#the coin answered to drink. and i flipped it several times (best 2 out of 3 turned to best 3 out of 5 etc etc)

[orcelito]

Fascinating to know that even when I'm having a brain freakout, the exact kind of condition that would have me drinking a bit to calm down, the thought of drinking Still makes me uncomfortable enough that I didn't do it

This is from yesterday. I'm doing okay today. But just. I ended up just kinda having to Deal With It until I calmed down on my own. Wasn't exactly fun. But even then, I still didn't want to drink.

Makes me wonder whether I ever will again. I really genuinely don't know.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Song of a Mermaid Warrior pt 2

Part 2 to the mermaid story!

Decided to continue it, wanted to see where Jordan's story ends up.

You can read pt 1 here.

Enjoy!

___________________________

“Well, well, well! Never thought I’d see the mermaid herself swimming over to my fetid swamp here in the slums!”

A slim young man with bright purple hair grinned, flipping a silver coin into the air over and over without looking at it. “Thought you said you were never coming back? What, did your last book not sell as well now that you're peddling comforting little lies about your species?”

Jordan leaned against the doorframe of the dilapidated shop, wondering for the thousandth time if this was a bad idea. She knew the answer, deep down, but chose to ignore it. “Tock, cut the crap.”

“Oh sweetie, you haven’t changed. “ Tock laughed. “ I can cut the crap, but not sure what use it would be… crap is notoriously difficult to cut, tends to mush up, you know… and whose crap should be cut? Mine?” He shrugged. “ Sorry to say this body doesn’t make physical waste. What about yours?”

Jordan rubbed her forehead. “I should have known better than to do anything other than speak as literally as possible… I hate fairies.”

“You only know one fairy, darling.” Tock’s eyes blinked, the irises turning green, than orange, than staying at a robin’s egg blue. “Unfair of you to judge the whole species just because you don’t like me. Especially because I have been nothing but fair and helpful to you.”

“You tried to trick me into giving you my skin.”

“TRIED. Tried is the key word there. Plus you didn’t fall for it, so what’s the problem?”

Jordan sighed, knowing that there was never any point with arguing with Tock.

She had run into the fairy over two years ago. At that time she was frantic, trying to find Hunter’s location, and her desperation had led her to the darker corners of the city. She had spent every last coin she had, unable to eat or sleep, and at her darkest moment, she stumbled into Tock’s shop. Later Jordan had realized that it was likely that despair that had allowed her to find his place. There were magic wards to keep all but the most vulnerable out.

When they met, Tock had seen her madness, her obsession, and was ecstatic. He tried to get her to agree to many terrible deals in exchange for tracking down Hunter and after adding a small addendum she had agreed, feeling that whatever price she had to pay was worth it.

In the end, the addendum she had insisted on saved her skin, quite literally. She had added on a time limit that he had to track Hunter down and arrange a meeting. And to Tock’s shock and dismay, whatever elven magic was hiding Hunter’s identity; it was beyond the fairy’s ability to dismantle.

Tock had failed to find Hunter, and the contract expired. Jordan left, at the time feeling a strange mix of disappointment at the failure and gratitude to be still in one piece. As they parted ways, she swore never to come back to his broken place of deals with the devil.

Until today.

“So what brings you here, my lovely little fish?” Tock flipped his coin again, and it sizzled as it disappeared into thin air. “Still trying to find that stubborn elf boyfriend of yours?”

“He was just a friend, and no. I gave up on him years ago.”

Tock frowned, blinking as his eyes turned a bronze color. “Pity. Your skin has only gotten prettier since the last time I saw it… would love to find your price to part with it.”

“…” The memory of Hunter cheerfully making plans to run away with her still hung in her mind. What was it that he had said? “We might lose our clothes and money, but at least we’d have a fun story to tell”? We had no idea what real fairies were like. The ocean’s song in Jordan’s ears was rising, she kept her lips closed to hold back the seductive call of the magic. The fairy noticed her struggle, backing away slightly.

“Fine, fine, no more talk about your skin. Why are you mermaids so sensitive about losing organs?” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Mermaids regenerate, right? Or was that trolls?”

“Tock….” The name was forced out between clenched teeth.

The fairy rolled his eyes, changing them to a pure silver color. “So what deal DO you want to make today, my angry mermaid friend?”

She dug through her pocket handing over a silver badge with a handkerchief. Her touch shouldn’t affect his abilities, but Jordan still didn’t want to touch it. It represented something she had tried to move beyond in the last few years, a part of the past that caused her to wake up sobbing some nights, and to stay up drinking others.

Hunter had been her only friend, the only person in this world she thought she could trust. She had learned the hard way how foolish that trust had been. But once she had finally made peace with that fact, he had sent someone to intrude in her life once more. After forcing her to stay out of his battle, he was inviting her to join him, dangling the one thing he knew she couldn’t resist to get her to agree: the existence of other full blood mermaids.

She wasn’t going to play by his rules. If he was expecting her to run back to his side after forcing her away years ago, he would be sorely disappointed. And if she was going to use the clue he had given her, it was for her reasons and no one else’s. Because for everything he had gotten wrong, Hunter had gotten one thing very right:

She did want to find the mermaids in the city.

Not out of any sense of loyalty or need to find others like her, however. She was simply desperate. The instincts to fight and kill, to use her magic to trap and destroy, grew stronger by the day. Soon she was afraid she’d start killing innocent people. She needed to find a way to control it.

Jordan was hoping that other mermaids would know how.

Maybe other mermaids don’t have this problem. She thought at her darkest moments. Maybe I’m just a killer, a monster.

She tried not to think about that to often.

Tock gingerly picked up the badge, his eyes widening with surprise and turning a glowing violet.

“You always have the best things! Let’s see… silver… It was made several years ago… it had other forms years ago… but the owners of those items died quite violently…” He paused, glancing at her curiously. “Your handiwork, I would guess?”

“No comment.”

“Such an unfriendly fish… good thing you have such pretty skin, otherwise I wouldn’t pay you any attention.” He turned back towards the badge in his hand. “It was made with care and love… quite a pure emotion of care… along with a large amount of hope, all mixed in with the silver as it was reformed… it was part of a set?”

“Yes.” She swallowed uncomfortably, pushing back the memories of a young naïve girl, who thought herself hardened and bitter, carefully making a birthday present for her best friend.

“Can I see the other one?”

She thought of the location of the badge she had once treasured. “No.”

Tock pouted. “Fine. It contains quite a few auras, but the strongest one… is quite familiar.” His eyes turned a bright angry red. “Elf!”

“Yeah, it was Hunter’s.”

“That BASTARD! His blasted elf magic forced me to lose my contract with you!” He tossed the badge to the counter with a disgusted grimace. “You’ll never be that perfect combination of desperate and vulnerable again!” He looked back at me. “You are STILL trying to find that elf who dumped you three years ago? And I thought you had standards.”

The ocean song roared in her ears as it sensed her anger, pushing at her control, leaking from her lips. She could feel it swelling beneath her skin, threatening to force itself out. Tock rolled his eyes at the sight.

“Don’t try your battle magic here. You may be quite terrifying to meet in a dark alleyway, but I have some great wards in place.” He sneered as she kept her lips closed tightly. “Just a word of advice: Don’t face off a fairy in his own home.”

Jordan forced her magic down with great struggle, every instinct wanting to lash out. “I don’t want you to find Hunter. I want to know most frequent locations this amulet has been over the past six months.”

“And that’s not the same thing because…”

“Because it’s not him I’m wanting to find.” If he's found mermaids, then the locations he's been, the people he's spoken to... they'll be clues to track them down.

Tock raised an eyebrow. “Then what ARE you trying to find?”

“None of your business. I just need the locations this object has been most frequently.”

“Very well.” His smile became sly, his eyes shifting away from the angry red to a dark blue. “What deal shall we make for me to do this? How about your skin…”

The last word trailed off as Jordan held up a golden coin.

“…”

_________________________________

The silence in the room stretched on, as Tock’s gaze was locked on the object in her hand. His eye color was shifting rapidly, brown, grey, orange, green, before the whole eye filled with color finally turning a solid, glowing silver. His shoulders twitched, and his teeth grew longer in his mouth, the sharp points pressing into his still human appearing lips.

“Where did you get that?” His whisper had lost all of his previous joking tone. There was a small amount of magic woven into his words, a minor compelling spell to force her to speak, and speak truthfully. It buried itself in her ear, making her thoughts foggy. Jordan smiled, shaking her head as the ocean song within her rose in volume, drowning out the fairy magic easily, keeping her mind clear.

“I’ve picked up a lot of things these past few years.”

“ANSWER. THE. QUESTION.”

“No.” Jordan flipped the coin, mimicking the fairy’s earlier actions. “Don’t try your magic on me, fairy. I’ve had too many years of practice ignoring magical compulsions.”

“Fine.” He sighed loudly. “Do you know what it is you have there? Do you know if there’s any more?”

“I’ve heard stories… tales only whispered in dark alleys and in crumbling basements. Do you know in schools here they teach that the humans are the only ones affected by the Darkness? That losing the ability to have children was the be all and end all of the curse?”

“…” Tock kept silent, staring at her. Shrugging, she continued with a mocking smile.

“What a limited view, right? Turns out that everyone lost something to the Darkness. Every single one. It took whatever that species valued most. For humans, such a short-lived, social people, it was taking away the ability to make new generations. But fairies… you are born of magic and air, part of nature and outside of time. Procreation means nothing to you.” She flipped the coin up, letting it spin in the air before catching it and holding it firmly in her hand. “The Darkness took something much more important to you fairies.”

Tock was trembling at her words, unclear if it was with fear or anger. “What do you think the Darkness took from us?”

Jordan glanced at his empty back. “Your wings.”

“…” The fairy’s hands were gripping the counter in front of him. His fingers sank into the wood as easily as if it was made of clay.

“If it were just something to help you fly, I bet you would have simply made do without them. But they represent something much more important, don’t they?” She leaned closer, ignoring his threatening aura. “That’s where fairies store their magic. So now you have the live with the scraps of magic you absorb from the earth and enchanted items, unable to store it within yourself. That’s why you work here, in this pitiful little shop, unable to do more than hide behind these wards and peddle minor magic tricks for favors.”

“Be careful, mermaid…”

“Oh I’m careful enough, Tock.” She opened her hand and stared at the coin in her palm. “No wonder you wanted my skin… how much magic should be stored within it, I wonder. Enough to last you a few years I would think. Which is why this little coin is so important to you.”

“…”

“Fairy gold.” She held it up again. “Quite pretty, actually, looks like the real thing even on close inspection. But if I were to try to spend it… it would expel all the magic stored inside, turning to wood and taking away my lifetime’s luck. An inconvenience for me… but for you?” She grinned. “It stores enough magic for you to live comfortably for quite some time. You could leave this shop, set up protective wards wherever you ended up. Magic enough to stabilize your appearance so your eyes and ears don’t change; let you blend in if you wanted to leave your house for a change. “

“…”

“So what do you say, Tock.” Jordan flipped the coin one last time. “Do we have a deal?”

After a long pause, the fairy spoke up. “… I …”

“TOCK ARE YOU HERE?!!”

The shop door slammed open and a short redheaded young man burst in. As he rushed to the counter, Jordan got a closer look. He was a few inches shorter than her, his leaner frame still obviously muscular. His facial features were handsome, with bright green eyes that glowed with excitement and fiery red hair that was cropped short. He wore regular clothing, a grey t shirt and jeans, and would have seemed very average except for the massive axe strapped to his back.

Who the heck is this?

“Glit, this isn’t the time.” Tock warned, his tone still angry and tense.

“No, Tock, I’ve been thinking about it… maybe I SHOULD be willing to compromise… exactly how much skin would you need to help me find the dwarves?”

The fairy’s eyes glowed an excited gold, his teeth retracting once more as he stabilized his appearance. “Well now…”

“Add his bill to mine.” Jordan interrupted, glaring at Tock. “No skin.”

“But… that’s unfair! We already had a deal!”

“You didn’t accept it in time, so now the deal has changed. “ She shrugged “The price I’m offering is more than enough to cover us both. I would suggest you take the deal before it changes again.”

Tock glared. “FINE! FINE, I ACCEPT!”

The young man turned to her, shocked. She met his gaze, holding back the urge to sigh. Jordan wasn’t much one for random acts of kindness to strangers, but he reminded her of herself a few years ago. Lost, desperate… the only kind of people who can slip past Tock’s wards. She just wasn’t sure what his reaction would be to her interference… annoyance? Gratitude?’

He grinned at her. “You look really strong! Wanna fight?!”

… Well that certainly hadn’t been the reaction she was expecting.

“Maybe later…”

His shoulders slumped. “Dangit. I was losing hope of meeting a strong person in this awful city… no offense if you like it here.”

“None taken, I don’t.”

“I finally meet someone worthy of a good fight, and I make a terrible first impression.” He sighed. “My Ma always did say I needed to work on my introductions.”

“…And you are?”

His eyes widened. “I haven’t told you that yet?” His hand slapped his forehead. “Sorry, must have been distracted by the whole ‘trading my skin’ thing. I’m Glitenaere ni Tolk Vhelarite, firstborn of Marleiun ge Nerturin, the greatest Dwarven warrior alive… but you can call me Glit!”

She looked over the short young man. “You are the greatest warrior?”

“Nope. My Ma.”

“You’re a dwarf?”

“Since I was born.”

Jordan felt curious, having only ever read about dwarves from human textbooks, which said they were a reclusive, unfriendly race.

The reportedly unfriendly, reclusive dwarf was reaching out to shake her hand. “Thanks for the saving my skin, friend!”

She didn’t take his hand. “Shouldn’t you have a beard?”

Tock burst out into laughter, his eyes turning a humorous magenta. “Wow, way to go straight for the gut.”

“Aww, shut up fairy, she didn’t mean anything by it. Can’t blame her for not knowing in a city like this.” Glit leaned against the counter, rubbing his chin with an idle hand. “I’m a darkling, a child born infected by the Darkness.”

“Every race lost something.” Jordan whispered.

“Not everyone was infected, but those who were never grew beards.” He looked sad for a brief moment. “It’s a symbol of strength, of connection to the Earth… everything in our culture revolves around it.”

“What about the women?”

“Oh they grow them too. You should see my Ma. Her beard makes all the boys cry with jealousy.” Glit laughed. “They all thought with her being the strongest and all, her child would be too… but…”

“…Sorry.”

“Oh don’t worry, friend. I’m not weak. I may not have a connection with the earth and a powerful beard, but I’m a force to be reckoned with when I have an axe in my hand!”

Tock looked up, his eyes turning bright white. “You may have to test that out sooner rather than later. We have company.”

BANG! Something slammed into the closed door behind them.

_________________________________

Jordan took a defensive stance, while Glit drew his axe. “Who’s coming?”

“Probably one of those damn purity obsessed groups. They constantly sweep the slums, looking for low bloods and part elves. Usually the wards keep them away, but today, I got a little… distracted. “

“Great. Not really in the mood to deal with these guys, Tock.”

“They bad guys?” Glit spoke up.

“Yep.” Jordan answered softly. “They do horrible things to those who can’t defend themselves.”

“Fair enough. Today they picked on the wrong type of people, though.” Glit grinned. “Let’s kill them!”

His easy acceptance of the violence they would face ahead gave her a little pause. Before she could examine it too closely, the door crashed open, and a large group of men wearing black cloths around the lower halves of their faces rushed in. In their hands were standard pistols, the dull metal glinting off the many lamps of Tock’s shop.

“Looks like we got a haul, boys!” One of them spotted Glit and Jordan, his eyes widening with shock. “That short one definitely can’t be high purity… he’s either a low blood or a dirty elf mix blood! And the other…” He glanced and Jordan and laughed. “A No Blood? Thought they were all gone!”

Glit twirled the massive axe in his hand with ease, looking confused. “Do I look like an elf?”

Jordan thought of the tall quiet young man who had always followed behind her, always trying to avoid violence. “Not even a little.”

“Ah.” He tossed the axe lightly, catching it with the other hand. “Hey fellas, despite your insults and poor eyesight, I’m gonna be nice. Here’s your one chance to run away, before my strong friend and I start slicing you to pieces.”

Even with the majority of his face covered, the disdain on the attacker’s face was evident. “Shut up, dirty elf! Even with your axe, you really think you can face a group with guns?" He snorted, "Now we’re gonna have fun killing you.”

Glit just laughed at the threat. “I was hoping you guys would say that!”

As the group of attackers spread out around the room, he turned to face one side, leaving his back open to Jordan.

Jordan hesitated briefly at Glit’s open back, startled at the gesture of trust, before slowly turning to cover him. She glanced around to see that Tock had disappeared before closing her eyes, calling up the song within her and setting it free.

From her mouth a song of battle rang out. Several of the attackers stopped in their tracks, caught in her illusion, but the rest were only mildly affected, just barely losing their grips on their weapons.

Jordan cursed silently, still singing. Her magic was very effective against small groups of enemies, but the more people it was spread out against, the less useful it would be.

As the song of death spilled constantly from her lips, she felt her nails grow out into claws and moved forward, striking the attackers that were not incapacitated first. From the side she heard Glit run forward, spinning his axe, blood and tissue flying through the air as he cut through enemies.

Blood dripped from her fingers. She heard someone behind her, preparing to strike and turned, grabbing his neck. She felt the water within his heart, and used her magic to stop it in place. His face turned pale, and clutching his chest, he fell to the ground.

Jordan was feeling the drain of her magic. Her vision was turning a bright blue, the song growing in her mind, calling for her to give in completely.

BANG! A shot rang out past her ear, and sensing the danger, the song surged louder in her soul.

Can’t give up all control to my instincts. She thought grimly, slicing the shooter’s face. I might just lose myself completely.

It was hard, fighting against physical enemies while resisting the magical bind of her own blood, but Jordan forced herself forward, grateful for the help of the dwarf beside her. If she had faced all these enemies by herself, she might have lost to the bloodlust within her.

The air was filled with blood and screams.

And then… there was silence.

__________________________________

Jordan’s vision cleared as she forced the song of the ocean down, keeping it tightly controlled within herself. Her nails retracted and she stood in place, staring down at the blood on her hands.

Hunter always said he didn’t want me to be a killer. She closed her eyes briefly with pain. She felt dirty, worthless. Maybe if I wasn’t one he wouldn’t have left me behind.

Lost in her thoughts, she only came out of it as she felt a warm touch on her hands. Shocked, her eyes flew open, only to see Glit pushing a large wet cloth into her grasp.

“Here, friend, you can clean your hands with this.”

She paused, unused to the kindness, but took it anyways. “Thanks.”

“No problem! You’re amazing! That battle song… had magic in it right? Are you not human?”

“Mermaid.” The word came out before she could stop it, and Jordan pressed her lips together, annoyed. He’s a stranger. No need to tell him anything more. She tucked the dirty rag in her pocket, not wanting to give Tock a free sample of her blood.

“Really? I thought they had all disappeared!” Glit’s face lit up. “My Ma always said that the mermaids were the only warriors she wouldn’t want to face up against! That’s awesome!”

She glanced at the dismembered bodies on his side of the room. “You’re not such a bad fighter yourself.”

His smile brightened. “Really? Thanks! Those guys back home thought I was pretty useless, being a Darkling and all, but if a mermaid warrior says so, I’ll trust your opinion!”

“This is all very touching… but what am I supposed to do about the mess you made?” Tock’s annoyed tone caught their attention.

“We fought off your attackers while you hid in the back, fairy.” Jordan raised an eyebrow. “You can worry about the mess. You’re lucky we don’t charge you for the service.”

“Yeah, what she said!” Glit crossed his arms, standing at her shoulder, and smiled at Tock, the still bloody axe in his hand making the gesture threatening.

Tock rolled his now yellow eyes. “Fine. While you two were gleefully tearing those idiots to pieces, I finished the tasks you gave me.” He spread a map on the counter, ignoring as the far corner was stained with blood. Jordan recognized it as a map of the city. With a golden pen the fairy circled a few buildings. “Here’s where the amulet has spent the most time in the last six months, in order of most time spent.”

She glanced over at Glit beside her. “And the dwarves?”

“Tougher, since he doesn’t have a possession from the dwarves in question, but…” He picked up a silver marker, and circled one place. “There is a high concentration of earth magic here.”

Glit and Jordan stared at the spot, where silver and gold overlapped.

“Looks like me might be looking for the same place.” She whispered.

“Really? That’s great, friend!” He paused. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Jordan. But I don’t think we’re friends. I don’t trust anyone.” Not anymore.

“Jordan!” He grinned. “Don’t worry, we can still be friends. You don’t have to trust me. I’ll trust you enough for the both of us.”

Tock groaned. “You’re so naïve… why couldn’t you have shown up when the mermaid wasn’t around?! I could have extorted you for so much skin!”

Jordan grabbed the map silently, unsure of how to respond to the dwarf’s enthusiasm.

“If you’re going there, can we go together? I’m looking for a large group of dwarves that disappeared, we think they might be being held captive in the city.”

“…You really shouldn’t trust people so easily.” Her words came out as a pained whisper.

Glit’s face became solemn for the first time since they met. “It’s okay. I’ve grown up in a world that hates me. It’s not been easy, but over the years, I’ve developed a good sense of those around me, and what kind of people they are.”

“And kind of person do you think I am?” She was genuinely curious what the cheerful dwarf thought of her.

“You? Well, you’re someone who cares too much and wishes you wouldn’t. My guess is that you’ve been hurt very badly by someone you trusted… and now you would never wish that same pain on another person.” He shrugged. “So that’s why I trust you. You might kill me if you have to, but you’ll do it facing me. You won’t stab me in the back. You couldn’t bear to do that to someone after what you’ve been through.”

“Interesting opinion.” Jordan felt a strange mixture of despair and relief at his words. “Not put off by me killing men while they’re stunned by magic? That wasn’t just a fight…I’m a killer.”

“Hmm… well, I just chopped up six guys with an axe, and the only reason they didn’t shoot a bunch of holes in me is because of your magic, so I’m pretty sure I can’t judge.” Glit patted her on the back. “Are you looking for mermaids, like I’m looking for dwarves?”

She nodded silently, although silently she thought their reasons for looking were quite different.

“Then let’s go find our people together! You don’t have to trust your back to me, but don’t worry! I’ll defend it anyways.”

“Can you two leave?" Tock rubbed his face tiredly, his eyes flickering between purple and pink. "This touchy feely stuff is bad for my business. What if some desperate fool walks in and is inspired by all your motivational speaking?”

Jordan tossed him the fairy gold, taking back the silver badge she had given him, and turned and left the shop. “Never coming back, Tock.”

“Keep telling yourself that, my fishy friend!” He called back. “You’ll come back. They always do.”

“Okay then! See you later, Tock!” Glit called out as he walked behind her.

“…Actually, I would prefer it if YOU don’t come back. You give me a headache.”

Jordan and Glit left the carnage filled shop behind them

_________________________________

“So mermaids and dwarves being held in the center of the city.” Glit thought out loud. “Some sort of human conspiracy?”

Jordan thought of growing up in the orphanage, the city’s emphasis on having higher purity of mermaid blood rather than human, the complete lack of information on other races. She thought of Hunter and the underground Resistance. Of the Darkness that spread everywhere, touching every species.

Everyone lost something to the darkness, right?

So what did mermaids lose?

... What did I lose?

“There’s something broken about this world, more going on here then we realize.” Jordan answered softly. “But we’re going to figure it out.”

“Together?”

“For now.”

“Awesome!” He pumped a fist in the air. “Wait until I tell my Ma I went on a quest with a mermaid warrior. She’s gonna be so impressed!” He paused. “You two would get along, I think. Strong warrior types and all.”

Jordan sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Why does everyone keep sighing around me?”

“… Let’s go. “

_________________________________

They moved quietly towards the place marked on the map. Glit, surprisingly, activated a hidden mechanism on his axe, folding it into thirds and hiding it in a backpack, and pinned on a “34” badge. He saw her glance at the silver ornament and shrugged. “Snatched this off some guy who tried to mug me when I arrived in town. Most people think I’m just a low purity level student when I’m dressed like this .”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“…” Older than me? Jordan adjusted her mental view of him silently.

“Don’t worry if you thought I was younger.” He raised his hands helplessly. “No beard and the dwarven height tends to confuse people.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries, as long as you don’t think I’m weak and helpless just because I’m shorter than you.”

She thought of him cutting through enemies with his axe. “No chance of that.”

They made they way to the abandoned factory that Tock had marked for them. As they neared the area, Glit pulled out a machine from his bag waving it through the air.

“What’s that?”

“Dwarven machine, it detects the presence of magic.” He frowned. “We need to be careful. This whole place is covered with spells.”

“If this was a human holding place…”

“It shouldn’t have magic.” He finished her thought. “Maybe go up to the roof and enter from there instead?”

They scaled the wall silently, cutting a small hole in the roof with yet another tool from Glit’s bag. As she peered into the building, she felt the ocean’s song start welling up within her.

“There’s danger here. We should go back and regroup.”

“Jordan, look out!” Glit pushed her to the side, wincing as the blow from behind her struck his head instead.

Jordan opened her mouth to release her magic, but before a sound could escape, a hand grasped her arm and magic flooded her body.

“Sleep.” The voice was familiar, but her mind was already falling into darkness.

Jordan woke up on a couch in a dark room. Groaning, she rubbed her head, feeling angry. She knew this feeling, this hung over dizzy sensation. Remembered it too clearly even though she wished she could forget.

“Elven magic.”

Glit groaned from his sprawled position in the corner of the room, his arms and legs tied tightly. The ropes dug into his skin, but he ignored it as he flipped his body into a sitting position on the floor, looking up at her with a sad expression. “Sorry I missed them behind us.”

“It’s fine, thanks for taking that hit for me.” She glanced at the wound on his head, crusted with dried blood, and winced. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a friendly tap. I’ve got a hard head.” He grinned, then looked around. “Real question is, who has us, and why?”

“I have an idea... but I really hope I’m not right.”

“You always did have good instincts, Jordan.”

The familiar voice spoke up from the doorway, Jordan forced herself to sit up on the couch, staring at their captor with a pained expression.

She knew him.

Of course she knew him.

He had set his trap, sent her his badge, knowing she would use it… and she had fallen for it.

The man who haunted her nightmares smiled sadly at her. “Not happy to see me?”

She blinked, shaking her head slowly. “Hello again, Hunter.”

[beeboomachine]

Hi! I was tagged by the hilarious and beautiful @majestic-seagull (go follow her or else). I can’t promise I can commit to the same charisma but I will attempt

Honey and lemon or milk and sugar:

Honey and lemon; I love love love honey and lemon juice is nice when am sick

Musicals or plays:

Musicals; plays are nice but adhd dictates at least once every 20 minutes something loud and obnoxious should happen for several minutes. After being around theater kids for all of high school either are awful and inescapable, might as well throw a high kick in (theater kids DNI /j)

Lemonade or unsweetened iced tea:

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I hate lemonade (and Carrie I love you but sprite isn’t lemonade and I’ll fight you) so unsweetened iced tea, the lesser of two evils, will have to take this one

Strawberries or raspberries:

Raspberries; I love strawberries but something about them taste so weird to me I can’t get behind them wholeheartedly, raspberries tho? Timeless

Winter or summer:

I wore a dress today in 40 degree weather (Fahrenheit), and i will wear one tomorrow as it snows. Winter

Beaches or forests:

*Insert brooding-anakin.gif here*; I like the beach in theory because sometimes you see crabs and shells are pretty but forests have such power to them I cannot help but feel so much happier being in them

Diners or cafés:

Real answer? Wherever my friends are; but! Important thing to note: you cannot get a breakfast burrito sweet potato fries and strangely bad but satisfying diner coffee at a cafe (also they are much smaller and I like big space)

Unicorns or dragons:

The knight in me says unicorn, it’s what is to be strived for. But dragons objectively fuck harder, and have way more culturally different ideals and designs, so dragons (side note: jawzahr can hmu anytime 👁)

Gemstones or crystals:

Gemstones are cool, but crystals look like candy and I like to bite them, so crystals; also people who know a lot about gemstones freak me out a little lol, but anyone will see quartz and be like “pretty”

Hummingbirds or owls:

As a frog and crab lover, small and cute things that are vicious are peak aesthetic, so hummingbirds; also my grandma loved hummingbirds, and had little hummingbird things all over wherever she lived

Fireworks or sparklers:

Sparklers; fireworks are 1. Loud 2. Obnoxious 3. People don’t give a shit about anyone else and gladly freak out pets and people with ptsd like some unthinking curs (side note: can we get sparklers that don’t fizzle out after like 10 seconds?? I want to hold the flame stick for 10 minutes at least)

Brunch or happy hour:

I don’t drink anymore, so brunch; besides it’s nicer cause your friends that stay up til forever o’clock can still eat breakfast with you even though you’ve been up since like 8am lol

Sweet or sour:

Sour; I don’t really like consuming either very often to begin with, but esp with gummy candy sour is best

Rome or Amsterdam:

You think I have money to leave the country? Like at all? Like in my lifetime? To give an answer, probably Amsterdam haha weed 420 420 420 420 haha weed (also I just fucking hate Italy) (Italians DNI /j) (god help you if you’re an Italian theater kid)

Classic or Modern art:

Uhhhhhh there’s elements in both that I really like so I will not decide; I think it should be noted I only consume art, I do not know or will ever study its history (art history majors DNI /j)(god help you if you’re an Italian theater kid who majors in art history)

Sushi or Ramen:

I cannot consume anything that has touched the ocean, so ramen; I know there’s the little uzimakis and they are on thin ice

Sun or moon:

This is a question that physically hurts me. I like staring at both for long periods of time, they are my girlfriends. Both

Polka dots or stripes:

I turn 30 in 6 years, find out then

Macarons or croissants:

Croissants are just objectively better; like I enjoy a good macaron every now and then but I could eat a croissant at breakfast lunch dinner as a snack between each meal and then one after I eat dessert and not be sick of them. Also have you ever had a chocolate croissant? Bliss

Glitter or matte:

If this is about makeup, I don’t wear it but glitter; if this is about nails, also glitter

Degas or Seurat:

I flipped a coin on whether or not I wanted to learn something new right now and I will abstain on answering this question

Aquariums or planetariums:

Aquariums are nice but I always have a slight tinge of fear I’ll get murdered in the weird twisty hallways they always have, planetariums have those too but if I get murdered in them at least I can see beetlejuice, so planetariums (side note: I’ve never been to a planetarium before so if any ladies wanna take me to one and kiss me under Jupiter I would like that very much 😳)

Road trip or camping trip:

Every time I’ve gone camping it has thunderstormed, and also someone scares me, so road trip; also there’s something about pushing 100mph with all the windows down screaming Whitney Houston lyrics while your friends just beg to be anywhere else but in the car

Colouring books or watercolour:

I hate arts and crafts, with a burning passion. I can’t fold shit, I can’t color good, glue and tape get stuck everywhere and make me fucking manic. Coloring books are nice to just pretend I’m 5 years old tho, so that will be my answer

Fairy lights or candles:

Candles smell nice but fairy lights can make your backyard party from a 7/10 to an 8/10; there is no clear winner here

Wow I have to tag people now! I will now be throwing a dart (that I’m not responsible for any injuries from) at:

@mecasloth @bottled-chaos @sugaredrefrain @moofahdrome @500daysofbecky @bisexualsnufkin @esspurrr

[theartoflovingthomashunt]

Flip, drink, strip?

[Red Carpet Diaries Masterlist]  ||  [Hollywood U Masterlist]

– – – Characters: Alex, Thomas Hunt Rating: PG-13 Notes: @choicesnovemberchallenge Day 13:Alcohol; @choicesjanuarychallenge2020 “Are you smiling or is that a grimace? I can’t decide.” **I wrote the prediction for each character and then I actually flipped a coin to determine their outcomes. So this was completely random. – – –

“Are you smiling or is that a grimace? I can’t decide,” Thomas questioned a little nervous. He could tell Alex was up to no good. 

“Shall we play a game?” Alex questioned in her best, computerized robot voice.

“Firstly, that is an excellent movie, even if that is the only part people choose to remember,” Thomas began to lecture.

“I will rephrase,” Alex interrupted quickly. She placed a bottle of Scotch and two glasses on the table in front of them. “I thought that would get your attention. Now, are you interested in playing a little game with me?”

“If it involves Scotch, I’m already interested.” Thomas poured himself a glass. “So what game are we playing.”

“It’s easy. We take turns flipping a coin while the other one of us calls it. If you are correct, we switch roles. If you are incorrect in your guess, you take a drink. Now to keep it interesting. If you miss 2 in a row you have to strip an item of clothing,” Alex smirked.

“And if someone call it correctly twice in a row?” Thomas questioned, sipping his scotch. 

“Hmm,” Alex pondered. “Winner’s choice? Have the other drink or strip?”

“I can live with that,” Thomas agreed. He refilled his own glass and poured one for Alex “I’ll call first.”

Alex picked up the quarter and flipped it in the air. 

“Heads,” Thomas called before Alex caught the coin. 

“Tails,” Alex revealed. “Drink up.”

“You say that like it's not what I was planning to do had I been correct,” Thomas insisted, before taking a drink. He retrieved the coin and flipped it between his fingers.

“Heads,” Alex called. 

“Heads,” Thomas announced. 

Alex smiled proudly. “Your turn!” She sent the coin in the air. 

“Tails,” Thomas answered.

“Tails it is!” Alex said disappointedly. “Is it wrong that I’m rooting against you?”

“No more than I am. Your turn,” Thomas replied.

“I’m going to stick with heads,” Alex decided.

“Heads!” Thomas revealed. 

“That’s two for me! That means you owe me an item of clothing, Mr. Hunt,” Alex grinned.

Thomas removed his tie and tossed it on the table. “I’ll go with tails again.”

Alex carefully flipped the coin, “heads.”

Thomas happily took a drink. This game was win-win as far as he was concerned. 

“Heads,” Alex predicted. “It’s been lucky so far.”

Thomas shook his head revealing the coin, “Heads, again.”

“Off with your shirt!” Alex commanded. 

Thomas slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his taut chest. Alex couldn’t contain her glee. This game had gone much better than she had anticipated. 

Thomas slipped off his shirt and folded it nicely before placing it atop his tie. “I want to say heads, but it has been heads a few times now, probability would assume tails would be a safer prediction based on the previous outcomes.”

“Probability-shmobability,” Alex teased. “Choose a side.”

Thomas sighed. “Tails.”

Alex flipped the coin and smiled as she took a peek at the result before announcing it. “Heads! I believe that means another piece of clothing.”

Thomas kicked off his shoes. 

“That barely counts!” Alex protested. 

“Your turn,” Thomas flipped the coin. 

“Well, probability would assume tails is safer,” Alex began doing her best Thomas impression. He was not amused. She giggled to herself, “Tails!”

“Why am I surprised.” Thomas held out the coin. “Tails!”

“Thank you probability!” Alex exclaimed. “Pants, please!”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Thomas complied. He stood from his chair and removed his pants. He folded them gently rested them over the back of a chair. “How is it that you have not lost a single round?”

“Luck?” Alex pondered.

“No one is that lucky,” Thomas insisted.

“Apparently I am,” Alex prided herself. She leaned over the table and ran her fingers down his bare chest. “I mean, I did marry the most perfect man in the world.”

Thomas caught her arm and pushed it away. “I do not believe touching was in the rules.”

Alex pouted. “Fine. Back to the game.”

“Not so fast, I would be okay with a one-time cessation of gameplay with an amendment to the rules allowing touching under the circumstances that all parties are in an equal state of undress,” Thomas explained. “Your choice.”

Alex took a moment to think about it. She kicked off her shoes and slipped her dress off over her head. “Happy?” 

“Immensely.” Thomas’s eyes wandered her body.  

Alex straddled his lap and ran her hands over his chest. Her mouth collided with his as her tongue hungrily searched for his. Thomas’s hands explored her newly exposed skin as he held her safely in his grasp. She could taste the scotch in his mouth. His touch was so electric that she almost forgot about their game...almost, but not quite. 

After several glorious minutes, Alex pulled away and returned to her side of the table. “I believe it is your turn.”

“At least now we are back on an equal playing field,” Thomas insisted.

“I dominated you once, I’ll do it again, Hunt,” Alex winked seductively. “And I don’t just mean in this game.”

“You’re on!” Thomas agreed, knowing win or lose, he still won!

----

Tags:   @the-soot-sprite ;  @hopelessromantic1352  ;   @lilyofchoices ;    @twin-skltns ;  @flyawayboo  ;  @alleksa16  ;  @alj4890  ; @thearianam  ;  @mfackenthal ; @riseandshinelittleblossom  ; @choicesnovemberchallenge ; @choicesjanuarychallenge2020

[tired-college-student-writing]

The Merchant of Death isn't just for Show: Chapter 3

Summary: Tony Stark was one of the most well-connected people on the Globe, and yet there are places you wouldn’t expect him to have connections, the Assassin Underworld being a prime example. Tony lives to surprise, however.

Part 1

Part 2 

Part 3 (HERE) 

Part 4

_______________________________________________________________________

1997

_______________________________________________________________________

“How did a Marine become a hitman?”

“It’s complicated,” John mumbled into his bourbon.

“It always is.” Tony just sighed as he tossed back his scotch.

“Cheers to that,” Happy sassed, lifting his glass up mockingly.

Tony’s meeting with Winston had just ended and he was honestly expecting his new buddy to be a bit more talkative. Most assassins were, Tony had found out over the years. In the Underworld banter and quips were like bread and butter to the members of the society. Snark was a simple pleasure in the painful life of an assassin.

John wasn’t like that, however. John was quiet, soft-spoken, each move calculated, no matter how mundane. Every answer he had given Tony had been five words or less, and he had yet to ask any question himself.  He could see the military training in this man, but there was something more…

“Is the interrogation over now?”  

Tony blinked in surprise, “Interrogation?”

John nodded, “Isn’t that what this is? You're trying to figure out who wormed their way into Winston’s favorite position? Figuring out how best to utilize my skills to freak out Winston?”

Tony’s smile fell as Happy let a low whistle and grabbed the empty glasses and with a call of, “I’m getting another round,” He fled the table.  

The tension was thick around the table as Tony gulp downed his drink.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Tony snorted, “You just did what every fucking person does, and Happy knows it pisses me off.”

“Should I warn Winston about me disappearing after I leave the Continental?” John asks, and with anyone else in this field Tony would assume they were joking, but there was nothing but serious intent in John’s voice. John recognized him as a threat it seemed. That was certainly a change. Even being out of disguise now, no one really treated him as a threat, more like an oddity.

“No,” Tony said, “Happy just asked the same question when he started working for me and still feels guilty about it.”

John didn’t say anything just tilted his head to the side slightly. If Tony didn’t know this man was a talented assassin he would compare him to a puppy… maybe a trained attack dog.

Tony just shook his head, “You do know who I am, right? Your accent is American. My face is basically plastered on every tabloid every other weekend here. ”

John gave a shrug, “I figured you were either narcissistic enough to talk about yourself extensively, or you would be tired of the questions. Since you didn’t say anything about yourself so I chose not to be rude,”

The billionaire couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping his lips.

“Well, that’s a first.” He admitted, “Usually people are too curious to give a rat’s ass about being polite.”

“I’ve been told I’m a bit of an oddity,” was the only explanation he was given.

“Well Johnny Boy,” Tony ignored the raised brow at the nickname, “ There’s one thing you should know about me even if you don’t want to  ask questions.”

They stared at each other for a long moment as Tony tapped his glass with his nails.

“Don’t assume I’m trying to manipulate anyone. If I’m manipulating someone, you’ll know, or if I did try and manipulate you, you would know until it’s too late.”

_______________________________________________________________________

1998

_______________________________________________________________________John blinked as a blond stormed up to his table at the hole in the wall bar he was staking out for his contract.

“Can I help you?”

The redhead scowled and slid into the seat, slams ten golden coins onto the tabletop. His eyes flash up to the face of the agitated man. His hair was a dusty blonde and slicked back, his bright blue eyes burned into him but his face was undeniably familiar about his face and his stance even if he wore a much cheaper suit then last time.

“Tony?”

“Antonio,” The man snapped, “Antonio Carbonell.”

John had no problem reading between the lines. This was the disguise Stark used for his work in the Underworld, the one he had mentioned their first meeting.

“What is this for?”  He asked instead, pocketing the coins before anyone else could see them.

Tony huffed, stealing John’s drink and taking a swig, “I visited the old man today.”

John just raised an eyebrow.

Tony rolled his eyes, “Winston, geez keep up, Johnny Boy.”

John felt his lips twitch upwards as the pieces slid into place, “It has only been nine months. Much closer to three months than two years.”

“I know!” Tony whined, “I found him getting his roots touched up by some barber! His roots, John! Like he could actually stop us from finding out he was greying!”

“Well,” John couldn’t help but chuckle, “Your trips to Morocco probably didn’t help matters.”

Tony’s jaw fell slack for a beat before his face morphed into a bright grin, “Oh my trips to Morocco tipped him over the edge? What about your trip to Vianna? Or the one to Syria? No one really figured out what happened with al-Eryani did they?”

“No.”

Tony couldn’t help, but enjoy the lack of arrogance in the man’s voice, the absence of smug pride that so many assassins had in their voices, just a simple emotionless no.

“What are you drinking, cause it’s amazing and I want more?”  

_______________________________________________________________________

2000

_______________________________________________________________________

John should have known that this was going to happen when Tony, disguised as always, showed up at his door with that cheeky grin like he had nearly every month since their second meeting.

He should have known it when Tony ordered his seventh scotch at the third bar he managed to convince John to come to for a ‘bar crawl’.

He should have known that when he saw those punks following them between bars after Tony hustled them at the pool table, especially when he saw one that he recognized from McGowan’s men.

And yet he really didn’t expect to be choked against a bar top tonight, the only gun Tony allowed him to bring on their night out kicked away if he was being completely honest.

His hands scrambled across the bartop behind him as his vision blurred. He found something hard and long, it would do. He lashed out feeling the hands fall from his throat as his weapon stabbed through his jugular vein. Blinking the spots away from his vision he saw the man collapses, dark crimson blood pooling on the floor already under the down man. In his fist was a pencil.

A pencil, really?

Better then nothing, John thought as he ran to where Tony was smashing a bottle of vodka over one of his attacker’s head. John quickly grabbed one of the men trying to attack from behind around the head and drove the pencil into his eye socket, felling it burst into goopy bloody slush as the man screamed, falling to the floor. John would have tried to push it further, into the man’s brain but he could feel the wood creaking under his fingers. He would let him bleed out instead.

“Oi Wick!”

The assassin only needed to glance up for a second to see Tony kicked the last assailant over towards him. Without even thinking he held the pencil down on the table to his left and slammed the man down on it, feeling it cutting through the back of his neck and luckily diving between two vertebrae, severing the man’s spinal cord.

Panting they met each other eyes and Tony broke down laughing. Wick just rolled his eyes.

“Tony.”

“You went full Austin Powers on those guys, Johnny boy!”

“Tony.”

“You killed three guys with a pencil! A pencil! That was probably the second most badass thing I’ve ever seen you do!”

“Is the first still eating Harold's chili without getting sick?”

“Absolutely, I doubt you’ll be able to top that.”

“Господи…”

The quiet word drew his attention to the only table that didn’t flee when fists started flying. There was a group of five men, staring wide-eyed at them. They were familiar.

“You’re Viggo and Adram Tarasov,” Tony said, confirming John’s thoughts, “What are you gentlemen doing here on this fine evening?”

“Viggo became a father yesterday,” Adram replied weakly, “Business going well, Antonio?”

Tony glanced down at the bodies, “Oh this? Nah this was just a personal issue.”

“Personal?” one of the other Mobsters asked. John gave a shrug.

“We just went for a drink. McGowan needs to keep a better reign on his men.”

_______________________________________________________________________

2000

_______________________________________________________________________

John had barely taken one step into the hideout when he was told to head to Viggo’s office.

Something was wrong.  

He entered without knocking or saying a word to his boss, simply waiting for the man to start talking.

"What did you do to the phones?"

That made John blink, he hadn't expected that question.

"The phones?"

Viggo raised an eyebrow, "You can't honestly tell me, you have no idea what is happening."

John just stared harder, an eyebrow just barely cocked.

Viggo threw his hands up, "Call my phone then! See for yourself!"

John didn't hesitate to pull out his cell phone. It was a much sleeker model then the flip phones most carried around, a Stark prototype, given to him to see how they faired against the wear and tear of assassin life.  

The dial tone didn't even finish when John groaned, hearing the familiar lyrics,

Cause this may be the last time now that you hear the boogie song-

John hung up the call. He didn't even want to know how many phones had been affected by this.

"I need to make a phone call." He said stiffly.

"I would like to listen in." Viggo requested. John knew however that his words were more of a polite command so he swiftly placed the phone on speaker as he dialed the number.

"Junebug!" was heard answering the phone, making Viggo sputter in disbelieve, "How's my favorite hitman doing?"

"What did you do to Viggo's men's phones?" John asked, ignoring the bewildered look from Viggo.

John could practically hear the cheeky grin over the phone, "Oh? I haven't got a clue what you're referring to, Johnny Boy."

John rolled his eyes, warning a dumbstruck wheeze from the old Russian who was used to seeing nothing but stoic professionalism from his newest hire.

"I can hear your mask cracking,"

"Change it back Tony," John said blowing past the accusation that would count as grounds for a duel in most assassin circles.

"Oh come on John! It's hilarious! You're the boogeyman! You have a theme song and I'm using it properly!"

"The title of Baba Yaga isn't supposed to be funny,"

"No, but it's hilarious to me!"

"Don't make me call Pepper, Stark, we both know she will kick your ass harder then I could."

"Ohhh Last names! I'm getting to you."

"I'm calling Pepper."

"Wait! No, don't! I skipped out on a board meeting, she will kick my ass."

"Change them back then."

There was a deep sigh, "Fine. JARVIS, send the counter virus to all the phones we affected."

"Already done, Sir."

"Thank you, JARVIS," John responded, picking up the phone again.

"Hey, where's my then-"

John hung up before he could finish.

"It's done," He said to his employer.

"Who the hell was that?" Viggo asked, face pale.

John gave a shrug, "Tony Stark." He answered honestly.

"Tony Stark? As in the billionaire tech genius Tony Stark?"

John was starting to worry that his boss was going to go into shock, but continued anyway just to see what happened, perhaps Tony was rubbing off on him after all, "He's a friend. He's been teasing me about my title of Baba Yaga since he found out about it."

The older man sat there for a few seconds, eyes distant before he waved for John to leave. He closed the door behind him when he heard a dull thud and a muffled swear.

"Блыат..."

John cracked a smile, before schooling his features once more. Maybe he could see the humor in the situation.

_______________________________________________________________________

2003

_______________________________________________________________________

John had frozen the second he had thrown open the door to Winston’s office.

Charon had said to wait, that Winston was meeting with an arms dealer from SI, but John knew that Tony had no problem with John interrupting.

The man across from Winston was not Tony. The fact he was sitting in the offered chair instead of on the desk was the first clue.

No, this man was wide-set, wearing an ill-fitting grey suit. He turned his bald head to glare at John with his beady little eyes.

“Ah John,” Winston greeted him, “I hadn’t realized we had been talking for so long, is it 3 o’clock already?”

John’s shoulders relaxed a single degree at the offered excuse, “Yes, Charon said your last appointment was supposed to leave at two.”

“Well as you can see,” The man interrupted, “We were not finished when you rudely burst into the manager’s office-”

Winston cut him off, but John couldn’t stop his eyebrow from traveling up his forehead. Was this man implying something about Winston’s managing ability?

“Now Mr. Stane,” Winston soothed, “I’ve always allowed those with meetings to just enter when I’m supposed to be free for almost an hour before them. All those that enter these halls show tangible respect without all that pomp and circumstance.”

“But-”

“We were wrapping up anyways,” Winston’s voice left no room for argument, “We’re already impeding on Jonathan’s time, we wouldn’t want to hold him up now would we?”

John stayed quiet until Mr. Stane cleared out of the office, feeling the ire raising off of the man even if his face was mostly blank. Winston raises a brow at the intense stare.

“Now Jona-“

“Where’s Tony?”

“Well yesterday he was in Rome with Julian, today I imagine he’s in Barcelona meeting Miguel,” The manager explained, but he didn’t stop there, “Then to Tokyo with Madam Ono, then he’ll probably find his way to Arthur in England before returning here by the end of the month. After all, he’s been on a bit of a whirlwind already through Venice, Russia, and Pakis tan. Though the near-miss of an international incident in The UAE was a bit much to keep up his image.”

The silence around them was filled with confusion before Winston sighed and retook his seat.

“Obadiah Stane was a good friend of Anthony’s father, as well as a business partner. He was the one that first entered the Stark Industries into the Underworld, though it wasn’t until Anthony stepped up that the company became a true player in our world.”

John nodded but he felt there was more to be said, “Then why aren’t Tony and Stane traveling together?”

Winston’s face cracked into a wicked smirk, “That would imply the insolent man had enough brain cells to see how integrated Anthony is in our world, or that he even is aware of the Underworld that is. So instead Tony follows him around the world in a glaringly obvious way, giggling like a teenage girl the whole time.”

John knew the genius too well at this point to not crack a bit of a smile, “He’s playing him.”

Winston nodded, “He thinks it will be funny once Stane realizes he’s been played like a fiddle. I think I might have to call a cleaning crew if such a moment should come to past.”  

John’s eyes narrowed  As if I’d let him touch Tony, could be heard without John opening his mouth

Winston chuckled lowly, “Oh I have no doubt the cleaning crew would be deposing of Stane’s body should he try anything. The Monger has no respect for our world, he would hardly be worth the Baba Yaga’s skills.”

_______________________________________________________________________

2005

_______________________________________________________________________

It was supposed to be an easy job.

A quick in and out with against the Halabi clan, but now he found his left side pounding and his head swimming, as he forced himself to move. Suddenly a face appeared in his line of sight. The thin shrunken face of the Cario concierge raised an eyebrow.

“Should I contact the manager, Mr. Wick?” The voice barely penetrated his ears. He simply shook his head.

“Need the surgeon,” He grunted, knees giving out slightly as he was forced to grab hold of Anubis.

“One will be sent for right away, sir,” was the final thing John heard before everything tilted dangerously and white overtook his vision.

When his senses started floating back to him he could feel a presence next to him, the bandages around his torso tugging tight against the stitches. There was a long line down his side from what he could feel, much more than would be needed for a simple bullet wound.

“Your spleen ruptured and nearly took you out with it,”

The voice made John crack open an eye. After a second of letting his vision adjust, he made out the figure of a short blond man. Tony, didn’t even glance over at him disguised blue eyes focusing on something in his hands.

“Your breathing pattern changed when you woke up, don’t be so surprised. Though I have to ask what the hell you were thinking.”

“A job is a job,” John answered gruffly, his throat raw and aching.

“Oh Fuck off,”

John cocked his head, a deep frown painting his face. The genius sounded pissed, more pissed than John had ever heard him.

“To- Antonio?”

The slight misstep could be excused by the painkillers he could feel flowing through his system but it was enough to draw Tony’s glare to him.

“How fucking dare you,” He growled, “After everything I’ve done for you, and you pull a stunt like this.”

“It was just-”

“Don’t you fucking say ‘It was just a job,’” Tony mocked, “It was just a job that nearly killed you because you decided to bring this trash!”

John’s eyes finally fell onto the thing in Tony’s hand.

A sleek-looking silver gun lay there, the slide half closed as a casing poked out of it. John didn’t even have to search to see the obnoxious black logo of Hammer Industries.

“I can-“

“Shut it,” Tony growled, and John had to fight not to flinch back. There were few things John feared on this earth, that look in Tony’s eye, cold as Siberian Winter and as bloodthirsty as a shark, was one of them. Not to mention he had cut John off twice now, a deed he never did, not out of fear like most did around John but because the billionaire actually cared about what John had to say.

“Naifeh called Winston,” Tony seethed, pacing the room, “Told him he wasn’t sure you’d make it, the doctor gave you a 15% chance of waking up after how much blood you lost. And I fly all the way out here to find that they physically couldn’t pry this fucking gun out of your hand without breaking your fingers.”

His stomach sank. He didn’t mean to use the gun, having no more clips to load into his gun he had grabbed one off of the guard he had killed, only for the gun to jam and give the guard a  chance to get in a free shot. His tongue refused to move, and he’d never felt more frustrated by the fact then he did at that moment, throwing a pleading look at his friend.

“Don’t give me that look, Wick. I’m going to keep worrying about someone that’d rather risk their life with this shit instead of trusting my tech to keep you safe” The venom in Tony’s voice made John freeze, bracing for the hit to come…

Instead, the genius spun on his heel and left, slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls.

A dramatic exit to John’s life that mirrored the first time the assassin had met the genius.

_______________________________________________________________________

2006

_______________________________________________________________________

John has a soft spot for very few things, not that the general populace would ever guess the legendary Baba Yaga could be anything other than a bloodthirsty hunter.

Even so, those that knew the list knew there were only three items he deemed scared.

Animals are one, the cuter the better, innocent children is another.

Anthony Edward Stark is the unlikely third.  

But Tony had exited John life thirteen months ago in a whirlwind of emotions, leaving John quieter and more frightening to the members of the Underworld. The brightest part of the assassin’s life gone, and even the most oblivious member of their world could see it.

So when John heard a familiar voice from outside Viggo’s office he couldn’t help but stop his report mid-sentence, stomach tightening as he turned his back on a baffled Viggo to open the door into the hallway.

The guards stopped trying to push the shorter man away when they saw him. Happy looked slightly relieved before dark concern painted his features.

“Harold,” John greeted, but Happy didn’t even bother with a greeting instead muttering the three words that made John’s blood burn.

“Boss’s been kidnapped.”

The guards around Happy wilted under the ice that filled John stare at those words. He wasted no time turning to Viggo and telling him, “I’m taking a month off.”

“No,” Happy cut him off, shouldering his way past John and into Viggo’s office, “We’re hiring John to recover Boss.”

“I don’t-”

Happy waved John off, “Yeah Yeah, you don’t need or want the money from Boss, but that doesn’t change the fact that Tony wanted it this way.”

John raised an eyebrow, making Happy sigh and continue.

“Tony Stark being part of the Underworld is still considered a myth, mostly so that people don’t try and use the people he cares about against him.”

The fire in John’s veins cooled slightly at the implications.

“Nothing is Personal,” he recited from the rules he grew up knowing.

Happy snorted, “Yeah for the rest of us. You should know by now that everything is personal to Tony.”

John sighed, but had to fight to keep a fond smile from sliding onto his face. He did know this.

And when he finds himself clutching onto the small genius two nights later, blood and grim painting both of them, as Tony sobs into his shoulder apologizing over and over again, he realized he took things a bit more personal then he was trained to too.

_______________________________________________________________________

2007

_______________________________________________________________________

Pepper’s morning had been planned out to the minute, down to the very second on how long she would verbally debate her boss. She had it down to a science at this point, after six years of working with him, effortlessly knowing how much time to allot to any given job the tech genius would throw at her before he even woke up, that is if he had gone to sleep the night before which was a rarity.

So when there was a large wrench thrown into her carefully balanced agenda, she was understandably rattled. Especially since said wrench was shaped like ten bullet holes through the glass walls of Tony’s lab.

Tony barely blinked an eye at the bullets, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her deeper into the massive maze, down a hallway she never seen him use before.

“JARVIS,” Tony called, “Initiate Lockdown procedures once we reach John.”

“Tony?” She asked, mind reeling as she heard more gunshots at the end of the hallway. She tried to pull from his grasp but he just held tight and turned back to look her in the eye.

“Don’t worry, it’s just John in the shooting range testing out the new weapons I made, he won’t hurt you.”

She really didn’t believe him when they entered the room and the tall severe-looking man spun around and leveled the rifle in his hands at her head.

“Lockdown commenced,” JARVIS announced causing the man to lower his weapon as he looked at the ceiling then at Tony.

“Break in?”

“Break in,” Tony confirmed, “Looked like Plaksin‘s men.”

The man nodded, “Harold on his way?”

“Yeah, but Happy’s a few minutes out and they saw me take off so they might find us before he can show up,” Tony answered, “Protecting Pepper is top priority. Pepper, this is John Wick, a good friend of mine. ”

Another nod as the man shouldered his gun and sticking out a hand to her, “I wish I could meet the women that Tony babbles about under better circumstances.”

Tony’s ears flush red as he scowls, while Pepper takes John’s hand, “You finally speak a complete sentence and it’s to make fun of me? I’m offended!”

John’s lips twitched slightly, dropping her hand as he turns back to the range, “How many reservations?”

Tony shrugged as he walked after him, “At least four, but there could be more around the tower. JARVIS?”

“10 intruders located within the building. Three of them are contained within the lab, three are in the hallways around the lab, three are attempting to search your and Miss Potts’s Office, and the final man is waiting in a van off the back alleyway,”

“I got the three upstairs,” Tony called, lifting his hand like he was in school, his other hand was loading a magazine full of bullets, “and we can leave the one outside to Happy so he doesn’t get grumpy.”

John lifted a brow at him as he shoved a pistol into his shoulder holster, reaching for another one.

“Just because I don’t have a fancy title like the Baba Yaga doesn’t mean I can’t handle three guys on my own, Johnny boy,”

Tony wiped around at the tiny huff John let out.

“WhAt?” He whined.

“You do have a title.”

“Oh… What!” Tony cried, nearly dropping the handgun he was trying to holster, “I have a title?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

John gave a shrug and moved towards the door, only to stop and look over at Pepper who had gone deathly pale, eyes flicking rapidly between John and Tony.

“Oh geez Pep,” Tony winced, putting the Uzi he had just grabbed off the wall.

“What the hell is happening?!” She questioned, finger shaking as she pointed at John, “Who’s he? What are you guys planning on doing to them?”

"Pep," Tony tried to soothe, hands raised in surrender, "John's an old friend and what's happening is a long story."

"Then start talking," She screeched, "Because right now it sounds like we're talking about murder!"

"We are," John's quiet voice broke through the tension. Pepper paled as John stayed next to the door, "If we don't kill them first, they can and will kill everyone in this building, not just Tony, you and me."

"Bu-"

"Virginia," Tony cut her off making her head snap up, he never used her first name before, "I promise that I will explain as soon as this is taken care of, but the longer we take, the more likely the hitmen come across one of the other workers in the building, so John and I need to go. After the cleaners leave we'll sit down with four or five bottles of that white wine you really like and I'll explain everything about the Underworld okay?"

"The Underworld?" she practically whimpered. He nodded.

"Yeah the Underworld," He reaffirmed. She opened her mouth but then shook her head and closed it again.

"You'll explain after, right," She said firmly, "And you're so giving me a raise after this."

He snorted, "Oh absolutely, you name your price."

She gave him a shaky smile, "Go and be safe Tony."

He shot her a grin before picking up the Uzi once more and strutting to the door, John following behind him.

They just reached the elevator when John finally broke the silence.

"I didn't realize you how big your crush was."

Tony's ears turned pink as he stuck his tongue out.

However he didn't deny the fact, John noted with a chuckle.

[xsparklingravenx]

Shadow Mine 5

Title: Shadow Mine

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Characters: Hank, Connor, Fowler, Sumo

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,263

Summary: It's a dead end. With no leads to go on, Hank and Connor find themselves lost in their investigation, nothing left to do but return home. Instead, Hank tries to get through to his partner and help him through the intricacies of personhood. It's a long road ahead of them, and is this only the calm before the storm...?

AO3

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Hank was starting to wonder if this day was ever going to actually end.

It was late, the sun having set by now. Jeffery Fowler sat in front of him, looking down at his tablet with narrow eyes, his mouth a thin line. Hank’s report was on there; paperwork was no longer done on actual paper anymore, but that was how it was now. When Hank had been young, everyone always said that everything would be electronic in the future. Sometimes, he forgot that he was living in that future. Even his own partner was wire and plastic instead of flesh and bone.

“So the long and short of it is,” Fowler said after he’d spent a good five minutes going through Hank’s work, “we’ve got sweet fuck all.”

“Pretty much.” Hank replied. His shoulder was aching something awful. Was it time for his pills yet? Had to be. “I mean, we could’ve had something, but you thought it’d be a good idea to put that fire cracking piece of shit Gavin on the case too. I thought you wanted ‘the best’, not, ‘the bottom of the fucking barrel’.”

“Reed’s a good detective,” Fowler said, but Hank could practically hear ‘when he wants to be’ hanging in the air after the statement. “This isn’t a game, Lieutenant. You know how this is going to look if we can’t solve it? We’ve got a good man dead and an android gone too. Everyone’s on high alert.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Hank said, barely biting back his anger. “Shit, Jeffrey, we’ve got no damn motive. All we know is her model number and vaguely what she looks like, but there could be a hundred other androids out there that are her spitting image. Dammit it, this is gonna do more harm to them all as a whole, public ain’t gonna take lightly to this.”

Hank didn’t know much about Markus other than what he’d seen on TV and what Connor had told him, but he had to admire the dedication that he’d put into the immense task of fighting for his people’s rights. An incident like this was only going to be one big ugly mark on everything his revolution had stood for, was only going to damage the message Markus had been sending. Fowler leant forward on his desk, chin on his linked hands, and sighed. “The analysis on the bullets found in both Glennister and Zack is still in progress, so we’re hoping there’ll be a match on the gun to help us find the suspect. In the meantime, we’ve got jack shit to go on. Go home, Hank. There’s nothing else we can do right now.”

Hank scoffed. “No way. This ain’t over, Jeffrey, there’s gotta be something—”

“If there was, I’d be working your ass off on it. You’re still injured, Hank, you shouldn’t even be here. Get the hell out of my office and go home. I’ll call if anything comes up.”

Hank genuinely wanted to fight him on it. Logically, he knew he was right, knew that there really wasn’t anything to be done, but damn if it didn’t still piss him off. How could one android manage to kill not one, but two members of the DPD and still manage to evade them?

It was easy to blame Gavin, but Hank knew that the AX400 would have probably escaped even if the detective hadn’t nearly gotten himself killed by running out into traffic. Emotions had been high, and because of it Decker hadn’t noticed that the AX400 had never left the scene. There’d been no warning that she’d been there. Hank had assumed that forensics would have scoped the area out before actually starting any kind of investigation. None of them had been ready for a chase.

He left the office and found Connor at his desk opposite Hank’s, flipping his coin up and down. Hank had asked him why he did the tricks once, and Connor had given him some longwinded explanation about recalibration alongside other android jargon that Hank didn’t understand. It was bullshit anyway. He thought that Connor did it because he enjoyed the rhythmic action of it, an act of deviance long before he’d officially broken out of his programming.

A cup of coffee was on Hank’s own desk, still steaming, freshly made. Hank grabbed it by the handle and took a careful swig. It was black, perfectly to his liking. It burned a soothing path down his throat. “You made this?” he asked.

Connor wasn’t listening to him. His eyes were focused on the coin, watching it as he went up and down. “I don’t understand.” he said. “First a human, now an android. It makes no sense. Why would the type of target change? Has the MO changed?”

Clink. Clink. The coin hit his fingers and he threw it in the air again. Again. “She was angry, I think.” Clink. “But also, she held so little regard for her own life. When she ran into the road, I don’t think she was attempting to get Gavin to follow her.” Clink. “No. She was just trying to escape and she didn’t care if she died trying.”

Hank didn’t speak, just kept his mouth shut for once. Connor’s eyes stayed on the coin the entire time, tracking it up and down. “If she doesn’t care for her own life, that suggests she has little to live for. But why take the lives of law enforcement? Why attack and kill her own people? I can’t understand it. I feel like I’m…”

“Hitting a wall?” Hank suggested, putting the coffee mug down in front of Connor. “Yeah, I get that. I’m feeling the same way.”

The thunk of the coffee mug diverted his attention away from his coin. He looked at the steaming mug, and then closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair. When he said nothing, Hank decided to pursue a different line of questioning. “You made the coffee for me?”

“I thought it was better than you returning home to a bottle of alcohol.” Connor said, keeping his eyes closed. “I checked it myself before serving to make sure it matched the coffee you usually make for yourself at home.”

Hank suddenly regretted drinking it. “You put your goddamn fingers in my coffee for a taste-test?”

“No.” Connor’s lips quirked upwards slightly. “But I would be lying if I said I hadn’t considered doing so, and we both know you can apparently tell when I’m not being entirely truthful.”

Well, that was a relief. Hank took another swig, and then sat in his chair. “So tell me Connor,” he said. “What the hell possessed you to run out into that fucking road today?”

Connor’s eyes flicked open again. He was leant so far back in his chair now that he was practically reclining. Staring up at the ceiling, he folded his arms across his chest. “My chance of catching the suspect was far lower than successfully rescuing Gavin, so I chose the option with the better prospects.”

“Okay, great. Glad to hear what your programming thinks.” Hank said. “Now let’s hear what you were really thinking.”

Connor blinked several times in succession. Hank couldn’t see his LED from this angle, which made it more difficult to gauge just how stressful Connor found the question. He rarely showed his emotions on his face. “I was thinking that I would regret it if I let Gavin die there when I knew I could save him. I didn’t want to feel that way. But I…” Connor frowned. “I was scared.”

Hank raised his eyebrows, but waited. It was human nature to want to fill silence with chatter. If he left it long enough, he hoped that the deviant in Connor would respond to that want, and lo and behold, he did. “I realised that by saving Gavin, I would be putting myself in a great deal of danger. When I ran into the road, I kept thinking, will this be the last thing I do? Will these cars be the last thing I hear? See? I’ve died before, but I didn’t really understand it then like I do now. My predecessor—the Connor that died in Stratford Tower—was he scared too?”

Hank remembered Connor throwing himself in the way of that gunfire, the way Hank had thought he might have survived only to pull his body up off the ground and find him riddled through with bullets. Though he knew Connor used to be able to back himself up infinitely, he’d never thought of the separate Connor’s as different beings, not like how Connor differentiated them now.

But was it so unlikely that the Connor sat before him was not the same one he’d met in the bar? The one that had held Hank hostage had been entirely different to his Connor despite sharing the exact same memories. What a chilling thought. He wasn’t drunk enough for this kind of chat.

“Fear’s a good thing, son.” Hank said, realising that Connor was not looking for an answer to his question. He’d dealt with him for long enough now to recognize the cues that Connor gave off, how to respond to him in a way that Connor would respond back to. Right now, he was unsure in a way only an android could be, still dealing with emotions that were new and complex. “Fear’s what keeps us alive. You were scared because you thought you might die, and that’s normal, Connor. The fact that you ran out into that road to save someone else even though you were scared? That was bravery. Fucking stupid and I could have killed you for it, but credit where credit’s due.”

Connor sat back up in the chair, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. “I think I needed to hear that.” he said softly. Mission accomplished, Hank thought. “What did the Captain tell you?”

“That we’ve got nothing and we should go home.” Hank sighed. “We’re still waiting on results and shit to come back, so I guess he’s probably right. You ready to head on back?”

Connor cast a longing gaze at the terminal on his desk. “No.” Hank said. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not staying here to work yourself half to death over information we don’t have. We are going home to get some food and rest.” he paused. “Well, I’m going to bed. You’re going to do whatever it is you androids do when you’re tired.”

“I don’t get tired.” Connor said. “It’s impossible—”

“Connor,” Hank said, standing up. “Don’t fight me on this. We’re going.”

Connor looked like he wanted to argue the point, but he relented. “I’m driving?”

“Yeah, you’re driving. I don’t see me behind the wheel anytime soon.”

--

Sumo was waiting for them when they got back, ready to jump Connor as soon as they got through the door. Hank left them to their reunion and refilled his bowl for him before heading back to his room to change. Getting dressed one-armed was an absolute bitch. He couldn’t wait for it to heal.

When he went back to the kitchen, Connor had left out his pills for him. He was in the living room now, talking gently over the phone with someone. Hank caught wind of the words pepperoni and sausage and couldn’t help but laugh. If someone had told him this time last year that he’d have an android in his house ordering him pizza, Hank would have told them to put the bottle down and move on.

Hank downed the pills and leant on the doorframe. “What’s this?” he said. “You sure you didn’t hit your head when that AX400 shoved you over?”

Connor, who had taken up residency on his claimed side of the sofa, shook his head. “I ran a diagnostic after we returned to the office. I’m fully functional.”

Hank wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. Connor often intentionally made it difficult to tell. “You say that, but here you are, ordering pizza. I was just going to chuck something in the microwave and then head to bed, you know. It ain’t like the pizza’s more healthy than whatever I could have made in five minutes.”

A beat. Connor looked rather sheepish. “I just thought it would be easier. If it isn’t to your liking, I can always cancel—”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Hank cut in quickly. “I was just saying, I thought it was weird. Usually you’re in there cooking up a storm out of whatever you’ve decided to bring home this time, I never even get a look in anymore. Always healthy and never fun, bleugh, I thought this was my house.”

“You still eat it though,” Connor pointed out. “Anyway, I decided that it would be more beneficial to the both of us if I ordered in. So I did.”

“Oh I get it.” Hank said, and he was grinning now. “That’s a fancy way of you trying to say I couldn’t be bothered. Don’t worry, Connor, you can say it, I’m not going to judge you.”

Connor crossed his arms, clearly offended. Hank outright laughed at him. “Go get changed,” he said. “I’m tired of seeing you in that uniform. It’s like work being at home with me and I just want to forget about what we don’t know right now. Also, I don’t know if you realise it, but the blue bits can get fucking obnoxious in low light. It’s giving me a headache.”

What Hank really wanted was for Connor to dump the jacket entirely. As far as he knew, most other androids had gotten rid of their uniforms already. Connor, however, still bore his model number and Cyberlife branding like a badge of pride. Why, Hank couldn’t figure out. Was the jacket that important? Or did Connor not yet feel like he’d integrated enough to remove it?

He came back in wearing a grey, long sleeved shirt and a black pair of trousers. It was the plainest outfit combo Hank had ever seen, and yet it was a miracle he’d ever gone that far. One time Hank had told him to get changed and he’d come back sans jacket but still wearing the exact same getup. When Hank had questioned him on it, he’d just said something to the effect of, “It doesn’t matter what I wear,” and ended the conversation at that.

“You ever gonna buy yourself some other outfits?” Hank asked.

Connor glanced down at himself. “Clothes are expensive, and it isn’t as if I need a surplus of different shirts.”

“Yeah, but don’t you get bored?”

“No.” Connor replied bluntly. He sat down and turned the TV on. “I’m going to go into stand-by, so feel free to watch what you want.”

Hank gave him a look. “I thought you said you weren’t tired.”

“I don’t get tired.” Connor said, echoing his statement from earlier. “I just need to stop thinking for a while. I don’t get headaches like humans do, but I feel like there is a great deal of stress on my system. It’s unpleasant.”

“Not gonna stick around for the pizza you ordered?”

“I can’t eat it regardless. And I’d rather not see the calorie count of every slice.” Connor’s smile was a sardonic thing. “If you need me, just shake my shoulders. I’ll wake up.”

“Right.” Hank said. “Wait, you’re gonna just do that sitting up?”

Too late. Connor’s eyes flickered unnervingly and then fell shut, his body going rigid. Sumo padded over from the kitchen, sitting in front of him and wagging his tail. “Christ almighty. Yeah, you’re not getting any pats out of him right now, Sumo, kid’s a fucking statue.” he paused, prodding Connor in his side as a test. Yep. He wasn’t moving anytime soon. “Does he always do it this way?”

Sumo cocked his head, and then pawed at Hank’s leg. “What? What’s up, boy?”

More pawing. For such a big dog, Sumo could sure act like a puppy when he wanted to. His doorbell rang at that moment, signalling the pizza. He sighed and got up. “Alright Sumo, give me a minute.”

The pizza wasn’t delivered by an android, like Hank was used to, but an actual human for once. Times really were changing. Connor had paid in advance, so as soon as the pizza was in hand, Hank was heading back to the living room.

Where Sumo had stolen his seat and curled up next to Connor.

“Oh, so these are the new sleeping arrangements.” Hank said, shaking his head. Connor hadn’t wanted a bed, or even a room. He was content with leaving his pile of limited clothes in Hank’s room and chilling on his side of the sofa when he wasn’t busy. “I was wondering why there was so much dog hair on my couch. I swear, what’s he done to make you love him so much huh? It’s all the petting, ain’t it?”

Sumo looked at him expectantly. Hank flipped the pizza box open and took a slice from it. “You want it? Come get it.”

Sumo looked back at Connor, and then laid his head on his leg. “Oh wow. Now that’s a damn sight. Probably for the best, he’d kill me if he found out I let you snack on pizza.”

He ate two slices of the pizza before calling it a day. Connor had ordered something too large for even him, and he was just one man on his own. He put the remains in the fridge for the morning; they’d make for a good snack on the way to work.

The Whitfield files were still on the floor by his kitchen table where Connor had left them. Hank retrieved them and chucked them on the side to be forgotten about. It sucked, but the dead shop assistant would have to wait. “Alright, Connor, Sumo,” Hank announced. “I’m heading to bed. Don’t fuck anything up, hear me?”

Sumo barked his affirmation. Connor, who was still deep in stand-by mode, said nothing.

Sleep came easy after the day he’d had. He would have been content to be late to work in favour of his bed, except he was rudely awakened by his phone going off by the side of his bed. Damn, he knew he should have put the thing in airplane mode.

He grabbed it off the side and fumbled for the accept call button. His shoulder was killing him again. “What?” Hank said blearily, not even giving the caller ID a look.

“Morning to you too, Hank.” Fowler’s voice was tinny down the line. “Where the hell are you?”

“In my bed, enjoying some well deserved sleep.” Hank replied. “What the fuck are you doing calling me at—” he checked the time. “—what the hell? It’s barely past seven, I’m not even late!”

“Another cop’s been killed.” Fowler said, his voice clipped. “The media’s got hold of it, it’s all over the fucking news. I’ve got the android she was partnered with going apeshit and everyone’s losing their goddamn minds. I need you, Hank.”

Hank closed his eyes, a heavy sigh in his throat. “Human this time who died, huh?”

“Yeah. We’ve scoped out the scene, the AX400 is gone. I’m sending you the location, you know what to do.”

He hung up at that. Hank opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and contemplated handing in his badge. “Fuck this all to hell.”

[bubble-tea-bunny]

center of the labyrinth 

[loki laufeyson x reader]

author’s note: got an idea that seemed to fit loki the best. hope you guys like it. also i’ll be writing a part 2 to that kylo ren story, but when i get home, since i need a lot of focus for that one lol

word count: 2,194

No one has ever seen your face.

And you seem perfectly fine with that. It only makes sense that you should, given you’re the one who organizes the masquerade balls in the first place. They’re quite the talk of the nine realms. Everyone must be admitted with a mask, which is to remain on for the duration of the evening. It’s the air of mystery that appeals to so many: there is no guestbook, so it’s never quite certain who’s in attendance each gala. One could be seeing the same exact people, or a whole new set from fete to fete. When standing against a wall of the enormous hall, looking out towards the floor, it is a sea of masks, a blur of unknowns and uncertainties.

You’re somewhere in there, but no one can know for sure which one might be you. There has been a person here and there that claims they’ve spoken to the princess herself, but descriptions of you and what you could look like are all over the place, and there seems to be an agreement after a long bout of this that perhaps someone has genuinely talked to you, or perhaps they didn’t, but the fact of the matter is on one would quite know 100%, and the matter should be left alone, because it’s clear you have no intention of revealing yourself. This leads to speculations that it’s possible you actually aren’t in that ballroom with all the guests, having organized this party for so long that it’s set up and prepared for by those who work in the castle without need for instruction, which leaves you free to do other things, should you so desire.

Loki isn’t partial to one side of the camp versus the other on this matter. If he tried to flip a coin in an attempt to come up with a definitive answer, it would land on its side. And that in and of itself is answer enough: there are no conclusions to be drawn. It almost wouldn’t seem right to try to deduce which one is you specifically, not when the point of the masks is anonymity, even for the elusive lady. You’re the added layer of mystery all on your own, and it’s strange there are those so intent on wanting to solve you. What happened to the appeal of secrecy?

Still, he gets curious, just like all the rest. And when he attends these masquerades, he’ll float along the large floor, blue eyes scanning the crowd and wondering to himself who you might be. It’s more of a game than anything, and it’s one he doesn’t mind having no solution for. Occasionally he will spot Thor: he doesn’t attend as consistently, but whenever he does, it’s not exactly difficult to figure out which one is him. Maybe it’s the long blonde hair. Or it could even be the hearty guffaws and toothy grins so textbook for the god of thunder. Loki, on the other hand, stays silent for most of the evening. There are the intermittent conversations with any who might pull him aside, small talk of the happenings in their respective realms. Most of it is tedious and unexciting, and during these moments, Loki’s eyes begin to stray rather quickly, sliding away from the one before him and looking out towards the throng of other attendees. He’s not sure if the person he’s speaking with is offended or even notices, but if they are, they don’t say anything.

Sometimes he sees horns peak out from among the flurry of guests, attached to someone’s mask, serving as a sort of beacon because they are the only horns in the ballroom and it’s not often one chooses a mask so unusually daring. They draw his attention instantaneously, but with a blink, the horns are gone, and now he’s questioning if he’s seeing things because he has seen the same set of horns four galas in a row, moving along the floor in a crowd just full enough that Loki can’t find who the horns connect to, yet they always seem to disappear the moment he blinks. Is his mind fighting him on this? Is he wanting to find a princess who may or may not actually be there? He’d always considered himself indifferent to the issue. Have other people experienced this… hallucination? He’s not sure he can even call it a hallucination, because he believes that whenever he spots those black horns, they are as real as they can get. He’s the god of mischief, and he can sense a trick when he sees one. This is no trick.

“Brother? Are you all right?”

Thor’s question of concern causes Loki to tear his eyes away from the attendees in the center of the hall. Tonight, Thor dons a lion mask a shade of gold to match his hair, and through the eyeholes are blue eyes watching Loki closely, prepared to jump on any lie he might tell and get him to tell the truth, much like a lion catching its prey.

“I’m fine,” Loki responds.

Thor tilts his head and his eyes narrow in suspicion, but Loki’s own remain cool and collected. Lying is nothing new. But Thor knows his brother, and even though he picks up on the lie pretty quickly, he doesn’t say anything about it immediately, trying to figure out what might put Loki so on edge. This masquerade is hardly the place for it—it’s all drinks and dance and mirth, further proven by the loud music from the orchestra and the laughter which reaches his ears. Then he perks up when he knows the reason—not thinks, knows. Because Thor knows his brother. “Looking for the princess, are you?” He can’t help the cheeky smile that finds its way to his lips at the question.

Loki rolls his eyes more out of habit than anything, because it is basically a conditioned response whenever Thor teases him in some way. He means to show that he’s not amused at all, but Thor is never deterred. “I’m not looking for the princess.” There’s no sense in carrying on the lie anymore, but he’s not willing to admit Thor is right.

Thor only laughs, then moves from standing in front of Loki to standing next to him, so they can both face the numerous guests before them. “I think… she’s that one. Just there.” He lifts a hand to point at a woman by the wall, not talking to anyone, only nursing a flute of champagne and observing the crowd, much like they are.

She wears a black cat mask accented with silver lace. There are no horns. “That’s not her.” The words are out of Loki’s mouth quickly.

Thor raises a brow in surprise at his brother’s response, fully assured and spoken with zero hesitation. “Okay then. Who do you think she is?”

Loki looks over the crowd again, looking almost desperately now for those set of horns. Because surely they belong to you. It is the most confident he’s felt about anything. And the moment he admits that to himself, he spots you in the center of the floor in that black mask with its black and shiny horns, speaking to someone in a brown owl mask—which appears to be quite expensive, for it’s made of leather. As if feeling Loki watching you, you look away from the one you’re conversing with and turn your gaze instead to him, and despite the distance your eyes are piercing through the material of his suit and through his skin, going in at his chest and coming out of his back. You have him lanced and at your mercy, and that’s quite the feat to have the power to put a god on his knees.

“Her.” It’s all Loki says before he’s walking towards you, intent to finally talk to you and try to make sense of how you’ve evaded him as well as you have. Thor doesn’t get the chance to respond, but he doesn’t mind. He leaves Loki to his own devices.

You’ve ended your conversation with the one in the owl mask and begin to leave the floor, walking towards the edge, where the exit of the ballroom is. People part as you pass as if they knew right from the start who you were. Loki is following closely, eyes on those horns, feeling as though he’s stalking prey of his own in the silver wolf mask he has on. But as you glance at him once more before ducking around the corner and he loses sight of you, he realizes he’s no match for a minotaur.

He walks faster to catch up, before you take too many turns down the hallways and he can’t find you again. The castle is large and he’s not familiar with it, only really having seen the ballroom. For all he knows he could be in areas where guests aren’t allowed. But he walks past multiple servants, and they pay him no mind. Perhaps it’s because he looks so focused, eyes glued to your back, that they don’t want to stop him.

You’ve come to a stop in another large hall, where upon the walls are multiple paintings. Loki finds you in the center, waiting, eyes on him, and as he walks toward you, slowly, cautiously, as if he might scare you away, his footsteps are loud on the wooden floors and echo. He doesn’t get too close, standing several steps away. And for a time the two of you simply watch each other, waiting to see who would speak first.

It’s Loki who does. “You wanted me to come after you,” he begins. He keeps his volume low because his voice carries well enough in the empty ballroom. “Why?”

You don’t respond, and Loki starts walking again, closer to you, and he’s fighting the urge to lift his hands to show he means no harm, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. You remain where you are, and when he’s finally before you, he really takes in your features, those dark and inscrutable eyes, the straight line of your lips as you betray no emotion at all. You want Loki to do all the talking, to piece together things by himself.

“You’re the princess, aren’t you?” he asks, slowly removing his mask and holding it at its side. He sees something flittering in those eyes of yours: they seem for the briefest of moments to light up as he puts forth his suspicion, and gets it correct. But you keep silent, waiting to see what he would do next. His fingers twitch with the urge to remove your mask, to see your face, but your stare practically has him rendered immobile, and he can’t do it. Then his eyes drop down to your lips and something has never looked so soft or so inviting. The motion had been obvious, and he meets your gaze again—you don’t seem to disprove or want to back away. He’s a cat that’s caught the mouse and he supposes you’re both in agreement he gets to claim his prize, because it’s not the removal of the mask that’s the prize, for he already knows it’s you, the princess, and you already know that he knows.

So he leans in, eyes sliding closed, and you don’t rush to meet him, nor do you pull back. You stand still, waiting for him, and he’s close, so close, and his breath is hitching in anticipation. Surely your lips feel as soft as they look. He is eager to know for certain.

———

“Okay then. Who do you think she is?”

Loki blinks and looks at Thor, bewildered but trying not to show it. He reaches a hand up to his face and feels the mask still there. Thor is studying him, brow raised as he waits for Loki to give his answer, to point out a woman in the crowd that he believes is the princess whom no one has ever laid their eyes upon. As he drops his hand back down to his side, Loki’s eyes shoot straight to you where you stand in the center of the ballroom with the man in the owl mask, but this time you’re already watching him, and there’s a knowing look in your calm gaze. Loki’s trying to put the pieces to this together, because he thought he had everything figured out, but—

You smirk slightly, almost imperceptible if one weren’t looking for it, but Loki had been concentrating on you so hard that it’s easy for him to pick up on. And this time, when you start to leave the ballroom, Loki goes after you without giving his brother a response. He is hot on your heels, partly shocked at this turn of events but rather impressed at the way you’d caught him off guard. He keeps up much better, the gap between you two not nearly as large, as he follows you to that empty ballroom, where maybe you might actually grace him with some answers. Now he’s not quite sure who the trickster is here.

[lovemesomesurveys]

try to wrap your head around this

All About Your Head! 1. How often do you get headaches? Have you ever experienced migraines? Do you take anything in order to get rid of your headaches? Are there any natural remedies that you have tried and recommend? I get a few a month. Back in high school I used to get tension headaches quite often, which was awful. No, I’ve never experienced migraines. Unfortunately, I can’t take anything for my headaches because 1. I can’t take aspirin. 2. Stuff like Ibuprofen or Aleve don’t do shit for my headaches. 3. Tylenol doesn’t either and I can’t take it anyway because it has acetaminophen, which the pain medication I take regularly also has and too much of that can be damaging for your liver. So, all I can really do is ride them out but a cold washcloth over my eyes does help. And sleep. Peppermint or chamomile tea can help a little sometimes a well. 2. Do you feel as though you have a good head on your shoulders? Not the past few years. I’ve been a complete mess. I don’t know where my head has been. 3. Are you the type of person who overthinks and overanalyzes? Ohhhh yes. 4. Are you a daydreamer? Do you often get lost in your own thoughts and zone out a lot? Yeah. Especially at night. 5. Do you feel as though you have a good memory, or are you forgetful at times? Do you feel that your short-term memory or long-term memory is better? I think my memory is pretty good. I would probably say my long-term is better. I sometimes forget what I wore or watched on TV recently, but I dwell on shit from several years ago. 

6. Have you ever had a concussion or some other sort of brain injury before? Did you need to have surgery for it? No. 7. Would you say that you are more book-smart or more street-smart? Do you have a lot of common sense? Book smart, I guess. 8. Do you have any sort of mental illnesses or disorders? What do they involve? I have major depression and anxiety that I know of for sure and have been diagnosed with. 9. What color is your hair, naturally? Have you ever dyed it before? My hair is naturally dark brown, but I dye it red. 10. What’s the longest that your hair has ever been? How about the shortest? When is the last time that you got it cut? It’s currently the longest, it goes down past my butt. The shortest was when I had a “bob” cut. I got a trim last February. 11. Have you ever tried to count all of the hairs on your head before? Uh, no. 12. At what age did you start getting gray hairs, if you happen to have any? I swear it was the exact moment I turned 30. 13. Would you ever shave your head for any specific reason? Only if I had to for medical reasons. 14. What are some ways that you style your hair? Do you use any sorts of products in it? All I do is throw it up in a messy bun. I have all this hair and do absolutely nothing with it because I don’t have the motivation or energy to. It would be a lot easier to manage if I just cut it short again, but it took so long to get it this length and part of me still can’t help but think maybe one day I’ll get my shit together and I’ll want to have my long hair if it happens. Sigh. 15. What other words do you typically use in order to describe your head? (ie: brain, skull, noggin, noodle, think-boxer, etc) I usually just say “head”, but I’ve also said each of those except for “think-boxer.” 16. Do you ever experience brain freeze? If so, how long does it typically last for? I haven’t in quite a long time because I don’t drink cold drinks anymore.  Whenever it has happened, though, I don’t recall it lasting very long.  17. When is the last time that you felt light-headed? Have you ever passed out before? I’ve felt that way recently. I think I may have vertigo. :/ No, I’ve never passed out before. 18. Do you feel that you are more of a right-brained person or a left-brained person? I guess left-brained. Not good with numbers, though. 19. Do you feel that you are smart? In what ways? In what ways do you feel dumb, if at all? I feel I’m just very average. 20. Are you capable of doing a headstand? For How long? Nope. 21. When’s the last time you felt like banging your head against a wall? Why? I get in irritable, frustrated moods quite often. 22. Have you ever bit someone’s head off before? When was the last time? Haha my dumbass took this literally and I was like wtf kind of question is this??? As though it’s normal to go around biting people’s head off or something lmao. I get the expression now. Anyway, I don’t lash out or yell at people. I can get short and snippy, but I don’t yell. 23. When was the last time you buried your head in the sand? The past few years, really. 24. When a coin is being flipped, do you usually pick “heads” or  “tails”? Heads. 25. Have you ever fallen head over heels in love? I sure felt that way. 26. When was the last time you couldn’t make heads or tails of something? I can’t make sense of myself or some of the things I’ve been dealing with. 27. Have you ever had to drum something into someone’s head? Yeah. 28. Have you ever dressed from head to toe in only one color? Yeah.  29. Are you the type of person who likes to get a head start on things? I’m a major procrastinator, unfortunately. 30. Are you good at solving puzzles and riddles? Ehh, depends. 31. Are you capable of keeping your head above water? I’ve been drowning. 32. Have you ever given someone a head start in a race before? Has anyone ever give you a head start? Yes and yes. 33. Who was the last person that you weren’t able to get out of your head? It’s been awhile since I’ve experienced that.

34. When was the last time that someone went over your head? There’s stuff that goes over my head sometimes, at least initially and then I’m like, “Ohhh I got it.” 35. When was the last time you headed someone off? I don’t recall. 36. Have you ever given head before? How about received? No and no. 37. Has anyone ever told you that you “hit the nail right on the head”? Yes. 38. When was the last time that you felt like you were in over your head? I’ve felt that way for a long time. 39. Do you feel like your life is headed in the right direction? If not, what can you do to change all of that? No. I’ve felt really lost and unsure these past few years. 40. What was the last thing that you lost your head about? Upset and frustrated about stuff I was dealing with. 41. Do you wear any headbands or bandanas on your head? No. 42. What are your favorite types of hats to wear, if any? Beanies or baseball style caps. 43. Has anyone ever accused you of having a big head before? No. I’m not arrogant or cocky or anything of that sort. I’m certainly not full of myself. 44. Have you ever had to take a head count of people before? For what reason? Yeah, different reasons. 45. Have you ever been headbutted before? I’ve bumped heads (literally) and yeah it’s not fun. Ow. 46. Have you ever had head lice before? When I was a kid.  47. Do you think that it would be interesting be able to read the thoughts of others? Yeah, sometimes. I’d want the ability to be able to turn it on and off, though. 48. Do you ever act on impulse, without thinking? How often? I’m more hesitant and think about stuff first. 49. When was the last time that you experienced a head cold? It’s been a long time. 50. Who is the head of your household? My parents? 51. Have you ever gone down a slide or a flight of stairs head first before? No. 52. Can you be pig-headed or bull-headed at times? I am very stubborn. 53. Do you have an attached or flexible showerhead? I do. 54. Do you often wake up with a bad case of bed head? It’s not too bad. 55. Are you capable of giving answers off the top of your head? I’m the worst. I know I’d absolutely freeze up if I were ever on a game show. I’d suddenly forget everything I ever knew. I’m not good with being put on the spot. 56. When was the last time you experienced a head rush of some sort? I’m not sure. 57. Do you own any bobbleheads? Of who? Yeah, a Chewbacca one. 58. Are you the type of person who plays head games? No. Ugh, I can’t stand that. I’ve known people who do that. 59. Are you an emotional headcase? Yes. 60. When was the last time you laughed your head off? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a really good laugh like that. 61. What was the last thing you had to try to wrap your head around? 2020 was pretty difficult. 62. Do you believe the saying that “two heads are better than one”? Yeah. It can certainly be helpful to have two people thinking and working together to come up with ideas and whatnot. 63. When was the last time you tried to keep your head down? Whenever I go out, I guess. I’m just like ew don’t look at me. 64. What was the last thing that you gave someone a heads up about? I don’t remember. 65. When was the last time you believed something but in reality, it was all just in your head? Hmm.  66. Who is the last person you butted heads with, and why? My dad. We’re a lot alike and we sometimes end up butting heads. 67. Have you ever been called a bonehead before? By who? I don’t think so. 68. Do you have a few screws loose up there in your head? Is there a light in the window but nobody’s home? It sure feels that way. 69. Do you make decisions more with your head or your heart? It depends, but my emotions definitely get the best of me a lot of the time. 70. What are some techniques that you use in order to clear your head? I’m definitely not the one to ask about that. I could use some tips. 71. Do you know anyone who’s a real hot head? Who? Yes. 72. Have you ever had a gun held t your head before, or felt that way? I’ve felt that way, but no I’ve never actually been held at gunpoint.  73. Have you ever had your head examined/scanned by a medical professional before? If so, what sorts of tests were done? No. 74. How often do you walk around with your head in the clouds? My mind does drift and wander a lot. 75. Is your head just filled with all sorts of useless knowledge? My mind is a jumbled mess. 76. Do you worry a lot or have anxiety at all? Yeppp. 77. Have you ever had suicidal thoughts before? Have you ever acted on them before? Yes, but no I’ve never acted on them. 78. Have you eyes ever felt like they were going to pop out of your head? I don’t think so. 79. Who’s head would you like to see on a platter? Uhh, I’m good. 80. When was the last time a lightbulb went off in your head? What was the realization about? Hmm.  81. Is there anything you feel like you could do, standing on your head? No. 82. When’s the last time you put your head in the lion’s mouth? I don’t tend to deliberately place myself in dangerous situations. 83. Where are you headed off to now? I should probably finally drag myself outta bed now... it’s almost 5PM.

[ohsh1t2wksl8]