#since their friendship is the bulk of part iii | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

archonanqi · 4 years ago

Text

consequence / pt i

⛔️ Warning: This is an exploration of Zhongli’s manipulative tendencies that we see glimpses of in his archon and story quest. Absolutely no part of the relationship depicted here is healthy or consensual. Please proceed with caution.

🔖 [info] [next]

—

pt. i of iii

Looking back, you should have noticed that something was wrong the moment Zhongli had insisted on treating you and Aether to dinner.

You and Paimon tried to stop him, of course — far too many of his shopping sprees in the past had ended with the Millelith involved or your pockets emptied of Mora (usually both, really). Yet today, he’d produced a wallet lined with gleaming coins, and any protests died quickly on Paimon’s lips.

“Wow, that’s enough to buy—” she marvelled, staring as intently as though her gaze itself could start pocketing the Mora, “at least… TEN Golden Crabs from Wanmin Restaurant!”

Zhongli chuckled, the sound still sending pleasant shivers down your spine even after all the months you’d spent traveling with him. “A little more than that, Paimon, but a good guess nonetheless.” He turned his amber gaze to you and your brother, who had not strayed a foot away from you since the Abyss released its hold on him.

Aether had kept an easy smile on his face for the past few days, but you’d known him long enough to pick out the signs of guilt, despite your reiterated reassurances that what the Abyss did to him was not his fault. It would take a long time for him to feel alright again; and you’d be there for him for as long as it took.

“And as for you two?” Zhongli continued, “will Wanmin Restaurant be agreeable? Though of course, if you believe that such a momentous reunion demands something a little more extravagant, I’m sure that Xinyue Pavillion is still taking reservations—”

“No, that’s not—” you weren’t sure why you were hesitating. So what if he mysteriously found himself without enough Mora by the end of the meal, and you ended up having to foot the bill as usual? It stung a little to think about, but it wasn’t as though you’d have any need for Mora after tonight. “That’s not it. After everything you’ve done for us during our travels, I couldn’t possibly accept more from you, Zhongli.”

Couldn’t possibly bear sitting at a table with Zhongli, knowing that it’d be the last time you’d ever see him. This was why you’d always tried to leave each world with a clean cut. This was why, at the break of dawn, you and Aether would leave without telling anyone — not Jean, not Cyno, not Dainsleif, not Ajax. Not even Zhongli, with whom you’d spent the bulk of your past year.

“Oh, no,” Zhongli replied, brows arching upwards, “I’ve told you, have I not? The pleasure of our travels were mine to enjoy.”

“Er... well. I’m sure Aether is also tired and wants to rest,” you prompted, squeezing Aether’s hand. Aether nodded quickly — no matter the world, you’d always been able to count on him to pick up on your nuanced signals. Though he might not know why, he knew that you were uneasy with going to this dinner, and that was enough.

“Hmm,” Zhongli pondered this shortly, then turned to your brother. You’d seen that look of calculated determination on his face before, in front of basha stalls and souvenir stores across the continent. A look that meant Zhongli would get what he wanted. “I had rather been looking forward to getting to know the sibling of my favored travel companion. Are you certain? Wanmin Restaurant is quite the gem of Liyue Harbor, and I’m certain that the food here will be a fair few notches above what the Abyss Order has been able to offer you.”

There was a slight, amiable smile on his face, but bringing up the Abyss was a painfully low blow and you had no doubt that Zhongli, the lord of contracts and negotiations and everything in between, knew it. You watched in mute horror as the guilt and regret danced on Aether’s face, before he finally gathered it all back into an apologetic smile. “Of course, Mr. Zhongli. Far be it from me to refuse a dinner with the former Geo Archon himself, especially with all the trouble I’ve caused you...”

—

Even after traveling the seven nations, you’d never once stopped pining for the savory, hearty flavors of Liyue cuisine. The spice of the black-perch stew that Xiangling taught you to cook had kept you warm through many a Snezhnayan blizzard, after all. Basking in the familiar scent of Wanmin Restaurant with a stomach full of hot food, and watching Paimon devour skewers of meat five at a time, you began to feel much better.

The anger you’d felt at Zhongli’s manipulation of your brother had also since faded into contentment. After all, negotiation, you found, came as naturally to Zhongli as breathing; he had likely meant nothing by it.

Maybe it was okay that you spent just one more night with Zhongli. Maybe it would turn out to be the closure you need.

You glanced at the man in question; he was teaching Aether how to use chopsticks, of course, and you were grateful to see that the haunted look in Aether’s eyes had given way to exasperation for now. By the time your brother had snapped his third pair of wooden ones, he was smiling and Paimon was just about rolling around on the ground in glee. As you stifled your own laughter, Zhongli set two small bottles of wine on the table.

You tried not to let yourself think about how the string lights of Chi’hu Rock glinted like stars in his eyes.

“What’s this?” You joked, referencing Zhongli’s anger from the one time he’d seen Venti get you drunk. “Are we all to become disgraces to the arts tonight?”

Zhongli’s lip curled into a small smile. You couldn’t remember when his smiles had started coming more and more frequently, but you’d learned to savor each one. “Ordinarily, I would not condone such strong drink, but today is the most special of occasions, no?”

As you watched, a goblet began to form between his fingers, golden, black and resplendent. You’d seen similar ones before, buried deep within the Domain of Guyun Stone Forest — an Archaic Petra Artifact, a Goblet of Chiseled Crag. According to Zhongli’s stories, the very same ones that he had created for the Seven to drink from in celebration, before all but two of them had vanished from this world.

The cruel irony was not lost on you.

“Besides, this is nothing like the watered down Mondstadt alcohol that that young bard partakes in,” Zhongli said, gloved fingers masterfully plucking the cork from the first bottle and pouring it into the goblets. “These two bottles contain the finest wu’liang’ye spirit that Liyue has to offer. They’ve been aged for well over decades with a technique passed down from the goddess Guizhong, whose mastery over grain and crop transcends even my own today.”

“We’re— flattered,” you bowed your head. The matter of Guizhong, the late Goddess of Dust and Zhongli’s good friend from when the Archon War still ravaged the land, was but one of the many things that you’d wanted to talk to him about. If only you had more time. “Thank you, Zhongli.”

He passed you the first goblet, then the second to Paimon. “Please, let’s forgo the formalities tonight. You are a dear friend to me, and so, by extension, is your family.” The second bottle was opened, its contents split between Zhongli and Aether. “Let us drink, to the happy reunion of loved ones, to the fruitful friendships you have forged in this world, and to all the triumphant adventures to be had still.”

The wince you hid was only partially from the burning drag of liquor sliding down your throat.

It had not escaped your notice that Zhongli had been staring at you all night — more intently than usual, and that was saying something.

“y/n, I think—“ he began, as you met his gaze. By the Archons, the way he said your name—

“ Paimon thinks there should be less talking, more drinking! Ganbei!” Paimon screeches, downing half her goblet and immediately falling down to the cobblestone road, spluttering and choking at the heat.

“This is… very strong, Mr. Zhongli,” Aether was the first to speak after. “Wonderful liquor. What gives it its mild bitterness?”

“Bitter?” You asked, letting the drink roll on your tongue, “where’s the bitterness? It tastes mostly sweet to me.”

Aether took another long drink, thoughtfully. “Definitely bitter. Here, try a sip?”

You took his goblet, but as you pressed it to your lips, you felt it begin to violently vibrate. Quickly, you pulled it away from your face just in time for it to shatter in your hand, gold and black shards falling to the floor as what little drink left in the goblet splattered across the table.

“Goodness,” Zhongli said, after your surprised yelp brought Paimon stumbling back to your side, her cheeks still stained scarlet from the liquor, “I must apologize. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had to construct something so small and intricate — I am out of practice, it seems.”

“Oh! That’s quite alright, I drank most of it already—“ Aether glanced over your shoulder, “by the Archons, Paimon has a knife!”

As you watched Chef Mao try to wrestle his knife back from a cackling, red-faced Paimon, you recalled the crystal hairpin Zhongli had forged two months ago — when you’d complained of the Natlan desert wind blowing your hair into your eyes. It had been just as intricate as the goblets, and much, much smaller. One of the few belongings you were planning on bringing with you.

You wondered what reason Zhongli had to lie.

—

“Maybe it was a good thing your goblet shattered,” you told Zhongli, prodding Aether with one of your chopsticks. He had stopped even groaning in response. And though Paimon was still conscious, she looked as though she would much rather not be, sitting forlornly on the table with her head in her hands. “Look at them. Drunk as skunks.”

“Maybe,” Zhongli replied, “though I did not expect these two to have such low tolerance to alcohol. It was a miscalculation on my part.”

“Paimon’s always like this —you know, remember that bar in Snezhnaya?— but Aether’s usually better at holding his drink,” you sighed. “I should probably get him back to Wangshu Inn.”

“Let him sober up a little here. It’s a long trek to the inn, and you don’t want him making a mess of his dinner on the way back.” Loathe as you were to admit it, Zhongli was right. It seemed that the fates were demanding that you spend a little more time with him, after all. He stood up, his tremendous height still a little startling to you.

“Will you walk with me for a little, y/n?”

It wasn’t fair, really, the way he said your name. “Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “The harbor for a breath of fresh air perhaps, or Bubu Pharmacy to fetch a remedy for Aether. Does it matter to you, where we go?”

Going anywhere with him was a pleasure, one that against your better judgement, you yearned to partake in one more time. “No,” you admitted. “Let’s go.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve walked through Liyue — a year, almost. Do you remember? It was my birthday, and we walked for hours through the harbor.” Zhongli chuckled, the sound a deep rumble through your bones. “You wouldn’t let me buy dinner that time, either.”

The nights of Liyue, its rolling hills and monumental mountains, were a peace you’d never known before coming to Teyvat. The city was uncharacteristically quiet tonight, and by the time you got to Yujing Terrace, you realized that it was the emptiest you’d ever seen it. The usual evening crowd of kids out of school and elderly taking strolls were nowhere to be seen — not even the Millelith guards usually standing by the gate were there.

“ That time ,” you corrected, swallowing your unease at the silence of the city, “you didn’t have a single Mora to your name.” The strides you had to take to keep up with Zhongli’s long, long legs were huge, and you struggled to stay by his side. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that I wouldn’t have had to pay the entire bill if we’d actually gone to Wangshu Inn for dinner that night.”

You immediately regretted it when he turned his golden gaze upon you, and it took everything within you to not avert yours. “Perhaps that may have been the case,” Zhongli allowed, “though I would have returned your investment tenfold over the next week. Have I not proven as much throughout our travels?”

His vast knowledge of valuable gemstones and herbs — and more importantly, his uncanny ability to get any deal he set his mind to — had kept you and Paimon fed for many a week during your trek through the caves and jungles of Sumeru. You had to give him that. And that wasn’t not even counting the number of boulders, traps, swords and ravenous winter wolves that his shield had protected you from—

“Fine, I’ll admit, it was nice to have you around, you bourgeois parasite,” you said, playing on his joke back from when you’d first met. Then, after a brief silence, “Zhongli, in all seriousness, thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“I know that you’ve accompanied many adventurers on their journeys,” you explained, “but you — you dropped everything and journeyed with me, and you’ve done more for me than anyone else. I could never have found Aether without you.” Zhongli was being uncharacteristically quiet, and so you hurried along to fill the silence, “We— we made a great team together. And I will never forget everything that you’ve done for me. So, thank you.”

“A great team together...” he repeated, voice lower than a whisper. “y/n, this sounds like a farewell.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Even in silence, you were breaking the most important rule you’d learned throughout all your travels. Never let them know you’re leaving.

Zhongli turned to face you, and his full attention is a force that you had not yet learned to endure. So instead, you turned your attention to the koi darting about among the lotus reeds as he continued, “I’ve noticed that you’ve been more careless with your Mora lately. And as for your hard-earned weapons, artifacts, and resources, you have given them all to the Knights of Favonius, correct?”

“I gave some to the Millelith too,” you objected quietly.

“You know that is not what I meant,” Zhongli said. You did know. “Are you planning on leaving this world, y/n?”

“I have to,” you heard yourself say, “we don’t belong here.”

As though he heard the waver in your voice, the Lord of Contracts honed in on it like a Sumeran jaguar. “Do you remember the first Lantern Rite you partook in? Though you had just arrived in Liyue, and though the Millelith, Qixing and Adepti each gave you reason to distrust them, you still chose to spend the festival helping people.”

“I didn’t help that many—”

“Twenty-six people,” he corrected, and you cursed yourself for not thinking that he would remember. “A dozen more, if we are to count the young and elderly of Qingce, whose lives were brightened by the festivities you brought to the village. And hundreds above that, if we acknowledge every person in Liyue Harbor, whose Lantern Rite would have been ruined had you not stopped the thief who tried to steal the Mingxiao Lantern. Am I correct?”

“I did it for the compensation,” you retorted, determined not to let yourself think about the people you’d helped. Who would help them after you left?

“Hmm.” Zhongli rested his gloved fingers against his chin, and you could tell that he didn’t buy your bluff, not for a moment. “Anyone else, I may have believed. But you, y/n, who have begged me to stay my hand against fleeing Hilichurls? You, who could not bear to attack the Mitachurl that sits alone on Mount Tianheng and watches the harbor? You, who gave it a name ?”

“Okay,” you finally relented. “Okay, I like helping people, and I don’t want to go. But that doesn’t mean I can stay. It’s— it’s not good for Aether to stay here, after what this world has done to him.”

“With time, I believe your brother can adjust—”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Zhongli,” you begged, and the tone of your voice finally made him take notice. He regarded you for a moment, and you thought you saw his eyes glow bright.

“The last thing I wanted,” he sighed, reaching into his coat, “was for it to come to this.”

Your first reaction was to reach for your weapon — it wasn’t there; you’d given Festering Desire to dear little Bennett just before you’d left Mondstadt. Still, you felt the bright burn of shame when the only thing Zhongli pulled out was a piece of parchment, folded into a perfect square. How could you think that after everything, Zhongli would ever hurt you?

“Do you remember this contract of ours?” Zhongli asked as he carefully unfolded the paper, handing it to you. You stared down at the neat lines of calligraphy, punctuated by your name in your own handwriting.

Of course you remembered: the moment you had approached Zhongli at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, after your expedition into Havria’s domain. The day you’d asked him to join you on your travels.

“ Oh? A new contract? I'm still on leave, but I can accompany you for a while. ” Zhongli had mused, as though he hadn’t just sent butterflies soaring through your insides. “ What name should I use on the contract? I have a great many names, though when on leave... I tend to go by Zhongli. And you, Traveler? What name will you be signing on this contract— ?”

The following contract had been quickly printed in his swift brushstrokes — simple terms: he would lend his strength and knowledge to your endeavor of finding Aether, and you, in turn, would simply keep him in good company.

Even at the time, you’d wondered what was in it for Zhongli — the terms of the contract had seemed rather imbalanced, but in your euphoria at having gained Zhongli as your new travelling partner, you had not thought more on it.

—

The same terms stared back at you now, and you were quickly realizing what was going on.

For thousands of years, I have made countless contracts. If the deal was of no benefit, then I certainly would not be inclined to agree to it.

The day you discovered his identity, Zhongli had said this to you. He’d never signed a contract before that did not benefit him wholly; and you were a fool to think he would’ve made an exception for you.

“By keeping you in good company,” you said, numbly, “you don’t mean— forever ?”

“In the circumstances that the duration of a contract’s term is unspecified—” Zhongli held out his hand for the parchment. Briefly, you debated tearing it up and scattering it to the koi, but you knew well enough that it would not void the contract — one of the hundreds of thousands that Zhongli had undoubtedly seared into his memory. You handed it back to him silently. “Well, it would be fair to say that you are obliged to uphold it, until I personally release you from it, no?”

The first thing you felt was: fear, deep and chilling. You hadn’t truly believed that Zhongli would hurt you — until now. Until a contract had come into play. Until you realized you were poised to break one.

“You can’t be serious,” you said, but you’d known him long enough to know that he was. “I found my brother. I’m not from this world, and so I have to leave. I have to go home.”

“Has Teyvat not provided you enough of a home? You have made friends here, allies who would die for you in a heartbeat. And as for Liyue — Liyue will always be as much of your home as mine. You have your own room in Chi’hu Rock, you are on a first-name basis with the Qixing and the Adepti would spar with you as though you were one of their own—”

You could feel your resolve trembling, but it was not enough. You would not ask your brother to compromise his wellbeing in a world that had not been kind to him. “I’m sorry,” you said, and you understood fully what was coming. “I can’t stay.”

“After everything we have gone through, my friend, you would leave... me?” And there it was. In that moment, the former Archon — the oldest being in the world — looked so lonely that you almost broke down, almost apologized, almost reassured him that you would never once again put him through what he’d gone through far too many times: the loss of a friend.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “My family comes first. I can’t stay.”

Zhongli’s expression became unreadable. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, there was a peaceful silence that you savored. You had a feeling that it would be the last one you’d ever have in Liyue. The seconds crawled by, and briefly, you let yourself hope that Zhongli might relent, might make an exception for his close travel companion.

“Well then, my friend,” Zhongli finally said, holding out his right arm. Sparks of energy gathered in his palms, forming a wicked, golden spear. The Vortex Vanquisher. You’d seen it countless times, marveling each time at its beauty and strength. You never thought you would one day be staring down the end of it. “You must know what comes next.”

—

On your journey, you’d witnessed many a broken contract between Zhongli and other people — an Inazuman merchant whose greed for an extra trinket got the better of him; a Sumeran scholar who just needed to grab that last book from the hidden ruins; a Snezhnayan soldier whose loyalty to the Tsaritsa transcended his gratitude to you saving his life—

None of them had escaped unscathed. And each time, after delivering the punishment required of the situation, Zhongli would ask you the same thing, uncharacteristic frustration in his voice:

“ To get people to abide by a contract, and act in accordance with the guidelines set out within, is simply to ask them to respect the concept of fairness. It is not a large request. How are there those who still do not understand such simplicity? ”

Each time, after you’d cheered him on in his reckoning of justice, you would nod and agree sympathetically. None of their contracts, you thought, had been particularly difficult to uphold. And each time, you would thank the heavens that you had more sense than to break a promise between yourself and the God of Contracts.

It seemed that today, you were going to learn of what happened when you did.

You took a step backwards as Zhongli took a slow, calculated one towards you. Having closely watched him rain destruction down upon your foes for the past few months, you knew with certainty that you, lightheaded from the wind and the still exhausted from your fight with Aether, would not be able to keep up with his speed and technique.

And even if you weren’t, how could you even hope to compete with six thousand years of experience in war and strife and carnage? No; fighting him was not an option.

“Come on now, Zhongli,” you pleaded, taking another step and discovering, to your horror, that one more step backwards would have you falling into the koi ponds. You had nowhere else to go. “Aren’t we friends?”

Even as the words left your mouth, you knew that they would fall on uncaring ears. Friendship had never stayed the hand of the victor of the Archon war.

Zhongli took another lazy stride forward.

“Are we really going to fight in the city? We’ll destroy half the harbor.”

“While I appreciate your concern, I am quite confident that it will not come to that,” Zhongli said, the ‘because I would long have you pinned under my spear before then’ unspoken but tacit. “And besides, most of Liyue architecture is of stone. It would be nothing that I could not easily fix.”

Fair enough. You switched gears, praying that two millennia of walking amongst the mortals had given him some vestige of human empathy. “Please, I need to go back and check on Aether. What if he woke up and found himself alone? Who knows what Paimon’s done to him by now.”

“Aether,” Zhongli said, “will not wake up for another day or two.”

You pause, letting that register. “What?”

The first bottle: you and Paimon. The second bottle: Zhongli and Aether. You remembered how carefully Zhongli handed you the first goblet, though Liyuenese etiquette would have mandated that he pass the first drink to the guest at the table. The way the goblet had shattered suddenly rang clear in your mind’s eye. His lie. How adamantly Zhongli must have been trying to keep you from drinking from Aether’s cup—

“The herb I placed in his drink was but a very mild… sedative. He will almost certainly not die from it, but it can take mortals up to two days to regain consciousness.”

“ What ?” You could barely breathe. “You’re joking. You drank from the same bottle he did.”

“You need not concern yourself about me. My body has always been much more resistant to poisons than that of mortals.”

The rage made your throat tight; it had been a long, long time since you had been so angry. “Congratulations, you know that there’s absolutely no way I’m staying now, right?”

“Even before our confrontation today, I could tell that your mind was already made up,” he explained, as nonchalant as ever, as though he hadn’t just poisoned your fucking brother . “Naturally, the next course of action was to prevent you from breaking your contract by any means necessary, so that we could further negotiate. I did not want—”

You would never learn what Zhongli didn’t want, because the fury in your lungs erupted outwards in a burst of elemental energy. You reached out, grabbing one of the last swords in your arsenal — a dull blade that you had been keeping around for enhancement fodder — but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter didn’t matter didn’t matter. All that mattered in that moment was making Zhongli pay .

The familiar warmth of the element you were attuned to channeled through the sword, and you swung it as hard as you could in the direction of the former Archon. A wake of hardened earth ripped through the stone brick of the terrace, circling Zhongli in a jagged cage of rock and crystal. A little too late, you realized your folly.

Zhongli absently reached out, resting his gloved fingers against the earthly fangs you’d entrapped him within. Even through the haze of your anger, you could see a smile — a kind you had never seen on him — forming between his cheeks. “How ironic,” he said, “that you would use the powers that I granted you against me.”

You could see the glow of Geo flowing from your constructs towards his outstretched palm. Vaguely, you knew that you had to run .

“And how endearing—” he continued, and you could hear the rumbling beneath your feet, even as you turned to flee, “—that you truly thought it would work.”

From behind, a shockwave of Geo more powerful than anything you’d ever felt smashed into you, throwing you off your feet and slamming you against the wall behind the pond. You crumpled like a paper lantern, cheek hitting the cool stone floor. As you struggled to keep your eyes open, the last things you saw were Zhongli’s intricate boots, gleaming in the moonlight before you.

#zhongli #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #yan!zhong #zhongli fanfic #genshin fanfic #consequences #anqi writes #my writing

608 notes · View notes

shih-coulda-had-it · 4 years ago

Note

Nanahiko growing old together gives me life

Oh god anon, me too. Passionate movie romances are all well and good, but I’m such a SUCKER for relationships that stand the test of time. Which I guess is why I like starting Nanahiko off as childhood friends. /taps head/ It’s the projecting.

Below: idle Nanahiko fluff that leans into the NanaLives!AU. Featuring Toshinori’s POV as he finally brings his son successor to Yamanashi Prefecture...

The intention behind the way she and Sorahiko have set up their desks: to hold each other accountable for their respective paperwork load. This has backfired several times, but considering the last configuration (separate personal offices, divided by doors and walls) resulted in Nana climbing out the window and Sorahiko sleeping under his desk, this truly is the lesser of two evils.

Except sometimes Nana gets distracted.

“What are you looking at me for?” Sorahiko grouches. He shuffles the permits into a neat stack, and continues to avoid Nana’s eyes. He is unmasked, ungloved, and it is a rare enough sight that Nana thinks she must drink it in before Sorahiko recoils into his turtle-shell.

“I’m picturing you as an old man,” she says, lightly.

“I’m already old.”

“You’re thirty, same as me.” Nana props her chin on one hand, and decides she might as well stare at him openly. He’s flushing pink under the attention, and—aha! There is a second of eye contact, because Sorahiko glances at her after the prolonged silence. His eyes widen, and then wrench their gaze towards the top sheet of paperwork. It makes Nana feel fuzzy, a little like blushing herself.

“I'll probably shrink,” he says. “Lose the bulk. It’ll make flying easier.”

“You’ll still fly?”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?” And Sorahiko swallows, hard. “I can’t imagine you giving up flying.”

“Mm,” Nana responds, picking her answer carefully. Because how sweet is that? In Nana’s experience, friendships come and go like the seasons; most of her primary school friends hadn’t been with her for junior high, and the same pattern had persisted through high school and her career. Sorahiko sticks to her like a burr, though, stubborn and steady in spite of all the bullshit Nana has tugged him into.

“You’ll be shorter,” he adds, before she can say anything else.

“What? Shorter?”

“Mm-hm. You’ll be the tiny granny who’ll forget how to turn off your Quirk, and you’ll manage to hit the stratosphere before a pro-hero can get you down.”

“I’m not going to turn senile!” she protests.

“It’s alright,” Sorahiko says, his voice turning mild. “I’ll probably think you’ve got the right idea, and I’ll Jet us into space. You’re welcome. I’ve made your childhood dream come true.”

She grabs one of their stress-balls from the center of their workspaces and tosses it at his face, a flick of her wrist sending it sailing straight to his nose. Unimpressed, Sorahiko lets it bounce off onto the desk; he rolls his eyes as he picks it up and pointedly returns it to the clear plastic box.

“What, you don’t want to find the moon bunny anymore?”

“I don’t know, Sorahiko,” she teases, ignoring the jab at her most cherished childhood wish. “I heard that old people are susceptible to the cold. You already wear a full jumpsuit and still complain about the chill. We wouldn’t even make it to our rooftop before turning back.”

“Should I grow a beard?”

Nana splutters. She’s never seen Sorahiko with stubble longer than a five o’clock shadow. Being clean-shaven is just his thing. She tries to picture him with a beard and her imagination falls short. Still, she tries to respond. “We could paste a fake one on you to try it out.”

“Gross,” says Sorahiko.

Nana warms to the idea. “Should we start with a dark color? Or would it grow out silver?”

“Silver, obviously.” He studies her right back and says, decisively, “You’ll finally get glasses.”

“Ah, like yours?”

He laughs. The force of it crinkles his eyes, and Nana is struck by the very thought that Sorahiko’s toothy smile is reminiscent of her own. She leans her chin on the heel of her palm, fingers curling at her cheek, and smiles helplessly back.

ii.

It used to be rare for Sorahiko to wake up before Nana. He guesses he can see the appeal of it, though, surfacing slowly and realizing, in the quiet still of the bedroom, that he’s the only one awake. Nana has plastered herself to him, an octopus in the making, and their cocoon of warmth is toasty.

He stares down at the crown of her head and idly counts the graying hairs. Nana likens them to spiderwebs whenever she catches sight of them; the grays never gather together to form a definite streak, instead scattering, like--

Sorahiko grimaces at the sappy turn of his thoughts.

Instead, he traces the skin of her hand, the thickened ridges of scars and the calluses that never left, even as Nana exited the field and found volunteer work. He’s followed her in this way too, except he’s opted to be re-employed as a teacher of U.A. The administration hadn’t welcomed him back with open arms, but they had begrudgingly agreed that his year off the grid had been good for him.

Eleven months of healing, of learning how to slow down again while figuring out how to live in America, after that frantic, terrifying month of trying to settle his and Nana’s affairs once he’d packed her and Toshinori off across the Pacific. Impulsively placing Kotarou under his custody might have been the only satisfying thing he’d done in those weeks.

He tilts his head, and finds Nana’s left hand. He brushes his thumb over the pale band of skin where Nana’s ring usually sits; Sorahiko would have a matching mark, if he wasn’t wearing gloves all the time.

“Mm,” Nana hums into his chest. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” he quietly says.

She rubs her cheek into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Sorahiko stifles a sneeze as her hair tickles his nose, and places a hand over her back, steadying. Nana makes a sleepy happy noise and practically undulates directly over Sorahiko, pressing him against the mattress.

“Ah, geez, watch the knees--”

“Why are you up so early,” Nana whines. “You’re supposed to be the sleepyhead of this relationship.”

“Someone climbed on top of me,” Sorahiko points out. “I’m growing old, my bones are getting frail, what did you expect to happen?” She grumbles, incoherent. “What’s that? You plan on breaking my heart by squishing me flat?”

Nana turns her head and enunciates, “Your old man humor isn’t funny.”

“But are you smiling?” He feels the curve of her grin against his chest, the twitch of muscle pulling upward, then Sorahiko drags his fingers through the sweep of her hair. Combing out the loose strands and shaking them off to the side of the bed. They’re due for a vacuuming. “Anyways, isn’t this uncomfortable for you?”

“I could be more comfortable,” she concedes. Nana, with a distinct lack of self-consciousness, wiggles her arm under her breasts and readjusts the… weight distribution. Sorahiko turns his eyes to the ceiling and does his best to ignore the sudden interest rearing its unwelcome head.

“So how do you manage to roll on top of me?”

“Hm,” she stalls. She is obviously coming up with a bullshit answer, and Sorahiko will humor it.

“I’m listening.”

“Well,” Nana starts expansively, “maybe I was dreaming about my historically fantastic rack--stop, stop laughing--and how sad I’ll be when I’m seventy and these girls will be sagging and not sexually appealing--Sorahiko, stop laughing!”

Hypocrite. Her words are sly and full of giggles, and Sorahiko loves her so much. Age hasn’t done anything but sand down the edges of an already smooth partnership; they move in almost silent synchronicity nowadays, since All Might is in the streets and Kotarou is sleeping over at his beloved older brother’s apartment. With this in mind, he props himself up on his elbows, and pushes up further, until Nana is obliged to rear back and sit on his lap instead.

“It was a total nightmare,” she persists, and her restless hands smooth his rumpled t-shirt, his ruffled hair.

“And your solution was to, what?”

She scoffs at his doubtful tone. “Obviously, my body knows you make everything better. Therefore, it knew to hug you until you solved the problem.” Nana bats her eyelashes at him, then wrinkles her nose and scrubs at the sleepsand. He politely turns his eyes to the historically fantastic rack and Nana’s gimmicky tank-top.

“You’re welcome.”.

“I didn’t say you solved it,” she responds loftily. “I need more cuddles than that--hey!”

iii.

Toshinori escorts his successor to oshishou and Torino’s apartment complex in Yamanashi Prefecture, because he accidentally forgot to introduce them to Midoriya before the school year started. Toshinori had only just informed them about choosing Midoriya after they called about the USJ incident, and then they had watched the televised Sports Festival.

The call had been three parts chiding, two parts teasing.

(“What the hell did I make you get a teaching credential for?!” Torino had barked, and in the background was oshishou’s voice complaining about missing their long-lost third grandchild.)

On the train there, Midoriya asks him question after question, almost dazzled at the prospect that he’ll be interning with All Might’s old teachers. Midoriya hasn’t even learned that they’re technically Toshinori’s parents by adoption (it doesn’t help that Toshinori still refers to them as oshishou and Torino).

“They live together?”

“They’re married,” Toshinori is compelled to clarify.

“Married,” Midoriya echoes, eyes shining. On his lap is an open Campos notebook. His hand is scrawling notes almost mechanically, and conjectures too. The boy might have missed out on a calling as a live analyst for cable networks. “And hero partners! Like Water Hose! What are their Quirks, can you tell me?”

“You’ll find out when they train you, I’d rather not give you any false impressions…”

Undeterred, Midoriya pivots his line of questioning. “What are they like? Why does Gran Torino still have his license? Is your oshishou still working with him?”

Toshinori suspects Gran Torino renews his pro-hero license purely to stress-test Japan’s Quirk laws. There is no age-limit on these licenses. No one actually investigates these matters out of concern for personal privacy, and also because elderly heroes are one-in-a-million.

“Gran Torino is a super-efficient pro-hero,” Toshinori says, striving for diplomacy. The old man’s mellowed out over the years; he’s no longer the scary boogeyman hovering behind his oshishou’s shoulder. Toshinori can be gracious. “And oshishou hasn’t stepped into the field for several decades.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He wonders if he can cram in all the family history before they reach Yamanashi Prefecture. Toshinori casts a cursory look around the train; the other few passengers on-board appear distracted. In any case, he lowers his voice. “Long before my own fight with All for One, the three of us were lured into a trap. My oshishou hadn’t expected to escape with her life. When she did, she decided to withdraw from pro-hero work and raise her son.”

Sons, technically. Regardless of how Toshinori was already grown and ready to step into the spotlight, oshishou had been insistent about Toshinori coming home and being Kotarou’s big brother.

“Not their son?” Midoriya probes.

For the keen insight, Toshinori ruffles Midoriya’s curly green hair. He would have to be blind to not see how Midoriya preens at the attention; it reminds him of himself when oshishou first allowed him into the Sky High agency. “Well, Torino-sensei didn’t marry oshishou for… a long time.”

“How long is long?”

Toshinori involuntarily grimaces. This is crossing into the complicated family history, and he’d rather have oshishou explain the details. How best to describe this… “Torino-sensei is oshishou’s first friend, and her second husband.”

“So… so her son is from the previous marriage,” Midoriya says. Toshinori nods. “Wow… did he love her all that time?” The awe, almost envy, in his successor’s voice is also familiar to Toshinori. Of course, Toshinori has also witnessed oshishou and Torino be stupid in love, to the point where he had the undesirable role of being confidant to both.

“Still is,” he confirms and then changes the subject. “Would you like to hear of my own internship with them? It shouldn’t spoil anything. There were extenuating circumstances with me, after all.”

Midoriya brightens. “Yes, please!”

#bnha #nanahiko #gran torino #torino sorahiko #shimura nana #all might #yagi toshinori #deku #midoriya izuku #anon #asks #shih.txt #ugh this is super late i'm sorry #nana lives!au

50 notes · View notes

xpedropascal · 4 years ago

Text

To Be So Lonely [Maxwell Lord x Reader] Part Three

Summary: After being struck by a family tragedy, Maxwell Lord finds his legacy in taking over his father’s business, Black Gold Cooperative. Cold and shut-off from the world around him, he decides he does not have time for anything other than his work and cares only about pushing his company to success – but how difficult does that become for him when you enter his life as a ghost from the past?

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

WARNINGS: mention of suicide, character death, illness (cancer)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR [coming soon!]

MASTERLIST

KO-FI

AUTHOR’S NOTE: chapter three! this is quite an intense one so please check the warnings before reading. flashbacks can be identified through use of italics. To Be So Lonely will have themes of hurt/comfort, angst, fluff etc. i plan on it being a whole exciting ride. there will be connections to the DCEU and certain characters will making an appearance… however, for story-telling purposes, this will be in an alternate universe to Wonder Woman 1984 just because the movie has yet to be released. the main bulk of the story will be set in the 80s, with the occasional childhood flashbacks. please let me know if you want to be added onto a tag list!

♡ ♡ ♡ THREE ♡ ♡ ♡

You were still frozen, your brain struggling to process what had just happened. It wasn’t until city hall’s bell chimed and you knew it had turned 6PM, you were snapped out of your thoughts. You cursed under your breath and hurriedly put the cloth and spray you were holding behind the counter before bolting into your manager’s small make-shift office. On his desk, you located an ivory envelope, sealed, with your name written on it. You knew exactly what it was and ripped it open on instinct, collecting this month’s salary. Flicking your fingers through the green dollar bills, you found yourself mentally calculating how much your work this month had earned you. You sighed, puffing out your cheeks and feeling disheartened. Only $320. Grabbing your jacket and purse, you locked up the coffee shop.

When you stepped foot on the street outside, you took in the cool evening air. It felt so refreshing. Every pay day, you knew exactly where you needed to go and what you’d be spending your salary on. Swinging your purse over your shoulder you jogged over to the pharmacy just a few blocks away, and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that the kind owner had yet to close. You stumbled in, trying to catch your breath and offered the owner of the pharmacy a warm smile. “Hi Mrs Walters,” you greeted her.

“Hi dear, how was work?” She leaned her sweeping brush into a corner and approached you, rubbing your shoulders in a comforting manner. You had been seeing Mrs Walters consistently more or less since you moved back to Gotham, and had grown increasingly close to her. You didn’t have time for friendships anymore, but the short, white haired lady had always been there for you during the darkest of times. You considered telling her about your run-in with Bruce Wayne, but figured that wouldn’t be the best idea since you were still trying to make sense of it all.

“It was okay. Same old. Do you have my mother’s prescription ready?” You quizzed Mrs Walters. The pharmacist gave you a knowing look and grabbed a rather large paper bag with Lucia Y/L/N (your mother’s name) written on it. The bag was filled with pills and potions used to make your mother’s life just that little bit easier. Upon leaving DC, your mother became sick but as you watched her health deteriorate, and knowing there was no cure for her illness, you swore to yourself you would do anything in your means to make her life as comfortable as could be. If that meant spending almost the entirety of your monthly salary on her, so be it.

“Yes, that will be $300.” Mrs Walters said, her fingers clicking away as she checked the numbers into the cash register. You pulled out your wages from your purse and handed them over to the pharmacist. Despite Mrs Walters giving you discount like she always would, it didn’t change the fact you had only just been paid and were now practically spent up for the month. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ at the kind lady, offering her a polite smile, and took the heavy paper bag filled to the brim with medication. With only twenty dollars to last the rest of the month, you decided to against getting the bus and travelled home by feet. It’s a mild night anyway- you told yourself.

♡

“Mother, with all due respect…” Maxwell Lord rolled his eyes as his mother paced around the spacious kitchen of Maxwell Lord’s DC penthouse, her high heels clicking against the pristine tiled floor. Thanks to botox from DC’s finest plastic surgeons, Naomi Lord had barely aged. She was still strutting around in that same ruby red lipstick, decked out in the most elegant pearls retrieved from the deepest part of the ocean, and her platinum blonde hair still sat in the tightest of curls.

“No Maxwell, you need to listen to me. I am not going to watch you make the same mistakes as your father did. Wasting away your shares in Black Gold like it’s nothing!”

Maxwell sighed, gently putting down his mug of espresso on the kitchen counter and closing his copy of The Financial Times. “It’s called investment.”

“Investing into what, exactly? Charity?” Naomi chuckled in disbelief. “Just like your father.” She reiterated. “Had some kind of complex, thinking he could singlehandedly fix the world by donating a few thousand to- what? The local library?” Naomi narrowed her eye’s at the cheque which had been written out in Maxwell’s name. Maxwell made a fist.

“I am nothing like my father.” Maxwell snapped, abruptly standing and pointing his ring clad finger, wincing at his mother’s painful comparison. Naomi suddenly quietened down, taking the hint that she had perhaps overstepped her boundaries. But she, like her son, was not one to give up.

“Sweetheart,” Naomi said, her voice gentle as she sat her son back down. “You know, all I’ve ever wanted is what’s best for Black Gold Cooperative. Because what is best for Black Gold Cooperative, is best for you.”

Maxwell’s mother had been telling her son this every single day after his father passed. After his father had selfishly chosen to leave him. It was no wonder he had engrained into him that his main priority was the family business. He was so sure he could never forgive his father for what he had done.

♡

When sixteen year old Maxwell Lord discovered his father’s body, the cry he let out was not one any mother wanted to hear from their child. Not even Naomi Lord. Maxwell fell to his knees and crawled over to his father’s body, grabbing on to it and swearing he’d never let go. Tears streaming down his face, he screamed for his mother. He yelled for help. Naomi came running into her husband’s office where she was met with her son, cradling Maxwell Lord III’s lifeless body on the floor.

“Oh Max, oh Max, oh Max,” she whispered repeatedly as she approached her son and gently tore him away from his father. Maxwell screamed as he let go and curled into his mother’s arms, sobbing. Naomi’s heart was shattered, and she buried her face into her son’s dark blonde hair, comforting him the best she could. She sat with Maxwell, on the floor, for only a few minutes, until she was able to compose herself and stand up. She took her son’s hand and pulled him up. “Sit here. Sit here my love, I’m going to call Lucia.” Naomi pulled her husband’s office chair out and watched her son shakily sit in it. She handed him a box of tissues and walked over to the phone, dialling the extension to the guest house. “Ah yes, Lucia it seems I could use your assistance. In my husband’s office. Quickly.” Naomi put the phone down and took a deep breath. “Okay Maxwell, brighten up. No time to mourn. Things are going to change real fast for you,” she rubbed the tears away from her son’s eyes. “Look at me. I need you to go to your room and change into your best suit, and then wait for me in the lobby.”

“But dad-“ Maxwell whimpered, and turned to look at his father one last time.

“I won’t ask you again.” Naomi said sternly. Maxwell nodded obediently and stood up before leaving the office.

Naomi watched her son leave, stiffening up and kneeling beside her husband on the floor. With great difficulty, she was able to regulate her breathing and hold back any tears. Hidden in the pocket of his suit jacket, she found a note. Unfolding it, she read her husband’s final words.

‘Naomi,

This was never meant to happen. Lord Tech was a failure- my failure. I always knew you were against the expansion of Black Gold Cooperative but with Wayne Enterprises’ taking over the states, I felt like I had no other choice. We’re losing money, and a lot of it. As of today, I will be disenfranchising Lord Technologies. It will be no more; for I have made a discovery, that our company, our family business, has been creating and selling carcinogenic products. I am filled with extreme guilt. How am I to go on, when it is our family name that will be responsible for hundreds of deaths worldwide.

On the second Monday of March, I asked our house-keeper, Lucia, to collect my belongings from our head laboratory. Naomi, darling, I have no doubt that she will be infected with the illness. Everyone who has been in proximity with our head lab developers will now have the cancer. I feel for her daughter. I found out that the cancer is a new strain. Lucia knows nothing about this and I expect for it to stay that way. The outbreak will make news eventually but it cannot be associated with my family name. The Lord family has nothing to do with this. Hide my note, and when the time comes, pass it on to my boy Maxwell, when he is old enough to understand.

Oh my dearest Maxwell… my wife, you should ensure he does not make the same mistakes as I did. Black Gold Cooperative still has a chance of success and our family legacy must go on! But not under my rule. Which is why, I will be passing on the business to him. Black Gold is our priority. It will always be our priority.

My boy, on the chance that you read this, know that I have always loved you. I’ve not been the best father, but even in death know that I have always cared so deeply about you.

Make me proud.

With love,

Maxwell Lord III’

Naomi gulped, folding away the note and slipping it into the pocket of her fur jacket.

“Mrs Lord,” Lucia appeared by the office door frame and when she caught sight of Maxwell Lord III’s dead body she gasped, stumbling backwards.

“Suicide,” Naomi explained, raising to her feet. “Lucia, are you sick?”

“I’m okay,” Lucia knotted her eyebrows in confusion, but she had no time to question it. “Mrs Lord… I am so… so sorry…”

“Lucia I need you to call an ambulance and report a suicide,” Naomi instructed.

“Did he leave a note?” Lucia asked.

Naomi hesitated before letting out a strong “No.”

“Oh…”

“Call the press too.” Naomi said.

“The press?”

“I’ll be the one to announce my husband’s demise… not some random paparazzi selling the story to the tabloids. I also have to announce the closure of Lord Technologies. From now on, our focus will be on Black Gold Cooperative… it’s what my husband would’ve wanted.” Naomi replied, the usual bitterness dripping from her tongue.

“You’re taking over Black Gold?” Lucia questioned further.

“No, my son is.”

“But Max is just a child…”

“My son will be CEO of Black Gold Cooperative. He is a Lord. He has what it takes.”

Lucia gulped. “I have no doubt but don’t you think you should give him a little time to grieve before you throw all this at him.”

“Are you telling me how to raise my son, Ms Y/L/N?” Naomi spat and Lucia looked at her feet. “I want you to call the authorities, call the press, pack your bags and leave before they get here.”

“Leave?” Lucia gasped. “But- but I have nowhere to go. And my daughter-“

“That is my final order.” Naomi said, pointing her finger towards the door.

♡

Maxwell took a sip of his now cold espresso, it left a sour taste in his mouth. He reopened his newspaper and shook off his mother’s words.

“Maxie,” Barbara Minerva’s voice made Maxwell jump. She had the same effect on him as his mother did. She called his name again before finding him still sat at the breakfast bar.

“Barbara what are you doing here?” Maxwell sighed, feeling slightly uneasy at the way her diamond engagement ring glinted in the white lights of his kitchen. “You know not to come to my penthouse uninvited.”

“Your mother faxed me. She’s called the tabloids again… anonymously, of course. The press are going to be waiting for us at the Plaza restaurant on Sunday. She wants us to officially announce the engagement.” Barbara smiled, wrapping her arms around Maxwell and pressing a kiss into his jaw.

“Don’t.” Maxwell said, shuddering away from her. “You don’t touch me. Don’t kiss me. Just. Don’t.” Maxwell was filled with the regret of getting intimate with Barbara, his secretary, in his office the night before. Now Barbara was overstepping her boundaries. She might have been engaged to Maxwell, but he did not tolerate any physical affection from her unprompted. If this is what love was, Max didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. He was still cold, and still miserable.

Naomi had set Barbara and Maxwell up and within three months they were already engaged. Barbara was truly smitten with Maxwell. He had everything she wanted; money, fame, power and fortune… and Barbara was certainly beautiful, but Maxwell had never really considered marriage. Not since he was a child and used to dream of marrying the little girl who lived in his guest house.

“Max.” Barbara had been chanting her fiancée’s name for the past couple of minutes. It seemed like Maxwell was in his own little world.

“Yeah. We can’t go to the Plaza on Sunday.” Max shook his head, standing up and fixing his tie.

“What?”

“I have a lot to do. Gotta prepare for my meeting with Bruce Wayne for a start. Do you have my schedule for Monday?”

“Max, I’m only your secretary when I’m at work…” Barbara reminded the CEO. “We haven’t been on a date in so long. I know this is your mother’s doing but please… I want the world to know I’m going to be the future Mrs Lord.”

Maxwell stared at his bride-to-be for a few moments before letting out another deep sigh. “Okay,” he agreed. “Come on. You can share a ride with me. Don’t want to be late for work.”

♡

“Mom! I’m home!” you called as you entered your Gotham apartment, throwing your keys on the counter and gently placing the brown paper bag of medication down. “You won’t believe who came into the shop and asked me out on a date.”

Your eyes caught on to your mother, Lucia, who was laying on the sofa, sleeping. Her chest was rattling as it heaved up and down. She looked even worse than she did before you left her to go to work that morning. You walked into the kitchen and took a towel, running it under the tap to dampen it. You brought it back into the living room and placed it gently on your mother’s forehead hoping to cool her down. You brought her a glass of ice, knowing it would have melted into water by the time she wakes up, and a bottle of pills, putting it near her on the coffee table. You gave her a gentle kiss, kicked off your shoes and entered your bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you looked at your reflection in your full length mirror and began fumbling with your fingers. How could you possibly prepare yourself for a date with Bruce Wayne?

♡♡♡ TAGLIST ♡♡♡

@mrschiltoncat @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thisisthe-way @phoenixhalliwell @buckysalefty

#maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #max lord x reader #max lord

42 notes · View notes

doomedandstoned · 4 years ago

Text

Iron Man Cement 30-Year Career with Monumental Double Album (+ new song!)

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Review by Billy Goate

This is more than an album. It is more, even, than a portrait of quintessential New England doom metal. It is a testament to the enduring power of music and friendship to bring a collective dream to life and to sustain it to the bitter end.

The new double album 'Hail To The Riff' (2021) showcases 14 anthems by Maryland doom legends IRON MAN. With the exception of one previously unreleased studio song, the bulk of the material was performed live at Castle of Doom Festival in Pagazzano, Italy on Saturday, July 5th, 2014. It was the band's one and only trip to Italy, now being released for the first time (appropriately enough) by Italian label Argonauta Records.

Many of you know the Iron Man story. Founded back in '88 as a Black Sabbath cover band, the guys gradually started playing their own compositions and were ecstatic by the positive reception the original material received. Iron Man released their first album in '93 and over the course of many decades, went on to tour the world with the likes of Cathedral and Pentagram, composing many a doom standard along the way ("Hail To The Haze" will forever be my fav).

"In the beginning, Iron Man had two jobs," guitarist Al Morris told Doomed & Stoned some years back. "First, we were a Sabbath tribute. We were able to headline shows and get people talking about the band. Second, we were writing original music for a demo to shop. Everything went as planned! By May of 1992, we got signed to Hellhound Records in Germany. That kind of history, coupled with the internet, gave us worldwide exposure. The fans did not let us get frustrated! We are totally motivated by our fans. We have them in mind at all times." (Read the classic Doomed & Stoned interview with Iron Man.)

It should surprise no one that Hail To The Riff is dedicated straight up to Alfred Morris III, who sadly died in 2018. As he was the longest-standing member of Iron Man and its most consistent face, it made sense when the group disbanded after the passing of its founding member.

"The Type of person my father was," Al's daughter reflects, "he never expected anything huge. He just enjoyed doing what he loved. Music was in his blood; part of his DNA and he wasn’t complete without it...As long as I can remember, Iron Man was a large part of my dad’s life, and mine. My first rock show? My dad’s band. The first live show I ever saw was Iron Man. Watching my dad perform, I saw him transform. He had this amazing stage presence. An effortless grace when he played guitar that was mesmerizing. Even though I had seen him play a thousand times, I was always impressed!"

I spoke with Screaming Mad Dee Calhoun in 2018, near the 30th anniversary of Iron man and just a few months following Al's death. "Just on a personal note, I don't think anything I'm doing now," Dee reflected, in reference to his burgeoning solo career, "would have been possible without being a part of Al and Iron Man. Al was very supportive of my efforts outside of Iron Man, be it music or writing or what not. I can never thank him enough for just tapping me on the shoulder and saying, 'Hey I want you to join my band?'" Dee continued, "No one I ever knew who knew Al ever had a bad word to say about him. He was just one of those guys who was a positive influence on people. Once he touched a project, it was better than before he touched it. We certainly miss him.

As a follow-up I asked hnw people could get better acquainted with Al's contribution and really hear his spirit. Dee replied, "Just start with Black Night and work forward. He would want to be remembered by his music. Just sit back and enjoy what he had to bring to the world." That album's title track is no. 13 on the playlist below us, and Al shines just as bright on it here as he did on their cardinal opus. What band could hope for a better life than Iron Man had, with their unlikely success leading them to record five LPs and three EPs, crossing some of the world's greatest record labels?

Hail To The Riff begins with a cheering throng and the grungy downtuned riffing of Al Morris, to be joined in short order by Louis Strachan on bass and Jason "Mot" Waldmann on drums. At last, Screaming Mad Dee belts out hellfire and brimstone in his scratchy quasi-operatic style (who, it must said, has one of the most intimidating voices in all of metal). "Make some goddamn noise!" The crowd eats it up, of course.

At this point, I'd advise you to make any room corrections you need to, as live recordings tend to be a unique beast all their own. They always sound a little "thin" and "boxy" to me. I found simply turning the volume up a few notches more than for casual listening brought this live recording alive for me. I did not, however, tempt fate by listening with earphones (I'm already dealing with enough tinnitus from my many years of filming live shows).

"The time is here to strike fear. We are Iron Man, bringing you 25 years of Maryland doom!" That really fires up the festival for what would become the band's third and final live albums. If this had been your first time hearing Iron Man, you would encounter a group in top form with accessible songs like "Run From The Light" that capture so powerfully the spirit of metal, itself a kind of freak born of the age of electricity.

Since I don't have perfect pitch, I would be hard pressed to determine just where Al's axe is tuned for this set. Judging from tracks like "The Worst and Longest Day'' and "South of the Earth," let's just say it's low enough to confuse the guitar sometimes for the bass (and when you listen a second time, the bass is often hitting a similar if not lower range). Remind me to ask the guys next time I get a chance and I'll add a note to this article with their answer. I'll be there were a lot of fans that day who were really feeling that Iron Man vibe on a raw, gut level as the sound reverberated through from their internal organs, ultimately grabbing hold of their spine with a mighty grip of doom, and shaking their bones like a rattle.

I've always said the acid test of any band is their ability to pull their songs off convincingly in a live setting. So many things can go wrong, but the way a band bounces through the hurdles of that 30-60 minute set tells you everything. You know right away whether you're dealing with confident musicians who believe it to the core, or wannabes who are fronting a hype machine. To hear Dee make "South of the Earth" work without the cool vocal layering from the recording and still give you chills says everything you need to know about the integrity of Iron Man as a band.

Time for the bottom line. Hail To The Riff is nothing less than a celebration of metal-making, friendship, and the mysterious power of the riff to compel us -- no matter who we are, what language we speak, or what our differences may be -- to assemble together as a sweaty mass under a hot Italian sun in the middle of summer and revel in the pure love of heavy music. If you close your eyes, you can almost picture yourself there.

Of course, the real treat for Iron Man acolytes is going to be the solemn 14th and final track, "Black Morning." The band recorded it in late-September of 2013, just days before South of the Earth saw its release on Rise Above Records (later on Metal Blade Records, too). Hearing the words and the instruments meet in such perfect execution and conviction brought a single thought to my mind: "These guys really get doom." Long live the ferocity and might of Iron Man!

The album is officially out this Friday on digital outlets, with a special gold vinyl 2XLP available via Argonauta Records. Right now, Doomed & Stoned is letting you revel in it all! So sit back, turn those speakers up, and...

...give ear.

youtube

Iron Man - Hail The Riff

Tracklist

The Fury

Run From the Light

The Worst and Longest Day

Ruler of Ruin

South of the Earth

Grown

As the Gods Have Spoken

Hail to the Haze

Sodden With Sin

A Whore in Confession

On the Mountain

Fallen Angel

Black Night

Black Morning

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #Iron Man #Gaithersburg #Maryland #doom metal #heavy metal #doom #metal #Argonauta Records #Doomed and Stoned

10 notes · View notes

queenmylovely · 4 years ago

Text

High Infidelity III

Summary: Ben hardy x fem!reader. A fancy event with Ben leads to unforeseen cirumstances

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: cussing, Angst...

A/N: Here it is y’all, the final part of HI, this fic has really challenged me since I’m not used to writing angst and I had to have a completely different relationship with reader to write it. Since this was part of my 800 celebration, I do want to thank everyone who follows me for supporting me and especially for all the feedback I have received on this series 💖 and with this part especially please leave any feedback you have in the form of tags, replies, asks, or messages, because I really do love hearing from you!

Part I, Part II, Masterlist; BLM Resources, Register to Vote (U.S.)

(gorgeous Benny in a gif by @arthursleclerc)

💖💖💖

As the weeks went by, everything in your relationship with Ben evened out. It was like the big fight and any resulting complications had never happened. Except for the fact that the two of you were trying to be better with communication and understanding, which was great and really rewarding.

So when Ben came to you with the news that he had been invited to some fancy gala, you couldn’t have been happier to go.

“Who’ll be there? Am I going to meet any fancy celebrities?” you asked excitedly.

“You already know a fancy celebrity, you sleep next to him every night,” Ben replied, looking at you with mock hurt.

“Yeah, of course, of course. I meant any new fancy celebrities?” you changed, still wanting to hear the answer.

“Hmmm I’m not actually totally sure, but if there are a lot there, you’re probably going to have to introduce yourself because I don’t know them either,” Ben said teasingly. Then he got another look on his face, “I do think Lucy, Rami, and Gwil are going to be there though.”

You could tell Ben was nervous because him spending a lot of time with them had been part of your last fight, so you reassured him, “Don’t worry, Ben. We can definitely spend most of the time with them. I’ve been wanting to catch up with Lucy.”

“I promise not to let Gwil drag me away from you for any reason, which will be easier since Joe won’t be helping him,” Ben told you and you smiled good-naturedly, leaning in for a kiss when he did.

___

The week leading up to the event was filled with lots of trips to different stores, trying to find a suitable dress for the event. You sent pictures of options to Lucy since she had a lot of experience with such things. Finally you found one two days before the event, and luckily it didn’t need any tailoring other than wearing high heels so it wouldn’t drag. It was a black silk floor length dress that had a gathered waist and spaghetti straps that led to a neckline that was low but not too revealing where you would feel like you were on display. Once it was paired with a pair of heels you already had and some jewelry Lucy was loaning you, you knew it would be perfect.

The only thing you were unsure of was your hair. You knew how to style it in about three different ways, curled, bun, and ponytail, and none of them seemed right for the event. Looking on pinterest, you found a couple “easy” hair tutorials, but when you tried one a couple days before, you couldn’t get the right result and got increasingly frustrated.

“Ugh I just can’t get it to work,” you said in exasperation.

Ben came up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders, “Can’t get what to work?”

“My hair,” you whined, leaning your head back to rest on his stomach. “I’ve tried like five times but it just doesn’t work.”

“Why don’t you just go and get it done, or we can have someone come here,” Ben suggested easily.

“Doesn’t that seem a little frivolous?” you asked, not used to having other people do stuff like that for you.

“The whole event is frivolous, and you should feel as confident and comfortable as possible at the event. I know that they can be intimidating so if that would help, I think you should definitely do it,” Ben reasoned, looking at you through the mirror and you couldn’t help but smile at his words.

“I love you so much,” you said to him, tilting your head back even further. Ben got the hint and leaned down to kiss you, both of you laughing at the upside-down kiss.

___

The day of the event started with a small sleep in, but just until 9:00am. The two of you had breakfast and then started getting ready at 10:00am so that you wouldn’t have to rush and could relax throughout the whole day.

Sharing a shower and helping each other wash your hair and bodies eventually turned into something else, which only further helped with the relaxing.

After the shower, you put moisturizing face masks on both you and Ben and leave-in conditioner in your hair. While you were letting the masks do their work, you started on lunch together, later taking them off to eat.

You started your makeup soon after, Ben watching you in fascination and keeping you entertained with questions. When the hairdresser arrived, they got your hair in curlers and then did Ben’s quickly. Watching them work so quickly and easily convinced you that Ben had made the right choice by hiring them.

Once your hair was done and you both got dressed, it was time to go. A town car was taking you and the two of you talked excitedly about the night.

As soon as you arrived and got out of the car, there was event staff welcoming you and guiding you to the carpet where all of the photographers and reporters were. Ben asked if you wanted to be in any pictures, but you declined, more comfortable to walk around back and watch him interact with the photographers and do one or two question interviews. It was nice to see Ben having fun and laughing and you could tell that he was really enjoying himself and getting into his element.

While you were watching, you felt someone come up next to you and turned to give them a smile but what you saw made your spine run cold. It was the guy, the one that you had slept with, the one that you hadn’t given another thought to since a week after the incident.

“Hey, y/n,” he said with a knowing look. You looked closer and saw that he had a recorder in one hand and was wearing a press badge and realized he must’ve been a reporter for a smaller site or magazine. Reading the press badge, you finally got his name, Jake, though it really didn’t matter now.

When you didn’t say anything and just looked at him in shock, he continued, “Still got that boyfriend, I assume?”

To that, you nodded and he laughed wryly.

“‘Course you do. Well, next time you decide to cheat with someone, let them know that’s what they’re doing first so they can make an informed decision,” he told you derisively.

“I’m not going to--” you tried to reply, but he was already walking away. You took a deep breath to calm yourself and fixed your face as well as you could then turned back to watch Ben. You were just in time to see him find you in the crowd and then wave you over because he was done.

The two of you walked into the main event area. While you were grabbing drinks, you ran into Rami who said that Lucy and Gwil were already at a table and there were two spots saved for you.

The following hours of the event passed exactly as they were supposed to, and you breathed a sigh of relief when you reminded yourself that the press usually didn’t actually attend the event so Jake must be gone.

Once the formal activities were done, everyone was free to roam around, and there was a band that was playing music in the background, with the option of a dance floor for those who wanted.

You were having a good time with Ben and his friends, probably the best time you had ever had with them because for the first time you didn’t feel like an outsider. You thought that Ben had probably asked them to include you a little more. Part of you was a little embarrassed that they might think you were being childish, but a larger part of you was glad because you could see your friendship with all of them growing.

Gwil saw someone he knew and went to ask her to dance and Lucy and Rami decided they wanted to do the same. You suggested dancing as well, but Ben, who was not the world’s greatest dancer, said he wanted to have another drink first. Agreeing to wait at one of the high tables by the dance floor, Ben went off to the bar to get the refills.

As he was waiting for the drinks to be made, Ben watched you swaying to the music and looking at the dancers with a small smile on your face. The sight made him smile and he was content to keep watching while he waited but someone said something to him from his left.

“She’s quite the looker, huh?” the guy said and Ben noticed his press badge and name, realizing that he had met him at a couple other events.

Because he knew him, Ben thought it would be weird not to reply. So he made a face but replied, “Yeah she is.”

“She’s got a boyfriend though, or something,” Jake told him matter-of-factly.

“Yeah I--” Ben was about to say that he was actually your boyfriend but Jake cut him off.

“Wish I'd known earlier. She waited until after we hooked up to tell me. Now I just feel bad for the bloke that’s stuck with her. Thought I’d let you know so you don’t end up in the same situation,” Jake said shaking his head.

Ben hid the tsunami of dread and rage he felt upon hearing this near-stranger’s words and instead asked, “Oh that sucks, when did that happen?”

“Just a couple months ago, sucked finding out. Anyway, better take these drinks back. See you later man,” Jake clapped Ben on the shoulder and walked away.

Back by the dance floor, you were wondering what was taking so long and looked over to the bar to see Ben receiving the drinks. You smiled, ready for him to look your way and walk over with the drinks. But instead, he started walking to the exit, shooting one angry glance over his shoulder to where you were.

Confused, you were stuck in place for a moment before you started to follow him. You hurried to catch him, calling his name a couple times once you got past the bulk of the crowd. But he didn’t turn back and he’s too fast and you’re in heels. He rounded the corner to the exit and by the time you got through the doors, all you saw was a group of cars, ready to drive the guests home or wherever they were going.

Movement caught your eye as you kept walking towards the line of cars and you saw the door of a car close and then start to drive away, a frowning Ben barely visible through the back window.

Immediately, you tried to call him but he hung up on the second ring. You sent him a text asking if he’s okay and where he’s going but he didn’t even look at it which you could tell because he always has his read receipts on.

You had been moving too fast to think, but now your stomach dropped and you flagged down a car, texting Lucy to tell her you’re heading home as you slid in and told the driver the address. On the way, you tried not to panic because there were a thousand possibilities for why Ben had left. Left looking angry, without telling you, ignoring you calling his name, and not answering your calls or texts. Left from an event where you had run into Jake just hours ago. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You got home and unlocked the door, opening it slowly, not prepared for what was about to happen. Closing it behind you quietly and walking through the apartment, you could feel adrenaline rushing through your body, making it hard to breathe. You didn't find Ben until you reached your bedroom. He was on the balcony, staring over the edge and though he’s standing in place, his leg shaked.

“Ben?” he refused to look at you. You made the split decision to play innocent. “Ben what’s wrong?”

“I talked to Jake,” he said in a low voice, still staring out into the night air.

“Jake? What do you--?”

“I swear y/n, if any sort of lie comes out of your mouth that’s it. I deserve the truth and for you to respect me enough to tell me the truth,” Ben said harshly and your breath got shaky.

You rushed out, “I respect you Ben, I do.”

“How am I supposed to believe that when you fucking cheated on me?” this was when Ben turned to look at you and the mix of anger, betrayal, and despair in his eyes was enough to bring tears to yours.

“I’m sorry, I--” your voice cracked as you looked at him.

“How could you do that?” he asked loudly and you could hear the hurt in his voice.

The intensity of his searching gaze was too much to bear and you looked away as you answered, “I don’t know, you were away and I missed you and we were fighting. It felt like you were never coming back and I didn’t know what was going on with us.”

“If you weren’t sure, you should have asked. Talked to me. Not ignored all of my phone calls when I was trying to reach out to you,” Ben implored, sounding almost confused because he couldn't understand. “When was it?”

You thought about what would be the best answer. Would it make him feel better to know that it was deep into your fight or would it be worse that it was just days before he got home?

“The Friday before you came home,” you said solemnly, still not able to look at him.

Ben let out a big exhale but you couldn’t tell what he was feeling. He brought his hand to his brow like he was trying hard to remember something.

“Okay, so you weren’t just sitting at home watching tv,” he commented like he was piecing together something.

“I did do that for part of the night,” you defended, looking up to see his reaction.

“That’s not the point and you know it,” he snapped. Another moment of concentrating passed and his tone changed, “Fuck, that bruise on your hip, was that from him?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

Ben looked worried now, “Did he hurt you?”

Probably the worst part of yourself wanted to say yes, to run into his comforting arms and use the fact that it had gotten a little rough to serve as an excuse. But that wasn’t the truth, and it would be unforgivable to Ben and ultimately yourself to lie about something so important.

“No, well, not in any way I wasn’t okay with,” you explained, trying not to say too much.

“Wait-- you wanted him to do that? You like stuff like that?” Ben’s tone wasn’t accusing, just questioning. When you just looked away again, he knew the answer. He scoffed, “I thought we were trying to be better with communication! We’ve been together three years, why wouldn’t you tell me that? Dammit am I just not worth the truth to you?”

“Of course you are, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Maybe I was worried that you’d judge me or--”

“Three years, three years, y/n! I would never write you off for something like that. But I guess if you can’t even tell me about stuff like that, stuff that I could do for you, it makes sense why you didn’t tell me you cheated. You just don’t trust me,” Ben sounded defeated.

“No, I do trust you, I just didn’t tell you because it was never going to happen again, I didn’t want it to. It was a mistake, it didn’t mean anything. All telling you would have done was hurt you, just like it is now. I was trying to make it up to you without ever hurting you with what happened,” you rationalized, chancing a look at his face. He looked disoriented; your words made him feel lost.

“I don’t believe that. The truth is always better than a lie to me, I thought you knew that, I thought you knew me. And if you felt okay lying about it, I don’t think it’s a big step for it to happen again,” Ben ran his hands over his face and his voice was quiet now, like he was slowly accepting what had happened and what he had to do. The thought of that made you panic.

“No, no Ben, I love you and only you and you’re the only person I want to love. I promise, I promise, I promise, I love you and--and it will never happen again,” you tried to reach for Ben’s arms, but he just walked past you.

“I don’t think I can trust a word you say anymore,” he said softly, looking at his hands.

“No, Ben, Ben, I can be honest, I promise. I won’t ever lie to you again, I won’t. Please, please look at me. Look-- look at me, please, Ben I-” you were rambling now, but you would have said anything for him to turn around and take you in his arms.

Ben did turn but now his face was stone, “I’m gonna go. I’ll pack a bag for now and come back tomorrow for the rest of my stuff.”

He moved to the closet for a bag and you just stood still, frozen because you couldn’t process what was happening. Then there were tears running down your face and feeling them hit your crossed arms that were hugging your middle is what made you move again.

“No, no, Ben we can’t be over, you can’t leave. We can work on this, I’ll change. I’ll tell the truth, I promise I’ll never cheat, I never will. Please Ben, please I’ll do anything,” you knew you sounded desperate, but that was because you were, you couldn’t lose Ben after all you had done to keep him.

Ben was done packing the bag so he paused and looked at you. There was just one sliver of hope in his eye. “Was it here?”

You knew you could only answer honestly. “Yes,” then the light in his eyes was gone as he thought back to the week following his return. All of the stilted answers you had given him but he had accepted as just a little awkwardness after the fight made sense now; he knew why the sheets were gone and most likely where the lighter had come from.

“I can’t look at you, I can’t be here, without thinking about it,” he said simply. And somewhere inside you knew that was it, but the rest of you refused to accept it. “I’ll never be able to look at our bed without thinking that someone else was in it with you. I won’t be able to touch you without wondering if that’s how he touched you too. All I can think about is that I can’t understand how you would risk everything, risk our love, us, our future, compromise our home for what you say is meaningless sex. Cause to me, our love was worth everything.”

With that, Ben walked out of the bedroom. You followed him, trying to grab his arm, saying his name over and over, anything to stop him. He didn’t slow down, didn’t look back, until he got to the door and pulled it open. Even as your mind didn’t realize, your body knew he was done and your arms went slack, dropping from his. When he looked at you one last time, the anger and hurt was no longer at the forefront. What you saw in his face as he looked at you now was pity and that made you want to retch because it was so far from the love he used to look at you with.

“Goodbye, y/n, I truly do want the best for you in life,” Ben said, touching your hand softly and slowly, almost as if he was remembering all the previous times he had, briefly remembering when you loved each other with no question. Then he turned around, walked down the hallway, and out of your sight.

Holding your hand with the other, you tried to retain the feeling of his touch as long as you could. You closed the door with your shoulder and then collapsed against it, sliding until you sat. The floor no doubt dirtied your designer dress, but you couldn’t focus on anything as sobs started to wrack your body, and you didn’t even notice as your tears stained the silk.

💖💖💖

Permanent taglist: @riseetothesun @caborhapch @drowseoftaylor @queenlover05 @johndeaconshands @supersonicfreddie @stardust-galaxies @madamsledge

Series taglist: @theonsasheart @itscale

If you would like to be added to my permanent taglist, just send me a message or ask!

#...aaaaahhhhh #I hope it fucking works I spent hourssss I swear our power went out I’m typing these tags on the desktop version on my phone ahhhhh #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #ben hardy #ben jones #fic #series #angst #high infidelity #ben hardy x reader #ben jones x reader #bohemian rhapsody x reader #borhap x reader #borhap boys #borhap cast

27 notes · View notes

missmonsters2 · 5 years ago

Text

The Color of You || Part IV

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé.

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Action

NOTE: Y’all know the drill. Drop a comment to be added to tag list! Also, I wrote this while I was sick, so please ignore any glaringly obvious mistakes LOL

PART I || PART II || PART III

PART IV of X

Count: 2420

��⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The morning before Natasha was to meet William, she decided to stop by to see you again. Natasha’s not exactly sure what compelled her to do so, but it didn’t settle well with her how things ended last night.

The maid let Natasha right in, stating once more that William was already gone to work.

Now, Natasha stood before your studio door again, looking through the glass at your back once more.

You were painting, working on the same piece you were last time. Whatever it was, you were intensely focusing on it.

Natasha let out a slight huff of breath as she tapped her knuckle lightly against the door.

You jumped slightly and genuinely.

“Come in,” you said, turning your attention to the door. You seemed surprised to see Natasha entered, but your face showed no memories of last night--to Natasha anyways.

“Natanya,” you greeted quietly, and it was then that Natasha finally got a better look at you.

There were streaks of paint on you again, shades of yellow on your arm and even a stripe on your cheek.

Your hair was in a tied up messy bun, strands falling out and framing your face as you demurely tucked a stray strand behind your ear.

Natasha missed this look of you. Rather than the fancy dresses and strains of politicians around you, she wanted you to always look like this.

But when she looked at the oversized men’s shirt on you, she couldn’t help but shirk a little.

And you noticed.

“Is that William’s?” It’s hardly words of greeting, and Natasha feels she might regret hearing the answer, but she can’t help it.

You’re ruining her.

You look down at your shirt and chuckle lightly.

“No,” you tell her, and Natasha feels the tension in her stomach relax, and it annoys her a little.

“I end up ruining a lot of shirts when I’m painting, so I buy shirts in bulk for cheap,” you explain further, tugging slightly at the hem of your shirt.

Natasha only smiled, eyes flitting over to your painting.

“Yellow today?” Natasha asks even though it’s clear with the streaks of paint on you.

You nod, looking at your work in progress as well.

“Tell me something about the color yellow,” Natasha says, falling into habits.

“Other than the obvious things?” You tease her and tilt your head when she chuckles.

“Well,” you start, thinking of what to tell Natasha. “Yellow is actually a very difficult color to read. Since it reflects so much light, it’s straining to the eyes. I can’t help but feel happy when I see the color, though.”

“Why?” Natasha asks softly.

You look up to the ceiling, and Natasha wonders what you see.

“It reminds me of my childhood,” you reveal to her. “In my parent’s summer cabin they used to own by a lake. Many yellow flowers grew there, and my mother used to bake sweets while my father fished. I would draw in my sketchbook, and nothing mattered then.”

“What did you want to not matter?”

“The future,” you say quietly.

The way you said it was so soft and sad that Natasha might’ve missed it if she weren’t hung up on your every word. But then the moment was gone when you looked back down and quirked your lip at Natasha.

“What else do you see about the color yellow?” Natasha asks you, not sure what else she can say but she doesn’t want the moment to end.

“It’s a complex color,” you tell her. “But it��s also the color for friendship.”

There it was.

Acknowledgment of last night.

Words that Natasha didn’t want to hear.

And so she crosses the threshold, invading your space as her hand touches the bottom of your back, dragging it’s way up until it’s between your shoulder blades.

“How are you so different from William?” Natasha asks quietly in your ear.

This was exactly what you had asked Natasha not to do, but she can’t help herself. She doesn’t want to pull away.

“How can you tell me to just be your friend?” It was a quiet hiss in your ear. Natasha lined her shoulder up to yours, her right hand covering your left.

“How can I only be your friend?” She asks you, her lips just brushing the tip of your ear and you bite your tongue.

“When I’m begging you like this?” Her forehead momentarily rests against yours as if in defeat and Natasha feels a wet spot against her wrist.

She pulls back to see a bright shade of yellow against her black sleeve. Your eyes pull down, and you frown.

“Sorry--I’m always getting paint on you,” you tell her, turning away to grab a cloth but Natasha grabs your hand.

“No,” she tells you. “I don’t want you to wipe it away.”

Her hand slowly slips from yours, and Natasha turns away to walks off, adjusting her coat in her arms.

“Natanya, wait--”

Natasha stops and turns her head back at your call.

“Tell...tell me something interesting too,” you ask her softly.

Natasha purses her lips tightly before sighing as she gives you a half-hearted smile.

“It’s getting harder to pretend you exist only here to me.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

She’s distracted.

How immature of her, she thought.

The entire afternoon, Natasha had been working on looking through the files and following up with Tony to see if he had anything.

The entire time, she couldn’t get you out of her head.

A part of her--the dark park, whispered about how it was a weakness. You were a weakness, an infection that was making her inefficient.

But after years of being with Clint, it was easier to silence the voice.

She heard a car drive up to her front porch and checked the time.

New plan, Natasha thought.

If she could find out tonight what William’s plans were, and in addition, secure all the microchips, she could be done with this all.

William would be put away, the microchips wouldn’t be released, and you?

You...

Natasha released a heavy sigh from her nose before she opened the door to see the driver.

“Miss Rovinski,” he greeted before gesturing to the car.

One step at a time, Natasha reminded herself.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The drive was shorter than Natasha thought was normal.

The driver wasn’t taking her to the warehouse that Natasha had seen Emilio load off the microchips at.

In fact, she ended up on the Cain’s estate once more, but instead of the main house, she was being led to the right-wing that was detached.

“Natanya, glad to see you made it okay,” William greeted her as she stepped in. She was the last to arrive, seeing many familiar faces of politicians and CEOs of companies that were supporting William’s campaign.

There was one face that Natasha didn’t recognize.

A woman with very sharp facial features, blonde hair, and in a tight pencil skirt stood a little further away with her hands behind her back.

Natasha took a seat as William started his presentation.

“I’m glad you all could make it. As you know, I’ve promised for my campaign something revolutionary...and I’m here to provide just that.” William grinned, throwing his palm out to the blonde in the back. She placed something in his hand and William brought it back, placing it delicately on the table.

“What this? A phone chip?” One of the CEOs asked as he leaned closer to take a look.

William chuckled and shook his head.

“Not even close. This, everyone, is our future. It’s a bio nanochip, meant to be inserted just right behind your ear. It’s a data collector. Anything about yourself will be put onto this microchip. Health, genetics, personal preferences, all of it.”

“Why would anyone want to have that?” Another person asked, William just grinning further.

“Think of it like this. Your family has a history of heart problem, the nanochip picks up on that. You’re constantly making unhealthy choices--not exercising, eating junk food, not visiting the doctor. The nanochip is picking all this up, by the way. Maybe you need a heart transplant--what would you do?”

The men and women looked at each other around the room, perplexed by the hypothetic situation.

“I would go to the best doctor available,” one woman said.

“What if you can’t afford it?” William countered.

“I--” She stuttered.

“What if you’re a student wanting to go to the best university there is, and you didn’t get any scholarships--what would you do?”

“Get student loans from the bank or government,” a CEO offered.

“You didn’t qualify, or maybe you don’t want to pay the insane interest rates for the rest of your life. What then?”

Everyone is silent. Natasha is confused about what exactly William wants to do.

He pushes the nanochip forward.

“This nanochip collects all your data on you, gives you the information via an app. As stakeholders, you’ve all purchased your share into the company I’ve started up to provide this technology to the public. The chip is free itself but to get it, people must sign an agreement with our company that it can collect, use, or sell their data.” William lifted his finger off of the nanochip, looking at everyone.

“In situations where maybe people are looking to get a little...help, stakeholder and other companies who purchased into the company can reach out to this individual and set up a side contract with them. Be it their services or whatever they can offer in exchange for the financial help, connections, or whatever it is.”

Natasha felt her stomach dropping more and more as William spoke.

She was going to vomit, she’s sure of it.

William was going to turn poor people into...into slaves to the rich and to companies.

Poor people who can’t afford healthcare, education, a job, or even a home. They wouldn’t even realize what selling their information would do.

Who is to say a company or person using a someone’s information wouldn’t do things like make them unemployable--forcing them to turn to rich people and companies for help?

The worst part is many people wouldn’t even see a problem with it. They would be stuck in a cycle, relying on the rich to stay alive or achieve anything. The rich would have complete control over people who’ve signed their life away.

“Amazing,” A CEO said, looking at the chip. The potential for free employment was outstanding, and he was already increasing his profits for the upcoming year.

Sure, they may be shelling out thousands of dollars, but whatever they were shelling out would be made back on interest and their services. A trade of equal or higher value.

After all, humans are the best resource there is.

“How do you know if companies will want to be involved?” A woman asked.

William grinned throwing a stack on paper on the table. “On average, 70% of businesses in each state has already invested in this. Even some internationally. The funding for everything is already secured.”

“When is it set to roll out?” Natasha asked, plastering a smile even though she felt sick.

“It’s already rolling out,” William told her, “it’s been going in batches. The last batch will be shipped out tomorrow night.”

The first thing in Natasha’s head was panic.

The second was that she needed to call Tony and Steve immediately.

The third was that she needed to get a hold of the last batch.

There was a small celebration happening, and Natasha stayed as she felt the group was too small for her to sneak out unnoticed.

When it came to an end, Natasha made sure William watch her leave in her vehicle.

Halfway through, Natasha got her driver to stop, drop her in the middle nowhere, send him off on his merry way as she turned around and made her way to the warehouse on foot.

The warehouse was quiet, quieter than Natasha expected. No guards standing outside, but maybe because that would seem suspicious. Using her intel from last time, she slips through a window, landing gracefully and moves behind a pillar when she sees a guard standing inside at the door instead.

She makes her way quickly to where the crates were last time which was the back of the warehouse, but there’s nothing.

No crates.

It was all gone.

Suddenly, alarms were going off, and Natasha found herself in flashing red lights, guards were screaming, and there were footsteps quickly rushing towards her.

Natasha didn’t have time to make it back to the window where she came in from and quickly left the through the nearest back door that led outside.

Red flashing lights were on the outside too as the alarms continued to ring and Natasha was running into the trees and bushes outback.

She could hear the footsteps running after her and Natasha thought she would have to take out the guards.

If she did that, it would alert William for sure someone was onto him.

Just as Natasha debated on what her next move should be, an arm shot out from behind a tree, pulling her roughly in before shoving her down and underneath a bush to hide.

Natasha was about to attack whoever was on top of her, her body tensing up but when she found herself staring into your wide eyes, fingers to your lip as you signaled her to be quiet, she did as she was told.

Time seemed to stop as the silence shrouded the two of you, the footsteps in the distance.

The two of you didn’t dare move.

It was an awful time to notice how warm your body was and how much it fitted against hers, but Natasha had always been acute to noticing everything around her.

It wasn’t until the footsteps and voices passed the bush the two of you hid in without incident, the voices fading further and further away until there was nothing but silence again.

You let out the breath you were holding in, eyes closing in relief, shoulders sagging, and Natasha felt all the tension leave your body.

She wanted to open her mouth and ask you what in God’s name were you doing out here and how the hell you knew she was here.

But you opened your mouth first as you turned your head towards Natasha, eyes ablaze with fury.

“What in the hell were you thinking?!”

PART V

#mm: my fics #series: the color of you #natasha romanoff x reader #Natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x ofc #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #Avengers #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #avengers reader insert #marvel mcu #Modern Avengers AU #marvel imagine

557 notes · View notes

kadavernagh · 4 years ago

Text

Bump in the Night III || Nadia & Regan

TIMING: Last night LOCATION: Nadia’s apartment PARTIES: @kadavernagh and @humanmoodring NOTES: Not required to follow along, but you can read part 1 and part 2 first. SUMMARY: Nadia’s past finally catches up to her. Regan makes a new friend.

Regan climbed the familiar path up the staircase to Nadia’s apartment, knocking on the door with ice cream in tow. Even though there were only three people in the building, she still couldn’t help but be nervous standing out in the hallway, wings out. She peeked down the stairwell as she waited, just in case. Ms. Carmody was nowhere to be seen. Nadia, though -- as soon as the door cracked open, Regan bursted inside, eager to get out of the hallway. As she crossed the threshold into the apartment, she glanced down. Something was missing. It took her a moment to realize it was the lack of a line of salt by the door. “Hello! No salt?” As much as Nadia clearly hated those bulk salt subscriptions, her supply must have been dwindling. But if Nadia wasn’t worried about it, Regan wouldn’t be either. She set the ice cream down on the table and wrapped Nadia in a hug, ignoring her friend’s surprise. “I talked to Kaden. I mean, I talk to Kaden a lot. But specifically, he told me that -- “ She broke the hug to look at Nadia. “Remember when you and Blanche stayed up outside my apartment? I had assumed you were just snooping, but you were worried he’d -- you were looking out for me. And I don’t say it enough, but you’re a really good friend, Nadia.” One last, quick hug, and she plopped herself onto a chair. “How’ve you been? Any near-death experiences? I can give you stitches.”

The moments between Regan busting in and her wrapping her arms around Nadia happened so fast that she blinked, her brain trying to catch up with what happened. “What? Salt? Oh, oh, yeah. The cat was eating it, and I, uh, don’t really need it anymore.” At least, she felt like she didn’t. And she fucking hated the salt, so she was banking on the reality that there was still a nice protection whatever around the apartment. She was fine. She was safe. “Oh, Christ, that was forever ago.” Nadia rubbed the back of her neck, the hairs there already standing up uncomfortable for some reason, a bit embarrassed that she and Blanche had done that and that she’d stayed up that entire night so worried. She’d have been up anyway, but she should’ve known that Kaden wouldn’t do anything. She knew it now, at least. “I’m gonna go grab some bowls,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “And I’ve been good, actually. It’s summer, it’s actually relatively warm around here some times, and no, I don’t need stitches. Everything’s kind of going alright.” She smiled a bit as she dug around in drawers and cabinets. She was happy, actually. Damn, it was nice.

Things going alright? That never happened in White Crest. Had her first assumption been wrong? That Nadia requested this because something had happened? Regan graciously accepted the bowl and gave Nadia a studying look. She seemed like she was being honest. Ever since that window-related lie, and more and more details emerged about just how much Nadia knew about things Regan didn’t even want to think about, she had to wonder. “It was only a couple months ago, actually. And it matters a lot to me. I haven’t had a friend like you before.” Queenie probably came closest, but their version of friendship, if it could be called that, was more like a competition than anything else. With Nadia, it was easy. Simple. Regan plopped two scoops of ice cream in each of their bowls and leaned forward on the table with her elbows as support. “At least summer in Maine isn’t usually as hot as summer in Maryland. I’ve always preferred winter, myself. Bodies found outside take longer to decompose, and turtlenecks are more comfortably worn.” She sighed, ended up smiling. “Though there is the lakehouse. Much less to do there in the winter. You really do want to come, right? With me and Kaden?”

“Feels like forever,” Nadia said quietly, blowing a piece of hair out of her face as she took the bowl of ice cream. And it did. It felt like it was just yesterday, too. Same with the mimes, the restaurant, the salt. The exorcism. Everything felt like it just happened and like it was years ago. Time was so fucking weird these days as her mind and her body tried to get onto the same page. She shrugged. “I figure that you’d do something like that for me, if you thought something would happen.” Not that Nadia would ever involve Regan in her shit. The other woman didn’t need that added to her plate. She had enough to worry about. Which was why Nadia was happy she was talking about taking a vacation. “I love summer. It’s finally starting to get tolerable temperature wise around here. Why the fuck is it so cold?” she joked. It was even cold in the apartment now, and it was June. “But, yeah, I’m totally down for going to the lakehouse with you guys. It’ll be fun.” Maybe a little awkward, she thought, remembering the threesome thing that none of them still really talked about. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be anything to catch on fire and release into the sewers this time around.

“Yeah…” Regan trailed off, agreement settling in her stomach. It really did feel like forever ago. She supposed the shared trauma of simply surviving in White Crest made time seem to move more quickly. “Maybe the added stress of living in this town will give me a few grey hairs. That wouldn’t be so bad, right?” Every time Rickers called her ‘young’un’, Regan wished her hair could be as white as the beard bristles covering the morgue. No respect. “It’s cold because… well, I think your AC is on too high.” Regan shivered, rubbing her arms. She needed to cut some holes into long-sleeved shirts, but she still refused to mutilate a turtleneck like that. It was pretty rare for her to actually get cold these days, anyways. Nadia’s apartment was just particularly chilly today. “I guess the ice cream isn’t really helping, huh? I mean, it’s helping in other ways. Not nutritionally.” Nutritionists ranked above only plastic surgeons and anesthesiologists, she thought. “Oh, great! I used to go every year with my brothers, but it’s -- we’ll do something a little different this year.” Another shiver, the wings jolting along with her skin. “Would you want to bring anyone?”

“You want grey hairs?” Nadia asked. She just wanted to enjoy what was left of her twenties, honestly. “You know, I think living here will certainly give them to you. This is probably the most,” she thought about a kinder word for it, “exciting town in the country.” Was the AC too high? She couldn’t even remember turning it on this week, honestly. Maybe Rhiannon found a way to mess with it. She took another bite of ice cream. “No, no, the ice cream’s definitely helping with the cold. Totally don’t even feel it. And it’s super nutritional.” Which, that was an obvious lie. Fuck, it was cold. Nadia figured she might’ve just stayed outside for too long. She was… too used to the warmer temperatures. That was what made it feel colder. She smiled at the thought of the lakehouse, though. Particularly laying out in the sun beside the lake. That sounded nice. “I know it won’t be the same as going with your family, but it’ll still be fun.” Bring anyone? The only person she’d consider would probably be Luce, and that would be-- No. “I, uh, can’t think of anyone.” Going with a couple to a lakehouse for a vacation was decidedly not casual. She wasn’t going to think about anything not casual. She stood up. “I’m gonna see if I can cut the air off.”

Meanwhile, a ghost walked through the door, looking around. No salt, no banishment, just a gal walking through a door into a pretty fucking nice apartment. She looked around, nodded. Yeah, this was a nice place. She could get used to it.

“Of course I do. Do you know how difficult it is to be taken seriously in my field without them? I became a Medical Examiner at 25. I’m in a field where you’re not even listened to until you’re 40, and preferably male.” Regan frowned into her ice cream bowl. The women in her cohort weren’t fairing much better, but at least they had a few years on her. She tried to make up for experience with professionalism. “I know it’ll be fun. You’re my two favorite people, and I mean that. And, uh, if you think of someone you want to bring, they’re welcome.” Though, they’d probably need a heads up about the inevitable wings and screaming. Regan watched as Nadia got up to adjust the AC. “Good idea.” But just as Nadia left the room, another shiver shot through her, up and down her spine. She was staring face to face with an unfamiliar redhead. When had -- had the door opened and closed? Had she not noticed? Regan jumped out of her seat, wings spread in alarm. “Who are you!? What are you doing here?” Panic twisted her voice into a near-screech, bowls full of ice cream cracking on the table. She took an assessment of the situation. Stranger in Nadia’s apartment. Maybe not a stranger to Nadia. Wings. Subtle malice on her face. “Nadia!” Regan screeched, launching herself on the couch like the redhead was a mouse she could escape from. A couple of lights shattered. “Someone broke in!”

“That’s fucking ridiculous, honestly.” But not particularly surprising. Honestly, that seemed to just be the way the world went. Nadia was pleased to know that she was one of Regan’s favorite people, though. She couldn’t remember ever having something like that with a friend; it was nice. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone, but, like, I probably won’t.” She was supposed to hear from Luce that weekend for… whatever. It didn’t matter; it really didn’t. Neither of them were under any sort of agreement. Still, she looked at her phone before she started messing with the AC. No message. Obviously. And the AC didn’t even seem to be on. Fucking fantastic. The damn thing was probably broken. At least, that’s what she thought until Regan shrieked. Nadia’s hands went to her ears on reflex; it wasn’t loud enough to do any damage, but, fuck, it shocked her. She looked around wildly, her eyes completely skirting over the presence in front of the door. Regan’s eyes were black. Her eyes were black. Why were her eyes black? “I don’t-- What? Who? I don’t see anyone.” But then she noticed the thing standing in the doorway. Was that-- was there something actually there?

Rolling her eyes, the ghost looked over at the banshee in the room. “Really? Stop.” She looked Nadia over, checking for any new injuries. She looked good, aside from the new scar on her arm. Idiot. And she was a bit thin, but it was all good. She turned back to the banshee. “She can’t really see me. Not well. And she can’t hear me unless I act like you and get really loud, like you,” she said. “Fucking faerie,” she added on, knowing how much they hated that word.

Nadia came barreling back into the living room, and Regan watched her eyes darting all over the place, like she wasn’t able to see the very obvious intruder standing right by the door. She could, right? She had to. This wasn’t -- Regan’s arms sank to her side, as she remembered Kaden’s confusion when her mother entered the room. He couldn’t see her. Couldn’t hear her. Was this like that? No. Couldn’t be. She turned to Nadia, mouth hanging open. “You don’t see her? She’s right there.” Regan pointed to the unamused redhead, whose patience seemed to be diminishing by the second. The severe lines of her mandible and zygomatic arches seethed with annoyance, even hatred. She was the one who broke in! She didn’t get to feel impatient. What the hell was happening? Break And Enter approached Nadia, and seemed to be giving her an appraising look, scanning down each limb. “She’s right th--” Regan wasn’t sure what was happening, but she didn’t want this woman anywhere near Nadia. She jumped down from the couch to insert herself between the two of them, but there was a breeze against her back, like a fan, and she nearly tripped as she hit the floor, much later than expected. “How do you not see her? Caucasian female, about 5’6”, very rude. Red hair. Broke into your apartment.” Regan glared at the intruder. “Why can’t she see you? And I wasn’t that loud, and I’m calling the police, and --” She reached for her pocket before remembering she didn’t even have a cell phone at the moment. “Nadia is calling the police.” The word fairy made her bristle with nerves, a screech churning around her lungs. “I’m not a fairy. And you need to leave, right now.” There went a couple lightbulbs. Regan winced, still keeping herself planted between the two of them. “Nadia, you are calling the police, right?”

This was Nadia’s worst nightmare. Or, at the very least, it was in the top three. The worst would be getting possessed again, killing people she cared about. This… was very close to that, actually. She had just barely been able to make the ghost, a woman, when Regan kind of hovered off the couch. She was only in the air for a split second, but it was pretty fucking cool. At least, it would be, if there wasn’t a ghost in Nadia’s apartment. Regan placed herself in between Nadia and the ghost, and Nadia’s body impulsively backed away. Her hands shook. She was breathing too quickly. This couldn’t be happening. She knew Regan was talking, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“The door was unlocked,” the ghost said, her voice rather uncaring about the situation. “I hardly broke in.” Besides, the place was hers. Or, it would be, soon. She hadn’t expected an audience, but maybe this was for the best. Someone who could see and hear her far better than Nadia could would be useful. It had been too long since she’d had her body, and she had a feeling, looking around the apartment, taking in the winged neighbor, the cat, the lived in feel, that it’d be a lot harder for her to get back than she expected. But there was always a problem with having things to care about; people would do anything not to lose them. “I just want to talk. To her, through you,” she said, addressing the woman in front of her. “You’re gonna tell Nadia what I have to say, word for fucking word, or else.” She smiled sweetly, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

Nadia wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t Nadia saying anything? She usually said words. So many words. Regan twisted her head around to check on her friend. Nadia had backed herself into a corner of the room, unsteady hands spread out in front of her for balance and eyes wide with fear. But she couldn’t see her, right? Maybe that was why she seemed so panicked. And -- wait -- Regan paused, looking between the two of them. Small details started to form a whole, a cohesive image that may have lacked in sense but was becoming increasingly clear. Kaden’s mother. The salt. The salt being missing today. Nadia had expected this. At least, some part of her had expected this, and perhaps not today. Regan still wasn’t sure what this was, but it was terrifying Nadia, and that was enough to drive Regan to intervene. “Or else what?” Regan hissed back, shattering one of the few remaining lightbulbs in the room. She’d apologize for that later. She didn’t like the way the redhead was looking at her. Or looking at Nadia. Or the gooseflesh running down her arms. Or anything about this situation. “Nadia, you can hear her, right? She wants me to -- she says she just wants to talk.”

Nadia tried to shake her head clear, tried to pay closer attention to what was going on. There was a ghost in her apartment. There was the ghost in her apartment. Her ghost. The one that seemed to still think that Nadia was her body, from the insistent way she seemed to refuse to leave Nadia alone. Glass showered as another lightbulb exploded, thoroughly jerking Nadia into the moment as she shielded her head with her arms. She took a few shaky breaths, tried to calm down. Her own emotions, her fear and anger and fear, were so loud that she couldn’t even imagine what Regan was feeling. Nadia looked at where she was almost positive the ghost was, but she couldn’t make out anything more than whispers. “Regan, I can’t-- I don’t know what the fuck she’s saying. I-- fuck!”

Really, this was sweet, but the ghost had business to take care of. “Or else I kill her from the inside out,” she told the banshee calmly. “Look, babe, she’s losing her shit right now. Really fuckin’ stressed. I don’t want to stress her out anymore. Do you?” And she didn’t. The ghost could tell. She was protective over Nadia; that much had been easy to see the last time she’d taken over. It was touching, in a really fucking annoying way. She’d enjoy killing the banshee, when she got the chance. “So do me a favor and just tell her what I’ve got to say?” She glanced over at Nadia and grinned. “I’ve missed her, you know.”

The raw fear in Nadia’s voice was enough to send Regan’s heart into her throat. She didn’t want to move away from between the two of them, but she did take several cautious steps backwards, glass crunching underfoot, until she could extend a hand for Nadia to grab, and grab tightly if she needed. She had a long list of questions she was committing to a mental list right now, but it seemed like a bad time to ask Nadia why any of this was happening. She allowed herself a brief moment of relief when Nadia’s fingers wrapped around her own. Regan could feel Nadia’s jumping heart through her radial pulse, small, fast, and fragile like an animal in a trap. Not for the first time, it occurred to her that her own pulse should be hammering right now, along with her fear, but she just felt cold and stiff. Now wasn’t the time to be wallowing in the wrongness of that.

The word kill was like an icicle spearing her through the chest. Regan tightened her grip on Nadia, her other hand grabbing her by the shoulder. She could feel another screech forming in her lungs, itching to climb her throat, but even the fear of harming Nadia’s ears wasn’t enough to pull her away right now. They were cornered in Nadia’s apartment with a murderer. Or potential murderer. Someone who was willing to murder. Regan’s mind reeled to figure out what to do, land on a solution. This wasn’t the type of situation her doctor’s equanimity was made for. This wasn’t someone on a surgical table, or someone questioning her cause of death designation in a courtroom. This was a murderer. And she was terrified for her friend. “You’re not going to do that. Nadia, get your phone. Your phone. Please. You need to call the police.” She stared back at the woman, the apparition who didn’t have a shred of kindness on her face or in her bones. Regan didn’t want to stress Nadia, of course she didn’t. And it was true that Nadia was, to use a phrase Regan wasn’t particularly fond of, “losing her shit”. And with good freaking reason. She managed to latch on even more tightly to Nadia. “Fine, I’ll do you that favor, but you won’t hurt her. Is that understood?” If nothing else, maybe she could stall for time until Nadia managed to pick up her fucking phone. “Nadia, please get your --” Something was happening. Her tongue felt numb, then it burned, seared, and when Regan opened her mouth, words just poured out. The same ones she’d just heard. “I’ve missed her you, know.” Regan blinked, stunned by what she’d just said and the robotic tone behind it. Her hand suddenly loosed itself from Nadia’s as she stumbled. “I didn’t -- I -- she said that. I didn’t mean to say that.”

This is what winning felt like. Fuck, it’d been awhile since the ghost had a win, six fucking months, actually, but this was it. She grinned widely, looking the banshee in her black eyes. Man, she loved the fae. Almost as much as she hated them. Then she looked back at Nadia, taking a step closer. “I really have missed you, Nadia. And I know you’ve missed me. Your friend’s kindly agreed to speak for me. I trust her to get the message across. She seems like the person to understand the value of a favor, and I really appreciate that.” Damn, she felt giddy. Word for word, the banshee was required to deliver what she had to say. Which meant there was no way Nadia would deny her what she wanted. “Looking at you’s like looking in a mirror, Nadia. I see myself. I see a scared little girl with blood on her hands. Don’t you ever wonder where it came from?” There was the hook. “Tell your friend to leave. I want to talk business.” Add in the line. She turned to Regan. “God, you’ve got pretty wings. I’d love to rip them off.” Finish with a bloody sinker to get the fucking point across.

Why was the murderer beaming at her? Regan’s marrow froze as she trembled, just about keeping pace with Nadia’s shaking now. She lifted a hand to her mouth, like she could take back the words she’d just said. They never filtered through her brain. She didn’t -- why had she said that? But before she could say what she wanted, apologize, the redhead started talking again, looming closer, and words spilled out. Regan wedged herself closed to Nadia, but she couldn’t choke back the words. “I really have missed you, Nadia. And I know you’ve missed me. Your friend’s kindly agreed to speak for me. I trust her to get the message across. She seems like the person to understand the value of a favor, and I really appreciate that.” She felt dizzy and sick, and she clamped her teeth down on her tongue because she couldn’t trust what she might say next. Regan clutched Nadia’s arm, trying to use it as an anchor to stop shaking, but she wasn’t sure who was more afraid now.

No, Regan thought, taking a close look at her friend. It was still Nadia. She wasn’t doing well, and if Regan could just -- but there was more -- her tongue swelled and burned and a scream threatened to rise up and she couldn’t do anything other than release the sentences becoming unbearably heavy on her tongue. “Looking at you’s like looking in a mirror, Nadia. I see myself. I see a scared little girl with blood on her hands. Don’t you ever wonder where it came from?” Regan’s gaped, trying to meet Nadia’s scared eyes. “She’s nuts, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s -- I didn’t say that, Nadia. I mean, I did, but I didn’t --” The redhead moved closer still. Regan and Nadia couldn’t dig themselves further into the corner. More burning. “Tell your friend to leave. I want to talk business.” That wasn’t about to happen, even though it had come from her own mouth. Nadia wouldn’t try to -- she wouldn’t tell her to leave, right? Not now. But as the redhead edged closer, nothing but dead pleasure in her eyes, Regan knew there would be more. Directed at her, this time. And like before, she had to say it. “God, you’ve got pretty wings. I’d love to rip them off.” The threat coated her tongue in bile and Regan coughed, trying to hack away at her throat like it could prevent this from happening again.

For her part, Nadia was trying desperately to pay attention to everything that was going on. “Phone? Regan, that’s not gonna--” As words poured out of Regan’s mouth, emotionless, cold, Nadia could only stare at her in horror as the other woman stumbled. Nadia reached out, attempted to right her friend, but she kept speaking, kept saying things. Nothing particularly awful, not at first and not to anyone but Nadia. Her last memory was seeing blood on her hands, knowing that she’d done something awful. And then the comment about the wings. Jesus. “Get out,” she told Regan. “You’ve got to get out. Go-- your apartment. Or Kaden-- no. Your apartment, but you’ve got to-- Oh God.” She felt sick. “You’ve got to get out.”

Blood on Nadia’s hands. A redheaded murderer literally putting words in her mouth. The salt. The raw fear. Regan buried herself against Nadia. Her tongue no longer hurt, but she wasn’t sure which of the two of them she most wanted to address this to. She decided on Nadia, turning to face her, while not completely diverting her attention from the danger present in the room. “I’m not leaving. That’s me saying that. Nadia, you don’t know what she -- she said she’d kill you from the inside. I’m not letting her do that. Call the police. I’m staying here, I pr--” Regan’s throat closed up, and she hacked again, struggling to breathe for a moment. She couldn’t say the word. Just like Kaden, she couldn’t say the word. Her voice was rough. “I’m staying here.”

“No, no, no,” Nadia said. She wondered if she could get Regan to the door, push her out, lock it. Anything to protect her from a fucking bitch that wanted to rip out her wings. As much as Regan hated them, nothing about that was right. She had to leave. “I don’t give a fuck what she said about me. She won’t. But you--” Nadia choked a bit. “Out. Please. Get out.” She attempted to move them closer to the door, her hands wrapping around Regan’s arm even if they shook.

“You promise?” the ghost asked, enjoying the way the banshee tripped over the word. Interesting. She’d have to explore that later. “No, I don’t think so. Nadia, I will rip out her wings if you don’t agree. I’ll kill her. I promise.” She laughed. “I’ll kill all of your friends, actually. In front of you, this time. I really don’t mind. And, in the end, I’ll still get my way.” It was sweet, how protective the two of them were, but she was growing tired of this. Patience wasn’t her strong suit, not when she was so close to getting what she wanted. That fucking banshee just had to get the hell out. “Wouldn’t you rather they all live?”

The desperation bled from Nadia’s voice but Regan wasn’t budging. Even with her whole body trembling, she rooted herself in place. “I’m. Not. Leaving.” She said flatly to Nadia, staring at her, taking in the panic, the way her sclera seemed impossibly white and large, pupils dwarfed. She gripped Nadia’s hand that tugged on her arm, trying to keep the two of them in their comfortable, safe corner. Or at least it was, for now. There was no telling what would happen once Regan left Nadia alone with this killer. It wasn’t going to happen. “We can -- well, I’ve never… okay, I’ve never punched anyone in the face before. But this might be a first. We can handle her. I’m not leaving. You keep trying to push me away and hide things from me, and I’m not letting it happen again.” Regan’s lips curled, teeth showing, as she looked back over at the intruder, the murderer. “I’m a Medical Examiner. I work closely with the police. And I’m going to tell them about everything that you --”

You promise? The question was heavy on her tongue. It burned again, but this was so much worse; she couldn’t open her mouth. She couldn’t say it and release the tension, alleviate the scorch of it against the roof of her mouth. Why couldn’t she -- was it a panic attack? The loud kind? Regan shook, arms dropping to her sides as the pain intensified. Nadia. She needed to get the hell away from Nadia, but she couldn’t leave her. Promise. She needed to say the word; the compulsion was fierce, a painful tether. But it wouldn’t come out, and when she opened her mouth, the only sound that managed to shoot out was a loud screech. It was long and shrill and when the room grew dark around her, Regan wasn’t sure if it was because of the broken lights or the narrowing of her trachea and the burn spreading from her tongue down to her lungs. She clawed at her neck, digging into the skin, as the shriek poured out and finally, only when her lungs couldn’t draw more air and her throat felt like it had a pinprick opening, did everything stop.

There’s a moment, always right before the end of a movie, where everything seems super fucking bleak, only for everything to be fixed in the end. Nadia knew that. And this? It seemed really fucking bleak. She tried to take Regan’s assurances to heart, but when she started bringing in the cops, Nadia knew it wasn’t going to work out. What could the police do to a ghost? A woman that wasn’t really there? A thing that people used to refer to as a figment of Nadia’s imagination, a symptom of something inherently wrong. The police couldn’t do shit. She didn’t know how to tell Regan that. It turned out she didn’t have to. As Regan stumbled across her words, unable to speak, Nadia could make out another voice. “... don’t think so… will rip out her wings... I’ll kill… promise... all of your friends... front of you, this time... I’ll still get my way.”

The ghost watched the banshee choke and sputter over the word “promise,” and she laughed. That was really fun. Up until all the lights popped out. She wondered if Nadia could even see her at all. Probably not. Didn’t matter. “Get her out of here,” she said, looking at the banshee passed out on the floor.

“Regan?” Nadia called out, going down with her friend as Regan passed out. The shriek in her ears made everything sound fuzzy, even her own voice vibrating off her bones. She felt like she was underwater. The ghost was still in the room, waiting. This was for the best, Nadia decided, picking her friend up as best as she could and dragging her towards the door. This was for the best. “I’m taking her to her apartment,” she called out, to no one, to a ghost. “Then we can-- we can.” Nadia was afraid. Gently, she carried Regan out the door, her bare feet crunching on glass. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She wasn’t alone, even if she felt like it.

#wickedswriting

10 notes · View notes