! He obviously likes you! Now’s your chance!

“Well, I’ll see you later,” Eddie says and turns towards the door.

Idiot.

“Wait.” Richie grabs his arm. Eddie looks at him. “Will I see you later, though? Because…I mean—our deal—'we don’t have to see each other again after this’.” He makes air quotes with his fingers. “I’ve never been happier than I have in these last two days. I want to see you again, Eddie. But I’m not sure if you wanna see me.”

He pouts. Eddie thinks he looks adorable. “I-”

“And don’t feel like I’m forcing you or anything,” Richie interrupts. “I just—I really…like you.” He smiles self-consciously.

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “You idiot.”

Richie looks confused. “What?”

“You absolute dumbass.” Eddie sighs. “I—I like you, too. And I want to see you again.”

Richie’s face lights up. “Wait, really?”

“Yes!” Eddie takes a step closer to him. He plays with a loose button on Richie’s coat. “Now, please just shut up and kiss me, Trashmouth.”

Richie smiles wide. Eddie smiles back. “Aye aye, Captain!” Richie says. He steps closer before leaning down and bringing their lips together. The kiss is slow and soft and comforting all at once. Eddie pulls him closer and they smile into the kiss. Eddie feels something warm stir in his stomach as their lips part and Eddie knows he wants this for forever. Richie brings a hand up to Eddie’s cheek when they pull away and kisses his forehead. Eddie looks up at him fondly.

“You and those fucking doe eyes,” Richie says. He pushes a strand of Eddie’s hair away. “I’m taking you on a real date next time, just the two of us.”

“What? No more exes to fool? Dang it,” Eddie jokes.

“Your mom, maybe, but I’ve got no one else in mind.”

Eddie laughs. “Gross.”

“I don’t need to fool anyone now that I’ve got everything I want right here.” Richie boops Eddie’s nose. Again.

Eddie scrunches his nose. “I still hate that.”

Richie smiles at him. “I know you do.”

taglist: @fucking-reddie @pennys-pet-kitty @missingstanleyuris @somenates27 @geckolover001 @peachsccne

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it 2017 #reddie fanfic #it fanfic #mariah writes #*

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ivarthebonemearmy · 7 years

Text

Perhaps A Year Is All I Need Chapter 3

Summary: What do you do when you are paired with the person you detest the most? Beatrice is a History major at Oxford University. She is a straight-A student, but she cannot help but hate Ivar’s very existence. Fate likes to play tricks, neither of them has anything to lose if they choose to gamble. Or do they?

Part 1

Part 2

Word Count: 1965

A/N: Part 3 is up! Not much to say for this one, apart from apologizing for any grammar, spelling mistakes. English isn’t my first language so. Also, if I have gotten any history parts wrong, I will correct them and I apologize if I did. Any kind of feedback is not only welcome but super duper encouraged. Hope everyone had wonderful Christmas, too! Enjoy!

Chapter 3

The first time Ivar Lothbrok entered my dorm room felt as if I have stepped into the twilight zone. I was worried about getting into trouble for having a guy over but no one dared speak against his wishes or presence; some were too scared and some simply pretended to look the other way instead of facing the trouble that may come with going against him.

He stood there, a white T-shirt clinging closely to his torso. I saw a tattoo peak its head out of the linen and my curiosity peaked, though I quickly pushed it down. He has propped himself up on his crutches, leaning slightly against the door frame, his eyes boring themselves into mine.

I cleared my throat. “Come in.” I gestured for him to take a seat wherever he would like and he began making his way towards the loveseat opposite my bed.

We sat there for a while, the air was charged with awkwardness and a slight tension and I whizzed through my brain looking for anything to start a conversation.

“So,” I began, not being able to take the silence anymore. “Have you made any progress on researching the Battle in Wessex, yet?”

He leaned back into the seat, his stance relaxing slightly as he propped his crutches by his side. He reached out into his backpack and drew out his laptop and notebook, along with some pens and highlighters. “As a matter of fact, I have,” he said, eyes glinting with pride and smugness that I wished I could wipe right off. “Have you made any progress on… “

“Valkyries,” I finished. “And yes, I have.” I turned to my desk, sorting through my notes to dig up a summary. “They’re immensely interesting.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head to the side. His full and complete attention made me slightly fidgety and queasy.

“Yes,” I said.” They are the choosers of the fallen. People called Valkyries the spirit helpers of the god, Odin. They were also only female.” I looked at him and he nodded at me to continue. “They chose who could get admitted to Valhalla, as well as they had the power to choose who could die in battle. Oddly enough, they were also known for using malignant magic to make sure their choices were fulfilled in the end.”

“So they were witches?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. He propped his elbows on his knees and I glanced at the flex of his forearm.

“Not exactly,” I said, looking back up at him again. “Vikings, at least for the most part, were driven by doing things that made them worthy of a place in the Valhalla, that would make the gods proud. Valkyries had many roles and functions. You know of shield-maidens, I’m guessing?” I cocked my eyebrow at him.

He rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle, a sound I realized I was all too fond of. “Of course, I have.”

I allowed myself to crack a smile. “Well, they could have also been shield-maidens, or swan- maidens.”

“Swan-maidens?” he drew his eyebrows in.

I bobbed my head eagerly. “Yes, because their clothes were made out of swan feathers that people believed allowed them to fly and carry the chosen warriors to the gates of Valhalla.”

He leaned back again, going into deep in thought, his eyebrows drawing in in concentration. I watched him absorb the information, and place it neatly inside of his brain. I grew an inch of respect for the man across from me.

“Do you like writing about them?” he asked after a solid second of his own reflection. During our conversation, he seemed to have shifted towards me and it surprised me that I felt at ease, more comforted by his presence than I would have thought.

“I actually do,” I began. ”The legends, myths, and faith in the gods seemed to influence their way of life and behaviour a whole lot. It’s weird to think that a being, a creature who was probably just a simple human, could determine a Vikings fate with regards to the Valhalla.”

“A creature?” he challenged. “You mean to tell me you don’t believe in the supernatural, B?” There was mirth in his eyes, and they swarmed with a sudden warmth I wasn’t accustomed to. For a second all I could do was admire them. He looked down to his lap, a small smile dancing on his lips.

“You know no one calls me ‘B’, right?”

He shrugged his shoulders before looking up to capture my eyes. “Maybe I’m not everyone,” he mumbled. Although it was difficult to make out what he said, especially with the accent, I heard him loud and clear.

“Maybe you’re not,” I said. “Though, I doubt you’re much different.”

He tensed visibly at my words, his fist clenching slightly. A dark expression loomed across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, his voice intimidatingly low.

I bit my lip. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said anything, I should NOT have said anything, I thought and internally cursed myself for opening my mouth. I thought about what to say for a second, weighing my options. “Nothing,” I ended up saying. “Let’s just get back to the task at hand.” I hoped it would be enough to steer us clear off of any kind of thoughts or feelings about anything that was not our history assignment.

“Tell me,” he urged, the dark expression now forming into an abundant rage.

I took a deep breath to steady my internal screams of panic and looked away from him to find something to focus on in the window. “I hated you,” I finally whispered, not daring to look his way. “I hated almost, if not everything, about you.” My mouth will get me killed one day, I swear.

When he didn’t say anything, I continued. “I worked so hard to get to where I am, you have no idea. I overcame every single obstacle thrown at me, I worked various amounts of jobs until I could barely hold myself up just to pay to be here. And then you showed up

“And at first, I truly believed that you only got here because of connections, power and the immense wealth.” He snorted. “But then you turned out to actually be smart and it seemed so exuberantly easy for you. I mean, you don’t even bring a notebook to class, or a pen for fuck’s sake,” I laughed, though it lacked humour behind it. I could feel tears pricking my eyes but I blinked them away. I have not cried in front of anyone for years and I refuse to let him see me this way.

The silence stretched. I focused all of my attention on my breath and the distance tick-tock of the clock, throwing a glance across the room avoiding looking in his direction.

“You can’t hate something you don’t understand or know,” he stated. “Just like you can’t love something you don’t fully understand or know. You can only hate or love the idea you have formed entirely by yourself. ”

I heard him shuffle around, the zip of a bag made my head snap up. I followed his movements as he hoisted himself up from the love seat, slung the backpack across his shoulders, propped himself on his crutches and began to make his way out.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, warmth spreading to my cheeks as the wright of the situation hit me. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He stopped in his tracks, right before reaching the door. “I don’t get offended,” he said, turning his head to look at me. “But I also won’t be in the presence of someone who seems to hate me without knowing anything about me for longer than I have to.” With that, the door shut closed and he was gone in the blink of an eye.

I sat there for a while, staring at the door, wondering what the fuck just happened and how I managed to have gone from a surprisingly pleasant conversation to none at all.

*********

“You can’t possibly be serious!”

I exhaled loudly, kicking at the stones on the road. I was betting that to others I looked like a child. I also felt like a child. “I am.”

“So, let me get this straight, you were in your dorm room, with none other than Ivar bloody Lothbrok, the hottie rich boy, and you flat out called him an entitled prick?”

“Well, of course not,” I hissed. “I just said I hated him and listed reasons that sounded both like compliments and insults all at the same time.”

Pause. “Wait, hated as in past tense?”

Of course, my cousin would get hung up on tenses. But then, I contemplated my choice of words in both instances for a second. I didn’t hate him anymore. He wasn’t as bad as my own jealousy and spitefulness painted him out to be. I didn’t like him, and I sure as hell would never hang out with him outside of it being anything but necessary, however, I didn’t hate him. “He’s not that bad.”

“Well, fuck me sideways,” she chortled. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Nothing is happening, so don’t jump to any conclusions,” I warned. “All right, buttercup, I gotta go see if he’s meeting me at the library tonight.”

“Okay, chick. If you hate shag I want all the details!” she said, just before ending the call.

“Fucking Lisa,” I muttered, before sliding the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. The air started to get chilly in the afternoons lately and I missed the warmth of the sun rays kissing my skin, although I couldn’t wait for autumn either.

I sat on the nearest bench and tried to think of what I could possibly say if he was there. In my head, I had approximately six different speeches and a scenario for each one of them. Needless to say, none of them ended well at all, but I also understand I have to grit my teeth and face whatever awaits me.

The library swarmed with people tonight. Students of all kinds and ages immersed themselves in books, their noses stuck to the screens of their laptops or iPads, some taking notes. I glanced around the room, occasionally standing on my tiptoes to try to see further around but he was nowhere to be found.

I walked around the library a couple of times until I finally settled on a free table by the entrance. I felt a tinge of disappointment and anger form in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know if he was coming or not, after our conversation, but I still hoped he would put his personal feelings aside for the sake of this project. After all, this one is one of the many and we will have to complete them all together, whether either of us liked it or not.

I checked my watch and realized I have been waiting for a good forty-five minutes, before finally giving up and sulking back to my dorm. My emotions switched between anger and disappointment, though they weren’t aimed at him but rather myself.

That night I dreamed of blue eyes. They were oceanic orbs, pulling me in until I was so deep in my lungs hurt from the crave of a wisp of fresh air. His voice was a low melody, lulling me to let go and give in to the pull. Once I was on the ocean floor, a storm began to brew and his anger flared the lightning bolts up above. I was paralyzed into place as he made me watch the destruction happening around. All I could do is wait.

#Ivar #Ivar the boneless #Ivar fanfic #Ivar fanfiction #Ivar the boneless fanfic #Vikings #Ubbe #Hvitserk #Ivar x OC #Ivar imagine

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the-fauxpas · 7 years

Text

four / vodka sunrise

UNI AU co-written with @ineffably-styles

a story of late nights, unorthodox household plants, and a trip to Vegas that changes everything

“No,” Louis all but yelled. “If you sing another High School Musical song around me, so help me god-”

“Please don’t give her any ideas,” Alexa said quickly, accepting the bag that Savannah offered her.

“Don’t be a sour puss,” Reyna scoffed. “What song should we sing, Sav? I was thinking We’re All In This Together.”

chapter three / story page

A collective sigh of relief could be heard from Savannah and her coworkers when the bell at the cafe door dinged, announcing the departure of their last customer. They hadn’t had a moment to catch a breath since the opening of the cafe and were glad to see the tables empty.

“I can’t believe this shift is finally over,” Maeve - one of Savannah’s closest workmates - groaned, untying her apron and pulling it off. She slumped down in one of the chairs, Savannah following suit as they both rested their heads against the table and closed their eyes to rest.

“That was actually ridiculous. I hate Saturdays,” Sav agreed, trying to keep herself awake. She still had a party to go to that night so passing out just wasn’t an option for her. “Did you lock the door? Because if you didn’t, I might just yell bloody murder at the next person who dares to walk in here.”

“That’s beautiful customer service right there, Sav,” Christian, one of their kitchen hands, grinned. He set two sandwiches down by her and Maeve’s heads. “BLTs to go,” he explained, “thought you guys might need an energy boost on the way home.”

“The man, the myth, the legend everyone,” Maeve exclaimed thankfully, clapping loudly as he mockingly bowed graciously.

“Thank you, thank you. I live to impress my loyal subjects,” he joked.

“Oh get over yourself,” Savannah brushed him off lightly. “Thanks for the sandwiches though, it’s really nice of you,” she added, watching as his cheeks tinged slightly pink at her compliment.

“It’s fine, I didn’t want all that food to go to waste,” he said nonchalantly, shuffling slightly. “Anyways, I better clean up and go home. Got an assignment to finish.”

“Ah, sounds brutal,” Savannah winced, grabbing her sandwich and unwrapping it to take a bite. She and Maeve waved solemnly to Christian as he disappeared behind the kitchen door.

“He’s such a nice boy,” Maeve commented, also picking up her sandwich.

“He is.”

“He’s also crazy about you,” she continued.

“He’s also eighteen,” Savannah countered.

“Age is nothing but a number,” Maeve joked, taking a bite of her snack and grinning angelically at Sav.

“Until it’s illegal,” she replied dryly. “We need to find him a nice girl.” The cogs were already turning in Sav’s mind, and she knew that if either Reyna or Alexa were there, they’d be stopping her plan in its tracks. Luckily for her though, Maeve wasn’t quite as intuitive as her two best friends were and so was completely oblivious to her plan.

“Yeah, if he ever had eyes for anyone else, that might actually work,” she replied sarcastically. “Anyways, have you got yourself a boy yet? Kinda leaving it a bit late, aren’t ya?” she joked.

Savannah rolled her eyes, throwing a scrunched up napkin at her friend. “Firstly, it will work. I’ll make it work. And secondly, no,” she replied, not bothering to elaborate on her last point.

“Have you been out playing the field though? I mean, you’re single, gorgeous, and you need to show Cameron how much better you’re doing without him too,” she added slyly, a grin playing on her lips. Maeve had always disliked Savannah’s ex-boyfriend - she had always prided herself in her ability to read people accurately. She’d known from the get-go that he was going to break Sav’s heart and when he finally did, she’d had to repress her urge to hunt the guy down.

“Ugh, you don’t even have to worry about Cameron. Completely surprised me, if I’m being honest,” Savannah shrugged. “I thought it would take a lot longer than it did for me to get over him.”

“That’s good,” Maeve said excitedly, finishing off her sandwich and brushing off the crumbs. “I always told you I never liked him, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Savannah smiled, “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Ah,” Maeve leaned back, brushing off her words. “You had to find out for yourself. And I’m glad that you did - you’re already stronger from the experience.”

At this, Sav couldn’t help but smile. As messy as the breakup had been, she was glad that she’d come out of it a lot stronger than before. Maeve had always been the voice of reason and guidance for her. Wise beyond her 26 years, Savannah found that going to her for advice always resulted in a completely new perspective on any difficult topic that she encountered and she was glad that of all the people she met in life, she’d crossed paths with Maeve.

“Thank you,” she said honestly, smiling at her friend before finishing up the rest of her food.

“How are you guys getting home?” Christian asked, walking back into the front room a few moments later. He’d changed out of his work clothes into something more casual, tugging a bag onto his back as he carefully ran his eyes over the cafe once more to make sure everything was intact. It still surprised Sav how much he seemed to like the little cafe her mum owned.

“Dunno,” Maeve shrugged, grinning over at him.

“I can give you guys a lift if you’d like?” he offered, sounding a little unsure of himself as he glanced from Sav to Maeve and back again. “I mean, it’s my mum’s van and the backseat smells a little because of my brother’s soccer uniform, but it does the job,” he blabbered.

“You had me at ride,” Maeve nodded eagerly. “Anything’s better than taking the bus,” she scowled. “It always smells like dog. And don’t get me wrong, I love dogs as much as the next person but seriously, come on.”

Christian laughed lightly before nodding at her in agreement. “Sav?” he offered, jingling his keys in midair.

“Thanks, Christian,” she smiled kindly. “But Lex is coming to pick me up in about ten,” she checked her watch, “so we can get ready for the party tonight.”

“Ah,” he nodded easily. “Next time, then. Did you want us to wait with you until they got here?” he offered.

“Nah, it’s fine,” she waved them off. “You two get going. I need to check the register and lock up anyway.”

“Alright,” Maeve shrugged, “don’t do anything I haven’t done,” she sing-songed, moving around to give Sav a quick hug.

“Really?” Savannah stared at her. “There’s like nothing you haven’t done.” “I know,” she winked. “And I’m all the wiser for it. You’ve said so yourself,” she defended.

“Bye, Maeve,” Sav said pointedly, making Christian laugh from by the door. “Oh, and leave the door open would you?”

“No problem. I’ll see you on Monday?” he questioned, holding the door open for Maeve as she made her way towards him.

“Definitely,” Savannah nodded. “I’m going to talk to my mum about a possible pay-rise for you, Chris,” she teased, making him blush.

“Have fun tonight,” he said before bading her a final farewell and letting the door ding shut behind him.

It was only a few minutes later when Savannah was locking the register and doing a final quick sweep of the backroom that a banging could be heard from out front.

“Oi, Sav, let us in,” Louis was yelling. “I’m going to freeze my knob off!”

“Good,” Savannah heard Reyna quip. “That way you won’t be able to procreate.”

“Nah, be honest,” he drawled. “My kids would be cute.”

Reyna snorted. “Your kids would be cursed. Poor lads never saw it coming - ending up with a dad like you.”

“That’s no way to speak of our future children, Rey-Rey,” Louis mocked.

“If the weather doesn’t freeze your knob, I sure as hell will hack it off for you,” Reyna said in a sinister voice.

“Bloody hell, would you two knock it off?” Alexa cut in, clearly sounding annoyed and Savannah began to wonder just how long this conversation had been going on for. If she had to have a guess, with their history, she’d assume that it was the entire car ride and possibly even beforehand.

“Hey guys,” she said with resignation was she pulled open the door for them to come through. “It was unlocked, by the way. Did you think of turning the knob?”

“Haha, knob,” Louis snickered as he made his way inside, earning himself eye rolls from all the girls.

“Grow up, you’re horrid,” Reyna scolded, her nose wrinkling at his immaturity. “Sav, are you about done yet? Party’s in about an hour and I’d suggest we get going if you want to get there before it finishes.”

“Why’s he here?” Savannah replied, nodding towards Louis who was yet again stealing another muffin from the basket on the counter. “I hope you’re going to pay for that,” she added, glaring at him as he took a bite from a chocolate chip one.

“He didn’t want to be the first one there, and seeing as Harry’s not coming, he decided to grace us with his annoying ass,” Reyna explained, crossing her arms annoyedly.

“Hey! People would kill for my company,” Louis argued. “I wonder why I keep you around sometimes.”

“You? Keep me around-?” Reyna started.

“-Okay, maybe we should get going?” Alexa suggested, looking pointedly towards Savannah who hurriedly grabbed her bag from behind the counter and hitched it over her shoulder.

“Better get out of here before they really go at it,” she muttered, following Alexa out the door with Reyna and Louis trailing close behind, still bickering.

“It’s not my fault you guys have a shite sense of humour,” Louis was saying as they made their way over to the car.

“So,” Savannah interrupted loudly before Reyna could respond. “Harry really can’t get out of dinner plans?”

“Nah,” Louis shook his head, easily distracted from the argument, while Reyna glared at her well aware of what she was trying to do. “Dick Styles is exactly what his name suggests, a bit of a dick.”

“His dad’s name is dick?” Reyna frowned.

“Well, it’s Richard,” Louis admitted.

“But people call him dick,” Alexa concluded.

“Actually, no one calls him dick,” he grinned sheepishly, polishing off the muffin and throwing the wrapper at Reyna who punched him in the arm.

“I give up,” Savannah sighed, settling into the passenger seat as she tried to ignore the arguing coming from the backseat.

“We all do,” Alexa agreed.

“Look at the way his eyes keep flickering around the room,” Louis said gleefully, watching his friend manoeuvre his way through a conversation with the very girl he’d been avoiding for months now.

“Looking for an escape?” Alexa guessed, taking a lazy sip of the non-alcoholic drink she had in her hand. Unlike the rest of them she wasn’t drinking tonight, unwilling to risk a hangover when she had work the next day and lecture notes she was already behind on.

“Definitely looking for an escape,” Zayn sidled up to them, having caught the last part of their conversation.

“He’s been dodging Emily’s advances for months now,” Zayn’s roommate - Niall - cut in, a drink in each hand. Savannah quirked a brow, wondering if they were both for him.

“Poor guy looks like he’s in pain,” Alexa observed, tilting her head as though she was observing a painting.

“Maybe someone should help put him out of his misery?” Reyna suggested, looking from Zayn to Harry and finally resting on Sav.

“What?” she narrowed her eyes, realisation dawning on her as Reyna continued to stare pointedly at her before flicking her gaze over to Harry. “No way!” she protested. “I barely even know him. Besides, it’s Zayn’s party.”

Zayn merely shook his head. “Hey, don’t look at me. I didn’t even invite her. You can blame Louis for that,” he backed away from them carefully. “Besides, I’ve got to go around and check nothing’s missing,” he sighed. “Someone always steals something.”

“I’ll help,” Alexa piped up. “Make sure no one breaks anything,” she rushed out, cheeks tingeing a little red when everyone stared at her.

“Oh,” Niall frowned, eyes lighting up sheepishly as he followed them. “About that…” his voice trailed off as the three of them weaved their way through small groups of people who were already gathered and chatting over drinks.

Savannah turned her glare onto Louis. “Why did you invite her?” she demanded.

“She heard me talking about it and it would’ve been rude if I’d told her not to come,” he shrugged. “Plus Harry said he wasn’t going to show up so I thought it was safe.”

“You’re a complete buffoon,” Reyna shook her head. “Go save the poor guy, Sav. He looks ready to rip his hair out.”

“Is that sympathy I detect?” Louis jeered at her.

“Shut up,” she scowled at him. “We both know how stressful family dinners can be, poor bloke didn’t even have a chance to change. Look at him, he’s still got a bloody tie around his neck. Go pretend to be his girlfriend or something before he turns it into a noose.”

“Ok, ok,” Savannah rolled her eyes. “I get it. I’ll go save him. Be his knight in shining armour,” she grinned at the thought, walking over towards where Harry was playing with the tie around his neck.

“You should grow out your hair,” Emily was saying as she reached over to play with a strand of Harry’s hair.

“There you are,” Savannah interrupted, grabbing Harry and practically dragging him away, leaving Emily standing with her hand fluttering awkwardly in midair. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice.

“Uhh,” Harry frowned, allowing her to drag him away. “Did I miss something?” he asked once they’d reached Reyna and Louis, who were stood watching amusedly.

“You’re welcome,” Savannah scoffed, thinking they were in the clear only to have Louis choke on his drink as someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” the girl she’d just pulled Harry away from spoke, glaring at Savannah, “but we were in the middle of a conversation.”

Savannah glanced over at Harry who looked nervously between the two, his hand once again moving to fiddle with the tie around his neck - it annoyed her more than it should have. “Stop that,” she scolded him, swatting his hands away, completely aware that she was sounding like a controlling girlfriend.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, feeling too scatter-brained to argue.

“Why don’t you just take it off?” Reyna cut in, completely ignoring Emily’s presence.

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. “You’d look a lot less like a twat that way,” he said seriously.

“Thanks for that guys,” he glared at the two of them, before pulling his tie apart and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Savannah demanded, sounding frustrated.

“Trying to look less like a twat,” he deadpanned.

“Ahem,” Emily interrupted, four sets of eyes falling once again onto her. She turned to look at Harry. “Can we go somewhere more private?” she fluttered her eyes up at him.

Harry opened and closed his mouth, unsure of how to gently turn the girl away without sounding like a complete dickhead.

“Great fish impression,” Reyna said coyly, taking a sip of her drink while she watched Harry with amusement as he struggled to form a coherent sentence.

“Oh, bloody hell. Look, I’m sure you’re super nice,” Savannah began, stepping in front of Harry. “But Harry isn’t interested. He’s just escaped from some super stuffy family dinner and all he really wants to do is get drunk and forget his own name.”

Emily rolled her eyes, trying to step around Savannah only to have her way blocked with every attempt. Finally she gave up. “No offense but, who are you?” she demanded, sounding thoroughly frustrated.

Savannah glanced behind her, noting the panic on Harry’s face and the expectant, eager looks on Louis and Reyna’s. “I’m his girlfriend,” she muttered, not looking away from her friends as their eyes lit up gleefully and twin smiles formed on their lips. “So, please leave,” she turned back to Emily, patting Harry awkwardly on the back as he choked on his own tongue.

“I - what?” Emily spluttered, looking from Harry to Savannah.

“We’re dating,” she enunciated. “What don’t you understand?”

“You never told me you were seeing someone,” Emily said to Harry, looking fairly upset.

“Uh,” Harry stuttered, looking at a loss. “Yes?”

“God forbid he ever has to defend anyone in a criminal trial,” Savannah heard Reyna mumble from behind her. She turned around to glare at her friend only to find a phone pointed directly at her. “Remind me not to hire him. For anything. Ever.”

“Dammit, Rey,” Sav grumbled, holding her hand up to hide her face, no matter how useless she knew it was. “I need a drink.”

“Maybe Harry can get you one,” Louis said slyly. “Looks like he’s in need of one himself, anyway,” he nodded over at his struggling friend.

“I can get drinks,” Harry nodded eagerly, feeling slightly guilty at the sight of a forlorn-looking Emily.

“Go with him, Sav,” Reyna bossed her, looking at her best friend roll her eyes.

“Bu - fine,” Sav said, deciding it would be best not to argue.

“C’mon, Em,” Louis wrapped an arm around the girl who’d once again been ignored. “Let’s go find you someone to dance with,” he said leading her away from the others.

“Hey, what about me?” Reyna demanded, chasing after them and leaving Harry and Savannah alone.

“Well-”

“I need a drink,” Harry cut Savannah off. “Sorry,” he apologised immediately, following the glare she shot him.

“A little gratitude for saving your sorry ass would be nice,” she grumbled, crossing her arms and jogging a little to catch up with his long strides as he led her into the kitchen.

“I didn’t need saving,” he flicked his eyes over towards her momentarily.

“That’s not what it looked like to the rest of us. We were worried you were going to end up strangling yourself with your tie at some point.”

“And what if I was actually interested in Emily?” he pulled out a couple of beers from a hidden compartment in Zayn’s fridge. “It’s where he keeps the good stuff,” he explained.

“If you’re so interested, I’m sure Louis can bring her back,” she challenged, accepting the drink he handed her. “I’ll go find him for you,” she turned to head back where they’d come from, only to have Harry grab her elbow and hold her back.

“Ok, ok,” he conceded. “Maybe I needed some help. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said smugly.

“Although,” he grinned after a couple of seconds. “Louis didn’t tell you Emily was quite the blabbermouth, did he? Now everyone’s going to think we’re dating,” he flickered her nose mockingly.

“Wait, what?”

“So what should I call you?” he mused. “We’re going to need couple names, you know,” he said pointedly.

“I don’t do couple names,” she monotoned back at him.

“Sav is too common, everyone calls you that - we need something just for the two of us,” he leaned back onto the counter, crossing his legs at his ankles as he stared at her in contemplation.

“Stop staring at me like that,” she glared at him.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to read my mind,” she folded her arms across her chest as though it would protect her from his piercing gaze.

It was silent for about half a minute, the only sounds that could be heard was the buzz of the party going on around them. Savannah began to fiddle nervously with the necklace around her neck, causing Harry’s eyes to zero in on the Disney pendant.

His eyes lit up after a few ticks of the clock. “I’ve got it,” he exclaimed.

“What?”

“Your nickname. It’s Simba,” he declared proudly.

“I don’t think so,” Savannah scowled at him.

“But it’s perfect!” he tried to argue. “Just hear me out-”

“No,” she cut him off, turning to walk away.

“This isn’t over, Simba!” Harry yelled after her, choosing not to follow.

Savannah flicked him the bird before disappearing into the crowd.

“Hey, uh, Zayn?” a tap on Zayn’s shoulder halted their conversation, interrupting him mid-sentence. Savannah glanced at the boy, nervously gesturing behind herself. “I think someone’s throwing up in the bathroom.”

“Ah, fuck,” Zayn swore, before excusing himself and rushing down the hall. Savannah watched him leave before turning back to the guy he’d been chatting with who was now staring unashamedly back at her.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied skeptically, studying him as his eyes washed over her.

“What’s your name?” he asked before taking a sip of his drink, gaze still firmly latched onto her.

“Savannah,” she replied carefully, still wary. “And yours?”

“Sean,” he smirked. “Wanna dance?” he gestured behind him, toward a group of people who’d turned Zayn’s living room into a makeshift dancefloor.

“Not right now, I don’t think so. Thanks for the offer though!” she said sweetly, catching Reyna’s eye from across the room where she leant against makeshift bar counter, talking to Louis and some friends. She watched them warily, silently asking if Savannah needed help.

With a slight shake of her head, she turned back towards Sean who was still looking at her expectantly. Suddenly, Savannah felt a lightbulb go off in her head and began searching the room, hoping the person she wanted to see hadn’t given up and gone home. Her eyes found said person sat on the couch, playing with her drink while trying to avoid touching the couple who was making out beside her.

“But I can think of someone who will,” she grinned, grabbing Sean’s arm and pulling him along with her. They skidded to a stop in front of Emily, who looked up at them with an expression of both confusion and apprehension upon recognising Savannah.

“What do you guys want?” she asked, eyes darting between Savannah and Sean and the hold Savannah still had on him.

“Hey Emily. It is Emily, right? Anyway,” Savannah began cheerfully. “Seeing as you were so desperate for a dance partner before, I’ve taken it upon myself to find you one!”

“What?”

“Meet Sean. Sean, this is Emily. She just loves to dance. Have fun you two!” Savannah darted off, leaving Sean sputtering while Emily’s glare deepened.

In the mood for another drink, she made her way to the kitchen where she began searching around for a clean cup. She began rummaging in Zayn’s cupboards for a glass when one was shoved in front of her face. She followed the hand to find herself face to face with Harry once again.

“Here,” he mumbled, “You’re not going to find anything breakable in this kitchen. Zayn’s hidden it all in his bedroom cupboard.”

Savannah lifted an eyebrow before taking the drink. “You know, they say to never accept a drink from strangers.”

“Good thing I’m not one then,” he smiled, clinking their cups together before taking a sip of his. Savannah followed suit, and had almost successfully downed half the cup before she found herself shoved into Harry who caught her before she lost her footing.

“Bloody hell, Louis!” Alexa sighed, pulling Louis to the side where he couldn’t cause any more damage. “You could’ve broken her face.”

“Oh please,” Louis brushed it off, “It was barely a nudge. Look, she’s fine isn’t she?”

“Oh yeah, just peachy,” Savannah said sarcastically, her cheeks tinged pink as she brushed herself off while Harry had silently gone back to sipping on his drink.

“Besides, Reyna and Zayn could doctor her right back up,” he insisted, ignoring Savannah’s jab.

“Anyway Sav, I was just about to head off,” Alexa explained. “Reyna said she needs to look after this one,” she nodded towards Louis who grinned, “so she’ll probably get home later, but I was just wondering if you needed a lift?”

“Yeah I’ll come,” Savannah replied, finishing off the rest of her drink and nodding at Harry. “Thanks for that, Styles. I’ll see you at uni.”

“See you later, Simba,” he said innocently, grin widening as he noted the scowl on her face.

“What was that?” Alexa asked curiously once they were out of earshot.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Savannah said resignedly as they went to find Zayn to say goodbye.

“Whoa, what happened to this place?” Alexa asked, pulling her sunnies from her face and dropping her keys on the table by the door. Savannah appeared behind her, waving hello at Zayn before surveying the mess in front of them with disgust. “Did you guys sleep in this?” Alexa continued, wrinkling her nose.

“Hope you guys have a cleaning crew booked because this needs some serious elbow grease,” she joked, eyes resting on the disheveled forms of Louis and Niall passed out on the couch, arms wrapped securely around one another.

“Yeah, they’re booked in for about tomorrow night. Earliest we could get them,” Zayn shrugged, hopping on a stool and thankfully accepting the cup of tea Reyna passed him.

“I was, uh… joking,” Savannah trailed off, internally shaking her head at the fact that he would actually hire someone to do the cleaning. But then again, this was probably how the other half lived everyday.

“Tomorrow night?” Alexa blanched, picking up a stray cup that had fallen over and studying the stain it had left on the polished wood. “I don’t think you can survive that long.”

“Don’t think I have any choice,” Zayn said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I’m scared I’ll wreck the floors if I try and get that out myself.”

“Look, we’ll help,” Savannah piped up decidedly, still by the door. “Where are your rubbish bags?”

“Underneath the sink. Why? What’s happening?” he replied curiously, watching as Savannah started rummaging in his cupboards for the cleaning supplies.

“Oh, no,” Reyna mumbled dejectedly from beside him, causing his eyes to focus on her for a moment before Savannah was calling his attention once again.

“Do you have any Dettol?” she asked, lining up everything on the counter as everyone watched her, wide-eyed.

“You know how to clean?” Zayn asked, the surprise evident on his face as Savannah started stacking cups in order to make more room for her army of cleaning products. For someone who had obviously never cleaned up after a party in his life, Zayn sure did have a lot of sprays in his cupboard.

“I’m very domesticated, if I do say so myself,” Savannah replied smugly, grabbing the roll of garbage bags out and unrolling one. “Here, start organising.”

“Uhh, what is going on here?” Harry piped up from the entrance to the hallway, dressed in a pair of trackpants, still towelling excess water from his hair.

“Savannah’s gone mad,” Reyna replied seriously, eyes darting to her friend cautiously. “She wants us to clean.”

“Oh good! You’re up!” she chirped, handing Harry a black rubbish bag. “Here, take a bag and start cleaning. Whatever wasn’t here 24 hours ago goes in that bag,” she explained slowly.

“Don’t bother arguing, she’s sporting the crazy eyes,” Alexa groaned from beside the door, earning a chuckle from Zayn as he watched on amusedly.

“Oi! You two! Wake up! We have lots to do,” Savannah sing-songed across the room at Louis and Niall who groaned loudly before squinting up at her.

“What are you on about?” Louis replied grudgingly, trying to shield the light that was pouring in from the windows beside him. “Bloody hell, could you keep it down? Some of us are still hungover.”

“Aye,” Niall agreed weakly slowly untangling himself from Louis and sitting up on the other end of the couch.

“Well, drink some water because we’ve got a bit of cleaning to do,” she countered happily, crossing the room dropping a plastic bag on each of them.

“Why did you let her in?” Louis complained loudly at Zayn who just smirked knowingly. “I can’t believe your poor choices in life affect my sleep now too.”

“It was the only way I could avoid having to peel you off my couch before noon,” he replied. “I’d listen to her if I were you, though. She looks scary.”

“She looks like she could burst into song at any moment,” Harry observed, still in the same position as before, except this time he was holding a plastic bag.

“Please don’t give her any ideas,” Alexa said quickly, accepting the bag that Savannah offered her.

“Don’t be a sour puss,” Reyna scoffed. “What song should we sing, Sav? I was thinking We’re All In This Together.”

“No,” Louis all but yelled. “If you sing another High School Musical song around me, so help me god-”

“I don’t see any of you guys cleaning,” Savannah cut him off, glaring at each of them as she began throwing cups into the bag that she was holding. “The faster we all do our job, the quicker we’ll get everything done. That’s what my mum always told me,” she said proudly.

“Yeah, it’s also just common fucking sense,” Louis deadpanned from his position on the couch, still obviously annoyed that he was woken up from his sleep.

“Shut it,” Sav quipped. “Now get up and help us, you bum.”

Three and a half hours later, the group found themselves collapsed on the floor of Zayn’s living room, their surroundings spotless save for the pile of rubbish bags by the front door.

“I’m so hungry,” Louis whined, cradling his stomach while Niall nodded in agreement. “I can’t believe you made us do that.”

“You’re a monster, Sav,” Niall agreed, looking pointedly towards her.

Savannah only grinned, gesturing around them. “How good does this place look, though? I’m so proud.”

Everyone glared at her.

“Okay then,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “Who’s up for lunch?”

“Ooh and a movie!” Reyna spoke up from her position on the couch.

“Lunch and a movie it is,” Zayn decided before an argument broke out. Savannah silently thanked him for it, considering the last time they’d tried to make plans, it had taken them about an hour to decide what to do.

“Ok, I’m game. But I’m going to need to go home and shower first,” Reyna piped up, wrinkling her nose as she glanced down at her grimy clothes.

“Deal,” Harry said, getting up to collect his stuff. “Meet in half an hour?”

“You’re funny,” Reyna deadpanned, gesturing to her hair. “An hour at least.”

“An hour then,” he agreed, finding his keys before grabbing Louis and heading towards the door. “See you guys soon.”

They all watched them leave silently, too tired to really comprehend what had just happened.

“Well,” Zayn spoke up, eyes sweeping around his spotless house. “Guess I better cancel the cleaners then.”

“No, you hold the popcorn, I’ve got both the drinks in my hands!”

“Ouch Louis! You just stepped on my foot, you idiot. Watch where you’re bloody going!”

“Well if your feet weren’t the size of the entire walkway, I wouldn’t have felt inclined to step on them. Also, it’s fucking dark!”

“Oi! Shut the hell up you twats, we’re trying to watch a movie here!” someone a few rows above them yelled.

“See? Now you’ve done it. Got the whole cinema yelling at us now,” Reyna hissed, tempted to try and trip him as he made his way past her.

“Well if your ass didn’t get so restless halfway through, we wouldn’t be having this problem, now would we?” he hissed back at her.

“I didn’t get restless, I got hungry,” she corrected him.

“Oh my god, can they please shut up,” Savannah murmured from her seat on the other end of the row. “They’ll get us all kicked out in a second.”

From beside her, Alexa laughed. “Well, this was your plan to begin with so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“It’s not like I picked the movie,” she whispered back. “I wanted to watch whatever rom com was showing. But no, Reyna and Zayn just had to insist we watch some superhero film. Besides, I said lunch, Reyna suggested the movie!”

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Zayn agreed, “We should just leave now - spare us the shame of having to leave when the lights are on.”

“Or, we can just kick the two of them out,” Harry suggested from Sav’s other side, his eyes fixed on the screen where Deadpool was discussing his KFC-spork hand. The whole cinema seemed to erupt in laughter, but the people surrounding Savannah were making too much of a racket for her to concentrate on the movie.

“And risk a bloodbath? That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had, and that’s saying something considering you almost killed us on the way here,” she countered, digging into her popcorn.

“Hey! That loser cut me off, it wasn’t my fault!” he argued, leaning up from his seat to face her.

“If you weren’t doing something illegal, it mightn’t have happened,” Savannah shrugged.

“I have to agree with that,” Zayn piped up from Alexa’s other side. “You were the idiot in that situation.”

“Alright then, if you guys are so against my driving, why don’t you all catch a lift with Louis home then? See if you guys survive that journey,” Harry retorted defensively, crossing his arms and slumping back against the seat.

“Oi!” Reyna’s voice called to them from the other end of the row. “We’re trying to watch a movie here, keep the volume down would you!”

From beside her, Louis snorted. “We already saw this last week when it first came out. You literally made me cancel my shift so we could see a midnight screening.”

“What the hell, Rey?” Savannah glared. “Why are we watching it again if you’ve already seen it?” she demanded.

“Why not?” Reyna shrugged.

“If we get arrested, I’m blaming you,” Harry whisper-shouted towards Savannah. Reyna stuck up her finger at him, thinking his comment was directed towards her. “Oi! I wasn’t even talking about you.”

“That was rude, Rey,” Savannah felt inclined to agree with Harry.

“When we get out of this hellhole, I’m kicking both your asses,” she replied back to them before turning away and directing her focus towards the screen.

From beside her, Louis let out a loud laugh, “Ha ha, you’re both getting your asses kicked.”

“I’ll kick your ass too,” she glared at Louis.

“Oi!” someone called out from a couple of rows in front of them. “Shut up or I’m calling security!”

It was just over an hour later when the film finished and Savannah was more than ready to get out of there, only to have Harry pull her back down. “What?” she glared, anxious to get out of the cinema and away from the dirty looks people were throwing at her.

“There’s an end scene,” he whispered, tugging her arm until she’d sat back down.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already seen it, too,” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I haven’t,” he shook his head. “But all Marvel films have end scenes,” he shrugged, turning back to the screen.

“I can’t believe you guys made me stay back to watch that thirty second clip of nothing,” she glared at Harry as they finally made their way out.

“If I hadn’t, someone else would have,” he shrugged completely unperturbed.

Savannah huffed and folded her arms across her chest as she followed him to his car, making Harry laugh.

“You can’t fool us, Sav,” Alexa nudged her. “You enjoyed the movie.”

“Yeah, what I saw of it,” she scoffed. “I’m honestly surprised we weren’t thrown out. I’m never going to the cinema with you lot ever again.”

“How are you going to get there on your own?” Alexa quirked an eyebrow. “You know, since you don’t have a car... or drive for that matter.”

“I’ll take the bus.”

“Wait, you can’t drive?” Harry demanded, unlocking the car.

“How do you get around?” Zayn asked, settling into the passenger seat beside Harry.

“She makes me drive her,” Alexa rolled her eyes.

“Hey, sometimes I walk or take public transport,” she pouted. “Yeah, like once a week.”

“We need to teach you how to drive,” Harry mused, reversing and waiting for Louis to cruise up behind them before they left the parking lot.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Lex muttered. “Rey and I tried to teach her plenty of times.”

“So anyway,” Sav interrupted. “Where are we going now?”

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged. “Home probably.”

“Good. I have an lectures to work on and work later this evening,” Alexa nodded approvingly.

“The semester’s barely started,” Harry said, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

“And I’m determined not to fall behind.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Savannah mumbled as she texted away on her phone.

“Coming from the girl who has all her notes colour coded,” Alexa snorted from beside her.

“Oi, it helps me remember!”

“Or it could just be your OCD peaking,” Lex retorted.

“Man, I wish I was that organised,” Zayn sighed from the front seat, shooting a disapproving look at Harry as he drove over a roundabout.

“We’re going to die,” Savannah muttered, all thoughts of flying out her head as she looked up to watch Harry drive.

AN: i’ll keep this one short and sweet, let us know what you thought of the chapter!!

#wus #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #1d fanfic #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #1dff #fic:wus #wus2

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tf2headshotcanons · 7 years

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How would the merch's support an artist s/o? (either romantic or platonic!)

Forgive me for chuckling, but you put Merch as in merchandise, instead of Merc. No worries mate, it's sweet ^^Scout: Judging on his personality, I'd honestly say he doesn't understand the deeper meaning HOWEVER canonically he's been known to sketch. Personally, I don't think he understands DEEP art, but he understand visibly thrilling art. He supports it, joins it. Heck, he wants to draw with his love. But anything deeper than a fist fight or his father fucking the Eiffel Tower, he doesn't understand. He TRIES however.Soldier: Does not and will ever understand. Why draw a flower when you can draw a war! Wait... Why are you drawing sad war victims and not American victory? Honestly, it'd be hard for him to be compatible with an artist. If he was, he would never understand. Don't bother trying to get it through. However, he always compliments the work, and finds it pretty. He favours war and bright (or American) colours. If it's dull and dismal, he'll voice his confusion but quickly accept the first explanation. As long as his loves happy.Py: He claps and watches them draw away! He'll join too! He's the middle ground between Scout and Sol. He doesn't understand but will join you. He'll always ask for when you next draw and bring his crayons. Imagine a child who looks up to you, and will copy anything you do. He sits close and wants to be like you. That's really it. He'll happily listen to the story behind it, as though listening to a child's fable.Demhem: He doesn't necessarily understand and he can't draw. He loves to watch and listen to the tales. Hell, he'll GIVE you things to draw. Tales of his past or of fabled legends. He's interested, but he'll point out if you get a myth wrong. But not harshly, no he makes light of it. He's supportive, but he'll give you things to draw. Challenges and wild tales. Anything else confuses him, but a good tale his ears are open for.HeavyDuty Batteries: Deep and thoughtful, he appreciates the expression and understands the deeper meaning behind it. Heck, you'll be able to talk for hours on the plethora of meanings behind one piece, the emotions, WHY it is what it is. Though he's more literary, he's skilled at deeper meanings. Though his English description will be more basic, his Russian will match that of Aleksandr Pushkin. In fact, he'd be willing to learn, and the grace is surprising for big hands that kill.Engigo: Ehhh he doesn't get it. And the pretty things he doesn't mind. He's sorta avoidant of the negatives. A denial almost. However, he does admire the skill itself! So much that he'll even ask for help drawing some of his latest designs and blueprints. Though he's eager to embrace and involve the talent, he doesn't realise the selfish ways, thus sometimes being too pushy with his attempts to involve himself. He just doesn't want to waste the opportunity and chance to bond.Sniper: He don't understand it. He's a simple man (not stupid, but prefers the basics). This is more Spy's expertise, and in question of his lover, he'd put his pride aside to learn from Spy for the sake of his love. He always loves to see intricate drawings of nature and animals. Loves to learn about it, and will tell you wilderness facts. Basically involving himself in the only way he knows. He tries, bless him. He really does. But he doesn't really understand. Thinks the skills with the hand are amazing though. Like his wood carvings.Medic: Similar to Engi, he will get you to draw FOR him. Albeit biological diagrams. However, it's the darker and more abstract that he likes, and the sweet stuff he will outright call sappy and boring. If art is really imaginitive, he wants to SEE how far you can push your mind. Basically, it's like a glorified ink blot but not really. Though he doesn't usually see psychology as a science per say.Spy: Art is this fancy arse's middle name (or real name, who knows?). He'll probably fucking pose like it's going down like the titanic. He will be a teacher and your greatest mentor, yet your greatest critic. He'll open his arms to this talent. It's refined and beautiful, but he WILL put his honest feelings to you. If he doesn't like it or sees a flaw, he'll tell you. It'll probably be hurtful, but he does have a good eye. Likewise, if you can't draw well but the concept is good, he'll nurture the talent without tampering the result. He'll talk for hours on the deeper sides of art, and he'll get involved. This is his strength.

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konigs-berg · 7 years

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A House Without Order: Chapter One

“Get your own house in order first.”

No matter how stubbornly Sonny attempts to forget the words, they keep coming back to him in quiet moments such as these. Rolling onto his side fully, he presses himself against Rafael and breathes in the scent of cheap hotel soap on his skin. In his sleep, Rafael shifts, nose brushing Sonny’s hair and breath warm against his skin.

“Your thoughts are too loud,” he mutters before pressing a kiss to Sonny’s forehead. “Stop it, or you’ll be sleeping alone.” He softens the threat with yet another kiss, this one lingering.

Sonny settles, reassured that his supposed disorder is, in reality, perfectly ordered.

A case dredges up issues Carisi has ignored but now must face, bringing him and Barba closer than he thought possible in the process.

Pairing: Barisi

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mentions of assault, and hate speech

More information can be found on AO3.

Justicia, cosa muy buena; pero no en mi casa, en la ajena.

August 2nd

Carisi slips back in from the break room, cheap coffee in hand, fully intending to get this damn desk work done so he can go home and sleep, or at least go to Amanda’s. It’s been a rough week, and without fail Rollins always invites him to her place after particularly dangerous cases, as if she needs the reassurance of his presence. Or maybe she doesn’t trust him to take care of himself when he’s not in her sight.

He can’t turn her down, even after a shift spent bent over a pile of statements. Sleep sounds good, but dozing on Amanda’s couch while Jesse plays with his fingers and tie and Kim tells him about Amanda when she was little sounds even better.

The squad room is particularly chaotic today, which sure as hell isn’t conducive to finishing the sea of paperwork he’s dealing with. He’s swamped after handling a domestic in Hell’s Kitchen. Unfortunately, it involved guns being drawn, the son of a retired judge, and a scandal or two so the paperwork is extensive. There’s never room for mistakes, but Benson, Barba, and 1PP have all made it crystal clear that it’s perfection or nothing in this case; the pressure is on to get every bit just right.

A couple of female officers and the captain are doing their best to calm a distraught woman lashing out at any man who nears her, and a few others are holding back a man and woman yelling at each other. Guilt coils in his stomach as the man shoves officer Jacobs back until he’s stumbling over himself to stay upright. His success incites the man further.

Affronted yet excited, the woman detective Wen is attempting to restrain practically cheers. “That’s assault on an officer! You’re goin’ to jail! Goin’ to jail! Do not pass go!”

Carisi can’t help the choked laugh that escapes him in response, not only at her but the exacerbated expressions on nearly all of the cops’ and detectives’ faces in the room. It’s a line they hear too often, and would rather not hear ever again.

The man, broad in the shoulders and face going red as he clenches his jaw, looks about like a balloon brought to the brink of popping. He has nearly half a foot on officer Jacobs, and detective Sokoll is a big man but not that big.

While his case is weighing on Carisi something fierce, he knows a few more hands are needed around the precinct. It’s as if Sokoll can read his thoughts, waving him off as soon as he makes to come near.

“Don’t you have a lawyer to appease, Carisi?” he calls, teasing even as he wrangles the man’s arms behind his back. No one envies the desk work that follows such an event, and the relief that comes after a gun is involved in an incident with no casualties manifests in the form of incessant joshing for a day or two.

The man jerks in Sokoll’s hold, kneeing a desk, and a cup full of pens falls off the edge. The resulting sound is sharp, and pens skatter along with clunky shards of ceramic. Carisi winces. Another detective jumps, cursing, and goes to get something or someone to clean it while Fin kneels to pick up what he can.

Usually, Carisi doesn’t mind the teasing, but his nerves are frayed and his chest tightens with what he can only pin down as some vague anxiety, perhaps due to the fact this teasing isn’t about paperwork, it’s about Barba.

Since he’s stuck around, there’s been a reasonable amount of joking in regards to his schooling, and his interest in law in general. He knows it doesn’t help that he prattles on about legality and so on during cases. He doesn’t mind it, for the most part, but with Barba it’s different.

Most everything slides right off Sonny’s back like water on a duck’s feathers. That’s an image he sometimes conjures up after feeding the ducks with Amanda, Kim, and the baby so many times. And each of those times, Kim has rolled back on her heels, grinned, and said, “Just like Sonny, huh? Slides right off ‘im!” It always earns a laugh from Amanda and she’ll easily agree, sometimes adding on a story or two about this and that. It’s always things which take Sonny by surprise.

He didn’t expect either of them to pay such close attention to him they would notice a part of him overall forgotten, by both himself and others. Of course he knows he lets things go with ease and always has, he’s self aware enough for that, but standing with the sisters as they smiled all bright and easy as if sharing a secret it struck him how they view him.

He knows most look at him and see a pushover or someone oblivious, and he doesn’t mind, but he’s not had someone compliment it. When Kim had first said what she did, Sonny had faced her, expecting the words to be followed by a mean laugh or a joking twist to her lips despite knowing her well enough by then to expect anything but. Kim had gazed right back at him, smile sweet as could be and gaze warm. Confused, he’d turned to Amanda, but her expression was even fonder than her sister’s.

He didn’t know how to respond, and yet his chest had grown warm and tight, his lips pulling into a smile before it all even sunk in. He felt ridiculously grateful for them both in that moment, and every time he’s thought of it since.

He does let things go, sometimes with more ease, eagerness, or understanding than he should. But the teasing about Barba rubs him wrong.

The team bringing it up occasionally is alright, nothing he can’t handle, but he hates to have those he’s not as close to pick at it. It’s a step too far, incessantly insinuating he’s on Barba’s leash or not here for the right reasons. They see him as someone transitioning from Homicide to SVU for access to something with higher pay and more acclaim. Maybe it hits a nerve because they’re so close yet far from the truth: He wants Barba to like him, to think highly of him, out of respect for the man himself and nothing more. It’s not because he’s expecting Barba to give him a push in his possible career as a lawyer.

It’s ignorant and foolish, and he knows it, but he’s not the type to ignore how he feels for any reason.

Originally, it was different, Barba existing as this distant being of legend who had the wit and balls to convince a perp to choke him in front of a damn judge and jury. Carisi’s professors crowed about it, brought in articles from the incident they had taken the time to cut out.

“I used to know him,” one said, lips quirked and eyes dark behind her glasses. She didn’t bother explaining where she met him, and Carisi didn’t ask her or Barba about it; it made him want to physically step back even considering it, like it was wrong to, like he’d be crossing a line unless the information was offered. “He was a real bastard, but that’s what you have to be in a job like this. I suppose you already know that.”

He wanted to tell her he works with Barba, but for some reason he found he never had the nerve.

The previous cops and lawyers he worked with were a lot different than the ones in any SVU he has been in, and every lawyer he interacted with was a far cry from Barba in his colorful ties and with his silver tongue. They would drink the dregs of their coffee in tight conference rooms while fighting over acquittals, too-cheap bail for killers, messy and questionable arraignments, and so on and so forth. Sometimes other lawyers would come up, too.

Usually, their bitching and gossiping would be over defense attorneys, ones that had proven to be particularly nasty or had wounded the pride of their prosecutors or made a fool of cops on the stand. Even they heard of Barba, and even they sung his praises and hissed his name like they were speaking of some wicked man so enviable they all couldn’t help but love and hate him in equal measure.

“I met him once,” one said, his lips curling with distaste, but it could have been from the coffee. “Sure has a fucking mouth on him.”

“Don’t all lawyers?” a detective had argued, and they all laughed - the cops at least.

Now, after meeting the man (the myth, the legend) any blind admiration has turned to an appreciation for Barba as just that: a man. His flaws recognized rather than going unseen, or exaggerated. Sonny’s not sure he has the right to call Barba a friend, but that hasn’t stopped him before, so he’ll stick to the delusion until it’s either proven right or wrong. He doesn’t want it to be broken, he supposes, by considering the likelihood for himself.

The pause has gone on too long for him to respond in any way that won’t prove awkward and Jacobs is back to assisting with the arrest, snapping the cuffs on between Sokoll and the man’s back when holding his arms there proves to be as much as Sokoll can do on his own.

Carisi observes, far more tired than he was moments ago. He takes a large gulp of coffee and rubs the wrinkles from his forehead. If he could do this work anywhere else, just for today, he’d get the rest he’s been desperate for later.

He needs to clear his mind of unnecessary things and get away from the noise and clutch of people, all as tired and stressed as he is. It’s like their own struggles are pressing in on him, as they so often do, and he feels ancient because of it.

Preparing to go back to work, he wavers once more when he spots a woman hesitating in the doorway. In the disorder, she sticks out all the more. Her hair is messy, as if she’s been combing her fingers through it, ruining however she had it fixed, and there’s makeup smeared under her eyes. Otherwise, she’s perfect as can be, sharp all over from the points of her heels to the jut of her chin.

It's an expression he associates with the lawyers he’s met, like Rita Calhoun and Meredith Holzman. He can easily picture her as a lawyer or a politician or a wife of one or the other. It could be that he has well-dressed lawyers on the brain.

She’s in her forties, maybe late thirties. She tugs at her sleeves obsessively and lists slightly to the side as if struggling to stay on her feet, dizzy or lost or both. Her purse is heavy, and she shoulders it awkwardly before cradling it close. She’s hiding so many things he’s not sure what to focus on.

Following her gaze he turns as subtly as he can. At first he’s not sure what exactly she’s looking at (everyone? The office in general? Fin?). He glances back at her, and the way she’s trying to cover both her throat and her arms, before looking the same way her gaze is directed. She’s focused on Fin, despite all of the other things that should be fighting for her right now.

“Huh,” he says. The cop passing him to get to the coffee pauses, glances around the room. She decides coffee is more important than dealing with Carisi’s muttering, or at least that’s what Carisi assumes because she heads into the room with renewed determination.

Setting his mug on his desk as he passes, Carisi tries to appear approachable before approaching her, the perfect, sharp woman standing in the doorway. Lopsided smile, soft shoulders, a bit of a slouch but not so much he looks spineless - he goes the whole nine yards to appeal to her; he’s getting a little better at this, but he doesn’t let himself think about it too much.

“Don’t get too big for your boots,” Barba once said, lips quirked in a way that told him he wasn’t truly fussing at him. He was feeling more playful than usual after nailing a guy on the stand with information Carisi provided at the last moment.

He needs to stop thinking about Barba.

The woman has big, wet eyes and she turns them on him; something about her sharpness softens upon spotting him. It makes his own shoulders loosen along with the clench of his jaw he hadn’t even noticed.

“Hey there,” he says, affable as can be, and holds out a hand.

This isn’t how they usually do it, but the Celtic symbol (the one that looks sort of like a flower to Carisi but his sisters insist represents the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost) on her necklace she’s been trying to cover tells him a great deal and he knows when a person has something illegal on them. Not to mention something about her reeks of Staten Island despite the getup, and if anyone knows Staten it’s him.

Now that he’s close enough, he can tell her makeup isn’t running due to tears, and her hair hasn’t been pulled by any hands other than her own. As he thinks it, she rakes her fingers through it like she wants to hurt herself; her hand is shaking, but he can’t tell if it’s all nerves or that she’s needing a fix.

“Detective-” He pauses, considering what this pale, pale woman might say to his Italian name, before continuing, “Y’know what, just call me Sonny. How can I help you?”

Without a second of hesitation, she’s pressing her hand into his and shaking it firmly; reminds him of his sister about shaking the arms off of men when she’s nervous of them. She has a wedding band on, a simple gold one, and her nails are sharp as hell. “Grace Seymour.” Her jaw goes hard along with her eyes, and for a minute he worries she’s going to crush his hand. “You a Staten boy?” She squints at him, judging his cheap tie more likely than not.

For a minute, he pictures himself in the purple, satiny one Barba favors and almost laughs right then and there. It’s not one of his more professional moments. It’s not one of his more professional days.

The more he’s telling himself to stop thinking about Barba, the more he is.

He clears his throat. “Yeah. You too?”

“Can’t say I caught the accent as bad as you, though.” She grins at him, and it’s a nice grin, makes her appear a little less spotless. She’s trying too hard.

Laughing, he takes a step back, tilting his head towards his desk. “Wanna join me at my desk or would you rather go somewhere quieter?”

Her eyes flicker to Fin yet again. Cataloguing his face, his hands, and once done she moves on to officer Malgrin with his wild curls and her focus draws his own to Malgrin’s skin - to its tone that’s not all that dark but still darker than hers. He squeezes her hand, though it makes his stomach unsettled now that his thoughts are confirmed. Hoping to get her into another room before anyone else notices what now appears painfully obvious, at least to him, he doesn’t let go.

He’s so shaken by this, his stomach twisting with a discomfort he can’t name, that he almost stumbles into Sokoll and the man he’s leading past, now in cuffs. Sokoll grins brightly despite it all. His face is flushed and his clothes ruffled. In the scuffle, the small Star of David that he wears has slipped from his collar, the pendant now caught around a button on his shirt. The hand in Sonny’s own tightens its grip, and Carisi glances back to find that Seymour has taken to touching the pendant at her own throat, eyes on Sokoll’s.

“Good work, detective,” Carisi rasps, nodding to him. He almost winces, questioning if he should have said that in front of this woman, but his chest clenches, his heart unsettled by even considering ignoring a fellow detective over this.

Sokoll’s grin grows. “Ma’am,” he adds, inclining his head in Seymour’s direction. Her grip on Carisi’s hand eases. She smiles back, and it’s easy as can be.

He’s stricken by how easily she’s hidden her apparent distaste.

“Alright,” Carisi says, just for something to say because now silence between them - silence that’s not even silence with the woman still crying, and the other still yelling and the man Sokoll arrested grunting and huffing like a fucking animal - is stifling. “I’m real sorry about all of this. Today is-is pretty wild.”

“Is it always like this?” She looks at him with pity that Carisi almost smiles at. “So dangerous?”

“Eh, some days are worse than others around here.”

Seymour stays close. He keeps his eyes off her, fearful he’s going to see something he can’t handle upon her being or in her eyes, and finds Amanda’s gaze. She’s taken to watching them from where she stands bent over her own desk, fingers still against the keyboard of her computer, without Carisi noticing. She smiles softly and goes back to her work like she wasn’t honed in on them. He can’t help but prickle despite knowing it doesn’t mean anything. Something must be wrong with him today.

Seymour’s grip tightens on his hand yet again; he forgot they were still touching. They need to stop, but it would feel strange pulling away now.

Her face darkens, throat shifting as she swallows, and he wishes his eyes weren’t drawn there to the movement and the softness of her skin. “It’s-” She shrugs helplessly, and it’s so discordant with the rest of her that it leaves him a little dazed. “It’s very… private. Detective,” she adds, and it reminds him of the girls in Catholic school when they would get caught doing this or that and cower awkwardly before a nun or priest.

He nods slowly. “That’s understandable, ma’am. Don’t worry. It will just be us.”

“Don’t you all have, uh, rooms? Like in those shows, I guess,” she laughs but abruptly cuts off the stressed sound herself. “I’m not here to confess to anything. Nothing to confess to,” she adds quickly, perfection cracking. “I need to….” She trails off, motioning vaguely with her free hand. She’s still touching him, and he’s pretty sure that’s not going to change anytime soon.

“Come with me. We have one of those rooms right over there,” he jokes. “Place where we can chat.”

She hums in agreement, eyes following the motion. It’s not unlike guiding Noah around by the hand, Seymour clinging to him like a lifeline as he awkwardly takes her around the inconsolable woman who is being guided to one such room herself, pretty slowly.

Skin still tingling, he knows Amanda’s eyes are on him, and this time he gets why; hell, he’d be staring, too. He’s painfully aware this is far from appropriate.

He scoops up his mug as they walk past his desk and makes sure to step forward and open the door for her, finally getting his hand free in the process. He may not be the smoothest, but he knows how to be a gentleman at least.

Seymour rushes in. Carisi enters more cautiously, and gently closes the door behind him, lingering there for a moment.

She dumps that damn purse on the couch and quickly follows it down. Like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, her head tips forward, hair falling in her eyes, and he expects this is when the tears will finally come. She doesn’t cry, though. Instead, as soon as she’s comfortable, she’s pulling the purse close again, almost into her lap. Satisfied with that, she sighs heavily before taking a deep breath, letting it practically fill her until she’s sitting tall and straight once more.

Glancing from corner to corner, she finally asks, “Can I smoke in here?”

“Sure. I won’t tell if you don’t,” he adds, and grabs a rolly chair, drawing it right over.

Her smile is bright as can be, and he can’t tell if it’s because she appreciates it or thinks he looks funny in the chair, pant legs riding up to show off his socks. He could have sworn they were a match this morning, in the dark of his apartment, but now he can tell they’re two different shades of black and, sitting before this woman in her perfect heels, the heat of a blush prickles along the back of his neck.

With that, some trust has been ensured and she slips right out of the jacket she’s been so keen to use to hide. Carisi is careful not to look too long, taking a sip from his cup and leaning back in his seat instead. He props his feet on the coffee table while he’s at it.

“Did I offer you any coffee? I can get you some.”

She waves him off.

Seymour paws through her purse, scowling, and she’s distracted enough that he can get away with a peek. Featherwood is tattooed across her wrist, real delicate-like. It’s a pretty tattoo, but it’s faded and of course the content ruins it. Carisi recognizes it, but hasn’t heard the term in a while and has to rack his brain to think of the meaning, but comes up empty. It’s racist and associated with gangs, that’s all he knows.

He understands why she’s trying so hard.

Scars long-healed from shooting up are speckled across the soft skin inside the bend of her elbow. When her sleeve rides up a little more, a faded symbol on her upper arm is revealed, one almost like an eight, but squared and with one angle missing. He’ll have to Google that later.

“Didn’t expect a-” She stops herself, peering at him out of the corner of her eye. He gazes back, brows raised. Sniffing, she shifts through her things a little slower. “Well, let’s just say I wasn’t expecting the NYPD to be so….” She shrugs, finally plucking a lighter from the mess.

“It’s not how it used to be,” Carisi mutters, turning to glance at the door before drawing his feet off the table once more. Her gaze is intense as he slides closer - close enough that he can smell her. Anxious sweat always smells so much worse than usual, especially mixed with smoke, but he doesn’t let himself show his discomfort. “You don’t gotta worry about that - promise. Not with me.”

Expression still hard, Seymour appears to be on the fence about this one. He sticks out his hand, jerky and a little awkward, offering his pinky finger. Her laugh is nice.

Her pinky hooks with his, and her eyes crinkle. She goes so soft with relief it’s nauseating. He’s worked with bad people before, though, people worse than her. “Yeah, yeah. Can tell you’re a good boy, aren’t you? Yeah.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He hopes it doesn’t show.

“I’m with the Knights.”

Nodding solemnly, he pretends he knows what that means, but there are so many groups that go by that he doesn’t have a clue. He taps the inside of his wrist. “Saw.”

She nods right back. “That’s in my past. Those-” She falters, nose wrinkling. She’s not looking at Carisi, something far away instead. “That’s in my past. Not like the Knights. We’re good Christians - we really are. Follow God’s word.” Gaze going sharp, she peers at him as she takes a drag from her cigarette. He’s not expecting her attention to shift like that, to suddenly bear the brunt of all of her force. “You?”

“Me?” His voice ticks up at the end, and he clears his throat, pretending it never happened. She’s gracious enough to let him.

“Yeah, you a Christian boy?”

Instead of answering, he reaches in his shirt to draw out his crucifix pendant, letting it hang over the clean knot of his tie. He tries not to think about how Sokoll’s star had appeared much the same.

Her gaze goes bright again. Approving.

“God sent me to you!” she whispers, wondering. Holding out her cigarette, she scowls. “Where can I-?”

He pushes away from the coffee table, snags the (luckily empty) trashcan, and slides right back. This time, her laugh is grating and a little shaken.

“That works, huh?” he grins.

“Guess so. Now, what was I saying?” She flicks the ash into the can before taking another drag.

“God,” he supplies, trying not to sound as out of place as he feels.

“God! God sent me to you. That he did! I know he did.” Sonny does his best to keep his expression neutral, nodding with her. “He sent me to you,” she reiterates, more to herself than to him. “I’m a good Christian. I swear to God I am. Follow his word.”

She sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself than him.

“Always,” Carisi intones. What would she say to him being Catholic? As soon as he considers it, he decides he doesn’t want to know.

“Don’t mix races,” she mutters, shooting the door a dirty look before trying to peek through the blinds.

The nausea is back. What do the others do when this sort of thing comes up? When they have vics who are like this, not the perps? How could Fin not snap - or anyone else for that matter? He’s not close to it, but also not far. How had Amaro dealt with it? Does Barba work for people like this?

The time Barba said to call ICE is stuck on repeat in his head, clearer than day. It feels unfair of him to think about that right now.

“Unholy,” she spits. “Just tryin’ to follow his word, and do right by our race.” Her hands are back to shaking as she flicks the ash away. She appears haunted, eyes dark and face gaunt.

Carisi can imagine far too many options to answer the question of what could make a person feel such hate and fear. Again, he doesn’t want to know.

He stands from his chair, steeling himself for the shit that’s about to come out his mouth, and she looks at him with such a lost expression it’s like a physical pressure on his chest. Moving slow, he takes a seat by her, placing a hand on her knee, careful to keep his touch on the fabric of her skirt and not her skin. Her eyes are real sad.

He doesn’t want to know, he reminds himself.

“Miss Seymour-”

“You can call me Gracie, baby.” Her voice is low and rough. Sort of nice. That’s not something she should be calling him, and that’s not something he should be calling her.

“Gracie,” he says, smile somber. “You’re trying to protect our race. Our lineage. Our future, our kids…. It’s okay. Whatever it is, I’ll understand.” He squeezes her knee in his hand the way he knows makes women feel good. Good and safe. Her eyes are wet, now.

“He broke our code.”

Leaning in closer but careful not to crowd her, he waits.

Her cigarette, forgotten, spills ash into the can. “We’re good Christians. We don’t accept rapists or kiddy-fiddlers or whatever else,” she hisses, lip curled, and there’s that Staten Island accent creeping in. “We don’t break the laws of this land, or the laws He laid out. We’re good Christians,” she repeats, eyes finally meeting his once more. Her hand is warm when it settles over his own. “It’s not like the media paints it to be. It’s not like that at all. We’re fighting for the police every day! We’re fighting for law and justice. And- Well, he broke our code. He broke God’s. Justice needs to be served.”

He nods. He’s dizzy. “I can serve that justice.” It feels silly to say, but he supposes it’s true.

“Tomlinson,” she bursts out, eyes wide like she didn’t mean to say it at all. “His name is Tomlinson. Raymond Tomlinson, but everybody calls him Ray. Tommy Ray, sometimes.”

Carisi nods, shifting to pull a notepad out of his back pocket. He holds it up to her. “You mind if I write this down?”

“Go ahead, baby.”

He’s not sure how to respond to this new nickname, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He quickly records the name before turning back to her, looking for more.

“Real big fucker,” she scowls. As an afterthought, she mutters, “Pardon my French.”

He cracks a grin, but quickly lets it fall. “You know him, right? Know that’s his name? Can tell me what he looks like?”

She considers it for a moment, brow furrowed, and glances back out through the blinds.

“Hey, you don’t gotta worry about them. I promise. I’ll take care of you around here. I need as much of your help as I can get to catch this guy - to serve him the justice he deserves.” Her knee is sharp under his hand, and she’s shaking it slightly as she shifts her foot against the floor. She’s so damn sharp. “God brought you to me, yeah? He doesn’t give us burdens we can’t bear. Just gotta work through it.”

This time, her eyes are steely when they meet his. She’s nodding faintly. “No, no he doesn’t, does he?”

Sonny is thankful for all that thought he put into being a priest. In a weird way, being a detective isn’t terribly different.

“Is there anything else you can tell me? Can you tell me what he did?”

Her face closes, and for a moment he’s afraid he said something wrong, but she drops her cigarette in the can and folds both hands over his. “He raped a little girl - one that used to come around with her daddy, Richard Price. Real pretty thing. Pretty hair, pretty eyes. Perfect, pale, and blue-eyed. Loved her daddy, and loved the Lord.”

Throat dry, Carisi licks his lips, brow knit together. “And is she… alright?”

Grace closes her eyes like it pains her. “No. Not- No. Just- It was a few months back she stopped coming around. Her daddy, Price, he tried to tell the-the- He tried to contact Gary Monker, for fuck’s sake. He did, swear to God. He told everyone he could-”

“Monker?”

Her brow wrinkles. “Yeah, our Exalted Cyclops,” she says, as if that should be obvious, and Carisi wonders if he’s missing something. Cyclops sure isn’t what he was prepared for. Maybe he missed fresh track marks. “The chief officer of the Loyal White Knights. We’re located out of Hampton Bays.”

Rubbing his jaw, Carisi stares at “Raymond ‘Tommy Ray’ Tomlinson” written out in his chicken scratch. He adds this name beneath it. “Did the crime occur there?”

She shakes her head. “No, sir. Here. I live here, just head to the Bays for meetings sometimes. But they hold meetings here, too. Got a little place in the basement of a-” She bites her lip and rubs the tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

“Hey,” he says gently. “I know you’re a good Christian woman, Gracie. I know your people are good, because they’re my people. I’m not going to go after my people for anything. We can save the details for later, but I need to know where the crime took place.” After a breath, he continues, “The basement. Can you tell me more about what happened there?”

She nods, thankful. “Hold meetings there. I- Forgive me for keeping you in the dark for now, baby. But we do, in this basement. There’s a rule, the kids are more than welcome around but they have to be with an adult. Keeps things calm, make sure there aren’t any angry parents who- You get the idea.

“Thing is, little girl - Tabitha Price, that’s her name. This little girl was such a good Christian. She was happy to help with anything we needed….”

Carisi’s hand moves to her back. It’s instinct, calming women. Automatic when you have three sisters.

Gracie takes a deep breath. Without further delay, her hand is back in her purse, fishing for a cigarette. “She wanted to come around after classes. I would’ve gladly been her caretaker. But I have work, y’know? Gotta-” She shakes her head, abandoning the search for her cigarette.

She’s back to shaking.

“She was so damn small,” she chokes. “Tiniest little thing! Only fifteen, but she looked so much younger! God, she was the fucking- So fucking small.”

Gracie’s hand is small. It fists in his shirt, still shaking. Carisi rubs circles between her shoulders.

“I didn’t- I didn’t see it. But I saw the- After, I-I saw her little- Oh, God- It was split- She-” Gracie sobs. Carisi glances at the door furtively, unsure for reasons he can’t name, and silently hopes that no one walks in right now, again for reasons he doesn’t know. “Her split lip. I was so fucking shocked. I didn’t know what I was looking at. Her little- Tears all over her-her cheeks. There was another boy there- I-I didn’t know ‘im. Young, though not as young as her. Baby, her cheeks were so wet and-and he said- Ray told me she- Walked into a wall! Like I dunno what it looks like when a woman’s been beat!”

Carisi hushes her gently, pulling out his phone. “This okay? Can I record?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she says, tucking closer to his side. He’s starting to get the idea this isn’t all that platonic, but he’s not sure how to get out of it. She sets her jaw, furrows her brow, and pushes back, releasing him. “It was a while back. But you can still charge him, yeah?”

“You said it was a few months. How many?”

It’s uncomfortable for her to be silent. Carisi turns to face her, trying to school his expression to one of calm, knowing that’s how she needs to see it. Now her makeup is smearing from tears.

“She’s pregnant. Fifteen, and she’s pregnant.”

His hands are wet around the pen and pad in his hand. “Gracie,” he says gently, “I need to go get my boss. And a sketch artist. Would you be willing to tell us what that kid looked like? The one you didn’t recognize? I just wanna-”

“Yeah. Stop asking. Do what you gotta do.” Her voice is hard and fierce. She pushes him toward the door. “Get that-that- What’d you call it? The artist. Whatever it is. Get ‘em.”

Chuckling around the odd lump that has formed in his throat, Carisi bobs his head. “Right, the sketch artist. One second, Gracie.”

Pausing before leaving, he asks, “Can I get you a drink? Got a vending machine and some shit coffee.”

Smile broken, she shakes her head. “Nah, couldn’t keep anything down this morning and I doubt that’s changed.”

Nodding, he turns to leave. He almost jumps when he opens the door to find Rollin’s, her hand raised to knock. Brows arched, she opens her mouth to speak, but before she can Carisi ushers her right out and firmly shuts the door.

Glancing around, Carisi tries not to look at Fin for too long. Finally, he dips his head, keeping his words between them. “Don’t go in. I need to talk to the captain,’” he tells her, voice low.

Her brows creep ever higher. “That isn’t someone you know, is it?”

Pulling a face, he shakes his head. “What? No. Come here.” She follows him away from the door, curious. Carisi snags the arm of the woman who passed by him to get some coffee earlier, and murmurs, “Can you do me a favor?”

She perks up, and next to him Rollins shifts, eyeing him. “Sure, what do you need?”

“There’s a woman in that room. Can you stop her if she tries to leave? Or come tell me, or something?”

“Yeah, yeah. Where will you be?”

He jerks his chin toward Olivia’s. “Lieutenant's office.”

“Alright.”

“Her name’s Grace - Gracie Seymour. If she tries to leave, you tell her I’m getting her a sketch artist.”

Rollins makes a noise that sounds vaguely disapproving. It’s not one he’s heard from her before, so it’s not in his catalogue yet. “Are you not? Getting her a sketch artist, I mean.”

“No, no. I am. I gotta get everyone caught up first. Up to speed.”

“Alright. I can do that. Maybe you’ll owe me a coffee for it though?”

Carisi turns back to the woman - officer Vega, he reminds himself - more than a little shocked. She has almond eyes and a beauty mark next to her brow; her jaw is strong, her lips curled. He grins from ear to ear, and from somewhere to his right Rollins laughs lowly and sort of shifts away. Vega’s gaze doesn’t stray from him, though, eyes bright as can be. He likes that.

“Yeah, I think I will owe you a coffee. What do I call you?” His grin stretches further when Fin whistles behind him.

“Nerea,” she supplies, holding out her hand.

He takes it between his own, cheeks aching from how wide he’s grinning. “Sonny.”

“I’ll get your number later. You better go get that sketch artist.” She winks and strides towards her desk. Carisi is left to gaze after her with that dumb smile still splitting his face.

Rollins punches his arm lightly, and there are a few laughs from around the room. He’s pretty sure someone gives Nerea a high five.

“Come on, loverboy. The sketch artist,” Rollins jeers, taking him by the elbow.

“Yeah, yeah. The sketch artist.”

Benson stands when they enter the room despite looking like she only now took a seat. Of course, she notices Carisi’s slight flush right away. “What’s wrong?”

“Got a woman that came in a few minutes ago reporting a rape - not her own. She’s, uh-” Carisi glances behind him at the door as Fin comes in, expression questioning when he catches Carisi’s gaze. “Close that, will you? Sort of a sensitive topic.”

“‘A sensitive topic?’” he repeats, lips curling. “Alright.”

Carisi turns back to Benson in time to catch her sharing a look with Rollins. That same irritation from earlier returns to him, though he knows how ridiculous it is.

“Grace Seymour. She belongs to the KKK - the, uh, hold on I think I wrote it down.” He tugs his notepad out of his pocket along with his phone. “Recorded a bit of the conversation, too. But she was mostly crying in what I got. Here it is - the, uh, the Loyal White Knights. Said something about being sourced in Hampton Bays.”

Rollins’ expression darkens. “Yeah, I know them. Had a group based out of Covington, Georgia. They were passing out fliers.”

“In 2017?” Benson murmurs, incredulous in that weak way that comes to each of them at times, with cases like this.

“Oh yeah,” Fin mutters, and they turn. His tone is dark, his lips twisted. “Didn’t hear about the LWK passing out fliers in East Hampton Village, I’m guessing. Or about them threatening to show up to that Black Lives Matter protest last year.”

Rollins appears mortified. Carisi feels about the same.

“It’s 2017 and hate is alive and well,” Fin concludes. “I mean, just look at the white house.”

Liv presses her lips together and inclines her head in acknowledgement.

“So, you’ve got one of these KKK members in there? Don’t tell me she’s reporting some black on white rape.”

“No, no - nothing like that,” Carisi assures him. “She tells me there’s this girl that comes around the group, yeah? A, uh, fifteen year old. Said she came in to find the aftermath of this girl being raped by one of their members - an adult man. The father of this girl apparently reported this to the-” he motions vaguely. “One of the leaders. Monker, or something. I don’t remember his title,” he lies, because saying “Cyclops” right now would come off as some sort of insensitive joke. He shrugs. “Nothing was done. Don’t know about the police, but she did say it happened here, not in Hampton Bays.”

Swallowing thickly, he shoves his hands in his pockets. Glancing back to Benson, he says, “Girl is pregnant, according to her.”

Closing her eyes, Benson ducks her head and takes a deep breath. Fin sighs from behind them.

“I told her I’d get a sketch artist in there so she could describe the kid. Oh, did I mention the kid?” he trails off, looking back to his notepad. “Suspect’s name is Raymond ‘Tommy Ray’ Tomlinson. But there was this kid there. One she didn’t know.”

Olivia nods. “Alright. Fin, run his name. Rollins, get-” She closes her eyes again, wincing. “Get a white sketch artist in here, if you can,” she finishes, obviously pained. “Carisi, I assume you’ve gotten on this woman’s good side?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright. Keep working with her. Get as much information as you can.”

Gracie is clutching the bag to her chest as she describes the boy to the sketch artist. Rollins did what the captain requested of her and got Harry, the sketch artist who’s even whiter than Carisi. He sits perched in the seat Carisi had previously been in, hair ruffled and tie a little loose. He always manages to look like he’s running late for something, yet isn’t sure what.

“He, uh, had sort of a-a beaky nose, y’know?” Gracie mutters, motioning at her own nose as if to draw it out herself. “No, no. Not like that. Sharper. Yeah, yeah - now you’re getting it. He had bad acne too. You need to know that, right? I mean, it’s sort of a weird detail, but it was noticeable. Maybe his skin has cleared up since then, though….”

Carisi can’t help but smile a little as he listens to her chatter. He closes the door behind him, making sure it grates as he does so she knows he’s here. Immediately, she goes stiff, glancing back only to brighten upon spotting him.

“Detective!” Her voice is high and tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from fear or something else. “I, uh, I’ve been telling Mr. Harry here what that kid looked like.” She turns her face to Carisi, expectant, almost like she’s waiting for some form of approval.

He smiles, awkward but trying to stay charming, and takes a seat by her on the couch. “I really appreciate this, Gracie. Would you prefer I call you Gracie or Miss Seymour?” he checks, already knowing the answer.

“Please, call me Gracie,” she insists, hand finding the inside of his arm. Her eyes are beseeching, and his answering smile is as wavering as before but at least honest. The ring on her finger keeps catching his attention.

“Right, Gracie.”

“Ma’am,” Harry says, voice slightly lilting in that funny, Brooklyn way of his; Carisi isn’t one to judge, he supposes. “What was his hair like?”

“Oh! Oh, right, that. Uh, short. Real short. Kid had a buzzcut. Come to think of it, pretty sure he had a, uh-” She motions vaguely, looking to Carisi like he’ll read her mind or know the word sitting on the tip of her tongue. “Oh, you know, one of those jackets. Military sort of thing.”

“Army green, lots of pockets?” Harry pipes up.

“Yes! Exactly! Rough and tumble sort of boy. And his cheeks,” she says pointing vaguely to the picture Harry is putting together, “were bigger. Baby face, sort of.”

Harry nods, and gently erases a few lines.

Gracie turns those sad eyes on him, appearing ready to crawl out of her skin once again. She tugs on her jacket, and Sunny only now registers that she put it back on. “So… everything’s going how it should be?”

He blinks, not entirely sure what she’s asking. “Yeah, you’re doing great. We’re going to get her justice thanks to everything you’ve done today.”

Sitting straight, she’s shocked but pleased, her flush spreading down her throat. “So this,” she motions to Harry and the paper, “drawing will be enough to find that boy?” She’s not convinced, and he can’t blame her. Even Harry cracks a smile.

“It’s a great start, Gracie. You’d be surprised what we can do with less.”

Her relief is tangible. “And….” She lets herself trail off before she even properly gets anything out, glancing at Harry.

“How about I let you get finished up with Harry, here, and then we can talk more. Until then, I’ll go order some takeout or something. What do you like?”

Smile grateful, Gracie eases back in her seat. Her fingers are digging into the leather of her purse to the point he sincerely expects her to damage it with those nails of hers. “Something warm, I don’t really care about much else. Not hot, though. Like spicy, I mean,” she explains, nose wrinkled and mouth twisting.

“Warm, not spicy. I can do that.” Carisi grins, standing to leave once more. “I’ll see you in a minute. Later, Harry.”

Harry shoots him a sedate smile and goes right back to work.

Gracie wasn’t exaggerating about him being a real big fucker. Tomlinson is 6’1 and thick with muscle. His mug shot has captured him with a black eye and a split lip, there due to an altercation with the arresting officers according to a report.

Tomlinson has a rap sheet as long as Carisi’s arm, it turns out. In Georgia, there are a handful of unlawful carrying charges and a charge for aggravated assault, which appears to be from a domestic incident with an old girlfriend. He got hit with a fine of a thousand dollars and a year in prison, relatively light in comparison to the five year max one could get for carrying around a sawed-off shotgun not to mention the assault. It’s mind boggling.

In South Carolina, his reign of terror continues with an aggravated sexual assault charge and a statutory case he slipped out of thanks to a lack of evidence and a young, young vic. That time, she was barely over 13, according to the reports, but all else about her is suppressed; it’s a wonder they kept even that information available. Again, it was just a year in prison and a small fine.

In New York, there’s a few stalking incidents, not that the laws in that area are much even when they do manage to get a guy, and yet another aggravated assault charge. Nothing has ever properly stuck, not anywhere or at any time, and these are only the incidents they can get at after he hit legal age.

The nausea strikes again; Sonny thought he was over this sort of thing after his first homicide, but apparently not, though that humanity isn’t a bad thing in his mind.

Staring at the eyes of Tomlinson, crinkled around the edges like he’s sharing some private joke with the camera, he finds himself questioning how many women have looked into those eyes before being struck or held down or worse. It’s cases like these that make him shake with rage and stare hard at each guy his sisters bring around, forever guessing at who could be walking free despite a thousand cruelties committed and laws broken. How could anyone - judge, jury, cop - could let this guy slip through the cracks?

Twelve months. Only twelve.

Fin turns in his chair, peering at Carisi with sharp eyes. “We have to nail him this time.” He sounds as tired as Carisi feels, but not as hopeful - faithful is a better word for it. Meeting his eyes, Carisi can tell he doesn’t have much faith the system will do any better this time around. Considering the unfairness seeping into every aspect of the situation, Carisi can’t blame him.

He nods, trying to swallow to get rid of the tightness in his throat, but it stays. He clenches his fists, takes a breath in, and relaxes them as he breathes out. The pressure eases. “I’m gonna go back in. She should be finishing up with the sketch artist.”

Fin glances at the clock pointedly. “Tomorrow, you and Rollins going to find this Price guy?”

Following his gaze, Carisi winces at how late it is; no sleeping on Amanda’s couch tonight. “Yeah, guess we will.”

Nodding, Fin turns back to his computer. Carisi assumes this is his signal to get going, but he finds himself lingering instead, eyes trained on the back of Fin’s neck - on the color of his skin. He hasn’t questioned what Fin’s heritage is, but he finds himself questioning it now. Questions if this is the first time he’s had to sit in the office while the rest of his team goes out to deal with racists, too. He wonders if he’s okay.

His mind is going a mile a minute tonight, and he still has all of that paperwork to finish; it sure as hell won’t get done when he’s in this state.

“Something wrong, Carisi?” he mutters, and Carisi can’t tell if that’s amusement or irritation in his voice.

“Yeah - I mean, no. I just-” Carisi closes his mouth, knowing he’s going to say something dumb.

Fin turns his head slowly, eyeing him. They aren’t as close as the rest of the team. Carisi is okay with that, hasn’t thought much about it honestly but now he is. Why hasn’t he shared more drinks with Fin, asked about his son more, or bought him a damn coffee in the morning? Is his unintentional avoidance racist? Carisi’s honestly not sure.

He doesn’t think much about race, either, and he’s gone on assuming that means he’s not a racist, but a lot of people don’t think about a lot of things like hating women or gay people. He’s witnessed it firsthand, working here and with his sisters, with their boyfriends or their shitty coworkers or that guy who kept sending Gina vaguely sexual messages on Facebook. He’s seen that in them, even, whenever he brings a girl home or a guy. Them wondering over things again, questions they’ve hounded him with for years in their eyes.

“Are you sure you’re not just gay, Sonny? You know we wouldn’t care.” That’s Teresa’s favorite line, muttered all hush over her coffee cup after she finishes giving him hell for adding too much sugar to his own. Sometimes “gay” is replaced with “straight,” but it’s like it’s harder for her to think like that. He’s not sure he gets it - not sure he wants to.

“So… a guy.” Bella will whisper, raise her brow, and sometimes even wink. “Sure you won’t,” she’ll motion to her chest or to her other bits, vague, “miss something?”

“You alright, Carisi?” Fin asks, and yeah that’s amusement but also concern in his voice, which sort of feels good yet bad. Carisi didn’t intend to be a bother.

Carisi focuses his gaze somewhere to the right of his eyes. He’s probably racist. Most people probably are. Guilt is winding tight in his belly and chest along with this sadness that has taken to weighing on his shoulders.

He swallows around his tongue, which suddenly feels foreign in his own mouth, and lets his mind go back to his conversation with Seymour. Her opinions on unholiness, the Lord’s law, and segregation are rattling around in his head in a way he hadn’t let them at the time, and he feels strange in his own skin. He meets Fin’s eyes, earning a questioning look; he can only imagine what expression he’s wearing himself.

“I was thinking,” he says, haltingly, “that it’s shitty.”

Leaning back, Fin gazes at him harder still. Carisi’s not sure how that’s possible.

“Y’know? I mean, shit- Yeah, of course you know. I mean that you’re a good cop.” He pauses. Focuses on the screen of the computer instead of Fin’s eyes, because it’s easier. “A good man,” he says, considering if this might be too personal. No, it is too personal and he knows it. “Color of your skin shouldn’t change that. That’s all.”

It would be less painful if he physically shoved his foot in his mouth.

There’s a moment of silence that lingers between them, drawing out impossibly long. Fin breaks it by laughing, the sound low but honest. Jerking a little, Carisi manages to face him properly this time. Eyes crinkling, Fin smiles, but it’s a sad sort of smile. Again, this is something Carisi doesn’t recognize, an expression he hasn’t categorized yet because it’s his first time seeing it.

“Y’know,” Fin begins, teasing him, before looking back to the screen with the image of Tomlinson, so haggard, “I didn’t know what to think about you at first. Still don’t sometimes. Keep taking me by surprise.”

Back of his neck burning, Carisi scratches at his wrist. “Good or bad?”

Fin shrugs. “Not bad. Not sure if it’s good, either,” he pins to the end, smirk growing.

Carisi’s shoulders loosen, along with his hands. “I can work with that, I guess. I, uh, just wanted to say. Anyway, better get back.”

“Uh-huh,” Fin hums, chuckling as he goes back to his own work. “Oh, Carisi.”

He turns back, anxiety kicking in once more.

“Don’t make this weird,” he requests, shaking his head a little. “I’m black, you’re white. It is what it is.”

Carisi nods, sharp.

Fin stifles a laugh. Carisi’s pretty sure it’s at his expense, but he can’t really blame him in this moment.

Turning on his heel, Carisi intends to grab the bag of takeout from his desk and head back in to talk to Gracie before Harry is finished so she’s not stuck in there alone again. It’s not good for the nerves, and not good manners as his mother would say. Police stations bring out anxiety in even the most innocent of people, which is understandable. This is the sort of place most people expect to never be. He’s so in his own head, and stumbling slightly over himself in his tired and hungry state, that he almost walks right into Barba, who appears as peeved as one might expect.

He typically looks frustrated, but this is a special brand of annoyed that comes out when a judge accepts a particularly ridiculous motion or he hasn’t eaten enough. Carisi is pretty sure it’s the latter today, going by the time.

Barba becomes tremendously caustic when hungry, which is perhaps the first thing Carisi learned about him by shadowing him, along with the fact that he will go all day without eating until he’s snappy and Carmen dumps cheap takeout on his desk or a glucose pill.

“Detective,” he mutters, voice heavy and dark, and pins Carisi with his gaze.

“Counsellor,” Carisi returns, aiming at sounding amused instead of shaken. “What can I do for you? It’s pretty late for you to be hanging around here, isn’t it?” He steps away from Fin’s desk so he’s not continuing to pester him by taking up his space.

“I came to ask if you wanted to grab dinner and discuss the Vasilev case,” he says, glancing at the takeout on Carisi’s desk. Hit the nail on the head. “But I see I’m too late.”

Barba has never come around himself to invite them out to dinner, typically it’s Benson or Carisi who has to pretend to push for Barba to join them until he pretends just as emphatically to give in. Carisi smiles until his cheeks hurt even while frustration settles in his shoulders, tightening the muscles there. He hasn’t had a chance to spend any time with Barba in a good while, and bickering with him over Barba’s fancy salmon dinners or Carisi’s cheap spaghetti is almost as calming to him as gossiping with Kim as he dozes.

“I have to handle a case tonight, but maybe tomorrow?” Hoping he doesn’t sound too pleading, he adds, “Could go to that burger place you pretend not to like.”

As soon as he says it, Barba’s eyes flicker across his face as if taking him in properly for the first time, brows slowly rising. The back of his neck is heating again. It may come across a little strange, how he put it.

“I don’t need to pretend, I sincerely prefer my burgers more meat than grease.”

Laugh shocked out of him, Carisi’s cheeks only hurt worse, but in the best of ways. He swears he spots a glint of amusement in Barba’s eyes, too, and maybe his lips curling. It’s quickly gone, though, replaced by pursed lips as Barba motions to the paperwork littered across Carisi’s desk.

“You needed this done yesterday, did you not?”

“Since when were you the captain, Counsellor?” he counters, still as amused as before. He’s good at not taking things personally, and even better at it when it’s Barba pushing him around a little. It’s clear why he does it, that it’s never personal even when it appears otherwise, at least to everyone else.

This time he gets the usual smirk in response. “Is there something new?” he asks instead of persisting, and Carisi has to question why he’s here, like this. Barba is tilting his head slightly to peer at Fin’s computer screen as he searches for Tomlinson’s current place of residence.

“Work getting so boring you gotta’ come here to get some excitement?”

Barba shoots him a look, but it’s not unkind.

Carisi’s smile comes back with a vengeance. “Yeah, there’s a, uh, an odd case that’s come up.” He jerks his head in the direction of the room Harry has just exited, pad of paper in hand. “Woman in there is-” He pauses, glancing to the door once more, and steps closer to Barba. The expression of amusement on Barba’s face isn’t kind, unlike the one before, but Carisi can’t help but like it. “She’s a member of a subset of the KKK.”

That amusement is gone from Barba’s expression in the blink of an eye, his shoulders drawing back in a way that makes Carisi’s skin prickle. He feels, inexplicably, as if he’s insulted him. Barba’s expression is simply blank, giving Carisi nothing to go on, then his lips curl in one slow, vicious expression of disgust.

Carisi is shaken, honestly. Barba is unshakeable himself, unaffected no matter the circumstances. Irritation is a neutral state for him, or at least that’s how Carisi has come to view it, and anything other than it is almost unreal.

Fin makes a muffled noise behind them, like he’s trying not to laugh again.

Carisi is at a loss. He wants to ask what’s wrong, what’s happened, what did he say. He says nothing.

Barba’s eyes are on Fin instantly, but just as quickly his focus is on Carisi once more. “I see,” he says simply, as if that’s that.

Carisi swallows thickly, shrugging jerkily in answer to nothing. “Came in to report a rape,” he says, voice growing lower and lower. “She- Ah, the victim isn’t her. It’s a kid. We’re going to head out to find the father and vic tomorrow.”

“And the KKK? How do they play into this?” he demands, words so deceptively soft goosebumps creep up Sonny’s arms in response.

“They’re all members.”

Barba, of all things, rolls his eyes. “You all have a habit of attracting ridiculous cases, don’t you?”

The suddenness of it has Carisi barking out a laugh. Barba’s expression is almost fond, at least for him. Or maybe Carisi is getting a little too low on food himself and needs to eat before he starts hallucinating. Carisi feels a little like he’s losing it.

“Liv is still here,” Fin says, and Carisi almost comes out of his skin; he forgot he was there. “I was thinking about inviting her to grab a bite with me after I finish this. I sort of doubt she’ll be joining me considering all of this,” he sighs, tilting his head toward the room Seymour still resides in. “You’re welcome to join me either way.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.” Barba turns his face to Carisi, eyes narrowed, expression closed. “I know I shouldn’t ask for my own sanity, but how old is the victim?”

Letting his breath out through his nose, Carisi tells him.

Barba closes his eyes, letting this information sink in. He appears almost peaceful. “And her ethnicity?”

“She’s another member. I take it she’s white.”

Carisi wouldn’t say Barba appears relieved, per se, but that’s the best way he can describe the expression he now wears. Nodding slowly, he lets his gaze slip away from Carisi, instead looking again to the screen of Fin’s computer.

Swallowing thickly, Carisi slips his hand into the handles of the bag. “I really need to take this to her. It was good seeing you, Counsellor.”

Barba’s answering nod is quick, barely there. “Detective.”

In the room, waiting for him, Gracie is pacing. As soon as he opens the door, he smiles, holding up the food. She doesn’t act as excited to see him this time, instead hurrying over, that damn purse clutched tight to her chest.

“Hey, hey - you were - the-”

“Woah, woah, woah…” Carisi murmurs, voice soft, and sets the bag on the table. Her hands are shaking as she holds the bag tighter still. “What’s wrong, Gracie?”

“I just-” She drags her hand through her hair, distraught - inconsolable.

“Gracie,” he says, voice and hands gentle. “Gracie, I need you to talk to me. Do you need to leave? Is that what’s wrong?”

Tucking her chin in, she tries to hide the tears forming in her eyes. “I-I don’t know. I really don’t know. I just- This isn’t how it-” She takes a deep, shaking breath, and meets Carisi’s eyes. She looks twenty years younger, tears spilling over, and so lost. “Sonny- Sonny, right?”

“Right.”

She nods, turning her face back to the floor. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay. It really is. I’ll help walk you through it. I promise it’ll be okay.”

She looks at him again, and Carisi has seen that expression enough times to recognize it immediately. The fear of someone abused is unique in a way that’s hard for to describe. Sometimes he wonders if he can only recognize it because it’s something that resides in himself, too. His heart hurts for her, and for every other woman in her place. He steps closer, hand finding hers, fingers curling around her palm and hers shakingly returning the gesture with unspoken eagerness.

“Grace, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. I’m not going to let this man get away with hurting that little girl, either.”

He’s expecting her to breakdown again, to be shattered, but instead she jerks her hand away. She moves to turn, shoulders shifting, but pauses as if considering her options before instead digging into her purse and pulling out a ziploc baggy. “I-I don’t know why I- I should have given this to you right away. Take it.”

He takes it. There are panties in it. There’s blood.

“Gracie, where did you get these?”

Her lips twist, her eyes close. Her cheeks are wet with tears. “I found it… in the back of Tab’s closet. God help us, she tried to hide it. Bawled like a babe when I found them. I- Sonny, I don’t think she- I know she must have periods to be able to carry a child but she….” Her eyes grow glassy and distant.

Biting the inside of his lip, he struggles to find the words to soothe her in this moment.

Setting the bag on the counter, far from their food, Carisi turns his attention to her. He takes her hand in his, and guides her to sit on the couch as she tiredly stumbles. A few moments later, Rollins and the Lieu come in, Rollins with tea in hand. Carisi holds Grace’s hand through it all, just like he promised.

#barisi #svu #fanfiction #tw #rafael barba #sonny carisi

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