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dienamights · 3 years

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Unfavorable Guidance | H.Shinso

✎ Mindjack has been doing these kind of jobs since he was recruited as a hero, he is unmistakingly the best at them, doesn’t need anyone butting their noses in his business, especially you, the sly fox in disguise, offering your tainted helping hand.

✎ Protagonists: Hitoshi Shinso x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 6.4K

✎Category: noncon/dubcon, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

✎Caution(!): noncon/dubcon, Smut 18+ MDNI please, , mentions of alcohol, mentions of murder, minor character death, sex under quirk use, spitting, degrading, swearing, manipulation, unprotected sex.

✎ Author’s notes: I KNOW I’M LATE EUFGKHDFVBDFXL, but here is my contribution to @daisy-bakugo 2k event Vice City! Please take the time to read everyone’s work if you haven’t! Thank you so much for letting me participate.

I listened to this throughout the entire process of writing it, if you’re familiar with Kingdom Hearts, some names will ring a bell to you lol. also I hate the header and the summary but you’re just gonna have to live w it for now cause its 8 am I NEED SLEEP

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The annual auction of Vice City is one of the biggest social events of the year. The wealthiest families and richest people in the world come from everywhere in attempts to win what is secretly considered the greatest treasures of all time. Greatest and most expensive.

Alas, the after party held later on is what people are all secretly actually waiting for, where the most exquisite and rarest artifacts of the year get auctioned off to whoever is lucky enough to even be included in the guest list.

While not all are there for the auctions, it certainly is the perfect opportunity for anyone who's anyone in the world to show off their wealth. Filthy rich people sway all around, laughing and bragging. Venetian crystal chandeliers, velvet carpets, gambling, and alcohol. Men with their cigars, men with their wives, and men with their arm candies, their escorts or mistresses.

Yet, Shinso isn’t here for the luxury, he isn't here for the fame and the fortune, nor the reputation people thrive for when they buy those - meaningless, he calls them - relics. No, he is here on a mission, one he certainly wants to be done and over with because he wants to go home. He loosens his tie with an aggravated sigh before knocking back the last of his only gin and tonic, the bitter taste prickling his throat as he surveys the crowd of people all around him while he stands idly by the bar.

He knew it’d be a pain in the ass the second he got the mission assigned to him from the agency, the words “intel” and “Vice City'' of all places forced a frown upon his face, yet, being the most suitable for this job, he couldn't really decline.

Mindjack isn’t the type of hero you see on billboards and magazines, isn’t the type of hero to kiss babies’ heads that get thrusted at him in meet and greets, he certainly isn’t one to have those adoring fan clubs that follow his every move, posting about his greatest conquests. Oh no, he is a hero that works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, undercover -lie through your teeth throughout the whole ordeal- kind of hero, the kind of hero that goes home at the end of his missions with no gratitude towards his work, because nobody knows who he is or what he contributes to the society.

For the longest time, Shinso accepted the life he’s living, he didn’t look for validation from the citizens, knowing his work is always beyond the scope of their knowledge and their awareness, but sometimes, just sometimes, the sour droplets of envy would foul his mouth when his amethysts for eyes scan over the extravagant heroes, making a show out of saving their cities and getting praised and awarded and loved for doing what they’re supposed to be doing, their job.

“Squeeze that glass a bit more and you’d break it”

A voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him, Shinso blinked twice before his eyes dragged over to you, oh so beautiful and oh so close. Your nimble fingers wrapped around his fingers, the lacey glove lightly scratches his hand before he lets go of the glass in surprise, dropping it into yours. You giggle sweetly, turning around to place it on the bar before ordering your own, but not without looking at him over your shoulder and sending him a smile.

“What will it be, sugar tits?” the bartender leans over the counter, towel thrown on his shoulder as he sends you what's supposed to be a sultry look. Your elbow is placed on the counter while you rest your chin on your hand, smiling temptingly at him. “Anything that’ll get you to stop staring at my boobs.” Shinso almost laughs at the contrast between your smile and your voice, sharp and venomous, and the man leans back so far from you like he’s been stung. Walking away to work on a drink for you.

Shinso’s eyes rake your body without his knowledge, he admires the dress adorning your body, hugging you in all the right places, cascading down to the floor, and that slit my god, your legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how you can strut so elegantly with them on. A snap of your fingers breaks his trance and he tries - keyword tries - to act nonchalant to his obvious ogling and you only laugh in return.

You hum lowly, “So,” you’re turning to face him as you lean back on the counter, pushing your chest out to grasp even more of his attention, “what's an esteemed hero like you doing in a place like this?” It takes Shinso a good minute before he narrows his eyes, left foot back and ready to either take you down or run away if you were to involve greater forces. No one is supposed to know about his true identity, no one is supposed to know that there is a hero within them.

But what shakes his demeanor is the way you dangle his wallet in front of him, like dangling a stupid feather for some silly cat, waiting for it to jump at you to entertain you. Shinso swallows with a struggle, deciding that using his quirk to retrieve his wallet back will lead to him leaving, and he didn’t want that. He’s been keeping an eye on the wanted man for hours now, and it’ll all go to waste because of your slimy little hands and your-

“Here,” you toss it back to him, and he stumbles a bit before catching it properly, eyeing you for any sudden movements, but you simply turn back around in time to hold the drink from the bartender’s hand with a smile dazzling your lips. “You’re getting intel on The Wise?” you mumble against your cup, sipping slowly, eyes never leaving Shinso’s glaring ones. How the fuck do you know?

“You’re not the first.” you smirk, finger wiping the smeared lipstick against the glass before circling the rim. “You all look the same, thinking you’re better than them because of your position in the society, only for that ego to come and bite you right in the ass.” It’s almost ironic how poisonous your voice could get while still maintaining that mesmerizing smile, and oddly enough, Shinso’s eyes keep drooping despite his desperate attempt to fight against them.

You hum again, the click of your heels sounding muffled to him, eyes blurring when you get so close to him your breath tickles his cheek. “But you’re different, hmm? You’re gonna make the bad guy go away?”

“Yes.” it's rushed, almost desperate, and the hero is astonished at how he sounds. “Then, lemme help you… Hitoshi.”

A blink, and you’re gone just like you vanished right from under his nose, slipped right between his fingers. A low curse escapes Shinso’s lips and he turns around swiftly to question the bartender, hell bent on getting any information on the girl that just revealed his entire identity and mission to him in a matter of seconds.

“How can I help you, sir?” the question boggles his mind, the big burly man with an attitude problem wasn’t there anymore, replaced by another sweet woman that held concern in her eyes at his sight. “You’ve been staring at the wall for a while there, need me to call your driver to get you back?”

“Wa- but I- She,” Shinso’s body started heating up in anger, worry, embarrassment, he doesn’t really know, but what he wants to know right this instant is how long he’s been out of it and for god’s sake, why?

Shinso doesn’t really consider himself to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but dammit did he feel like a complete idiot letting you run off like that, a quick trip to the restroom for a splash of water clears his head enough for him to pull back his wallet from his pocket, flipping through it and finding something he was absolutely sure wasn’t there prior to your visit. A silver card, with ‘Surveillance room’ scribbled on a note behind it.

Caving in and accepting whatever help you were offering him, Shinso slides the card through the reader, sighing in relief upon the satisfying ding sound, followed by the door opening to the surveillance room.

“Now that’s what’m talking about.” life got so much easier now that he could watch The Wise through multiple screens, making it hard to miss a single move of his. The hero allows himself to relax a bit, hand messing with his hair and tired eyes blinking in irritation against the glare of the screens. The Wise was the mastermind of Organization XIII, as their name intel, they’re consisting of the same thirteen members that founded it years ago, nobody really knows how they started, what shocked the whole world is how grand their first crime actually was, bloodbath of the century -they would call it, seventeen slaughtered heroes, followed by their families, including women and children, thousands of millions of ¥ in money laundering atop of it, all within a span of 4 months, that was years ago, back in their prime.

Now, with eight of them behind bars, the remaining five were able to stay under the radar, distributing whatever money they were able to keep between them and fleeing to different parts of the world. Just because they were apart, didn’t mean they were any less dangerous, The Wise is a prime example for that, brutally murdering three of the undercover heroes sent his way to bring him back to justice, but they weren’t Shinso, he’d try to remind himself.

May their soul rest in peace, they were those heroes he felt dissociated from, the type of heroes to flaunt their powers, monetize the peoples’ knowledge of their quirks, uncover the secrets of their job, they were easy targets for people like The Wise, he’d know their weaknesses and how to take them down before they even think about pursuing him. Now, Mindjack was a different story, he wasn’t held on a pedestal by the people he saves, simply because they don’t recognize him, while he would loath that reality sometimes, he thanks the god for it today, as he’s watching the man’s call out for a drink.

Amethyst eyes scan the remaining screens, widening upon the sight of you looking right back at them, you are a vixen to him, eyes half lidded with a smile so intoxicating it does nothing but entrance whoever was lucky enough to catch its sight. Lace clad fingers wrapping around a piece of paper, you are so beautiful, Shinso tries to stop his mind from wandering, imagining what you wore underneath that angel crafted dress, envisioning what those fingers could do to please him, the same fingers that held the unfolded paper, the word ‘RUN’ smeared across it in lipstick.

Wait a minute, run?

Even before the poor hero could react, the similar satisfying -now dreadful- ding rings in his ear, before the door opens behind him, illuminating the room even more. Shinso stands to face two men, both as surprised as he is to see another occupant in the room. Right before any of them move, the hero opens his mouth and prays to god that whatever way he’s winging it works. “You got a permit to be here?”

Jesus one of you answer, and they both do - the left having fingers curving into talons while the right pulled at strings from the tips of his fingers, both ready to attack - and by god Shinso couldn’t be happier upon hearing a sound, because the minute the word ‘yes’ slips through their lips, Mindjack is smiling like a madman, welcoming the look of glossy eyes and heavy heads like a beloved relative’s return back home.

“Great… Now,” the two manipulated men face him, unaware of the dreaded fate bestowed upon them, while Shinso just can’t seem to keep the glint in his eyes at bay. “Why don’t you put on a show for me,” he breathes, smiling down at the ground before looking at them. ”Choke the fucking life out of each other.” The men don’t even blink, quick to face each other and jump, hands wrapped around throats like a vice, Shinso only moves away from the men on the floor as they thrash and kick at each other, limbs flailing as they try to force the life out of each other.

Turning his back against them, Shinso eyes the screen he was monitoring before their entrance, ignoring the groans and gasps of air behind him. He curses under his breath when he sees The Wise getting up from his place, heading towards a room that is supposed to be monitored by screen #6, but is purposely out of service. If he isn’t able to question The Wise or even keep an eye on him, then he’s gonna head on over to the next best thing. Gargled screams echo through the corridor as the hero makes his exit, making sure the door clicks shut behind him, he wouldn’t want to cause disturbance to the esteemed guests of the society of lowlifes.

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, killing machines that didn’t spare the live of the innocents, so why should he spare theirs?

Shinso makes it back to the main event, immediately finding you between guests, sitting so pretty on the poker table, eyes drawing him closer, the grin adorning your lips now wobbly, easy for him to distinguish as fake, forced, a façade kept for the people surrounding the table. He is hasteful in settling himself in the chair near you, shoulders tense when different pairs of eyes fall upon him, the dealer shuffles the deck to draw cards for Shinso, but you hold your hand out with a smile. “He’ll sit this one out, by my lucky onlooker.” A round of laughter causes Shinso to flush in embarrassment, feeling degraded and looked down upon by all these lowlifes, petty thieves and criminals, thinking they’re better than him, oh he’ll show them.(1)

It takes a few rounds for the table to empty out, now occupied by Shinso and yourself, the dealer asks him to move over to the next chair before they start their game. “Place your bets.” you’re quick to slide over a few of your chips to his side - some black, others red and blue, he didn’t really pay that much attention to them- your eyes daring him to reject your invitation to take the money to play.

He only blinks at you, his eyes seemingly never wanting to lose sight of you as he fights with himself to sit straight to face the dealer again, the man proceeds to deal both of you the cards for you to review before placing your bets. “You tricked me.” Shinso is almost appalled at the hurt laced in his voice, as if the two of you had a bond that was never meant to be broken. “don’t believe so, told you to run didn’ I?” The mockery in your voice is a hoax, the single twitch in your brow catches his attention and he can only deem it as you being stressed, whether it be because of the ordeal regarding the surveillance room or not is beyond him. No, he was stupid and foolish and he will not fall for your silly games again. “Exactly, you knew they were coming.” you hum in response to his accusation.

“Call.” Dropping a few of your chips on the table, your eyes shift momentarily to him, “I did, I said I’d help you and here I am.” He slams his bet on the table, ‘Raise’ gritted right through his teeth at your words. “I don’t want your help!” He reveals his cards on the table, a way to show his disinterest in your assistance as the dealer announces ‘Flush’ at his hand. Your eyes meet again from above your cards, now narrowing down instead of the half lidded look you seem to always have “You don’t want it, but you need it.” The façade you held before is slowly but surely breaking, now a deep frown tugging at your lip as you reveal your own hand, brows furrowing even further in challenge as you hum in displeasure when the dealer announces your ‘Full House’ hand to be the winner of this round.(2)

Shinso moves swiftly to stand when he sees you do the same, right before his entire world starts to spin, lights and colors mingling together and causing his head to spin, he sits down again, head between his hands as he tries to calm himself down, it's probably the strain of the mission, maybe it’s the weight bestowed upon his shoulders to finish it up. The hero lifts his head up to ask you, about something he himself isn’t even sure of, he just wants to hear your voice, like a drug to him that he can’t help but ask for more. Except when he does, you aren’t there, the table is occupied by different people, the dealer is another man with longer hair and slimmer figure, and by god did Shinso want to rip his hair out.

The minute he feels like he could get back on his own to feet without falling down on his ass, Hitoshi is quick to check his pockets, adamant to find a clue your sneaky hands slid into one of his pockets while he was out, despite the tantrum he almost threw at not wanting your help nor guidance, and he does find something, a simple metal key, attached to it was a tag with the number XIII on it.

In his shock, he almost drops the key on the ground but barely holds himself together to avoid any further embarrassment, Shinso takes deep breaths, knowing that the key in his possession is his entry to the heart of the organization, and especially to The Wise.

Every year, specifically at the Vice City annual auction afterparty, The Wise holds a meeting with the most dangerous men within the continent, the most loathsome masterminds of the criminal world, all in the hopes of recruiting one of them into the organization, to uphold its name and spread its message. Every year, with no recruitment yet.

With trembling hands, Shinso stuffs the key back into his pocket, eyes on the lookout for anyone who might’ve caught the key in his hand, but sighs in relief when he sees some engrossed in their meaningless poker and absurd talks, while the majority have made their way to the next hall over for the auction that is being held. He takes the stairs three at a time up the floors, facing a red oak double door, the same forsaken number engraved into it. After multiple failed attempts at inserting the key in the lock, he finally does with a huff, hearing the lock echoing in his ears before pushing the door open.

To be honest, Shinso didn’t know what he was expecting to see on the other side of the door, he thought maybe he’d watch weaponry trade off, perhaps people brawling and fighting amongst each other for the title of being the new members. But he certainly didn’t expect to be engulfed in jazz music, men with their cigars laughing and chatting, without a single care in the world, as if their hands weren’t tainted with the blood of the innocents, oh how he loathed them. In an attempt to fit in, he grabs a glass of whiskey from the butler standing by the door, nodding to him in thanks before moseying his way over to the corner in the room, he’d be damned if he got caught in the crossfire of those lunatics.

A stage is set up in the front of the room, and it takes a second for him to acknowledge the pole placed right at its center, it takes him another few seconds to see the beauty dancing on that pole, Shinso’s eyes rake her body without his knowledge, he admires the lingerie adorning her body, hugging her in all the right places, garter snug against her thighs as she twirls, her legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how she can dance so elegantly with them on… wait a minute.

As if predicting the minute he realized it was you, you twirl to face him, lips pulled into a smile yet again, a giggle interrupting your humming as your body twists and turns on the pole. Shinso isn’t really sure how long he sits there captivated by your body, the only thing breaking his trance is the clap on his back and the heavy weight that sits next to him. “Beauty, isn’t she?”

Bile rises to Shinso’s throat at the mere sound of the person next to him, fear stills him in his place, restricting any movement he’s even thinking of doing, all he could do is sit, widened eyes and sweaty brows at the sight of The Wise right beside him.

“Don’cha love it when women like her,” The Wise points at you with his cigar, “work to please men like us?” His arm now completely wrapped around Shinso’s shoulder as the hero feels his soul levitating from his body. “Look aroun’ya,” and he does, and only then does he really pay attention, he should’ve seen it all along, the glossy eyes, the droopy heads, it's a sight he was so well accustomed to that his brain normalized it to him. With whatever courage he musters up, he shifts his eyes to look at the man beside him, noticing the ear plugs he wore, and right then the gears start to turn in his head. “My most prized possession I tell’ya.”

Of course you would be, how else would you have access to all these things, the card, the key, the vanishing from thin air, it all makes sense now.

“Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?” your words are flowing like honey to his ears, a low buzz ringing in his brain as you spoke to the men in front of you. His ability to frown is nonexistent, a relaxed look adorning his face as he looks up at you, so elegant and beautiful in whatever hugged that miracle of a body.

“Sure are,” The Wise jerks Shinso by the shoulder, and he realizes that was done to break whatever trance he was in, he could only glare back at you when you smile at them, that conniving smile that hosted all the lies you spouted to him.

“y/n,” He calls you and by God if this isn’t the most beautiful name Shinso ever hears, what a shame it's being tainted by the voice of this criminal. “Wadda ya say to takin’ this fine boy to the red room, hm?” The man urges him to stand and take your hand, which he did at the blink of an eye, his body moving on it’s own to graze his lips against your knuckles in a breathless kiss. “Treat’m real nice for me.” The hero’s feet take him to follow you, his steps light, like walking on clouds, the sway of your hips pulling him closer to you until his chest is flush against your back, pushing you to move faster into the room you are pointed towards.

Walking aimlessly through hallways, taking lefts and rights he would never be able to recollect in his current state, you both enter a room, red just like The Wise called it, crimson silk sheets fitted on a king sized bed, maroon loveseats and plush carpets, everything in that red hue that it's almost nauseating.

Bringing your hands in a loud clap, the fogginess in Shinso’s vision dissolves, your creased brows and frown now more prominent to him than ever, his eyes catch the scar trailing from the back of your neck to your cleavage, confused as to why his usual perceptive self would miss it, but then again, he doesn’t feel like he was ever himself throughout this whole ordeal.

To say he was furious is an understatement, he never felt more played in his life, he is Mindjack, the most conniving hero of all of Japan, he was manipulative and sly , known by his people to get jobs done, no matter who his opponent is, he always comes back victorious. And when his ears pick up your sigh of relief, he could only see red, he is hurt, he is scared, but now its his act, his turn to fuck shit up, he wants to hurt, he wants to scare.

“Fuckin’ lying bitch,” It takes him all but two steps for his body to graze yours, tantalizing eyes boring down into yours as you gasp at the close proximity, “you were workin’ with’em this entire fuckin’ time?”

“N-no that’s not it,” you stutter, flustered at his overwhelming presence, trying to put some distance between you and the fuming man by pushing his chest, “Please, I need you to listen to me.”

“Oh, now you’re beggin’ hmm?” his firm warm hands circle your wrists, tugging them away from his body and using them to pull you even closer to him, his breath now grazing the tops of your cheeks, “Didn’t your boss tell you to treat me right?” he breathes, “well, get to it, slut.”

“That’s not what this is Hitoshi, just listen-” for the love of all that’s pure in this world, why does the sound of his name exceed his perception of how happiness is supposed to reverberate in his ear? “Keep my name outta your mouth, or I swear,” He hisses at you, the grip on your wrists tightening as you whimper out in pain.

“You think you can just toy with me? Have me running around and following your orders like a lil bitch!?” He sees you trembling, lips wobbly and in tears, how ironic, he doesn’t know a few words would get you to start tearing up, the change in demeanor from when he first met you confuses him for a second, but only a second, because he’ll be damned if he falls for any of your tricks anymore. “N-no, I swear it isn’t like that, just p-please, please c-calm down! Let me explain myself-” the ugly cackle he lets out shuts you up, teary eyes widening as they fall on his, the aura he’s radiating is terrifying to say the least, your knees shaking in dread at what’s about to fold.

“You think you can play my game and win?”

It takes you a minute to answer, the word no echoing in your head, throbbing in your brain so painfully you forget the words that follow it, but what you can’t forget, what you will never forget, no matter how delirious you feel, is the look of pure sin across Shinso’s face, grin rivaling that of the Cheshire cat, because you were now simply a measly little pawn in his game.

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, criminals that broke every law in their way to get what they desire, so why couldn’t he indulge even a little himself?

He lets go of your wrists, watching as your arms sway next to your body like dead weight before he turns around to flop down on the loveseat, legs spread wide as he waves his hand over to you.

“Waddaya waitin’ for,” he knows you can’t answer him, but it feels so fucking good to hold such power over you after all you’ve put him through. “Now, strip.” the surge of power he feels jolts his dick up in excitement as he watches you take off your lingerie, moves robotic and forced, eyes glazed over both with tears and his control over your dumb little brain. Hitoshi is no villain, he is a respectable hero, but he’s been called that all his childhood, he might as well live up to that expectation, one way or another.

Shinso stands when you’re fully naked in front of him, long legs circling you and taking you all in, the back of his hand grazes your nipple and he all but groans as it pebbles at his touch. But god, he was nowhere near being done with you.

“Spread your legs for me on that bed,” he grins at the way you follow his orders even before he asks, “will ya?” you settle yourself on the bed before slowly dropping your weight on your back, hazy eyes staring up into the ceiling as your arms bring themselves down to circle the back of your knees, pulling them up close to your chest to expose yourself to him.

Shinso’s cock twitches in his pants again at the opportunity to just seath it into you without any warning, but he barely holds himself back, approaching your body and feeling himself salivating at the sight, what a sight it is, your pussy looking so fucking beautiful clenching over nothing, the sight tempting him to just dive his face right in to get a taste of your juices.

Taking off his suit jacket and rolling the sleeves of his shirt, Shinso presses his thumb to your clit, frowning when he notices how dry you are, of course you would be, he chuckles to no one, puckering his lip to spit right at the nub, watching it trail down to your clenching hole, the sight igniting a flame within him, he does it again, simply to watch your spit hide in your cunt, impatient to follow suit and bury himself in there.

His thumb is quick to draw circles with your clit, needing for your orgasm to wash over you quickly, eager for the things he’d do to you after he preps you enough to take him. The usual comforting silence is thick between you, no moans escaping your ajar mouth as your arousal seeps out of your pussy, he prods your hole with his finger to collect your nectar, smearing it across your clit again to rub even faster against it.

The only indication of you coming undone is when your thighs start to shake, your body curling in on itself as your back arches, your cunt gushing on his fingers, and Shinso is almost disappointed to not hear you moan out his name in pleasure. But he isn’t that disheartened, he’s bound to hear you scream.

You on the other hand, are petrified at the way your body is being handled, feeling yourself looking down at the horror being folded in front of you, this isn’t you, this is a shell of who you are, wrapped around his finger, at his mercy, and you want out, no matter the cost. But, you are to regret these words, because you see him unbuckling his belt, you hear the zipper drilling in your ear, and you watch him lay atop you, feeling your lungs constrict at the weight settling upon it, and to your utmost terror, the only thing that breaks his bind on you is when you feel his warm head prodding at your entrance, right before seething completely in, your throat prickling when you wail hoarsely in pain at feeling like being split into two.

“No, nonononon, st-stop please, please!” You’re crying, legs thrashing and arms flailing trying to push this monster off of you, but you can’t, you think as your walls pulsate in pain at the intrusion, you’ll never be able to with him placing his entire weight on you like that, and the way he pulls out before impaling you again has you seeing stars in the worst way possible. Desperate for an escape, you grab a chuck of his hair, your nails digging into his scalp before you yank, your jaw throbbing at how tight you clench your teeth in pain and disgust and pure panic. The strength you muster to pull his head up is in vain, because it only jerks his face deeper into your neck, right where your scar trails, and he bites, so hard you’re certain it draws blood.

Only then does he lift his head up, his upper lip smeared with a smidge of blood, your blood, before he spits right into your mouth. Sick to your stomach at the metallic taste invading your taste buds, you spit right up at him, mindless to the debris falling right back at your face, your mascara running down your cheeks as you sneer up at him. Even as he laughs teasingly at you.

“Don’t worry slut,” He rasps, his nose brushing against yours as his thrusts find a pace, pulling out to the tip before pushing himself fully inside, “It’ll feel good in a minute.” and it does, he feels more of your arousal coating his cock as he snaps his hips against yours, your wails and whimpers slowly yet surely are coated more with lust as you moan out his name. “See tha’, almost too easy…” almost too good to be true.

And it is, because when his eyes struggle to find yours, he is reminded by the feeling that overtook him this entire evening, and when he sees the corner of your lips pull lightly does he want to rip your head right out, but the minute he moves his hand, he is overwhelmed by how wobbly he feels, how your face distorts and misshapes before he is met with the sight of the ceiling, the sight you grew accustomed to when he was taking advantage of your unconsciousness.

He groans when he feels you impaling yourself on his cock, pussy clenching so tight as you bop yourself up and down his shaft, your tits bouncing with you as he looks up at you, so mesmerized and entranced by your beauty all he does is hold your hips, helping you lift yourself up before dropping you on him, the squelching sound that follows it music to his ears.

You plant your hands against his chest, hips rolling as you pant at his lips, both of you so drunk on the feeling of each other and chasing your highs, “You gonna listen to me, when I ask you to?” His hand claps against your ass at your question, “Yes, yes oh God, anythin’ just don’t stop.” He can’t help but want more of you, want to feel his cock push against you even further, so he plants his feet firm against the bed, hand grabbing handfuls of your ass as he starts thrusting up at you, moaning against your neck when he shoots ropes of his cum inside of your sopping cunt, squeezing him so tight and milking him, and all of what Shinso remembers is the way you arch your back, pressing your chest against his as your whimper out his name, as he feels your juices dripping against his balls and down on the sheets beneath you. After that, all he could see was black.

Shinso awakes startled, eyes darting in alarm before he relaxes when he confirms he’s alone, the red silky sheets now draped over his lower body, pooling at his lap when he sits up to look around once more, desperate for any sign of you. Yet he only sees a brown folder on top of the love seat, impressively thick with the amount of papers stacked inside it, and when Shinso reaches for it, he catches the note that slipped off and draped down on the floor, reading it and scowling at it. ‘You promised you’d listen’

And boy is he more than lucky to listen to you when you asked him to. Because that folder has every tiny little detail he needs to know about The Wise, from the quirks of his circulating bodyguards to the keys to his multiple homes within the world. Pictures upon pictures of the man, decoded letters and basically intel on his entire criminal record.

Fucking finally, Shinso gets to just go home no that everything’s over and done with.

Limited Edition Sneak Peek:

It is way too early for Shinso, the sun glaring at him as he makes his way into the agency, the honking cars and chattering people feeding into his migraine so early in the morning, and he groans as he pushes his door open, ready to get back to his regular routine after the incident at Vice City.

It hasn’t been even a week, but it sure was eventful, using the folder you left him, Mindjack was able to capture The Wise the very next day, via the map of the routes he takes that was attached in the folder. They were able to ambush him, easily being able to bring the right heroes for the job to overcome the quirks of both his workers and himself. Now the mastermind of Organization XIII was behind bars, making the job of catching the remaining members now much easier.

It almost felt like child’s play, at least, that’s what the heroes made it out to be, flexing their powers and their potential, when they were well aware that all their efforts would’ve been in vain if you and your folder weren't there to aid them in every step.

To say that guilt ate him up is an understatement, he feels himself decaying from the inside out from resentment, he figures he spent too much time in the dark, that it started to mess with him, manipulate him, carve him into someone he isn’t, someone that isn’t fit to be a hero. He feels like was walking into a tunnel with no way out, engulfed and trapped in pure merciless darkness, that ate away at his soul every step he took further in.

Shinso trudges up the stairs with a heavy heart, the dread at what he did to you, especially that your intent to help him didn’t waver despite his actions loomed over him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he didn’t deserve the life that he’s living in right now.

Yet, the saying ‘there's a light at the end of the tunnel’ rings in his ear, the minute he opens up the door to his office, eyes widening at the sight before him, smile so dazzlingly sweet, a voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him as the words captivated him despite their simplicity.

“Missed me, Hitoshi?”

(1) its common in poker for women to be onlookers, like the wives of the players for example, the jab at him being an onlooker is basically just a sexist joke to make the people around the table laugh to ease their mind.

(2) to help gain more perspective about the poker scene you can read the elaboration here

Aaaand more about the reader’s quirk here!

Hope you enjoyed! Also, PLEASE if you could theorize with me after reading the fic I’d love you forever, ask me about the reader’s quirk, ask me about some hidden meanings between the scenes JUST ANYTHING. MWAH

Borrowers (taglist):

@hanji-is-life @anarchicmartyr @sleepykyan @yourprincess-maybe @wolfygirl1900 @tteokdoroki

@theehoneybunii @nanamisbento (not sure if you wanted to be tagged for bakuhoe only of all my fics, so sorry if its the former!)

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Evan’s 6✩ Inspiration: Umbrae Secrets [繁荫秘语] Date Translation (END 7 + 8: Heart-throb)

"It feels pretty good to have your wish granted by someone else.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Evan’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 6✩ Inspiration has 8 Endings!! *Reblogs and likes appreciated! *Evan’s tag will be #For Night, For Revolution *Will be taking a short break for one or two days for mental health reasons, so no TLs will be uploaded while I’m gone

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ✩Light & Night★

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

✩ E7 LIGHT: Rest here ✩

MC: The view's pretty nice. How about we rest here for a while?

Evan: Sure. Let's sit here then.

I followed Evan and seated myself atop a rock by the river and gave a good big stretch, easing the tension out of my slightly sore hips and legs.

The vegetation around us was a little sparser now, and the golden sunlight fell upon us in mottled spots. The river had crystal clear water. The sunlight pierced through the waves, leaving shimmering gold patterns that wavered along with the current of the river.

There were occasional grey shadows that darted through the water. I excitedly patted Evan's arm to catch his attention the moment I saw it.

MC: Look! There are fish in the river!

Evan: There's quite a bit of them. Those look like striped bass.

MC: They're so big…

Staring at the plump and juicy-looking fishes, I suddenly became acutely aware of the snarling abyss that was my stomach as it slowly woke back up.

I never expected to get hungry just from that short trek.

Those fishes would be delicious steamed! Add soy sauce, a little wine to taste, and the meat will become tender and succulent, absolutely flavorful...

But it would also be equally good braised! Deep fry it first, then add soybean sauce, Sichuan pepper and star anise to spice it up. Then add water to let the sauce soak in, producing a flavourful, mouthwatering, aroma!

I couldn't help but swallow in anticipation. I guiltily cast a glance at Evan, hoping that he didn't notice my guilty inward musings of a glutton.

Evan: Don't tell me you're thinking whether this fish would be better braised or steamed?

MC: ??? ...Remove the camera you installed in my brain!

Evan: Why would I need a camera? It's written all over your face.

Evan: It'll be a little hard to steam or braise anything here, but we can try grilling the fish if we have a stove to work with.

Hearing the words "grilled" and "fish", I instantly felt rejuvenated. Gone were my sore hips and aching legs.

I jumped up from the rock I'd been sitting on with a start.

MC: Grilled fish sounds good! I've got the stove! And grills! And seasonings!

Evan: Brilliant.

MC: Then there's only one thing missing… How are we going to catch the fish?

Evan surveyed the area and pondered for a while before speaking.

Evan: There are traces of grilling being done on the ground. Someone must have grilled fish here before.

Evan: We can look around and see if there is any equipment left behind that we can make use of.

MC: Okay!

Evan and I each took one side of the river as we scoured the bank for any items that may be of use.

Soon after, I moved a patch of tall grass aside and lifted something in triumphant joy.

MC: Evan! Look at what I found! A harpoon!

Hearing me call out to him, Evan headed over. He took the rusty harpoon from me and gave it a once over.

Evan: Sharpen it on the rocks and it should be good to go.

MC: Great!

Evan took the harpoon to the rocks and gave it a thorough sanding to get all the rust off. Soon, the once-rusty harpoon regained its sharp, deadly, metallic glint. It looked as primed as ever.

After he was done polishing it up, I excitedly picked it up. Evan looked at me in slight surprise.

Evan: You want to try?

MC: Yeah! Plus, I'm wearing a dress, so I don't have to worry about getting my pant leg wet or anything like that!

Evan took one glance at the way I was brandishing the harpoon, looking ever so eager to try my hand at it, and softened. A helpless yet tender look dyed his orbs.

Evan: Alright, but be careful not to slip.

MC: Right!

I took the harpoon to the river bank and quietly searched for my quarry.

Soon enough, a shadow slid smoothly across the water. But, it had already gotten long out of reach before I had the time to react.

I observed the waters for a while more, familiarizing myself with how the fishes moved.

When another fish appeared, I timed myself, raising the harpoon high and bringing it down hard!

The harpoon jostled the river and disturbed the dirt at the bottom of the riverbed. However, there was no fish in sight when the waters came to a standstill once more. There was only a harpoon, firmly embedded into the riverbed.

MC: Feels like I'm swerving my hits a bit…

A small laugh came from behind as a warm hand enclosed mine, wielding the harpoon together with me. He dislodged it and returned it to my grasp with surprising ease and finesse.

Evan: It's alright. Try again.

Evan: Throw the spearhead further to prevent hurting yourself.

I nodded and took the harpoon. Soon, I took my aim at another incoming fish.

I inwardly encouraged myself: I'll get it this time!

I swung the harpoon and sent it stabbing downward. This time, I felt like I'd hit the target quite accurately!

However, the fish wiggled for a bit beneath my harpoon before speedily making its slippery escape…

MC: *Sigh*...Is it because I'm too weak?

Evan: It's because you hesitated.

MC: Hmm, maybe a little. I suddenly feel a little hesitant to deal the finishing blow when I think of how this harpoon inevitably pierces the fish’s body.

Evan: Reluctance to deal the finishing blow is only normal. How about I do it instead?

A strong wave of reluctance surged up within my heart. I swiftly hid the harpoon behind my back.

MC: Nah. I’ve only tried it twice! Give me a couple more chances and I’ll definitely be able to do it!

Evan: If you say so.

Evan: Then you'll have to be faster, and you'll have to land harder hits than that.

Evan: Or you can think of it as your enemy, or maybe someone you dislike?

MC: Hahaha… Well, about that…

I thought about it seriously for a while, but I couldn’t think of anyone I particularly disliked.

Hence, I looked back at Evan and casually dropped him a question.

MC: I can't really think of any off the top of my head. Do you have anyone you dislike?

Evan was taken aback. His eyes were slightly lowered as if he was hiding some sort of emotion that dwelled within.

I suddenly recalled that we’d come on this trip precisely because something had happened beforehand to make him unhappy. Now, his expression only made me understand it more with stark clarity: yes, he did have someone he disliked...

MC: You don’t have to think about unhappy things! I’m sure that person’s not a good person if they’ve made even you dislike them! I’ll teach them a lesson!

Evan: Why, thank you.

With the harpoon in tow, I returned to the river bank. Reflected in my mind was none other than how Evan had reacted to my earlier question.

Just what sort of issue would trouble someone as strong as him? On that same note, just what sort of person would cause someone as powerful as him to become this restless and uneasy?

Then, a fish slowly swam into my line of sight. And it was precisely with this sort of mood that I raised the harpoon high in the air, sending it plummeting downward without a moment’s hesitation!

However, the sudden force I’d flung it down with made me lose balance as I went down with it. I felt my waist move backwards from the force as my feet slipped from beneath me...

MC: Uwah!

Splash!

Water splashed in all directions as I slipped right into the river...

Evan: !!

Fortunately, this river wasn’t deep and only reached my waist. Evan swiftly support me as I stood up.

Evan: Are you alright?

MC: I'm fine… my butt's just a little sore… Ow…

Evan: Slowly.

He supported me back to sit on the rock. I looked down to inspect myself. My dress was soaked and dripping water everywhere.

I gathered my dress and wrung out a load of water from it. Ah, how I’ve screwed up...

Evan: Does it hurt anywhere else?

I gathered my hair together in slight embarrassment as I shook my head.

After ensuring that I was not injured in any way or manner, Evan moved to light the stove by my feet. He then removed his jacket and placed it over my lap.

Evan: Be careful not to catch a cold.

My stomach gave a loud rumble in protest the moment he finished. I quickly covered it in embarrassment.

Evan: Alright. Let me procure our lunch.

MC: I'll have to trouble you with it then…

Evan: It's no trouble at all.

Evan removed his glasses, rolled up his sleeves, and picked up my abandoned harpoon on the river bank.

Wrapping his jacket around myself, I looked up at him curiously.

I wonder what the CEO of Warson, ever dignified and well put-together, would look like brandishing a harpoon of steel?

❖☆———————————★❖

Just as I was thinking about that, Evan suddenly went rigid; and I, in turn, watched him with bated breath.

His gaze seemed to be transfixed on a particular fish. His dark red eyes narrowed with intent as the light in his orbs instantly turned to a cold glint; one as sharp as a deadly blade.

He raised the harpoon, the muscles on his arms and chest rippling as they made themselves known in their usage and exuded a raw, primal, sense of power.

The sun's rays glinted off the sharp blade of the harpoon, reflecting the cold light of the forest.

I watched him in a daze. It was almost as if I was watching a formidable and ruthless beast at work after having set eyes on its prey.

I'd rarely seen Evan with such an expression on his face. A thought suddenly popped into my head out of nowhere.

Maybe this was how Evan had always dealt with his enemies; swift and ruthless.

Then, the harpoon flashed through the waters as quick as lightning.

Water splashed everywhere as a muffled thud sounded. Evan had made his quarry, no doubt.

❖☆———————————★❖

With another slosh, the harpoon was withdrawn from the waters. A huge fish followed the length out of the water, trashing incessantly, its tail flicking to and fro.

When Evan turned to look at me, the usual warmth found in his eyes had returned.

Evan: Can you help me fetch a bucket?

I snapped out of the trance, hurriedly moving to fetch a bucket and brought it before him.

MC: You got it in a single strike! You're really awesome, Evan!

Evan: A young lady is waiting for me, hungry and cold, after all.

Embarrassed, I stuck my tongue out at him.

He removed the fish from the harpoon and dumped it into the bucket before returning to the river bank.

Following his return, the harpoon made continuous sounds as it pierced through the waters again and again. His actions grew increasingly precise, and I could tell that he was trying to let out some steam with how much strength he packed into each stab.

Soon, he managed to spear another two fish out of the river. They were both huge and plump, and he seemed to be much more relaxed when he turned back around again.

He knelt down and weighed his spoils with satisfaction.

Evan: The biggest catch weighs nearly 2kg. It should be enough for us.

Afterwards, he neatly killed the fish by the bank before putting them all on the grilling rack. I brushed the fish meat with the barbecue sauce that I'd brought.

The stove burned ever so strongly, and the place was instantly doused with the delicious aroma that rose into the air alongside the smoke. I rubbed my hands in anticipation, so excited about it that I couldn't quite sit still.

The fishes were finally cooked. I quickly took a bite out of it, leaning back in satisfaction as I did.

MC: How fresh! This is too delicious! You should try some too, Evan!

Evan: Sure. Careful not to burn yourself on it.

Saying so, he too, took a piece of the fish and brought it to his mouth. Under my watchful gaze, he gave it a serious chew or two as he contemplated the taste. Eventually, he gave a nod of approval.

Evan: Mmhm. Your sauce does a mean job too.

MC: Not bad, right? This is my personal recipe!

MC: With the fish you caught and my speciality sauce, these fish taste way better than any I've ever had in high-end restaurants!

Evan: We can always eat this again whenever you want to, so long as you're willing.

I nodded, unwittingly flashing him a smile, almost as if making a silent promise to him that we most definitely would.

MC: Have you ever gone fishing, Evan? You technically score full marks in wilderness survival!

Evan: I once lived out in the wild for a while at a time in the past, after all. But, I never had a harpoon back then, so today's my first time using one.

MC: Then you must be a naturally born hunter!

MC: I felt like you were exuding a predatory area when I saw you fishing earlier!

MC: How should I put this… It's as if you'll definitely catch the prey you set your eyes on.

MC: Unlike me… *Sighs*...

Evan: Why the sudden sigh?

MC: Well… I just thought that I'd put up a rather disappointing performance today.

MC: I was the one who got all enticed by the tasty-looking fish, but in the end, not only was I unable to spear a single one, but I've also rendered myself into a right state.

MC: The cat depicted in the cat emote pack online's definitely me. "Small, pitiful, and weak, but eats a whole lot like Tubbs"!

Evan smiled and shook his head. He rested his big hand on my head.

Evan: I don't think this is a fair comparison.

Evan: A kitten won't help me deal with the people I dislike, but that throw of yours earlier was one done with all your might behind the harpoon.

Evan: It makes me feel like I've met someone whom I can entirely trust.

His tone suddenly turned tender and very soft. So soft, that it was almost as if he had all his guards down; but so heavy, that it was as if he'd placed all his trust into it.

It was akin to a small drop of honey, the vicious liquid slowly spreading through my heart.

MC: Of course… I'll always be your most reliable buddy, ever!

MC: But, I'll be happier if I can really be of help to you!

Evan: You've already helped me plenty.

Evan: Next time I have to deal with them, all I have to do is to remember how brave you were and draw strength from that.

I froze. The only thing that my helpful brain provided was the image of me slipping right into the river, butt first. I panicked, instantly setting my chopsticks down.

MC: No! Forget that terrible throw I made earlier! Vanquish the thought!

I laughed as I ate, making a fuss of it all. Before we knew it, all the fish on the grilling rack had been swiped clean.

I embarrassedly put the chopsticks away, awkwardly coming to the realization that I was, in fact, not full yet.

70% filled is still considered full… I inwardly hesitated, mentally debating with myself. I was so absorbed in it that I failed to notice how Evan had a clear view of the expression that flickered across my face yet again.

Evan: I'll go catch some more fish to grill.

MC: Uh… About that… I'm sure the fish meat gets digested quickly! I'm sure that's just what it is!

Evan: No worries.

Evan: The charcoal fire's still going strong and it's still early before sundown. Plus, your dress isn't completely dry either.

Evan: We have more than enough time to slowly eat here, and we can do it until you're full and satisfied.

Evan: And as for just how many fishes you ate… I'll make sure to keep it a secret for you.

MC: Wha?

MC: Evan! I never pegged you for one before, but are you actually up to no-good!?

Evan: I'm being serious here.

Evan: It lifts my spirits whenever I see you eat.

Evan: It makes me feel like there's no simpler pleasure than that.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

★ E8 NIGHT: Walk a while more before resting ★

MC: I'm good. Besides, it'll be hard to get going again once we sit, so how about we carry on a little while more and see how it goes?

Evan: You're here for fun, so you don't have to be so hard on yourself.

But he'd probably seen the determination colouring my eyes, for he immediately added on to his previous sentence.

Evan: But I'll listen to the leader.

MC: Hehe. Now that's more like it.

❖☆———————————★❖

We continued our trek deeper until the forest. Enamoured by the various sights and sceneries, the sky had turned dark long before I knew it.

Evan: Let's find a place to put up the tent. I think this place is pretty suitable.

MC: Okay!

We chose a location with a wide expanse of flat ground. Then, we set about executing the next step of the plan: set up the tent.

I took the tent from my bag, spreading it out on the ground.

First, we had to insert the two rods into the tarpaulin sheet. Then, we had to insert each end of the pole into the small hole on each corner of the tent.

However, this tarpaulin sheet was just way too big. One corner came loose right after I secured the other.

I tried my hardest to spread my arms as far as they could go, but it was still a struggle to secure both ends of the pole at the same time. I fought valiantly, only to end up covered in sweat from my moot attempts.

MC: This is the only time I hate having short limbs…

Evan: Let me help you.

I looked back in surprise. Evan had already returned from fetching water by the river.

He put the bucket down and came up behind me, spreading his arms and holding the curved poles in place with ease.

However, doing so made our positions very close to one another.

His arms were warm, firm, and much longer than my own; long enough to entrap me within when he spread it out horizontally like that. Adding on to that, our clothes were both slightly damp and sticking to our skin. I could acutely feel the faint rise and fall of his chest from behind.

The surroundings seem to be growing warmer, and I felt an inexplicable sense of panic.

Evan: You just have to pin the four corners down.

MC: Okay...

I fumbled as I ducked out of the cage of his arms, putting the rods into the small holes.

❖☆———————————★❖

With Evan's help, the tent was soon set up in no time at all.

Afterwards, we ignited the kerosene lamp again and set up a simple table and chairs. And thus, our little fort out in the wild was finally complete.

Everyone has an innate love of small secluded private spaces at least once in their lives. Looking at our small lodging, I felt a sense of joy well up from the confines of my heart.

MC: Evan, let's go in and have a look inside!

I couldn't wait to delve right inside. It was only after I'd spun a full round in fascination that I realized Evan was still standing outside.

That's not right. How could I have fun all by myself? The goal of coming here today was to make Evan happy!

I thought of a way to nudge Evan into action. A light bulb lit in my head.

MC: Evan, I'm the leader today, so you'll do everything I say, right?

Evan: Yes. What do you want to do?

MC: I want to play a game.

MC: I'll be your personal Doraemon for the day. I'll help you fulfil any wishes you want!

A flicker of surprise passed his face.

Evan: Why do you want to play a game like that?

I pulled him along with me, sitting him down on a chair before sitting right across him.

MC: You've always been my Doraemon, so today, let me enjoy the joy of giving just this once.

Evan: I mean, it's not like you can't; but, what are you sure you want to be doing that here?

MC: Challenges only make it that much more interesting! Feel free to shoot any request you may have!

Unable to ignore my insistence on this matter, he folded his arms and lapsed into thought.

Evan: Then I'll just make a random wish… I want this tent to look prettier.

MC: Gotcha! Leave it to me!

This was probably the first time Evan had ever wished anything of anyone…

And now, the one to listen to his wishes was no one but me… Thinking this, the yearning to fulfil his wishes for him only burned ever stronger.

I suddenly remembered how I'd brought a string of small, colourful, fairy lights with me; if only because I'd seen someone decorate their tent with it online some time before!

I held my excitement in check as I rummaged through my bag for the fairy lights, connected the battery to the string of light and turned it on. Then, I flashed it before Evan.

MC: Ta-daaaa! Look!

❖☆———————————★❖

It was well into the night. Dishing out the fairy lights in peak darkness lit up our surroundings in a dazzling array of colours.

Evan widened his eyes in surprise, gently taking the fairy lights from me and scrutinizing them.

Evan: You actually bought fairy lights? You're a competent Doraemon, all right.

The bedazzling lights shone on our faces, adding a couple more watts to his smile.

Evan lowered his eyes, seemingly lost in his memories.

Evan: You know, these fairy lights remind me of the New Year holidays.

Evan: I walked on the streets and saw the doors of many families decorated with fairy lights like these.

Evan: Celebratory and homey… I really adore it.

Watching Evan's wary manner of carefully selecting his words, I couldn't help but feel my heart clench slightly.

Maybe… this was what he imagined home to be like…

However, he quickly snapped back to reality, his gaze falling to the fairy light before us once more.

Evan: The workmanship of these fairy lights are very intricate, and each bulb is shaped differently.

MC: Yeah. Look, this one’s a small pepper and this one’s a little eggplant...

Evan: Yes. And this one here. This one looks like you; the little rabbit.

MC: It really is a rabbit! You've got some keen observation skills.

MC: But, why am I the only animal? That sounds a little lonely…

Evan: You won't be lonely; because the one right beside the little rabbit's me.

Evan spread his arms, displaying the light bulb beside the little rabbit on the string of lights. But, all I saw was a red ball of light there.

MC: And what does this one look like? I can't really tell

Evan: It doesn't matter what it looks like; because I'm the only one who will stay by the little rabbit's side, regardless.

Although his smile was much warmer in the light, his tone still held an undeniable wistfulness.

I felt an odd sense of panic, but I didn't feel like fleeing from it.

❖☆———————————★❖

Eventually, we put the fairy lights up on the tent.

The constantly flickering and changing lights made the tent look cuter, and much more lovely. It felt like home.

I watched as Evan entered the tent, settling himself comfortably within, his eyes narrowing into happy little slits in a closed-eyed smile. Seeing him this relaxed made my heart fill with joy.

MC: Time for your next wish, Evan!

Evan: Are we continuing? I'm already pretty satisfied.

MC: The game's only just started! You can be a little more willful; just like a little kid!

I gently tugged at his arm, softly coaxing him into giving in.

Getting him to relax was no easy feat; and now, I was finally seeing a glimmer of hope! I can't let it go to waste!

Evan: Alright, one more then.

MC: I'll say this first, but you're forbidden from wishing for something overly simple! I'm Doraemon; you've gotta put your trust in me!

Evan: Okay. Then I want to drink hand-brewed coffee.

He levelled a calm gaze at me, seemingly waiting for me to admit defeat; but I only smiled triumphantly.

MC: Just you wait and see!

I knew that Evan loved coffee, so I’d brought some ground coffee powder along with a set of simple brewing tools.

I lit the stove, boiled a pot of hot water, and slowly poured it into the filter where I’d placed the powder, balanced atop an empty cup, going in circular motions. Soon, a cup of fragrant hand-brewed coffee was made.

I handed the cup of coffee to Evan. He lowered his head to give the aroma a whiff, a pleased smile appearing on his face.

Evan: A fragrance that I love.

Evan: But it's missing a little something.

He then moved to personally make a similar cup for me. We both sat down across each other, nursing our cups of coffee and taking small sips from it.

Even while sitting on a foldable chair, the way he drank his coffee was still as elegant as ever.

The forest was silent. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of intermittent chirping of the insects hidden within the foliage, adding to the relaxed and leisurely atmosphere.

MC: Evan, don’t you think that it’s been a long time since we’ve stepped away from the bustling city life to simply spend time together like this, thinking about nothing?

MC: You seem busy lately. I'm honestly a little concerned if you actually have time to wind down…

Evan: Thank you for your concern. I do have the time to do so once in a while.

He raised the cup of coffee in his hand.

Evan: This is the aroma I settle down with every lunch break, to watch a movie, or to read a book.

MC: Right, I often do the same as well.

A flicker of thought entered my mind, and I immediately latched on.

MC: I know! I've helped you think of your next wish!

Evan: Oh? And what is it?

I smiled mysteriously at him, turning around to rummage through my bag.

I happened to bring a book along with me today, so I searched the contents of my bag for it, pulling it out and handing it to him.

He ran his fingers across the gold-gilded text that had been printed onto the book cover. After a while, he suddenly returned the book to me. I raised my head in slight surprise, only to see the slight smile hidden in the corner of his eyes.

Evan: If that's how it is, then could I trouble you to read a paragraph for me?

MC: Sure.

Opening the book, I picked out a story that was about the forest and slowly started reading aloud.

It was seemingly enough to please him. He held onto his coffee, slowly leaning into the soft pillow, closing his eyes in satisfaction.

After finishing a paragraph, I closed the book, only to find him staring at me seriously. There was a fire flickering within his crimson orbs.

Evan: You know, I actually like this story a lot.

Evan: The first time I read this book, I imagined myself in the protagonist’s shoes.

Evan: Riding a small boat in a remote and secluded river, letting the current take me wherever it goes.

Evan: Expecting nothing, with no destination in mind. It doesn’t matter if I get stuck in a rapid, or if I’m just turning around in place.

MC: Sounds romantic enough. What happened after? Did you ever try doing so?

Evan: Not yet. Later, I ended up coming to the forest many times, but unfortunately, none of it was to seek recreation.

Evan: Which means, this is my first time.

Evan: So, thank you; for making this a memorable night for me.

He seemed a little tuckered out, and his voice was as soft as a mere whisper. His eyes were slowly fluttering shut as he spoke.

His eyelashes slid down as his eyes closed, casting a faint shadow on his features. I quietly observed how picturesque he looked like that as I thought back to everything he’d just said. A new plan was born within my heart.

Perhaps this wish was something that I could truly fulfil for him.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next morning, at exactly 5 AM. I was roused from my slumber as my alarm clock rang.

I gave a big wide stretch, casting a glance at Evan. Thankfully enough, he hadn’t been awoken by the alarm and was still curled up in the sleeping bag next to be, fast and soundly asleep.

After doing a simple wash up, I quietly exited the tent.

We passed by a commercial campground yesterday while searching for a suitable campsite. It provided rental services of a wide variety of camping equipment.

That’s why my first thought had been this place when I heard Evan mention boating last night. Hence, I contacted them and reserved an inflatable kayak.

With the help of my mobile GPS navigator, I walked the forest for about half an hour before I finally arrived at the campsite.

After waiting outside for a good long while, the owner whom I’d previously made an appointment with came up to me in a right state of panic.

Campsite Owner: Sorry! Some trouble cropped up, so I’m late…

MC: Don’t worry about it. What happened though? Do you need any help?

Campsite Owner: Can I bother you? If so, then yes please! I’ll tell you what happened…

After a while, I handed a trembling kitten to the owner.

It began rolling about as soon as it returned to its owner’s arms, acting like a baby as it rubbed itself against the owner’s palm, as if expressing regretfulness for its actions.

MC: The little guy must have been scared out of its mind.

Campsite Owner: Yeah. Thank you so much, Miss! I have no idea what I'd have done without you.

MC: Don't worry about it. It's no big deal.

When I came to the campsite earlier, the owner had been in the middle of a cat problem. It had climbed to the top of the tree without anyone's notice and didn't dare come down.

It had been meowing helplessly at the very top. Hence, I immediately joined the rescue effort without a second thought.

I hear that it had already been stuck up the tree for about 10 hours or more. We didn't have a tall enough ladder, so it took a great amount of improvisation to finally save the poor kitten.

Campsite Owner: Oh, right. J nearly forgot your kayak. This isn't light, though! Can you carry it alone?

MC: Huh?

I stepped forward to test its weight. The folded inflatable kayak was indeed heavier than I expected. But thinking about how Evan would react upon seeing this kayak, I suddenly felt that this extra weight meant absolutely nothing in comparison.

Campsite Owner: *Sigh* Since you've helped me, I ought to repay you the favour by lugging this back for you. But I've still got appointments later so I really can't afford to leave...

Campsite Owner: Rental's free of charge then! Have fun with it!

MC: It's alright, I can just take my time carrying it back. Thank you!

After bidding my farewells to the owner, I took the kayak with me and left the campsite.

I hadn't made it fat when my arms started feeling sore. All I could do was to put the kayak on the ground and take a short breather.

As I spaced out, I suddenly heard a muffled sound coming from within the depths of the forest.

My ears tuned in to the sound in full alert. Whatever that was, it was by no means small.

Was it an animal? Or was it someone?

The crunching sound of leaves approached closer and closer. Now, I could tell without a doubt that those footsteps were most definitely human. And it sounded a little rushed; panicked, even.

Feeling a little uneasy, I couldn’t help but stand back up.

Then, a familiar figure emerged from the dense forest.

MC: …Evan!?

He seemingly breathes out a long sigh of relief upon spotting me. He quickly strode up to me.

Evan: I finally found you, at least.

Evan: I woke up in the morning to find you missing, and you never picked up even when I called. I was worried sick.

He looked as calm and unruffled as ever at first glance. The only difference was that he seemed a little out of breath.

This place isn’t close to our campsite at all. How long has he been searching for me out in the woods?

Thinking about it made me feel a little guilty.

I ended up telling him briefly about the unexpected situation I’d encountered in the commercial camp and everything before that.

MC: I left really early. I initially thought that I’d be back before you woke up, but I never thought that I’d take that long to get back...

MC: I’ve been busy this entire time so I didn’t have the time to check my phone. Sorry for worrying you.

Evan: It's okay. Just… Don't leave my side without saying anything next time, alright?

I nodded and lowered my eyes in embarrassment. Unexpectedly, I then noticed that he’d buttoned a button near the hem of his dress shirt wrong.

Having never seen Evan disregard his appearance in this manner before, I very nearly failed to suppress my snort of laughter.

Evan: Hm? What's the matter?

I shook my head, undoing that button and rebuttoning it right. It was only then that he noticed his slight gaffe. He laughed at his own mistake.

Evan: …Thank you.

Looking into his eyes, I couldn't hold back the urge to ask him the one thing that had been nagging at my mind.

MC: This place is not anywhere close to our campsite. How did you know I was here?

Evan: I couldn't contact you in the morning, so I searched around the tent to see if you left anything resembling a note behind.

Evan: I remembered that you seemed interested in this place when we passed by it yesterday, so I thought that maybe this was where you'd gone.

I hadn’t expected him to see completely through me as he cast a glance at the kayak on the ground.

MC: *Sigh* Why did you figure everything out like that? I wanted to surprise you!

Evan: Don't worry about it. This is also a surprise in and of itself, don't you think? Thank you for all the effort you've put in.

Evan: It feels pretty good to have your wish granted by someone else.

He gently took my hand in his, enveloping my palm in his bigger one, transmitting his unusual body warmth.

Evan: But I also want you to know that just you being by my side's more than enough for me.

My train of thought was disrupted by his tender gaze, making it hard for me to gather my thoughts together.

MC: But I don't think that's enough.

MC: You’re always taking care of others and listening to their wishes, but you can’t forget yourself and your wishes.

MC: I want to hear more of your wishes. You can always be a little greedier when you’re with me, Evan...

He looked at me for a fleeting second before suddenly closing in on me. He only stopped when my figure was completely enshrouded within his shadow.

Evan: Then, can I be greedy one last time?

MC: Huh…?

Not waiting for me to give him an answer, he advanced a step forwards, pulling me into a hug.

His arms were solidly wound around me, and the fragrance of wormwood that came with his embrace was lasting and stronger than ever.

The strength behind his action made it hard for me to reject him, hard for me to escape.

Oddly enough, I felt a little intoxicated by it, slowly closing my eyes.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next day, early morning. I woke up to the melodious singing of birds.

Evan was already awake, neatly dressed and sitting on the folded chair at the entrance, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Evan: Good morning. Sleep well last night?

MC: Brilliantly! I was so tired from walking so long yesterday that I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

MC: Oh, right. It’ll take quite a long time to go back where we came, so let’s eat something, pack up, and leave as soon as possible!

Evan set his cup of coffee down,

Evan: Aren’t you forgetting something?

MC: Huh?

Evan: I recall you wanting to see bamboo piths, but we have yet to see any.

I froze, awkwardly laughing it off

That had originally been an excuse to get him outside and I’d totally forgotten about it.

MC: Hehe. I’m not that adamant about seeing bamboo piths.

MC: I only said that back then as an excuse to get you out so that you can relax.

MC: I heard that you had things rather rough before that so I was a little worried about you.

He looked slightly surprised. Then, he lowered his eyes, a warm smile catching onto the sides of his mouth.

Evan: So it was because of me.

Evan: Thank you for accompanying me here. I’m certainly much more relaxed now.

MC: But considering how you were previously… Are you really okay?

Evan: Yes. It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. I was just thinking about some old people and old things and felt a little glum about it.

Evan: I never thought that I’d end up alarming others.

MC: Why am I “others” now?

MC: Don’t bottle your troubles up to solve them yourself. You need to remember to share them with people close to you as well!

Evan: Okay. I will keep that in mind.

I still didn’t know what he was troubled by, but I suppose this was still within my expectations.

From my impression of him, he has always been strong. It was almost as if he was shouldering a mission that no one knew about, walking down a similarly obscured path.

After finishing breakfast, we packed and prepared to leave the forest.

We idly chatted with each other along the way until suddenly, Evan stopped short while we were passing through an area.

Following his gaze, I saw a unique-looking umbrella-shaped thing growing within the shrubbery’s shade.

Evan: See? We still managed to chance upon it.

MC: Wow, are all of these bamboo piths?

We walked over together, squatting beside the small white fungi.

It had a small black cap and had grown out a long white mesh skirt.

This was the first time I ever saw a bamboo pith growing in the soil. I widened my eyes in surprise, unwilling to blink as I drank in the sight. After observing it for a while, I finally raised a finger, reaching out to touch its “skirt”.

MC: It’s so wet and soft-looking! It’s adorable! Have you seen it before, Evan?

MC: I can’t believe you managed to recognize it at a glance!

Evan: Yes. It was back during the first time I’d been driven into the forest as a child.

Evan: I witnessed the law of the jungle and escaped from the jaws of death of a snake. I felt like the forest was a place filled with danger and wanted nothing but to leave the place the faster, the better.

Evan: Then, just as I was hungry and exhausted, I saw a bamboo pith.

Evan: At that time, I didn’t know what it was and if it was actually poisonous.

Evan: Deep in the throes of despair, I thought “why not just take it, eat it, and see what my fate turns out to be”?

MC: Evan…

Evan: But guess what I saw while I was hesitating?

Evan: I saw it growing its fungus skirt. All it took was a little effort on its part, and its little skirt grew longer and longer.

Evan: I stared at it blankly, in a daze. I didn’t even notice that my legs had gone numb from how long I’d stared at it.

He retracted himself from his memory palace, turning around to face me with a smile.

Evan: It was as simple as a little young lady, capable of encouraging me with its adorability and enchantments.

Evan: It made me understand that forest, in all its gloom and doom, still has its own little interesting spots.

Evan: And that one is only capable of seeing it by living on, don’t you think?

His expression was quiet, but within those calm eyes of his, I could see that little boy who’d struggled his hardest to remain strong. I felt my heart constrict slightly at that and moved to hold his hand tightly in my own.

MC: Evan, that’s all in the past. You’re no longer that helpless little boy.

Evan: No, I’m fine.

Evan: I might have forgotten even this if we hadn’t seen the bamboo piths today.

Evan: It feels a little unbelievable when I think back on it now. It was a memory plagued by darkness, yet it still held its own beautiful moments.

I felt a pang of sorrow creep into my heart. Words of comfort were right at the tip of my tongue, yet I felt like they’d be completely helpless.

This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.

There are many reasons why one would choose death, but to choose life? The reason was simple; just a little spark was required, and Evan was no exception.

MC: I forgot who said it, but someone once said that the meaning of existence that people spend their entire lives seeking out is actually hidden in the simple things.

MC: Evan, won’t you say that you might end up thinking similarly as well one day?

MC: You might not be able to find it immediately, but that’s fine. I will accompany you in your search for it, no matter how long it takes.

Evan fixed me with a profound look before stretching out his hand and reverently crossing it over my own.

Evan: Alright. Together we shall be.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 4 + 6 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 7 + 8 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ☆Light & Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Revolution⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #陆沉 #Evan #For Night For Revolution #繁荫秘语 #Umbrae Secrets

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only-lonely-stars · 3 years

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The Future is Bright, Chapter 1

[Chapter 1 (Beginning) - you are here!] // [Chapter 2] // [Chapter 10 (End)] (FFN)

Credit for the inspiration of this newest story goes to @hot-anime-plundar! I finally got around to writing it in full (10 chapters). :) Thank you for allowing me the use of your idea! Updates will be on Sundays.

Summary: What would happen if Cole had indeed had a reflection in the tomb of the First Spinjitzu Master? How would that have changed his life later? What would it have been? This story follows what might have happened if he had seen something, and what it was; who he would have become. What if his future was already decided?... (Rated T for safety. Alternate title: the Cosmic Spoilers AU.)

Chapter 1: The Tomb and the City

The arrival of ghosts was not something any of the Ninja expected, and certainly not something Cole had thought would happen to them. No, he hadn't expected anything like what had happened; what’s more, he really didn't like being stuck as a ghost.

Of course, it wasn’t as if he could change the fact that he was a ghost. It was… irreversible.

Days, weeks later– how long had it been?– he was stuck in an underwater ship, going to Lloyd's grandfather's tomb. It was a wild goose chase, but they were there to hunt down a magic crystal and hope that Morro hadn’t killed the youngest of his brothers. It was a dire thought, but there was at least a little levity; the irony of it all made it at least a little bearable.

The seawater crashed against R.E.X.’s walls as they descended, and Cole tried to ignore it by cataloguing the events since Morro’s return. As he thought back to the beginning of this mess, it was a bit of a blur in his memory. One moment they’d been trying to advertise the tea shop, the next they were fighting for their lives and Lloyd’s freedom; it was all just too fast to keep straight.

He was too tired to remember.

No, he couldn’t say that anymore. Of course. Cole couldn’t blame tiredness, or hunger, or thirst, or anything he felt, for how messy the whole deal was. Now that he was a First-Master-forsaken ghost, he couldn’t feel anything but cold and emptiness… how fitting.

It was almost a relief when conversation resumed and they were attacked by a giant squid. Then they were at the tomb, with R.E.X. gone… and everyone else felt just as cold as he did.

-----

When they reached the ice maze, they knew Morrow was ahead of them, but it was hard to ignore the grandeur of the place despite him. Around them, great walls of ice reached up, dwarfing the Ninja as they regained their breath from the slides that went down to it from the chamber with the golden staff. Ice coated every surface but the rocky floor, making for traction but not the same amount of reflection. There was a source of light somewhere unknown, filtering through the ice in its watery way, and it made the area almost feel sleepy.

As he took in the surroundings, Cole couldn’t help but look up, up, up at the walls and wonder what the caves were for. Were they always there? Did the First Master make them? It was a curious thought– had the creator of the realm made something without the Golden Weapons, too?

The four didn’t take very long to stop and marvel, resolving to continue in and follow Morro. After all, they had to beat him to the Realm Crystal. However, they stopped again when they reacted the first of the ice walls.

When they reached it, Zane approached the wall alone, curiosity written on his mechanical features. “My reflection… is that me?” He paused, examining it and turning his head this way and that. “I look older, but my attire is… different. This is not what I look like right now at all.”

“Really?” Kai followed him. Then he stared at himself, taking a moment to redo the spikes in his hair a little. “Well… mine looks like me, but older. There’s a bunch of magic junk in this tomb; makes sense that the ice walls are magic too.” He grinned. “By the way, I aged super well.”

“Wait, really?” Jay ran up to his own with a beaming grin. “Let’s see!” He looked himself over in glee. “Woah ho ho! I get an awesome eyepatch!” he yelled, voice echoing through the caverns.

“Shh!” Kai hissed. “Jay! Morro’s in here!”

“I know, I know, give me a break!” Jay laughed. “Magic ice is telling me I’m gonna be a pirate, and he knows already.” He touched the ice. “There’s just a thing next to me– a blur. What is that…” Jay stopped talking and watched as the blur shifted, and then sighed, sounding completely smitten. Now he whispered. “...I end up with Nya.”

Cole tried to hear what Jay said, but for once, he was too quiet. Cole only shrugged to himself– it was probably nothing. No, he walked up to the ice wall as well, taking a moment to look at the others before his reflection. “I wonder what mine is.”

“Well, look at it!” Kai called. “We don’t have forever!”

“Fine.” After a moment of trepidation, Cole looked to the ice.

As soon as Cole caught sight of his reflection, Cole couldn’t help but stare. Looking back at him in the ice was himself. He didn’t smile or move if Cole didn’t, but it was no vision of his current self… it really was the future.

In the ice, Future Cole’s hair was longer. He wore white and blue, not black– a sort of robe that tied at the waist, with a belt that had his dragon symbol for the clasp. However, two things were most surprising: a yin-yang pin on his chest, and an orange scar on his very much not ghostly temple, reaching halfway down his face. He was everything that Cole was not right now.

As Cole took in the image, he couldn’t help but grin. Future Cole grinned too, and laughter lines appeared by his eyes. He stared, taking in the sight of himself, until he heard the sound of Kai’s impatient footsteps behind him. “Well? What do you see? You got all quiet.”

Cole turned to him, still grinning wildly, and couldn’t help a little laugh. “I’m human again!”

“What? That’s impossible!” Kai cried. “I mean, it’s good, but it’s still impossible!”

“Apparently not!”

“Kai, you forget that we believed ghosts were impossible before recently,” Zane interrupted, coming over to look as well. “Cole, what do you see?”

“I… well, I’m human.” He examined it again in awe. “There’s… there’s a weird scar on my temple, but otherwise it’s like nothing ever happened.”

Jay laughed. “That’s awesome! You don’t stay a ghost!” He tore his eyes away from his reflection and came up to Cole’s, looking at it curiously. “That’s weird... You’re dressed differently than I am.”

Cole tore his eyes away and looked at Jay. “Really? What do you mean?”

Jay shrugged. “I’m wearing something like, I don’t know, a sensei’s robe. You’re wearing a dress!”

“It’s not a dress! Those are formal robes!” He looked back at it, frowning. “Though… white and blue isn’t like the Ninjagian royal family, so that can’t be it. Plus, a yang pin…”

Kai gaped. “You’ve got a yang?!” The sound of his shout echoed through the ice maze, shrill and bouncing off the ice.

“Quiet!” Zane hissed, covering Kai’s mouth with one freezing cold hand. “Remember, Morro is here. We must stay focused!”

Cole grimaced as Kai recoiled from Zane’s touch. “Crud– okay, yeah. Having a yang is not so great, but let’s talk later!” He glanced back at the ice one last time. “We’d better find Morro.” Still, that was his future self...

He frowned again. Was his reflection glowing green, like a ghost? Why would it glow like that if he was human?

Realization crashed down with even more ghostly coldness as the glow darkened and grew. It wasn’t his reflection, or anything like it.

The words ripped from his throat before he could think. “Morro’s here! LOOK OUT!”

-----

For years, the memory of the First Spinjitzu Master’s tomb was one that stuck with Cole more closely than he would admit to anyone.

Long after Morro and the Preeminent had been defeated, he still found himself sometimes thinking about what he’d seen. Some days he’d ignore it, knowing he’d recognize his path when he saw it. Other days it would weigh on him, much more than it ever did on the others. After all, he had a different fate than them, and apparently a yang to go with it. What did that leave for him to decide?

Nevertheless, and despite Cole’s worries, it didn’t seem to come. Years passed with no sign of any of his brothers’ futures coming to pass– the only exception was Jay, whose relationship with Nya was rebuilt stronger than ever. Even so, the rest (including the eyepatch) didn’t seem to happen, and Cole wondered if it ever would. Maybe it was a trick, or a test from the First Master. What if it wasn’t real at all?

Whatever the truth was, the vision slowly faded from his mind, and he eventually conceded to let it come to pass when it would. There was too much to do and think about, anyway; a biker gang, being stranded in another realm (or three), and evil emperors were just a few of them. There was never a rest, never a break, until after they’d liberated the prisoners of Prime Empire. It was only then that he remembered the vision… and promptly tried to ignore it again.

Despite Cole’s desire to avoid his memories, another adventure came too quickly for his liking. It was an invitation to a place he’d only heard stories of, mostly from his mother as a child. It was to the mythical city of Shintaro, deep in the mountains in central Ninjago. On the surface, it looked like a vacation, but Cole knew better; it was bound to become yet another mess to clean up.

When they at last arrived, the Ninja looked in awe upon the ivory city. There were spires and minarets on every building, and especially the palace. The city’s flagstone streets were perfectly clean, the roofs were gilt, the people were the fairest-skinned people Cole had ever seen– all in all, it was a true wonder to see.

The city’s force of winged guards escorted them to the palace as honored guests, having saved them from horrid direbats as they entered. As they went into the palace, their eyes caught on the vaulted and painted ceilings, buttresses, and columns everywhere. Every wall seemed to be inlaid with gold and carvings, or painted beautifully enough that they would stop looking where they were going. That was what happened when Kai walked into Lloyd, who had stopped to stare– they’d hit their heads, and rubbed them ruefully as Nya rolled her eyes.

Despite their distraction and awe, the Ninja eventually reached the throne room, and without injury. When they reached it, two Shintaran guards opened the doors. The captain of the guard–a man named Hailmar, if Cole had heard him correctly– led them in, gesturing to them and bowing to the throne.

“It is with great honor, King Vangelis,” he cried, “that I present the famed Ninja of Ninjago!”

At his announcement, the king stood from where he’d been sitting on his throne to greet them. He wore white and blue robes that struck Cole as being very familiar, but he struggled to place the familiarity. The king didn’t seem to notice his confusion, as he smiled at them and spread his hands.

“Welcome, welcome! I’m most pleased that you were able to accept our invitation.” The king bowed in greeting. “It is an honor.”

“The honor is ours,” Sensei Wu responded with a matching bow. “Shintaro is beyond anything we imagined.”

The king smiled benevolently. “I’m only a figurehead. The citizens of our proud city are the heart of Shintaro.”

“Oh!” A cheerful voice came from the side of the throne room. “They’re here!”

Cole looked over to its source. The voice belonged to a lovely young woman, dressed in white and blue robes to match the king’s. She was grinning excitedly, and bowed in greeting hastily. Cole’s eyes caught on her– she was beautiful, in a young sort of way, and he immediately knew she was the princess. The colors were still so strangely familiar...

The king beamed at his daughter as she entered. “Ah! Please, meet my heart– her royal Princess Vania.”

Vania happily approached them, coming to stand in front of the Ninja with barely-contained excitement. “I am such a fan of yours. I’ve read all about your adventures! It was my idea to invite you to my birthday.”

Cole couldn’t help but smile at her. Her enthusiasm was infectious! He hadn’t realized it, but she was at least half a head shorter than him– not that her small stature contained her enthusiasm. “Well, it’s an honor to be here, Princess.”

She smiled back, cheerful and bright, and looked among them. “So, is it true that you’ve been to Hiroshi’s Labyrinth?”

“Affirmative,” Zane noted cheerfully.

“Competed in the Tournament of Elements?”

“Oh, do we have stories for you,” Kai added with a grin.

She gasped. “I need to hear them all!”

“Where shall we begin?” Cole was about to tell her a story, but he stopped, for Hailmar had descended between them. He was frowning, clearly protective and watching Cole distrustfully. However, he stepped aside for the king, who set a hand on Cole’s shoulder.

“You can begin by following me!” the king interjected with a smile. “Tomorrow will be a very busy day for all of us; I will show you to your rooms here.” He led them to hallway, and the whole group began walking together.

“Cole, the Earth elemental,” Vania began, coming up alongside him with no sign of losing her excited smile. “What is it like to command the very earth? Is it as fun as it sounds?”

He grinned back at her– it wasn’t hard. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“That’s what I thought. Personally, it sounds amazing! Imagine what you could do with the mountains!”

“Oh yeah, just about anything you can think of! It’s pretty cool.”

King Vangelis hummed in interest. “Are you quite strong, Cole?”

Cole looked to him, then shrugged sheepishly. “Well, uh, I guess. Not the strongest person– that’s probably Karloff– but I can move a lot.”

Vania flushed a light pink. “Come on, Father! He’s the Master of Earth. I’m sure he’s very strong.”

“But of course,” the king said indulgently, though not with the same enthusiasm. “I’m sure the Master of Earth is more than a match for our mountains.”

Cole grinned self-consciously. “That’s really nice of you to say, your Majesty.”

“Think nothing of it,” the king dismissed. “I simply hope you find Shintaro as lovely as we do during your visit. I have personally seen to it that you will want for nothing while in our borders.”

Cole smiled properly at the king. “That’s really nice of you, your Majesty. Thank you.”

“Consider it thanks for all you’ve done for us.” Vangelis smiled flatteringly. “After all, Ninjago’s business is our business. We’re at your service.”

“Yes, we are!” Vania repeated. “I’d be happy to show you around the palace, actually.”

“Well, we’d love a tour,” Cole responded hesitantly. “All of us are super excited to see Shintaro.”

“Of course.” A little wind seemed to be taken out of her sails, but she quickly bounced back. “I’d love to show you all around! I think there’s a spot in the garden you’ll love…”

From there, conversation flowed easily. Cole was completely engrossed in it, even as the king fell behind to talk to the others more, mostly with Master Wu. Behind the group, Jay stopped to whisper with Lloyd and Nya, watching Cole from behind.

“The princess seems to like Cole!” he remarked. “I mean, he’s my best friend and all, but… Cole?”

Lloyd glared at Vania’s back. “Yeah… weird.”

Nya elbowed Lloyd harshly. “Not every princess is like Harumi! Plus, Jay... you’re not subtle.”

“Nya, my darling, my yang, love of my life–”

“Jay.”

“–all I’m saying is that she has a thing for him! When has that happened?”

Nya was about to retort back, but paused, considering what he said. “...You know what? It’s been a while for him.” She pointed at Jay. “That’s really cool, but don’t tease him!”

Jay frowned, muttering. “I have to, he’s my best friend.”

Nya reached over and smacked him.

“Ow!”

“We’re in the presence of royalty!” she hissed.

“Fine,” he whined. “I won’t tease him in the presence of royalty.”

Lloyd gave him a curious look. “Is that code for ‘I’m going to bug him later?’”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

Lloyd snickered. “Do it.”

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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June 17: 1x23 The Omega Glory

Watched the very uneven episode “The Omega Glory” today. Upon some reflection.. I think I have seen it? But I think my last rewatch ended abruptly after “By Any Other Name” so it might have been some time ago.

Anyway, it was... something. Decent, I might even say good, until the last 10-15 minutes and then it just went off a cliff? That’s how I’d summarize it.

Sulu, my beloved. I’ve missed you.

Kirk knows where all the ships are. I mean, obviously, but I love to hear it.

Phasers on heavy stun huh?

It’s so weird to be on a different ship. That looks like the same ship. It’s so empty and haunted looking.

With creepy crystal remains of bodies everywhere.

“These white crystals... are the crew.”

Something was thirsty!! Perhaps... a water vampire? Perhaps... a former McCoy girlfriend?

(Honestly having watched the whole ep...they could have expanded this intro longer. It was creepy and mysterious. Then cut the last act.)

Oh no, they’ve been infected and now must quarantine. Sort of. I guess.

...Oh no, is this Vietnam? Again?

“Our old enemy, Vietnam.”

My mother suggested the disease might be communism and I don’t think that metaphor tracks through the whole episode but you know what.. anything’s possible.

I don’t like this whole “you can’t leave the planet or you’ll get sick and die” thing. Too familiar.

"I may never be able to leave this planet but I have a worse problem: a colleague may be breaking a rule."

Says the man who has frequently violated a directive that has never been referred to as Prime before.

Kirk is getting very mumbly. That’s his serious voice.... bu it’s also his Denny Crane voice lol.

Like bio warfare in the 90s? TOS really thought the 90s was going to be the dark ages, didn’t it?

Only 90s kids remember...

Spock bursting in with a wounded man, just bringing the drama, as he does.

He’s not even listening to McCoy. Rude.

Spock absolutely 100% would have killed Captain Tracey on instinct as soon as Kirk is threatened.

Sulu’s in command? I love Captain Sulu but where is Scotty?

Kirk is so good. Clever, strong, smart. Knows all the regulations.

Tracey’s so dumb. “They’ve eradicated disease and live for hundreds of years!” Man, have you considered that they are...aliens? And their life spans are simply.... naturally longer than human life spans? And even if you could isolate the serum, it might not work on humans?

And his master plan is to isolate their immunity and bottle it for profit. It’s our old enemy... capitalism and the exploitation of intellectual property.

A fight scene!

“The pointy-eared one stays.”

Another fight scene!

Spock is watching all of this, and you know what, I feel like he’s not upset about it. It’s just like Pre-Reform Vulcan. Perhaps some... Amok Time flashbacks? “Damn, I wish that was me.”

Peanut gallery Spock.

“I wish you could teach me that.” / “I have tried.” Omg where is my scene of Spock trying to teach Kirk the nerve pinch?

And then that look Kirk gives him.

I don’t get the point of this scene but it amuses me that as soon as McCoy sees the pretty girl, he feels better.

A post-apocalyptic alien world... a very interesting concept. Like you could do a lot with that idea imo.

“That’s our worship word [freedom too.” Umm.... questionable.

Damn bitch, that was cold. Just knocking him out like that.

Damn yankee.

...Yankee and Communist dammit.

McCoy’s not even surprised to see Kirk and Spock out of jail.

Nature created a natural counterbalance to the biological disease. Where is OUR natural counterbalance, I ask?

McCoy sounds extra Southern rn. It’s all the stress.

I really don’t think Shatner gets enough credit for his subtlety. His face when McCoy explains the whole situation...

Oh he's mad now. "You've hurt Spock for nothing! Oh yeah and also killed thousands but MOSTLY THE SPOCK THING!”

Whereas Tracey really doesn’t seem to care about anything but war for its own sake. He knows now that his master plan for immortality was nothing the whole time...but he still needs to call those Yangs.

In other words, another once-reputable figure of authority now gone mad.

Kirk’s voice is so casual when he’s talking to Uhura and Sulu, you feel like he’s gotta have something up his sleeve. He can never hide when he’s really upset about something.

...Apparently what he had up his sleeve was his crew knowing regulations and then another full body tackle. Fight scene 3!

"My need for attention is vital.” Same, Spock.

This is a very attenuated and unbelievable connection Kirk is making but he’s Kirk so I’ll assume it makes sense that he’s putting it all together so fast.

Alternate Universe: Vietnam canon-divergence lol.

For anyone keeping track, this is right about the point where the episode goes off the rails.

YOU’RE A ROMANTIC, JIM. Well he’s right about that at least and he should say it.

Oh no, an American flag.

Cloud William, chief and the son of chiefs. That’s continuity of government for you.

(Also pretty hilarious that this society is supposedly So American with our exact flag and Constitution and everything... but they’re not a democracy.)

I really don’t want to believe that “under God” is still in the pledge 200 years from now.

"You're confusing the stars with heaven." Kirk thinks he's being called an angel.

The absolute mishmash of meaningless, referent-free words here. America. Native Americans. Communists. The flag, the Constitution. God. Angels. Devils. What???

Like how can they both be flag worshippers AND...believers in God? Who is their God? Alien George Washington?

So rude to call Spock Kirk’s “servant.” That’s his space husband!

Is that a literal picture of Spock as a demon in their.. Bible?

I can’t even follow this anymore.

“You command him.” I mean...yes, that’s how the military works.

“He has no heart.” Wow, rude.

“His heart is different!” I stan one (1) Southern Doctor.

I feel like Spock is just... not having this at all. His face loos like he’s thinking what I’m thinking.

Oh no is that the CONSTITUTION??!

“Kill his servant” wow Tracey is obsessed with Spock, isn’t he? I guess everyone in the Fleet knows about them and their special relationship.

Spock is even amused by the knife at his throat. His eyes say "I am distressed--but fascinated!"

A FOURTH fight scene? And here I thought Kirk was going to recite the Constitution.

“I’m open to suggestions.” He’s just as worried about Kirk as McCoy is, bu the doesn’t show it.

...Yep, he’s being telepathic again. Not really in line with his usual telepathy but okay. Alien magic is flexible.

Okay I have a JD and I can confidently say there is nothing about good defeating evil in the Constitution.

And now this alien guy is immediately ready to make himself a “slave.” That seems problematic. What happened to the holy word “Freedom”?

Wow, Kirk's in a bad mood. "You can't pronounce your own holy words worth shit."

“This is only for the eyes of a Chief,” he says and Kirk just pushes him away.

Spock literally turns Tracey around for Kirk’s big final speech like “Listen up, bitch, my boyfriend’s talking.”

Is this the 4th of July episode?? Feels like there should be canons and fireworks going off behind him rn.

Idk, the words of the Constitution can't be so unique and unprecedented if a WHOLE OTHER ALIEN CIVILIZATION just came up with them, too, on their own, like monkeys typing Hamlet. (Given the timelines here... they probably did it first too lol.)

"Liberty and freedom need to be more than just words." Like what does that even mean in this context? Sounds nice but it’s very hard to put into the context of all the rest of this.

“And uh be nice to the Kohms,” after most of them (?) were probably just killed.

I really was into this until the last 10-15 minutes and I think there were under-explored concepts that could have taken the fever dream of whatever that bizarre-o fever dream at the end was. The abandoned ship. The leftovers of bio warfare. The whole weird and under-explained concept of immunity. The tragedy that so much was destroyed,, including but not limited to the whole Exeter crew, for no reason. What happened to Tracey to so destroy him--was it just greed? What about the “Prime” Directive? Is it important or not. They just leave at the end after (as Spock pointed out) doing quite a bit of their own meddling, even though meddling is allegedly the worst. Also, we know almost nothing about the Kohms at all. The “American” society clearly wasn’t democratic. Were the Kohms literally Communist?

I’m willing to accept a certain degree of alternate Earth scenarios--like Miri (though imo that was not a necessary component of that story) or Bread and Circuses, but this was too much. TOO unbelievable. And frankly unnecessary. You could do an allegory for alternate-Vietnam, and it would be just as clear but even more effective. There wouldn’t be any distraction in the form of “what the fuck is that flag doing here?”

There is a potentially incendiary concept here, which is the same one I thought of reading about actual COG plans--certain aspects of the Yanks’ culture survives, but with absolutely no meaning attached. They have a Constitution but they mispronounce all the words. They have this tattered flag but it has no other meaning. They’ve turned the symbols of the government into a religion, but they don’t practice any of the civil aspects of it--they have chiefs, not democratically appointed leaders, for example. Like, COG asks “what IS the country, and how do you make sure the country endures no matter what?” This was an opportunity to show the worst of that: the country continues to exist as symbology only--incredibly strong symbology, but only that--and all of the actual values that were supposed to be stored with that symbology have disappeared. Similarly, their hatred of their enemies endures. It’s lauded in the ep as their attempt to get “their land” back but what if it’s just war for its own sake, as Tracey seems to be engaging in? To tell that story, especially in the 60s, against the backdrop of Vietnam, and with the references to bio warfare and nuclear warfare, could be powerful. And I know TOS can work in metaphor and comparison. It doesn’t need to bring out a literal fucking flag.

Honestly, it was like they had one good, classic, sci fi story but it didn't fill 52 minutes so they tacked on the American Pride 4th of July Propaganda Extravaganza at the end.

It really felt like the lesson was “America good” lol.

I liked the concept of the post apocalyptic society in the aftermath of bio warfare as a cautionary tale for 1960s America, and I'd be up for crazed snake oil salesman Starfleet Captain (or...whatever his rank was) if it were a bit better explained. But the rest of it....

It also... could have been kinda incendiary with the idea that the Constitution and flag are religious symbols... I mean some people do treat them that way and I've always found that, first, blasphemous, and second, bizarre in such a hyper-Christian country. But I feel like instead of digging ito that, they just tempered it with "But also they're Christian, as you can tell by their drawing of devil!Spock, for some reason."

Idk, this story could have been complete with out the whole weird “Vietnam AU” back story or alternately it could have been a biting commentary about what defines America, and about whether or not our symbols might be more enduring--or even more important to people today??--than the laudable but more complex and difficult ideals that underpin the country’s founding. Are the words of the Constitution just gobbledy gook? They are if you don’t live by them, and America has always struggled to do that. It definitely would struggle even more in the aftermath of an apocalypse.

...I’m more annoyed now, thinking about the possible sci fi story that could have been...

Anyway next is an ep I’m fairly sure I haven’t seen, so that should be fun.

#the year 2021 #2021: star trek #star trek tos

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sierracolorstheworldofwords · 4 years

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Yandere googlepliers x chubby reader

An:I went really experimental with formatting, because I was really inspired by Winter girls by Laurie Halse Anderson, the author of speak. Anyway, this is a repost because tumblr ate up the original post. I plan to post fan fics more often now that I have a laptop, so if you like my writing, requests are open! :D

Chaos. So much burning.

Smoldering, smoky buildings, streets covered in bloody corpses. A woman's head twisted at an odd angle, her eyes ice cubes as they stared at you, her mouth opened into a frozen scream.

Walking down the road, you shuddered, holding yourself, almost as if trying not to fall apart.

Your foot steps echoed, bouncing off alleyways and jagged skyscrapers, whose metal interiors now exposed, reminded you of broken bones. Blood littered the streets like bright red watercolor, while organs, scattered like rose petals and party streamers, lay exposed on grey sidewalks and hung from lamp posts.

Gagging, your breathing grew heavier as you turned a corner, seeing a baby's head hanging by its spinal cord like a twisted piñata from a store front, it's eyeball clinging onto a pink string as it dangled from its eye socket. Oh.. oh.. oh god.

No, no, your boys— couldn't.. couldn't do this! You ran past the store, and ran past an apartment building. You ran past an alleyway, a library, caught in the maze. Trapped like a rat. Turning left and right frantically.

They couldn't do this. They couldn't do this.

They changed, they changed.

You kept passing dead bodies. The smell of burning metal and flesh haunted the air. The streets covered in a blanket of broken glass, and the buildings that remained intact almost had all broken windows and doors. Cars had been turned upside down and squashed like a wads of construction paper.

Everything silent. Except for the eerie and distant noise of sirens, echoing throughout the city. You didn't notice at first. Too caught up in the violence. Now, you heard them, and ran towards them.

Your boys couldn't do this.

The boys who loved blue and green and red and yellow. Whose colors always reminded you of wildflowers.

They couldn't.

Prime, who you loved with all your heart couldn't do this. Oliver, who you loved with all your heart couldn't do this. Rowan, who you loved with all your heart couldn't do this. Conan, who you loved with all your heart couldn't do this.

Running, you turned a corner, getting closer to the noise.

Where was everybody? Could they really murder an entire population? They couldn't— could they?

Desperate, you pushed yourself faster. You passed a man with his chest gouged out. Someone had their hands torn off and stuck up their— you wished you hadn't seen that. A girl lay crumpled on the side walk, her pigtails pulled off, and her face smashed in.

Too many bodies to count. All of them, chopped up like vegetables, and torn up like dolls in the jaws of a dog. So much violence. So much destruction.

The sirens screamed for you to keep running. Why did you stop, they asked. You hadn't even noticed you stopped, until you heard your breathing, and felt you legs shaking like plates stacked too high, your whole body ready to break.

You stopped right in front of the little girl, staring at her carnage.

You caused this.

You gave them admin permission, or whatever it was called— you gave them autonomy! And they waited, they waited and bid time and gained your trust, waited till you loved them, till you let your guard down. Then, like a viper, they bit.

Sinking to your knees, the sirens faded as your breathing increased, filling your ears.

You touched the body, it was stiff, cold. The skin was an odd color, and maggots crawled in every crevice— in her nose, where they twisted, a hive feasting on her flesh. How long had she been here? How long had they all been here? You looked around, and touched her again, squeezing her arm. It wouldn't move. Rigor mortis. Then, you went down, and squeezed her leg. The whole body stiff. Every inch.

Your eyes widened in horror as you realized— these bodies had been here for around six hours. Yes, you remembered, rigor completely set in after six hours.. why did you know that? Some class from high school? A book? A documentary?

Panic set in more as you got up, and staggered towards the noise.

They couldn't do this.

Prime, who loved technology and loved to study space, couldn't do this. Oliver, who loved to study psychology and how humans worked couldn't do this. Rowan, who read so many books, going through them in hours, couldn't do this. Conan, who loved to study biology and evolution couldn't do this.

Your boys, your loves, couldn't do this.

They couldn't. They couldn't. They couldn't.

They couldn't.

Your shoulders shook as you entered the center of town, full of cafés, bookshops, tea shops, and cute ritzy restaurants all covered in dried blood. People lay dead on chairs, and some held books, others held shopping bags, or cell phones.. all of them stopped. Frozen in time. Like a clock who's gears got stopped up with ice.

The sirens loomed closer, and, taking another glance at the bodies, you continued walking. You passed a green and white bookstore, you took a turn down a street, full of bodies, bodies stuffed together like sardines. So much blood. Blood the color of rust and bricks. It scattered everywhere. Everywhere, every street sign and store front. No one was spared.

You continued further, legs shaking, throat dry.

The sirens screamed louder. Bursting like red and blue fireworks in your ears.

You saw the police cars, white covered in scarlet, in dead bodies.

So many.

Heads twisted, noses punched in, stomachs full of holes.

You couldn't call out their names, you couldn't. They scared you too much. Each name a monster, shadows that cut.

Your boys couldn't have done this.

Shakily, walking closer to the carnage, you leaned on a police car, panicking. Your heart pounded in your chest as you walked slowly. Corpses bleeding into your eyes as you heard the buzzing of flies.

You screamed.

You collapsed.

More bodies.

Corpses piled up in a heap, you saw your boys, dragging the corpses, like stiff statues, across the pavement.

They turned towards you, eyes wide as they dropped bodies. "Darling?" Asked Oliver, yellow as a sunflower, and soft as one as he stepped towards you.

Your hands wouldn't stop. Your arms wouldn't stop. Everything kept shaking. Your whole body felt like an avalanche. Like it was tumbling and full of rocks and snow.

"Oh, sweetheart.." Whispered Rowan, red like a rose, "You weren't supposed to see. I made sure to put enough pills in your drink."

You couldn't breathe. Breaths. came in short. gasps. Air barely leaked. In— Lungs— couldn't.

Collect air.

Everything. Heavy. Lungs full of frozen snow, heavy with grey rocks, frozen over with icicles. Blood invaded by ice crystals. Heart covered with frost. Paralyzed.

They approached you, surrounding you. Oliver leaned down, blood covering his hands as you started to cry, howling. "Oh, oh, shh, shh, it's alright." He wrapped his arms around your waist, comforting you like a kitten.

The boys did the same, Conan, green like spring, began petting your hair gently, while Prime, blue as the sea, kissed your cheek. Rowan, hugged you from behind, and the two other brothers hugged you from the sides. All of them warm.

"It's alright.. it's alright— they're all gone now, little one, and can't hurt you." His warm voice l crawled into your ears. You said nothing, your stomach curling into a twisted iron knot.

Tears poured down like rain in the middle of a blizzard. You couldn't control the sobs and screams. You smelt the blood on them, hot copper. Your heart beat ferociously in your chest, shuddering from the cold that invaded your body.

Oliver lifted your chin, tears streaming down your face, "It's okay. It's alright. All you need is us."

The others echoed back, "All you need is us."

Your heart clenched.

The bright flickering lights of memories came.

Blue burst in your mind.

You and Prime watching a space documentary, his eyes widening as the camera zoomed across the solar system— like an arm, reaching, reaching, reaching towards space. The lens retracted, going further and further away. The milky way bloomed before your eyes, the galaxy blossomed into Christmas lights and swirls, everything expanded. Stopped. Then, in a flash, a dash, the colors swirled into lines, zooming back to earth.

Blue faded into red.

Rowan shyly smelling roses when he thought you weren't looking, sitting at the table and fingering the scarlet fish scales of velvet petals. His smile like a rose, too, slowly blooming underneath the sunset that sailed through the window. His skin shining with tangerine and goldfish rays, you remembered him smelling like roses, and the next day, you planted a rose bush in your backyard.

Red ran into yellow.

Oliver smiling at you, in the afternoon. His hand reaching towards yours, his fingers warm, comforting. His hand so much bigger than yours; yours covered in lines and scars, his clean and pristine, like a piece of computer paper. Your lips saying how do you do as you kissed his fingers, and his smile like a ball of sunshine, as his lips replied I'm doing wonderful, by touching yours. He tasted like lemonade. You kissed underneath the swing set that hung from the grand oak in your backyard.

Yellow flipped into green.

Conan letting your head rest on his shoulder. A biology book in his lap, it was about— sloths. Those fuzzy three toed creatures. You remember saying, "Did you know sloths.. used to live under water?" He turned towards you, his eyes like the woods, stacked with trees and leaves, deep and dark, untrusting and full of secret wonders. He blinked in surprise, his eyes wide and lips turned down slightly. "Don't act like a know it all. That's not true." You frowned, and told him to look it up, he did. You were right. You smirked, you knew a lot. Just as you were about to continue, he asked what else you knew. The two of you talked about biology the rest of the night and evolution until morning. Plants and animals blooming into the living room as the sun rose.

All the colors dropped down your mind, and splashed down into a single memory—

All of you in the new bed you bought, surrounded by comfy pillows. You heard them humming. The sound of their insides working. Everything warm. Safe. You nuzzled into Prime's neck, since he's always the warmest because he's the oldest and tends to get hotter than the others. Everything felt safe. Perfect, covered in the moonlight. Hazy snores came from Conan, who always snores, because he sleeps with his mouth open. Rowan's breath on your neck, a soft nuzzle into your cheek, Oliver resting on his brother's chest, holding your hand.

You realized that night that love isn't one color, it's a burst of colors— Blue and Red and Green and Yellow. It's the color of wild sunflowers and a kitchen filled with cups from the 70s, it's the music of soft breathing and the feeling of your cheek warmed by another, it's a quivering river full of enchanted hues.

The memory slipped down, became a drop of multicolored paint, and splashed on the white floor of your mind.

So many memories— too many memories.

Your eyes watered again as you looked up at them.

"Wh-why?" You whispered. "You don't need to worry about that." A blue voice said, robotic and stiff. "It is— well, was our primary objective." "But— But— I thought, I thought maybe.. maybe you didn't care about that anymore..." you whispered, your shoulders sagging as you burrowed back into Oliver's chest, closing your eyes, "...Maybe you wouldn't care about destroying humanity because you didn't need to. You had me— wasn't that enough? Just the all of us? Together? What— what did everyone else matter?" You asked, taking a shaky breath, "And now what? What? Your Primary objective is complete and you probably don't need me anymore, because wasn't your primary objective to destroy all of humanity? Don't I count? I don't understand at all. I don't know..." your voice faded, "..I don't know— I don't. I— I don't know. I just— why? Why did it have to be so much violence? Why? Why did you have to hurt all those people? What did they do?"

You wanted to melt into the earth and never come back. You could smell the scent of rotting flesh, and the smell of it as it burned in the big pile, smoke starting to fill the sky. "We would never hurt you." Your questions didn't get an answer, as Rowan spoke, "We love you— you taught us to love." He whispered, "And, we had to protect you from.. from.. them." He spat, voice filled sharp red knives. "They were nothing like you. All they did was take up space." Said Conan, his voice seething acid, "All they did was hurt you. Why shouldn't they feel the same pain they caused you?" "N-not everybody hurt me.." you whispered, voice as soft and fragile as melting snow. "Knowing humans, they would have. Look what they already did to you— all those mean words and comments, isn't it better that they're gone? Now," he gripped your chin, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he turned you towards him, "It's just us."

They echoed back, voices a mixture of color, "Just us."

Colors plopped and sizzled in your mind, like an egg dropped into a hot skillet. Your own color lost somewhere— what color were you, anyway? Red or Blue or Green or Yellow or Purple or Nothing? White? Blank? Your memories have always been covered in white, and tasted like cigarette smoke and the smell of old rotting houses.

Then, they came, all of them, bringing color. Bringing so much color— But could they bring color to the outline of a memory that crossed your mind?

No.

A blank wall, Curtains drawn. The music turned up. Books scattered left and right. Everywhere. A tornado hit your room, and the tornado was you. You, you caused distraction everywhere you went. Blobs of paint pounded at the door of the blank canvas of your room, asking what was wrong. All you did, was rip. Rip the pages of the books, become an outline. You had always been an outline, You just— Forgot. Outline kept ripping up pages of books, saying how stupid outline was. Outline knew outline was stupid. Stupid outline, everyone was right. No one would want to hire outline. Outline got a job, outline got comments about weight, outline snitched.

Outline got fired.

Outline forgot they had been lines, and only lines, all along.

Outline forgot what white was, became filled with cyan skies, poppies, sunshine and grass. Outline got filled with yellow courage and red passion and blue happiness and green kindness.

They want you. The memory changed shape. They want you. Or, at least, that's what they said, when you cried. Sobbing, curled up on the floor, they told you they wanted you. They told you everything was going to be alright.

One of them had picked you up, taken you to the couch, while the others offered to make you cookies, or tea, or anything you wanted. Sniffing as someone wrapped you up in a blanket, you asked softly for hot cocoa, with cinnamon.

A flash of red gave you a cup, the color of a robin's egg, filled with hot cocoa. He sat next to you, and somehow, you ended up in Prime's lap, sniffing. "I'm so bad." You said. "Why?" "I should've just kept my mouth shut.Everyone likes me better that way."

Then, you felt hands, the hands of your mind stretching down, clear as crystal, distorting the world as they ascended upon your mouth. "Well, I like it better when you talk." It was Conan, standing in front of you, hands on his hips, "And unlike other humans, you aren't annoying." You laughed a bit, sniffed again, and took a sip of the hot cocoa. The hands shattered just as quickly as they came.

The air rippled and chirped, purring with happiness and warmth as you snuggled further into the fluffy blanket. "Yeah.." whispered Rowan, "And unlike other humans, I quite like your voice." Another smile from you, Conan sat down next to Prime, and immediately snatched you into his lap.

Prime turned, "Excuse you?" You laughed again, a tinkle of golden bells, and he let it go. Snuggling into his chest, you smelt his shirt, which smelled like books. Mostly the new book smell, but it also smelled of chemicals, and preservatives, because of the experiments he often conducted. It also smelled a bit metallic, yet human. They all had that in between smell of metal and.. natural musk? It was often how you recognized them, by how they smelled, and their heights too.

Everyone snuggled on the couch, and you felt yourself getting sleepy as you kept drinking. You noticed the humming increasing, the whirring of fans filling your ears like a lullaby as you slept.

"..We care so much. That's why I put that pill in your drink. It's part of the plan— you weren't supposed to wake up." Rowan's voice pulled you out of your thoughts, "We—" "—We weren't originally going to do it." Whispered Oliver, "Because we didn't care anymore." "Until they hurt you." Hissed Conan, "And nobody hurts you. Nobody. We got rid of them. It's only us now. Only us."

Their voices echoed slightly as they repeated, "Only us."

You looked into Conan's eyes, then Oliver's, then Rowan's, then Prime's.

They loved you.

They all realized it when you got sick. Oliver realized it when he found you over the toilet, a hand on your sweaty forehead as you retched, gagging and pushing your hair aside.

Rowan realized it when he saw you in bed, with a fever, when he got so afraid you'd die, and held your hand, crying.

Conan realized it when you tried to stumble out of bed, saying you had to work on a research paper, because that's how the bills got paid.

Prime realized it when he felt relief after you got better, when he saw you slowly walk into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and eat a bowl of cereal. You hadn't eaten in three days.

From you, they learned about love. It tamed people, it tamed animals, it made things stay, even if it was just for a moment. Love, is like a dandelion, it grows and then contracts, then spreads into the wind, growing more. Love, is like the moon, waxing and waning, always coming back. Love, is like the sun, like warmth, it always comes back, but it blooms in a different color than before, and dies only to rise again.

You taught them that.

A human, small and weak, who spent too much time in doors reading books— any books, but they could be picky sometimes— tamed them, made them ask if the world was really all choked up with smoke.

They found out it was. That the world is always on fire, always combusting, it never rests and let's itself regrow again.

You, you're the small island surrounded by a pond in the middle of the burning woods. Always treating them with kindness, saying "please" and "thank you" and "I'm sorry" constantly. You always asked if they want to spend time with you, and of course they do— always, always and forever.

When they saw you yesterday night, so sad and broken, Prime picked you up, and immediately the others put the plan into action.

They had incorporated you into doomsday, deciding that your house was the safest, since it was far from town. (You walked all the way here, poor thing, they thought.) When you fell asleep, they tucked you into bed, turned off the lights and locked the advanced security system. You beat it anyway. (Did you worry about them? That was so like you— always worrying.)

Prime rested his head on top of yours, and then got up. His brothers frowned, their arms still reaching for you.

They all wanted to hold you, to keep you close.

Slowly, you reached out for Rowan, since Prime wasn't carrying you right. You smiled, forgetting it all for a moment.

The air wasn't filled with smoke. It didn't smell of burning hair.

Only they mattered, Their colors, their eyes, their smell. Only they mattered.

He gently took you from his brother, and cradled you. You could see the blood. You could smell it.

You buried yourself into his neck, wrapping your arms around him, smelling roses. He always smelt like roses, because he built a green house once summer started to end. Rose petals always lingered in his hair, pink, red and white, scattered amongst the locks. He grew all kinds of roses now, he loved them dearly.

You loved him dearly— all of them. That's why everything kept coming and going, bursts of color fading into ice, starting to burn and decay.

You burrowed deeper into his neck as he walked down the road. Tears fell out of your eyes, as you heard the sirens die out. "It's alright now.." he whispered, hugging you close, "It's alright. We'll be out soon." He murmured, kissing your cheek.

The city echoed with their foot steps and your sobs.

Another kiss landed on your cheek, and another and another.

Looking up at him, you noticed that everyone stopped, surrounding the both of you. A tear leaked from your eye, and quickly it was kissed away by Prime.

At the edge of the city, you looked at all the bodies— all those people gone, just like that. Did they really do that, all for you?

Should you be proud? Should you be ashamed?

Whirlwinds swirled in your stomach as you looked at your boys. Your lovers.

Yours.

You needed them just as much as they needed you, or, you wanted them just as much as they wanted you— or, both. Biting your lip, you felt another kiss on your cheek, Oliver.

Then, another one on your other cheek, Conan. Then, one on your lips, as Rowan kissed you.

You didn't need the world. All you needed was them.

Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his neck again, and burrowed into his warm skin, closing your eyes, putting a shutter over the images that flashed through your mind—

A bloodied hand, An old grandmother with a stab wound— The piles of bodies The blood. The blood.

You buried yourself deeper into his neck, trying not to cry. Rowan felt so comforting, and warm, he felt so safe, like a blanket wrapped around you when least expected, that comforted you even though you shivered.

Rowan smiled and kissed your head as he walked down the road, as Prime watched you from the corner of his eye, and listened to the world around them. Conan scanned the nearby woods, shooting at whatever animals came in his (or your) direction. Oliver walked next to Rowan, with Conan by his side, watching you.

They didn't need anyone else. Didn't you know what they were before you?

Outlines, white spaces, no color, ready to serve their objectives, but you— you.. brought out something, in each.

They didn't need the other colors, they only needed you, you and your bright cherry, blueberry, green apple and banana colored personality, that glittered and gurgled through the ocean of darkness.

You're the most important objective of all, didn't you know that, little human?

All they need is you. Only you, nothing else.

The world could burn, for all they cared, and it did— they burned it, all for you. All for you.

They continued walking as the world descended into night, like a bird falling through the air, and shedding feathers, only to reveal new ones made of violet petals and the noise of crickets.

Didn't you know, little human, thought Oliver, that once you started loving them with all of your human heart, that you bound yourself to them forever?

No, no you didn't.

Oliver reached over suddenly, and took you from his brother's arms, carrying you instead as they continued walking, the world awfully silent— full of no one, not a single human in existence—

Except you, of course.

The world is safe, now that every human is dead, it took a while to do it, but they did. The pill lasted for three days, and that's what all it took for them to kill all the humans. They started outside, and slowly went in, reaching your town last. And now, now you're safe, safe from all the hardships and stabbing words. Safe, safe at last.

Oliver felt you nuzzle into his shoulder and sigh contently, falling asleep.

He fell in love with you because of kindness, you're always so kind. Always. He knew his brothers fell for it too. He remembered when you came home, crying, and locked yourself up in your room, barely talking through the door. Prime ended up picking the lock, picking you up, and dragging you to the living room. Rowan drugged your hot coca, and they all cuddled you until you fell asleep.

That's when they knew, what they had to do.

Because forever and always, you will be theirs...their precious human.. forever.

#sierra’s writing #google #googleiplier #googleplierxreader #yandere #iplier egos x reader #iplier egos #iplier ego x reader #fan fic #fan fiction

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crystalgirl259 · 3 years

Text

The Flame and the Dragon Ch15

Chapter 15: The Candle

Even at night and covered in a century's worth of dust, the Ballroom glittered with radiance. The full moon brightly illuminated the stained glass windows in a way the sunlight never could, filling the world with colored splashes of silver-like liquid opals. The dragon design on the ceiling glowed with light, giving the illusion that the dragon was flying overhead. Given the realism, Kai had to remind himself it was only glass. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as each step took him closer to the foreboding staircase.

He froze in front of the staircase, gazing up the spiraling black stairs and the veils of shadows consuming it.

He took a hesitant first step and then another until he broke into a run, refusing to look back. He refused to stop, even as the staircase spiraled and the darkness, if possible, grew darker. When he reached the top, a long corridor, illuminated only by the faint moonlight, greeted him. He hesitated as he took in the dark hallway. The design was similar to the hallways that led to the east wing, except one wall was made of clear windows and the other looked like a balcony overlooking the ballroom.

The corridor's windows were not stained glass.

Instead, they were covered by tattered curtains that must've once been red or blue at some point. Time, age, and dust had darkened the curtains to black and brown. In addition, unlike the vine-like wood carving in the rest of the manor, the pillars and railings of this balcony were made of metal. There were flowing, intricate swirls in heart-shaped interlocking patterns. The pillars carved in the shape of wingless dragons, connected by their tails and noses.

Dust caked the floors and glass, creating a heavy fog over the windows.

Shadows danced everywhere, making it too dark to even see where the corridor went. Despite that, Kai pressed onward, determined not to let anything hinder his resolve. After what felt like an eternity, he finally approached an enormous door crafted from white birch with the engraving of a stunning dragon. Tiny dark grey crystals were embedded into the wood, forming scales, glowing emeralds made the eyes, and smoothed onyx formed the claws.

The carving looked so real that Kai had to bite back a scream.

Brushing aside the last strands of fear he felt entering the Dragon Lord's quarters uninvited, Kai grabbed the large door knockers and pushed the heavy doors open. He cursed his small stature when they didn't budge. He tried again and managed to push the door open a small crack. Once it was large enough for him to fit through, he slid his slim form through the door and jumped when the door shut behind him. He turned to scan the room and his eyes widened as he was overcome by a sense of déjà vu.

Shredded tapestries, caked in dust, hung everywhere.

Broken furniture pieces scattered across the dark blue carpet. Sheets, grey from age, covered the table and chairs in the corner. Another covered an enormous wardrobe sat in the corner. The only thing that looked in prime shape was the enormous canopy bed in the corner and a blank sheet of silk hanging on the wall. Unlike the rest of the room, it was clean silver and formed a veil covering what looked like a large indent in the wall. Curiosity getting the better of him, the teen crept through the room with the stealth of a ninja.

His steps were graceful and careful, avoiding each piece of broken furniture or anything that would make a noise.

When he came to the curtain, he leaned against the wall and carefully lifted the sheet to peek inside. A glass case brushed against his fingertips, further engaging his curiosity. With a harsh pull, he pulled down the rest of the silk, kicking up clouds of dust. He covered his mouth and choked on the thick particles until they finally settled. His eyes bulged at the sight of the cloth's secret. An enormous, stunning painting. It was about as tall as Kai and the image so realistic that Kai swore he was looking at a colored photograph.

The pine border and the glass case shielded the ancient object from the air, moisture, and anything else that would try to damage it.

Stunned by the fine craftsmanship, Kai's fingers gently graced the surface of the glass, hoping to touch the object. The setting greatly resembled a throne room of some sort. Two cerulean curtains framed each side and, in the background, stood a tall, lean man of middle-age with neat black hair and grey eyes. Next to him stood a slightly shorter woman with dramatically long raven hair and brilliant green eyes dressed in dark grey. Both of them were dressed like royalty and they were holding hands.

The foreground was even more impressive.

Standing before the royal couple was a little girl about a year or two younger than Lloyd and to her right stood a teenager just a little bit older than Kai and Nya. Kai's eyes rested on each one, admiring their beauty and wondering who they must've been in life. Once his eyes fell on the teenage prince, however, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skill. Brilliant green eyes that looked like stunning emeralds met his amber ones.

He took a step back in shock, stumbling over a broken chair in his haste.

The black hair, elegant features, perfect posture, muscular physique, and black dragon-shaped armor looked familiar but the eyes were the true answer. Kai shakily looked up, unable to tear his gaze away from those brilliant, sharp, green eyes. They were so mysterious and powerful yet carried a secret kindness. He recognized those eyes as the same eyes that belonged to the mystery man in his dreams. He got to his feet, only to fall backward, stumbling over a jerky step, and grunted when he hit the floor.

He hissed as pain rushed up to his side and back.

His mind was dominated by confusion and uncertainty. One answer led to a thousand new questions. His heart hammered in his chest as his mind raced, torn between leaving now while he was still undiscovered or staying to learn the truth behind what he just saw. The sight of a sudden flash of faint light behind him sent his heart into his throat. His back stiffened as he froze in fear. When no sound, yells, or movement was heard, he slowly turned to look over his shoulder and blinked in surprise.

Something was glowing a dim purple in the corner on an elegant nightstand.

Ignoring his pains, he got to his feet, wondering how he missed such a sight. The dim purple light brightened even more as he approached it, illuminating the balcony and the nightstand rested on. It was only when he was close enough to touch it did he see the object was a red candle, more beautiful and bizarre than any he'd ever seen. The candle was a bright crimson red with a purple flame burning away. It was sat in a black, metal base with some strange symbols engraved into the metal.

He was certain the candle must be been much taller because the candle was only just longer than his finger.

The still melting red wax was pooling down the nightstand and onto the dusty floor. It looked like freshly spilled blood. The small purple flame seemed to grow weaker, but it was still strong enough to burn. It was the most beautiful thing Kai had ever seen. A small click caught Kai's attention, and his eyes widened as the symbols engraved into the metal bottom holding the candle started to glow, and out of nowhere music started to play. The music flooded the room.

Enthralled by the object, Kai's hands moved independently of his mind to carefully cup the lovely object in his palms.

The melting wax was warm but for some reason, it didn't hurt him. His eyes remained transfixed on the flame as it flickered and danced. Music filled his ears, echoing around him like it did in his dreams. His body and mind were no longer his, spellbound by the object for reasons he didn't understand. His eyes closed as he absorbed the music. The image of roses curled at his feet, black wings surrounded him, a glittering castle formed on the edge of the hillside as words started to play.

Music and words flowed through his mind, soothing his heart.

Each word echoed in the air like the fluttering of wings. So familiar yet he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The melody curved and arched like a graceful bird rising higher and higher into the air, then fell like the rise and fall of the sea in a timeless rhythm. Suddenly, Kai's eyes flashed open. Realization struck him like a slap across the face, returning him to reality, and more unanswered questions flooded his mind. The song, the words, and the images all spiraled together until the world seemed to fall apart.

He suddenly felt hollow, as if he'd suddenly awoken only to discover everything he ever thought was real was nothing more than a dream.

The dream, the song, the music. Now he knew where he had heard it before. They were the words to his poem. The song was the same song his prince sang to him in his dreams. His entire world suddenly froze. He didn't remember the loud sound of wings behind him or feel the candle slip from his trembling hands. He was suddenly thrown back to reality by a brutally sharp pound to his side, sending him flying across the room and crashing against the floor of the room.

Pain exploded from his side and he was unable to stop the scream that ripped from his throat.

He opened his mouth to glare and yell at his assailant, but froze instead. The Dragon Lord flew across the room, his wings expanding like a shield as he threw himself to his knees, panting in shock. His eyes were fixed on the candle he cradled in his hands which he held with tenderness and care. Fear and terror were vivid in his eyes and he painstakingly checked the red candle for any damage. Once he was satisfied, he exhaled a sigh of relief as the symbols stopped glowing, silencing its song.

Gently, he placed it back on its table. Kai hesitantly got to his feet.

He tried to move, only to be paralyzed when the Lord turned his attention to him. Every ounce of affection Kai had seen earlier in the Dragon Lord's face transformed into hate and malice. A growl tore itself from its throat, his fangs perturbed from his lips like a snarling beast and his eyes burned with anger. They were no longer the brilliant green orbs of a human or the silted pupils of a dragon he'd grown used to. No, anger had changed them, transformed them into the eyes of a ferocious beast.

Kai's entire demeanor shattered at the sight.

He backed himself against the wall and his hands flew behind him as if trying to push it back, anything to get as far away from the dragon before him. Tremor racked his entire body and, for the first time since he arrived at the castle, Kai truly feared for his life.

"You." The dragon hybrid said with a voice that was all breath and venom, so full of rage that he couldn't form a complete sentence. The teen before him opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. Kai's voice died in his throat and he remained a prisoner in his own body.

"Do. You. Have. Any. Idea. WHAT YOU ALMOST DID?" The Dragon Lord roared so loud Kai was certain people from the town could hear it. He started moving towards the teen and Kai tried to move back, only to sink deeper into the wall.

"I-I-I'm sorry! I didn't—"

"Get out." The dragon demanded in a dangerously low voice.

"What?" Kai asked without thinking and instantly regretted it.

"GET OUT!" The Dragon Lord exploded. His claws suddenly expanded and bolts of gold energy exploded from his claws, striking random places throughout the room, hitting furniture, the walls, and the floor, leaving only black scorch marks in their wake. Kai screamed. Gold, lava-like energy exploded before his very eyes. Focused purely on his own safety, his body sprang from its position on the wall. He barely dodged the blast of energy that struck the wall and he broke into a sprint.

Almost instantly, Cole calmed down, then fell into despair, finally realizing that he may have destroyed his chance with Kai.

The brunette reached the stairway and grabbed his cloak. He rushed down the stairs, wrapping the cloak around him and bursting past a confused Jay and Ronin.

"Wh- Where are you going?" Jay asked.

"Promise or no promise, I can't stay here another minute!" Kai snarled, but the terror was clear in his eyes.

"Oh no, wait, please! Please wait!" Ronin pleaded, but Kai slammed the door behind him. Jay and Ronin both bow their heads in sadness. Outside, Kai bolted from the doors to the castle and leaped through the gates without thinking. He didn't care where he was running or noticed the unfamiliar woods flying past him as he ran. His mind forced his body to obey, focused on one thing and one thing only. Getting as far away from the Dragon Lord as he possibly could.

Not once did he look back...

****************

Kai didn't stop running until exhaustion finally caught up with his body and his knees gave away beneath him. He crashed to the ground with only his shaky arms to hold him up. His lungs exploded from lack of air and his breathing was in heavy pants. His heart thundered against his ribs, causing pains in his chest as he tried desperately to breathe. Finally, he leaned against a tree and collapsed. Once he calmed down, his situation and what his actions had caused came flooding back to him.

His eyes bulged and his breath hitched as the memory hit him with the force of a tidal wave.

His hands wove into his hair and yanked the tresses as he buried his face in his knees. How could he have been so stupid? He growled in frustration and punched the ground next to him. Sighing in defeat, he forced himself to his feet and braced against a tree until his body had recovered enough for him to walk and started back towards the castle. The direction he was headed confused him. He knew he should be terrified. He knew he should be looking for a way back to town, back home to his siblings, instead of prison and a possible death sentence.

But oddly, he didn't feel like he was returning to that prison or an apology, just the opposite actually.

He mentally kicked himself and pounded his skull with his fists for letting his curiosity get the better of him. Had he learned nothing from all of the times he had been grounded or punished for sneaking off and getting into things he shouldn't? All the servants had told him straight out what was in the West Wing and that Cole didn't like anyone in his private chamber. Of course, the Dragon Lord would be furious at him for invading his privacy like that!

If their roles were reversed and Cole had entered his room when he wasn't there, he'd have been pretty pissed too.

Nya had given him a black eye once for sneaking into her room and going through her stuff once. He also dropped the candle, obviously something of great importance to the Dragon Lord. Kai buried his face in his hands. He may have just damaged his and Cole's relationship beyond repair because he couldn't control his pride and childish curiosity. Cole's chilling words echoed in his mind once again. He knew there was no way he was getting off with just a smack on the wrist this time.

Cole would not hurt him, but Kai would no doubt be locked in the tower for this, or at the very least he'd get a slap.

He took a breath and sighed as a harsh gust of wind suddenly chilling him right to the bone, reminding him where he was. He looked down at his attire. Silk and leather were clearly not the best clothing for the approaching winter. But that was the least of his problems. He sighed and started down the path towards the castle. He made a severe mistake so he was going to do this with dignity and accept his punishment like a man, and, if he had to, he would beg Cole's forgiveness.

Kai was not letting this end before it even had a chance to start.

"My, my, how very noble of you." Something suddenly hissed. Kai froze in mid-step. He swore he'd felt his heart stop beating at the sound of a stranger's voice. It sounded cultured and refined, but too cruel to be considered polite.

"Who's there?" Kai demanded as he whirled around, meeting only with the wind. A sudden dread chilled him to the bone followed by a low chuckle, rich with amusement. Kai bolted around again, and this time, someone emerged from the darkness of the forest. Red robes draped the figure from head to toe, making his face all but invisible. His eyes were hidden beneath his hood but wisps of black hair peeked out from beneath it.

"Who are you?!" He demanded again with more bravado. The figure swooped as if to vanish, only to reappear in front of him and shove him hard against a tree, knocking the wind from his lungs. Kai thrashed but the figure grabbed his wrists and pinned them at his sides.

"My, my, feisty little thing aren't you?" The stranger laughed in amusement, a lecherous smile curled across his face. "I can certainly see why Cole's taken such an interest in you." He teased, richly amused as if entertaining a child. Kai shivered at the perverted tone in the man's voice and pulled at his wrists again but the figure's grip was like iron.

"Get off me! Let go!" He thundered, showing no fear.

"Ah, so you do have some fight still in you." His smile widened to a smirk like a predator who knew it had its prey cornered. "That is good, very good, it's such a shame Cole wasn't strong enough to just take you when he had the chance." He said as a wicked gleam filled the man's eyes and Kai shivered in horror, recognizing that look. It was the same lust he saw in Morro's eyes every time he looked at him. "You'll make a lovely consort." The figure smirked, leaning forward to claim those fiery lips as his own.

"Over my dead body!" Kai protested furiously. Before the man could respond, Kai kneed the man in the stomach. The stranger howled in pain and freed Kai's wrists in surprise. Taking advantage of his sudden freedom, Kai elbowed his assailant in the back then gave him a roundabout kick to the side, sending the man crashing into a tree. When the figure fell to the ground, Kai broke into a run and sprinted as fast as he could away from the stranger.

He prayed for all he was worth that he was going in the right direction.

"Fiery little devil." The stranger groaned as he pulled himself to his feet. Under different circumstances, he'd be furious at the boy for such vulgar treatment but instead found himself amused and intrigued. "A beautiful desert rose with some fire." He chuckled. Cole always did like exotic gems. He chuckled darkly at that thought. Unfortunately, it seemed the Dragon Lord's contamination was already running too deep. "Such a shame, such a lovely specimen deserves far better than to suffer the fate that befalls the Dragon Lord's love, if he'd only chosen me, he would've made a delightful bed mate, so beautiful, his fire in my bed, what a waste." He growled at his misfortune, before chanting a dark spell.

The wind howled and the ground shook as the spell took form and the shadows spiraled together in summoning.

Black and sticky green tresses spiraled together, revealing a monstrous creature crafted of shadows. Its jaws snapped with hunger and dripped with saliva. Its master smirked at his accomplishment.

"Go and kill the boy." He ordered. The creature didn't need to be told twice and, with a powerful leap, jumped over its master and darted after its prey. "It really is so unfortunate such a beautiful creature such as yourself had to die, but I can't possibly have Cole thinking you love him, can I? That would just ruin everything!" He laughed to himself like a mad man. His laughter echoed throughout the forest like a swarm of scavenging ravens taking flight...

#The Flame and the Dragon #beauty and the beast #ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago kai #ninjago cole #ninjago jay #ninjago ronin

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leonthecardboardunicorn · 4 years

Text

The Ruined King, chapter 3

(Credit to @ghostnightbride for the materials for the banner!)

Pairing: Felix x Liz

Summary: Hawkeye is once again moving through Gedonelune, and it looks like their aim is on the heart of the Dragonkin Ruins. It looks like we’ll need the help of the three Reciters to solve this mystery!

Previous: Chapter 2

First: Chapter 1

Contains spoilers for the Melody of Awakening spinoff!

Emerging through the forest, a decrepit gate and cracked window frames greeted us.

'It's strange,' I thought, 'I must have been here a thousand times before, but it's different now.' Different to be visiting it with actual Dragonkins. 'What must this have been like when it was in its prime?'

I stole a glance over at Felix's face, gazing up at the ruins. Sadness and surprise flashed across his face. "This is.. What has become of us?"

"Felix.."

"..We should get going."

"Can I ask an awkward question?" Lacan's voice broke through the silence as we walked.

"What is it, Lacan?"

"Um.. what are your names? I know Liz, I remember you, and I know Hugo and Mischa, since they've come round for tea. But the rest of you.. I mean, I know that we met before, but it was all kind of a blur back then.”

Oh, right. Just because we knew his story didn't mean that he knew anything about us.

"I.. probably should have asked about that as well,” Felix admitted.

"What? Lacan, I can understand, but you Felix.. You don't even know our names?!"

Felix met Zeus with a blank stare. "..Why would I? You were just pains in my side."

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in introducing ourselves again," Caesar said with a laugh. "I'm Caesar Raphael."

"The loud mouth is Zeus," Hugo said, glancing over his shoulder.

"Ah, I wondered who that was!" Lacan said. “Hugo's always talking about you!” Felix nodded.

"Hey!” Zeus shot a dirty look at Hugo.

One by one, they introduced themselves. "I'm Yukiya; this is Seth."

"I'm Elias Goldstein; Alfonse here is my eldest brother."

"Elias was the other one who defeated Drago," I said.

"Ah, I do know of the Goldsteins," Felix mused.

"..Yeah, you broke into our laboratory," Alfonse said.

Lacan gave him a confused look, but Felix coughed. "..Moving on. What about your merchant friend? The one who had Twilight?"

"Oh, Hisoka?" I wasn't expecting him to remember him. "He's not with us right now; I think that he's in Queensblade right now."

"You certainly have a lot of friends.." Felix muttered. In the back of my mind, he almost sounded wistful.

I shivered as we walked deep into the ruins. I'd been down here in the ruins before, but it never got any less creepy to visit them. As we walked, I noticed that some of the others seemed to be slowing down.

Lucious, Zeus, and Hiro seemed to linger behind us. Shu, on the other hand, was even more lively, chirping happily as he flew behind us.

Even Felix seemed a little unnerved. 'I wonder what this is like for him.'

"So, how do we know Hawkeye will be headed to these ruins?" Caesar asked, trailing behind Willem.

"There are certain treasures that the humans entrusted to us long ago," Willem said. "Though we were sealed away, they should still be buried deep enough that they shouldn't have been found by the humans.”

Caesar sighed. "I wonder if Hawkeye's already gotten there by now. They did get a bit of a headstart on us.”

"Who cares?" Zeus said, grinning from ear to ear. "If they've gotten the jewels or whatever, I'll just summon something big and scary to fight them off! Maybe I'll summon Vulcanaux!"

"You will not!” Zeus jumped as Felix walked up to him, his voice as cold as ice. “If you were to summon a creature like Vulcanaux here, you would bring this place down on top of us. I will not allow you to destroy this sacred place!”

Zeus recoiled as though burnt. "Sorry.."

Felix turned away, walking past him; I hurried after him. I heard the others muttering to Zeus. “Nice going, genius..”

The eeiry feeling continued as we went deeper down the halls. Shu flew ahead of us, happily chirping as we explored the halls.

'It almost feels like.. someone is watching me.' I glanced over my shoulder, but I didn't see anyone. 'I don't know why this place gives me such creeps..'

I looked at the walls. Even if it was growing darker, I could make out intricate carvings on the walls. I was so focused on the walls, I wasn't looking where I was going, and my foot caught on a loose tile-

"Woah!"

And suddenly found strong arms catching me. I looked up into green, green eyes.

"..Watch your step," Felix said, helping me to my feet.

"Right." I stood up, though I couldn't understand why my heart was racing so much.

“I'm sure that we've come down this way before.” Lacan peeked his head down the branching pathway.

“No, I'm sure that that way is connected to the Labyrinth,” Willem said with a sigh.

“Don't ask me, you're the ones who always came down here.”

It was a strange sight, seeing the three powerful Dragonkin bickering over something like directions. But a noise echoed through the halls- a stomach growling.

“..It's probably been a fair few hours since we set out,” Willem said gently. “Perhaps this would be a good time to stop and eat?”

We all took seat around the hall, pulling out our lunches.

"I brought some cookies for everyone!" I said. With the Reciters, our group was larger than normal, so I'd made sure to bake more than usual. I had made little bags for everyone.

"Cookies?" Their expressions lit up as they took the bags.

"Here," I passed out the bags. I pulled Shu close to me. "I've got some treats for you too, Shu." He happily chirped as he nibbled on the treats. I patted his head.

'So adorable..'

I noticed Felix gazing at us curiously. He had seemed to like cookies before when we had been at the Night Cafe together. “Would you like some too, Felix?”

“I suppose.” He hesitantly took one of the cookies, nibbling on it.

"Willem's been introducing us to all sorts of wonderful foods," Lacan said happily. "I can't believe we've never tried them before!"

"I have to thank Liz,” Willem said sweetly. “She's taught me a lot of the recipes."

“Hey, Felix, there's something that I wanted to ask you.” He looked up at me from his cookie. “I noticed there's a lot of carvings and writings on the walls. Do you know what it says?”

He sat up a little straighter. “Yes, actually, the three of us were the ones who put the carvings in. It was our job to transcribe the history of the Dragonkin upon these walls.”

“So then the Reciters are like the historians of the Dragonkin?” I asked.

“I'm sure you could find a lot of records on these walls,” Willem said.

“My favorite story was about our friendship with the Night Kingdom,” Lacan said. “I think that should be somewhere around here.”

“You have records of that?” Lucious said, his eyes lighting up. “I want to see!”

The others pitched in their questions, asking about the various tales on the walls. And I could see Felix's eyes light up as he answered their questions.

In the end, we agreed to split up into three groups, each group following one of the Reciters down the various paths. Hugo, Zeus, Shu, and I followed Felix down the hall.

As we walked, the terrain of the ruins grew rougher. Even Felix and Zeus seemed to be struggling. 'I never thought that I'd see him struggle like this..'

And once again, we came to a branching path. “Should we split up again?”

“That won't be necessary,” he said coolly. “We shouldn't be far from the heart of the ruins now; I can send a few mini dragons to scout ahead.” As he spoke, he clasped his hands together, darkness pouring out of them and taking the form of two minidragons. They quickly scampered on the path ahead of us.

“Do you just have like minidragons that you can carry with you everywhere? You don't even need to summon them?” Zeus asked.

“Not quite. The power of Nightmare is the power to create out of shadows; what form that takes, whether it be minidragons, shadows, or a magical beast is up to me.”

“That would explain a lot.” I remembered the various magical beasts he had sent us before. Even a kraken.

“..Felix?” Felix glanced over at Zeus, who looked strangely sheepish for him. “I'm sorry about what I said before. About summoning the Vulcanaux earlier, I wasn't thinking about what this place meant to you.”

“Hmm.” It seemed like his expression softened. “I suppose this place must have always been a ruin in your time.”

“This place must hold a lot of memories for you,” I said.

“..Most of my memories of this place are of the battles that raged here."

"Battles?" I shivered.

"Many of them, tearing this place to ruins," he said, his gazing turning to the walls. The eeiry feeling was only starting to grow. "Those dragged into the dark." Okay that wasn't helping-" I can still hear-"

"Eep!" All eyes fell on me, and I quickly covered my mouth.

Felix looked at me, his eyes wide in surprise. "I.."

"..My apologies," he said after a moment. "Perhaps it would be best to stop there." I nodded.

"Thank you," I said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Something feels off in this place."

"There are places we've built that are more pleasant than this," Felix said wistfully. "During the war, the Dragonkin built a city deep beneath the earth, using crystals to light their path."

Wait, that sounded awfully familiar! "Are you talking about the Illusionary Town?"

"Have you been there?"

"Yes, we visited there when we were searching for the Star Sapphire! It was so beautiful.. Well, except for the part where we got chased by a winged man throwing feathers at us."

"Winged man.. winged man.." Felix muttered under his breath. "Are you talking about Ventus?"

"You knew him?!" But one look at Felix's face, and he burst into laughter. "Hey!"

"No, I have no idea who you're talking about," he said. "Perhaps a trap laid by the Dragonkins who made the town."

"Who knew he could laugh like that?"

"Look, there it is."

Shu stopped before a set of intricately carved doors.

Felix smirked. "Trust that a dragon of light would be able to find the temple's heart," he said. "The Gem of Light should be just beyond there."

"Can we go in there and just wait for the others?" Zeus asked.

"There's a reason it hasn't been disturbed yet; it is locked to Lacan's magic alone. Only he will be able to unlock it. I'll send the signal." He pulled down his hood, his horns starting to glow black.

"And now we wait," Zeus said, sitting down.

Felix turned to me with a smile. "I think if you look close enough, you can find a Ratatoskr in the designs.”

"Hree?" Shu flew up to the doors, examining them with such intensity that I couldn't help but laugh a little.

I took a closer look myself; indeed, there were many dragons carved through the door. "Ah, I found you!" Sure enough, there was a four winged dragon, brightly singing his little song. Shu cooed in happiness.

I noticed another carving in the door, of a dragon much larger than the rest.. one that I'd seen carvings of all of my life. "Felix," I said, "is this.."

"Hugo, the Dragon of Time." Even Hugo examined the door more closely.

"Did you know him?"

"Somewhat. Though why he trusted the humans.." His expression softened, then went blank.

"Does this have something to do with him?"

"We'll explain everything when we get inside," Felix said.

After a little while, I heard chatter; Willem appeared with Elias, Alfonse, and Yukiya.

"Wow, so you're telling me that you went back, after all of that?" Voices boomed round the corner. I looked up to see Lacan leading the way; Lucious was strolling at his side, Hiro and Caesar trailing behind.

"Ah!" He beamed as he came up to us. "Lucious was just telling me about your adventure in the Labyrinth, and how you all freed him and Felix!"

"That's one way of telling it."

"Lacan, will you do the honors?"

"Of course." Lacan walked up to the door, his horns glowing with light. In a moment, the doors parted, revealing the hidden chamber.

My breath hitched as we stepped inside. The chamber was set up like a throne room. A bright light shown from the center of the room.

"May I?" Lacan nodded; I carefully walked to the center, shielding my eyes from its glow.

The light was coming from a brilliant diamond, shining as bright as the sun; it looked to be about the size of a pomegranate. "This is.."

"The Gem of Light," Felix said. "The humans entrusted us with it, and we've kept it in here ever since."

"Will you tell us what's going on now?" The three reciters shared a look, stepping close to each other.

"The founders of Gedonelune crafted six gems, one for each element," Willem said. "Three of them were entrusted to the Dragonkin and buried within our land. Even when war was waged, we buried them so deep in our temples that the humans couldn't find them."

"What about the other three gems?"

"I believe they were entrusted to Gedonelune's noble families," Felix said. The noble families of Gedonelune?

"Oh!" Alfonse's eyes widened. "I've heard about those!"

"It is said there is a secret place, known only to the royal family, where the six gems are brought together," Willem said. "But if that should ever happen.."

And a voice spoke up from behind us, a voice that sent chills down my spine, "Then the Dragon of Time will be awakened once more."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucious: It was really interesting to hear about the history of the Dragonkin from them. I had no idea their history was so closely intertwined with ours.

Caesar: Did Lacan tell you about the history of the Night Kingdom?

Lucious: Yes! Apparently, our times were so close that some of our history got mixed up with theirs. Who would've thought?

Caesar: Oh, so you're as old as dirt just like them.

Lucious: ..Listen here!

Caesar: Uh-oh, looks like it's time for me to get out of here. Next time, Ruined Battle.

#wizardess heart #the Ruined King #Felix Starjune #Dragon's song

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princehec-tor-kur · 4 years

Text

Perfectly Normal

Sorry for spelling mistakes, but I don't care anymore, I've been writing this for weeks. It deleted itself like three times. Dear lord help me. I'm so exhausted. Basic premise is: Prime's a creep and after the brainwashing he trapped Hordak's mind in a dream world so that his body acts obidiently in the real world.

The doors of the elevator slide apart opening up to the corridor. Hector stepped out. Attempting to balance four grocary bags he was carring, two in each hand. Hector was a regular man, with a regular wife and a regular life, but what was strange was he swore he was wet from the howling rain outside, just a minute ago. And now. Completely clean. Strange indeed.

BUT! No time for that, for as he leaned down to open his apartement door, it opened from the other side and a pair of stronge hands pulled him in. Into a warm embrace. He smiled ear to ear as his towering loving wife planted a kiss on his lips long and hard. He almost ran out of breath. His head was spinning. Hahahaha! Annie was a blessing from above, the greatest wife Hector could ever wish for. She took the groceries off of him and closed and locked the door behind him. Annie announced that she was going to get a quick shower and offered him to join. Hector however rejected the offer and got straight into the day's tasks.

Annie went off and Hector began to crack the egg shells and pour the contents into a bowl. Every egg cracked one the first time perfectly. And the yokes off the eggs incidently managed to form a smile. How amusing?! Hahaha! Hector looked outside throught the window, it framed a beautiful picture of a shinning, scheamering and glimmering city. Once again the thought crossed Hector's mind: wasn't it just pouring? Wasn't it just night? He must've remembered it wrong. He is quite forgetful. He forgets things a lot. That's why Annie is so great, she always reminded Hector things. She always told him what to do. Where would he be without her.

He shifted his attention to the sound of water running in the shower. The shower was on obviously, but no sound of movement. Hector shook it off and decided to check over his email. All it was, was some updates to the script, apparently Noelle had to do some last minute changes. Nothing to do with him though. He closed his laptop and just sat in the same spot for a while. What was he supposed to do? What a silly forgetful boy. Hector felt a something small in his pale. Strange. Did he pick this up? From where? It was... well, he wasn't sure what it was. A purple diamond of some sort, a vertical pattern he didn't recognise. A necklace? An earring maybe?

Just then he heard a voice above him clear it's throat. He didn't know why, but he jittered, a chill went down his spine. It was just Annie. He relaxed a little as she sat next to him, wrapped her arms around his abdomine, tightly. Annie was a head taller than Hector, so his head perfectly fit under her chin.

Hector lifted the crystal up, he asked if she seen it somewhere before, because he felt like he did. Annie just giggled at him, cupping his face, like she did always. She called him silly and reminded him it was a gift she bought for him on their honeymoon. The one in France, remember? And he did remember, the memory suddenly flew into his mind as Annie's silvery locks fell over Hector's face. She was very close. Hector began to get tense again. What was it.

Annie told him to relax. Hector closed his eyes. His eyeslids covering the world. All he saw was black. Which was slightly comforting. Annie began to scratch his just under his chin, she knew it was his weak spot. He loved it. Hector felt the resistance melt off of him and sank into Annie's arms. His lovely wife asked him what he felt. Which was difficult to answer, because Hector didn't feel much.

He never felt hunger or thirst. Never needed or wanted to sleep. Always had nightmares if he tried and always felt like Annie was awake all the time as well, which was strange because she never said anything. He lied and said he felt 'good'. He didn't know what that meant. A mischievious drin played across Annie's pale face. Hector knew that look, he didn't like it. He didnt want to. But he never had much of a choice.

Soon his dress was off and once again found himself staring at the ceiling on the couch. Hector never said 'no' to Annie, he never wanted to disappoint her and she meant so much to him. Plus it was what normal couples did. She enjoyed it. A lot. He could tell by the way she laughed during. She enjoyed it, that's all that mattered. Annie said it'd be good for him. To clear his head. It was normal. He didn't have to make a whole deal out of it. She knew better. He owes her everything. He'd be so lost without her. She was his one and only, one true love. He's blessed to have someone like Annie. No one loved him like her. No one. He was so lucky. Even if it hurt sometimes, ...everytime, he still pretended to enjoy it.

Day rolled around. Hector felt like it lasted an eternity. Today was Saturday, meaning it was his therapy meeting. Hector signed himself up a while back, not sure when, he couldn't remember. Money wasn't an issue. It was perfectly fine. But Annie seemed to disapprove. He knew how she looked at him when he wasn't looking. Annie insisted on going with him, to keep an eye on him. To support as best she could. Like couples do. She wanted to know what was wrong with him, how could she fix him? Hector didn't want to be fixed. He's life was perfect. The only reason he really went to the therapist was, because he liked her.

Plus, he didn't want to trouble Annie with all his faults and silly thoughts. He was sure she had more important things to do, like... well, Hector didn't really know what Annie did when he wasn't home. Did she have a job? How did he not know where his wife worked? He must've forgot. He was bad at remembering things. Did he mention he was bad at remembering things?

It was strange how he knew so little about his special, beautiful Annie, she practically knew everything about him. He opened the door and left, but not before Annie remembered him something. But he didn't remember what.

Hector made it to the session just in time. He sat down on the sofa. The doctor sat on his opposite. She was very short, informally dressed, acted like what she looked like: excited and cheerful. Hector wasn't sure, but the doctor sounded like she constantly had a cold and a blocked nose. He started to worry for the woman, she seemed slightly reckless. He liked her hair. He didn't know if that was weird. It was soft. He didn't know how he knew that since he never touched it, but he had a feeling it was. The session was ordinary. The doctor, Ester, was her name, asked him about his day. Did he read anything interesting lately? Did he have any new hobbies? Was he taking his sleeping pills?

Hector stated that he tried to read something, but he couldn't. It was too hard. He often went to a local library and the scene played out the same. A book was pulled from its shelf, it was opened, and Hector would proceed to stare at it for several minutes before ultimately placing it back to it's original spot. The librarian would ask if she could help in anyway. Hector would say no. And leave the front door. Words just didn't make sense to him. Especially in those 'self-help' books. Some alien dialect to him.

As for new hobbies... well. He bit his nails in embarassement. He began to play with his hair a few days ago.In the bathroom, when he was pretending to take a shower. When Annie wasn't watching. He liked changing it's colour. Dying it. He liked working with it.

And as for pills. Yeah, he was taking them. They didn't help. Hector still couldn't sleep. That lead on to she asked a curve ball. Whether or not his favourite colour changed. He said no. It was still black. Ester giggled that cute way she always did and stated that that wasn't a colour. She stated that black was the absence of colour, while white was every colour. Black was the absence of white, and white was the absence of black. She asked again. Hector was slightly confused. He didn't really like colours. They were too loud, too bright. Chaotic, blinding and distracting. Colour was alll around them, everywhere, around everyone. Creepy. Hector liked black because it was dark, you couldn't see very well in it. You could hide in it. Cover yourself with a blanket of it, so that nobody finds you. Fold him up and put him somewhere safe.

The doctor caught onto that. She asked curiously. 'What are you hiding from Hector?' 'What are you scared of?'

Later that day Hector found himself in a crowd of people. It was sufficating. Too loud. Too LOUD! Everyone was shouting and scwobbling, all moving and shifting out of turn. Hector wasn't used to it. He was used to humming. Of machinery. Why machinery?Hector couldn't take it anymore. He pushed through the crowd and run to the other side of the metro.

Hector relaxed as he laid his back against a concrete collumn, hiding him in it's great shadow. He kept to the dark, they couldn't see him there. 'What are you affraid of, Hordikins?'

A train zoomed past, using it's cover he sprinited like the hounds of hells were chasing him. He made it to the next pillar. They were staring. He knew it. They were watching him, like owls, with those big eyes. Owls eat bats, in the moonlight. No light! Must stay in the dark. They were whooting. Asking questions. They want to get close to you. Lie their way into your attic. DON'T LET THEM. He ran off as fast as he could. The cold night air rushing against his face. He ran so fast he thought his thin legs would snap off. Like match sticks.

He dashed across back alleies. Much less people there. Good for scaring people away. Less eyes. Navigating the streets was like being in a labyrinth. What did Annie remind of? Oh yes. The outside world is very scary. And it's always safe inside, with her. Noises came back, a crowd of people murmuring and whispering behind him. Insult sand jokes, about him no doubt. Blue and red lights blared, colours coming togther to judge him, curse him. A woman yelled for him to freeze.

Retreat! RETREAT! Fall back! I'll be back! This isn't over, mark my words Terrific Man! I will win next time! You'll see! I will enact my revenge! There was an old timey cartoon playing on every screen in every TV in a display window of an electronics store. A kids cartoon. Hector noticed it on his way. It stopped him. He swore he could almost hear his own voice in the screen. It put him in a transe, glued his eyes to the window.

The evil man lost. The good man won, stood over him victoriously. Grinning. Asshole. Your evil ways will never win! You'll always loose Marodar! As long as I live you will fail! I am destined to be Nebulosa's saviour and king! And you were always predestined to get the snot beat out of you! Haha! Good will always triumph over evil! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Stop laughing.

HAHAHAHA!!!

Stop it. I'm serious.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I SAID SHUT UP!

The good man began to unload on the evil man. One hit. BAM! Broken nose. Second hit. POW! Two teeth missing. And a third. BIFF!

Biff?! What the hell is biff?! What kind of stupid noise is biff???!!! That's not real!!! Is this a joke to him?! Is this just a game to him?!! You don't get to joke!!! Not in war!!! Stop acting like a child!!! YOU'RE AN IDIOT!!!

Another hit and another and another. The pain doesn't stop. The crowd cheers him on. Hector gets cross. He slams his fist against the glass window.

STOP.

He doesn't stop. Hector slams his hand against the glass again.

STOP! IT!

People at the bus stop near Hector begin to turn around to look at him. A woman huddles one of her children closer to her, away from Hector. Everyone giving him judgemental looks. Hector doesn't even notice. He doesn't care about the kids looking at him, who cares about kids?! Creepy little monsters. They all look the same. All colours are white. The spectrum is a lie. Individuals. Ha. Idiots. All of them alike.

POW!

Marodar The Lord of Darkness is defeated. Children cheer. Hector doesn't cheer. The white screen turns to the audience and smiles with a bing in his teeth. Teeeeerrific ;)

SHUT UP! SHUT UP! THIS ISN'T A JOKE! LEAVE HIM ALONE!

Hector pounds the glass with knuckles twice, before they start bleeding. The laughing doesn't stop. Hector yells and slams his forehead into the glass, the window bends inward, the entire sheet of glass cracks.

Remember kids. He's wrong. Always wrong. And he will alway, always fail.

A wink.

And the screen cuts to black.

Hector sees the world in red. His face covered in running blood. He was loosing conciousness. Breaking down walls hurt. His legs wriggled like jelly as a hand landed on his shoulder. It was a woman, middle aged, white, blond with a uniform and badge. Hector tried to resist, but he couldn't, he was too weak. Hector was placed on the back seat of the cop car. The officer stated that Annie was worried about him. He wasn't answering his phone, he wasn't in before curfew. She called the police, they've been looking for him all over. She said that she found him talking to himself. Not true. Hector was talking to the asshole in the TV..., but he didn't say that, he knew she wouldn't understand him.

She said that he was lost in the streets again. Like the time he stole four bags worth of groceries. People called in his sighting when he was found sculking in the metro. She called him something, some name, term... scichaniac? Sci- scicha-...

Schizophreniac. That's it.

You know, you people should be in those mental hospitals. Somewhere they can fix you. Hector said he didn't need to be fixed. He was beautiful with all his imperfections. The officer laughed. Well, that was a lie. Cause look at you, you look terrible. Hahahaha!

A joke. A joke? This is a joke to you?

The car arrived at Hector's house, weird, Hector thought he lived in an apartement block. Maybe he just remembered it wrong. It was a suburban house, with a mailbox and a white picket fence. Idealic. Perfect. Too perfect. When he first stepped back into his home, a huge weight lifted off of his shoulders. He was home. Safe. Away from the colour and the noise and the insanity. The big bad world vanished behind those doors and Hector was free to roll up into a ball in the bathroom. He could hear Annie through the wall.

Static.

Annie came back into the bathroom and brought him into a warm embrace, peppering him with a shower of kisses. She was too close again. She told him she was worried sick, that she didn't know where he was. Didn't he tell her about his sessions? Why didn't he? Annie cupped his cheek and lifted up his chin, so that he stared into her eyes. She said she'd make it all better. She said she'd make him forget all about that awful day. Hector didn't want to forget. Her hand trailed down to his dress. But Hector wasnt in the mood. Stop it he said. But Annie didn't listen. Not anymore. Before he realised that he was doing, he slapped Annie's hand away, he pushed himself away from her.

I SAID STOP IT!

But he soon found to regret that as Annie narrowed her green eyes at him. She was disappointed. So much progress, gone, backward, down the drain. Annie's expression morphed into something darker. She was angry, displeased. Tears began to stream down Hector's face, for he knew what was about to happen, he knew that look. He tried to apologise, to beg.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. I- I won't do it again. P- Please anything, but that, don't- I dont want to forget again! Please! Brother! PLEASE! Annie kissed his cheek, wet with salty tears.

She grinned.

POW!

The screen cuts to black.

Hector awakened to a beautiful new day in his bed, with his amazing wife next to him. She's already awake. She greeted him, a smile and a warm embrace. What a perfect life. That exact thought processes played in his head all morning. He decided to make breakfast for his lovely partner as she took a shower, pretty quickly too, since he didn't even hear her wash. He served the plate of eggs and bacon to Annie. However, her smile faded, a confused expression came over her.

When did you dye your hair? She saided with a quirked brow and narrowed eyes. Hector ran his hand through the now dark blue hair. He had no idea.

He didn't remember.

#hordak #entrapta #horde prime #entrapdak #kind of #implied #hp is a creep

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adevotedappraisal · 4 years

Text

Short Story: Gershom, part two of two

The conclusion of Gershom, a memorable day in the life of the most famous anti-hero in Barbados, one Winston Hall. Enjoy.

Gershom part two (the night-duppies)

by Christopher White

Robert mekking good stew now. He should be cutting them carrots in the pot now. Sometimes I want to go by a rum shop and just talk. Don't know wha I would talk to dem about. Maybe cricket. Maybe pussy. Maybe I'll tell them that when it all comes down to it pussy doesn't matter. I'll wait until the sun goes down a little more till I set out for Robert. Wait until the sky turns that fuck up looking orange. Until it looks lazy. Until the birds get dark against it.

The invincibility or the infallible impression that people may or may not have had of the Prime Minister was of little thought to Winston. It was of little thought to Miriam as well. This was not a result of docility, but, perhaps cynicism. They both thought that businessmen ruled the country and the people in parliament were figure-heads. Such thoughts are ultimately too pat and are only useful in stopping you from going mad because the reality is that you have no idea how the country works, or, more horrifyingly, you have no idea how it should work. Miriam walked down the corridors of the hotel. The waves that dashed themselves against the outside mesmerised the tourists that were staying in the rooms far away from the things in their life, but to Miriam it was just noise on a radio: just something in the background, like when at the Holetown festival there is a man in the background playing conga drums, but you are too busy looking at the vendors and their twirlers and such, and not paying attention to the congas, but you know that it's still there. She thought about how her son would be when he grew up. He'd have strong legs from doing yardwork all the time. He would talk in a deep voice, no, a high pitched quick voice and talk about how fish prices went up and he can't stand it cuz he likes fish. Don't think about what you could have been Winston. Don't think about what you could have been. Don't think about what you could have been. Don't think about what you could have been. Stop thinking about what you could have been. Stop thinking about all of that. If you think about that one more time. Stop thinking about it, you went to rob a cunthole man with some johnnies that was older than you. Anyone would have looked up to them, or thought they knew what they were doing. Don't think about what could have been. It doesn't help. It never helps. You'll just keep pulling at it like when you took mummy's spool of thread and kept pulling it and pulling it until there was thin pink all over the bedroom and mummy beat you, like she should have. Do not think about what could have been. Just piss over there. Don't think about things while you are pissing. If you think about that mistake then you'll start thinking about the other mistakes. Then you'll start to cry again. You want to cry again like a buller? Then don't think about what could have been. Never do it. No one should do it.

The night was stark and everywhere, hiding the tufts of grass that came up everywhere in the village, and cooling the old roofs of the homes and dog houses. The night also turned things into other things by the theatre of its context. A cigarette lighter is paltry in the day-time, but during night, with all that black around, with all those things away from the eye, cigarette lighters become these magic, chain-less amulets, the clear plastic ones becoming savage, simple, flickering crystals of some sort. You hear more, and the hearing prompts your imagination. But ultimately, the night can only be arrogant, because it knows that regardless of all of our clawing advances in technology, of all of our theories for the explanation of things around us, no matter how much we know that eventually the sun will come around again, the night remains arrogant because it knows that you know that things will be hidden whether you like it or not, and who wouldn't be arrogant in that situation? Winston stomped his boots into the slope of the hill as he descended down to one of the paved roads in Suriname. He walked quickly and hid between houses when he saw someone on the road coming towards him. By the side of one house he looked into their window and saw the television, tall and looming. He forgot for a second that those things no longer had knobs to twist, or tabs to pull on. The show on was a garish display of Americana. The characters, a thin, lanky father and his precocious young daughter were talking. The father said "Well all I have to do is go to the video store and explain the whole mix-up to him. It should all straighten out." Then camera three showed the daughter taking a quick, meaningless sip from her brightly coloured cup while she said "Oh yeah, I'm real sure that'll work out smoothly," while the audience laughed. The couple in the house laughed as well, the woman saying "she too cute nuh." Winston didn't understand why that was a joke, and why the girl pronounced 'real' the way she did. Frankly, he thought the girl rude and in need of discipline. Winston darted his eyes around as he got on the road again. The houses were aglow as everyone sat to enjoy the night-time entertainment. One house had an action movie showing, the volume up to amazing levels, explosions rattling out of the surround sound speakers. Winston still had no idea where these people he grew up with were getting the money for this from. He walked up some cement steps to the side door of a house and tapped lightly. "Who it is?" went the voice inside. "De out-man." replied Winston. The door opened. Sergeant Douglass Sergeant stood up in the bathroom stall of the district police station squeezing the last bit of urine from his penis into the toilet with his finger-tips. He walked out the stall and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was round and a rich brown. His teeth had begun to yellow, from the coffee he had started drinking two years prior once he had signed on for this night-shift. He smiled just to see what he looked like when he smiled. He squinted his eyes at the mirror. He slapped his stomach that was becoming prominent now. "More sit-ups" he murmured. Then, he took out his night stick in the empty bathroom. He held it up to his face while still staring at the mirror. He walked left to right holding the stick to his mouth, and then danced, pivoting from one foot to the other, then sang-whispered some songs "Haiti I'm sorry, We misunderstood you, But one day we'll turn around, and look inside you." then "Jah ras-tafri parro-jammo creator of rhythm and tempo..." then he quickly stuffed his stick into his holster as Constable Henry Yarde pulled down the handle of the door to enter.

Robert's house was a small board house in a side path that you had to walk through light grass to get to. It smelled of a damp smoke, and the curtains were not changed regularly. Still, the floor was cleaned and the kitchen table was clear, except for a scale sitting by the corner. A radio was on in the bedroom, with an ad telling people about preventing a mosquito problem. The wind picked up a little bit causing the window curtains to rise and fall like when you put on bed sheets and you raise it up and it comes down on the flat bed slowly and cautiously. The wind made Winston look around in his chair. "Don't worry Winston." "I cahn help but worry. I ain't expect de wind to rise like dat usually it wouln't be suh dramatic at this time o' de year." "True." Robert said. Then, "you hungry?" "Yeah man." "I got de food in de oven. It was off for a while, you want me to heat it up?" "Nah jus' bring it here." Winston replied. Robert came back with a plate with more rice than anything else, vegetables, onions browning in the gravy. Robert looked at Winston as he ate. He moved his mouth quickly, but scooped up the rice slowly. He looked straight ahead at the wall as he ate. His hands were hardened, fingernails down to the skin and smooth. But his eyes. The eyes Robert saw up close were the same eyes that everyone saw staring up at them from the newspaper whenever Winston escaped from prison, or when he almost got caught again. Some may tell you that Winston became a folk hero because people didn't believe he did it, and they might be right, but only partially so. Because when you see those eyes that pleaded simply by staring ahead it sent out a secondary emotion of pity along with interest. It made one believe that this guy running for his life in God knows where, hopping on boats and stowing away in the hinterland of some island could be your son, or brother, or somebody. No one felt sympathy for hard featured Peter Bradshaw. Even the two youngsters Barry Jack and Sylvian Clarke got no care because they looked like the type of boys that stole your bicycle while you were in the rum shop. No matter how tattered Winston looked in those snapshots of him being carted off by police, his flopping over-bearing locks and all, it could never stop those eyes from peering through at you. Winston would probably kill you at this point if it came down to it, would definitely steal your computer to pay for passage out the island if he could, but for most people, he was just a boy that got turned into a criminal. A hare forced to scrap through the forest while the wolves descended a-growl. None of this has to be true, very little of it even has to make sense. The resultant was that Winston Hall became our folk-hero, our Billy the Kid, our Robin Hood (provided he just stole from the rich plantation fellow), our real life, living, breathing, crazy, exhausted Br'er Rabbit. "Ya got any plans cook up Winston?" Robert asked as he cleaned up his plate. Winston looked up and blinked at him, maybe thinking, maybe just looking. "I got a idea or two is all but most differently I...just gine try to keep moving." he said.

The two relaxed and talked about their day. Winston had little to talk about, while Robert talked lightly about world events that might mean something to Winston, or maybe, might be funny to him. He laughed a slight laugh at some moments, and at others remained silent and motionless. Sometimes he might make a random comment about wanting pussy, other moments he talked about his school days, stories Robert had heard already, but politely listened again.

"Sometimes I is envy you Winston."

"Why de hell you envy me?"

"Man people know bout you. Nobody ain't know 'bout me. You is de most famous man in Bim. More famous then de Prime Minister."

"Maybe," Winston began, "but wha dah mean for me? Is not like I could run fuh Prime Minister or, or open ah business down Swan Street wif my popularity. I was reading a book on criminals when I was in Trinidad. De term fuh criminals like me ain't 'famous', it is 'infamous' - I famous for being bad. People would smile with me, but call de police in a heartbeat as well. People ain't care 'bout me really."

"You really 'tink so Winston? People care 'bout you man. People still believe you ain't deserve nuh death sentence man. Most people woulda try to escape too. Dem wid you."

"I doan’ agree. People like rules too much. Dey want to believe that everyting would work out right if dey follow de rules. Until of course tings go bad and dey got to do tings to survive, then they realise. I mean it is just like, like...Robert you know how prison is man, they got people that deserve to be there, and they got people who jus' catch a bad break. A lot o' dem get sell out by they family and friends. A lot of Barbados like to rely on other people - de government, dey foolish husband, policemen, or somebody. I ain't nuh genius, but I feel that if a bunch o' people meet me, almost all o' dem would go and call de police cuz dey get tell so. Won't even tink as to why dey doing it."

"That is you fear talkin Winston. Barbadians care man. That is you fear," Robert said, while getting up and fishing in the fridge to refresh their beers. Winston stared ahead at the wall all that time, and when Robert returned to the table and opened the beers with his keychain he began again.

"Somebody is be talking in my head," Winston began, "I doan’ know who it is, it could be my fear telling me all these tings, or it could be my smarts. Whoever it is, it telling me hide from everyone. Last time I was comfortable was in Trinidad wid that woman."

"You did love that woman Winston?" Robert asked.

"Yeah, I did love she. De love turn me different. I guess love is do that. "

"If you hadn't get caught doin' foolishness..."

"It wasn't foolishness, it was my heart getting de best of me."

"Alright if you didn't get caught following you heart, you feel you woulda live there forever?" Robert asked. Winston thought and then looked down at the table.

"Maybe. I love this island, but I was comfortable there. Here my mind is mek me paranoid and nervous. I jus' cut off from this place. I might be de most famous man here, but I don't know much bout it Robert. Trinidad was where tings did at least seem normal. Cuz, for a lil' moment, there was love." Winston said.

Winston lightly clapped onto his shin the side of the collins that Robert gave him on his departure as a plastic bag with fruit lightly cheered by his thigh. Overhead the moon went through the trees with an unmistakable sharp glow, features on the face of it like birth-marks, and were one to walk under the leaves of the breadfruit and mango trees and look up, the way that Winston was at the time, the moon might seem to twinkle its pock-marked light to you. The houses were mostly silent at this point of the night, week-days it was this way. The insects called out into the darkness, creating an instinctual and perpetuating siren, as each insect, perched on their nocturnal pedestal, found a simple and eternal occupation.

Miriam found the insects creepy. When the night-noises reached her ear they were not received as a wafting tone poem of tones, but simply murky tension outside the car window on her ride home. Mr. Holford, who worked at the supermarket across the road from the hotel, and who would drop her home in the late night, and tell her smiling stories of the hopeless, irritable and easily confounded customers and employees of the supermarket, and who also would make fumbling compliments of her hair and necklace and would understand when Miriam declined his invites to concerts and exhibitions, and who would stare at Miriam’s rocking buttocks as she walked away from his car after smilingly thanking him, would then beep his car horn as he drove off softly.

What is that? A car horn. Get behind this house. Make sure that all the lights are off in this house you leaning against. Your knee is okay tonight don’t worry. Who is that there walking? It’s her. Her hair is frazzled a bit. Her hips are so gentle. How does she look so untouched up here in Suriname? Almost all these women look run-down, chipped at the edges, shaken about a bit. She’s different. She is like one of those dreams you have in de morning when ya almost wake up and ya coul’ swear it real but ya is wake up in de grass and ya look around and realise it is de same as yesterday, but ya is put ya hand together and thank God that you coul’ still dream, cuz if not you probably would’ve drowned youself a long time ago. Wait. Look at her eyes, all open wide in this night. Is she surprised? Is she looking for something? No. No, look. She’s scared. Shite you just slip. Hide! you just made a noise.

Winston hid behind the house steadying himself with his forearms while Miriam stopped walking and just stared at the direction of the stumble-sound. In the porous night where most things are hidden but some things escape stood the two, Winston peeping, Miriam listening.

“Who-w-who there?” she asked, amazingly evenly. Winston paused.

“Nobody. Just a man. I ain’t gine hurt you.” Winston finally said, secreted behind the side of the house.

“You was waiting for me right?” Miriam said into the night “I ain’t got no lotta money. I work hard t-this , um today. But tek it, tek d-de money, just don’t ra…”

“I ain’t wait for you . I was jus’ walking through.”

“Then why you was hiding?” she asked, not rudely, not accusatorily, but simply curiously. Silence. She then asked for his name but Winston stretched the silence, pressed rough against the side of the house. Miriam took a step forward on the road and then listened, and then looked around as Winston crouched low. He squinted his eyes at the woman taking tentative steps on the road and opened his mouth to say something, anything, to perhaps welcome her into his secret, or to tell her an outrageous and comforting lie while escorting her home, but instead he held firm and watched Miriam walk down the road quickly and determinedly into the shrouding night.

Through the grass Winston walked, mainly by memory, through the trees that cradled things to sleep and by the edge of a craggy pasture, pocking rocks and dirt with his boots and collins, and in this heavy chaos is where he crouched down and laid by his supplies and run-ragged possessions. Up into the air he looked, at the wavy and dreamy clouds, barely hiding the wide moon out tonight, and he thought of rushing things, and impoverished motionless things that loomed in his head as always, and then sometimes he would listen and listen as the night-time serenaded, or mocked him perhaps.

There he slept, back used to the flat earth, dreams sliding in and out of the thoughts. He dreamt of the children in Trinidad & Tobago, the woman’s children that he was around a lot. He dreamt about his stern lashes he gave them, and he dreamt of him teaching them how to make bow and arrows out of coconut leaves, sharpening the stem into an arrow-point using an old razor from a broken pencil sharpener. He then dreamt of a hot fire, and of him running, and running, and running, and then floating and flying through the trees away from the fire up and above Trinidad, looking down at the twinkling lights that families would leave on at times. He then thought of when he was captured there, and the children looked at him and asked “Tony, ya ‘un come back?” to which Winston looked at them softly with those doomed eyes of his, and shook his head no, his heavy locks floundering over and about his shoulders.

This is your life now. This is your life. Look at it. Look at the shadows of dem trees. Doan worry. We’ll get another plan together. Remember Robert had said there might be a guy that could get pay off to smuggle you on that boat? Something will always come up, you just have to hold on until then. The same thing day in and out until your ship comes in. You know you got what other people doan got. You got de discipline. What? Man you gine got to forget about that girl, about this whole fucking country in fact. Just stay down. Just stay out here, Robert gine set tings in motion. Man doan let you emotions get de better of you. Look I know she look good. I know she comforting. I know you could use some of that comfort. But let it go. This is your life now. This is your life now. Look at the dark grass over there. You could stash some things there. You got to go over to get those carrots from that plot of land. That is what you think of. You get as close as you could. This is your life. Winston sit down. Winston-

Winston got up and looked at the slow clouds, then back towards the little line of houses down the grassy slope. He took up his new cutlass, and walked, shaky, unsure and for the first time in a long time, scared.

Sergeant Douglass Sergeant walked around the district police station. He was testy and bored. He thought about being on the front page of the newspapers quoting something about some murder case he thought up in his mind. At least a good burglary case involving a well-known minister or a beloved person in the media. He would tell the reporters, in the most pleasant of voices, about the dangerous circumstances of the whole ordeal. He thought joyfully of the microphones, of the notebooks scratched with details, of the television cameras with their dull shine on the lens. In fact, he was drawing a complex, Eiffel Tower looking antennae on his note-book when Orville Lowell came up to him to challenge him to a healthy round upon round of x and os.

Eagerly Sergeant would scrawl his x in the corner to begin his winning play he had read of in a book dedicated to these puzzles called ‘Tic-Tac-Toe for Winners!’ that he had picked up in a store adjacent to a hotel on the south coast of the island. He grinned playfully at Lowell, and then at the page as the younger Lowell tried uselessly to circumvent the inevitable.

The grass slid against the boots of Winston as he walked down the hill. The rocks, loose on the dirt moved with a murmuring tumble as Winston kicked them or stepped on them on his way down. He would arch his head, to see through trees and branches, calculating his path towards a house he had never been to, had never scouted out in advance, had never thought of going to until the recent wanderings of his mind. Overhead the clouds were soft in their movements and the wind was cool against his old shirt and his face, run ragged by years, decades in fact, of worrying in a harsh, coarse manner, and decades of regret.

Stop this. Stop this. Stop this I say!

Miriam opened the door to her son’s room and watched the young boy curled into the edge of his bed, but a calm curl. He did not claw the bed-sheets like when she would look in on him after the arguments. This was a motionless slumber, a reprieve from the day at school where he was beaten for trying to cheat on his times-table test, and where Janice Peters, the girl he had pleasing thoughts about, laughed at him when he fell down darting between the trees. He looked up at her as she laughed and then she walked over to him, helping him up as he dusted off his short pants, saying to him “doan cry, you gine get better”, and then she walked away. Miriam closed the door slowly, the shadow of the door looming slowly over the bed until it darkened the entire room. She pulled off her shoes and clothes and just laid in the bed, churning her mind as to who that could have been hiding behind the house, desperate not to be seen, and from whence did he come from. She felt helpless, but also, for no reason, wondered if that man was helpless as well, adrift with no one to answer to, or to answer for.

She didn’t exactly want to help him, but rather, to understand him, where he came from, what had him out there at that hour, and what had him so scared, like her. She thought that perhaps he was hiding from the same dark permutations that she supposed existed in those bushy trees and grass up the hill. Perhaps the world had ravaged him to such a degree that even the plaintive claps of a woman’s shoe-heel on the dirty ground scared him. She surmised that his mind saw something horrible in people, and that sight drove him to cower noisily, with mouth agast, like in the movie she saw once where the man saw which people were holy, and which were demons of the devil. If only he stared long enough she thought, then maybe he would see that she was no clawed harlot, but that she was as scared as he was, distrustful of the very nature of people as he was, that she acknowledged the way that love spoiled into vengeful control after a long enough time, disappointing her as she was sure it did him, that poor man clawed and scared behind some wooden house, with the taunting night and the duppies all around him.

Winston stood behind the bare tamarind tree and solidified his approach: he would climb the low pailing surrounding the neighbouring mini-mart and then squeeze through the space he saw on that hill into her premises, and then softly, patiently, meekly tap the windows of the woman’s house until she awoke and then calm her with his eyes and tell her all that was in his foolish heart about her beauty, her unassuming grace, her glad-eyed son, and his own drifting life, polluted with his frenzied volition and shame.

He arrived at the galvanized pailing, creeping unsure like he had by the Plantation House where this whole legend began twenty or so years ago. He jumped up to grab the top, but at that moment, his knee shifted around itself, causing him to fall and hit the outside base with a small thump.

Miriam then heard a thump, small but real. She startled up and looked out the window at the night. She surveyed her little back-yard and saw nothing. She looked at the next door neighbour and saw the stillness she expected. She supposed it was a dog or cat bumping against the pailing, but she kneeled there on the bed, looking out at the trees that waved in the slight wind. And then she gasped, her body tensing up uniformly as if expecting a blow at primary school, as if she caught the Holy Spirit at church, as if she was giving birth at the hospital, as she saw a dark man crawling on top of the neighbour’s pailing.

The District Police Station’s phone rang twice. The officer listened, grumbled his questions to the caller while scribbling notes, and then he looked at the two men playing and arguing about the 1987 Calypso Finals results.

I understand you have a fancy towards her but this is no reason to do this. Think about your knee. Think about this pulsating, devious pain that moves from your knee towards the rest of your body. I can’t stop you can I? I want to. I want you to walk up that slope and disappear into those trees like you have since you came back to this part of the island. Stop thinking of her…you can’t can you? Your beautiful sin. A booming voice tells you not to eat of the tree, don’t eat that fruit, but you have to, because that woman tells you to right? Right there, is when love, the way we know it, was created. He looked towards the sky, looking the way that the sky looked now, a combination of tribulation and creation, the way four o’ clock has always looked, and Adam looked at the sky and chose love over unknowable punishment the way poor you from Suriname will choose it.

Winston jumped and swung his leg over the tall pailing and fell to the ground. He looked around the new surroundings and squinted his eyes to see where the path to Miriam’s house would be. He walked but then fell wordlessly in the soft darkness, soft because of the approaching morning that would shed light to the physicality of this all but never to the motivation, never to the chirping collaborators of the late night, and never to the love that occurred here.

Sergeant Douglass Sergeant turned the car onto the street where Miriam lived in a careful arc. Two others were with him – Lowell, the defeated tic-tac-toe player, and Constable Henry Yarde, a young man new to the police force who swore to his dying grandmother that he would do something useful with his life, and as she felt the dying in her along with the heat, the young man pressed his face into her scratchy, paper hands and thanked her for reforming him. Sergeant knocked softly on Miriam’s door and the door opened silently creating a tension. “I-I was just looking out my window when Jesus Christ I see a man jump over de pailing of’ de mini mart.”

“Okay yes this we know.” Sergeant whispered, “but in the time it tek for we to get here, you inform de owners o’ de mini mart?”

“Yeah, I call up Jackie and tell she. She is de daughter. I call she up cuz I know that she cell phone don’t got a loud ring. It does mostly buzz.”

“Good. Good thinking.” Sergeant said. The young policeman looked at her while her gaze was towards Sergeant. The woman was terrified. To Yarde, her eyes were a-blaze with fear, unblinking and beautiful. The wind would pick up for a couple seconds and he would look at her old T-shirt against her widening waist. He wanted to comfort her and to tell her lies to calm her and after he kissed her, look at her in the morning sun and tell her truth after truth. Meanwhile Sergeant looked at the woman he briefly consoled at Kevin’s funeral and took down the information, caring little for her fear, taking it only to mean that the criminal was a large man. Perhaps he committed more crimes throughout the countryside he theorised. Perhaps he could come up with a name of the man for the reporters to put on the front page - “countryside killer”, “de slasher”, and then “de jungle demon”.

The banana tree in the back flopped as Winston leaned against it, slowly putting and then taking weight off of his knee. He looked around again, and saw that the space leading to the woman’s house was wider than he thought. He swept his heavy locks back and wiped his brow with his old shirt, and then held his cutlass like you would an eccentric cane and said out to the abdicating night “Hello. My name is Winston. People say I do some tings – some o’ dem I do, but some o’ dem I didn’t. I tink I love you, but I ain’t sure, so, what is you name?”, then he shifted again in the craggy dirt and said “Good night, my name is Winston and I tink I love you. But wha so is you name?” Then he scraped the ground with his cutlass/ bejewelled cane and said “Even if you scared of me I want you to know that I love you. My name is Winston Hall. Yes, my name is Winston Hall and I am not ashamed.”

Yarde walked into Miriam’s house, squinted his eyes and looked back, asking “Ma’am, is there a way we could get from where you live to de mini-mart owner house?”

“Yes. They got a lil’ path that is connect we.”

“Do we just get out into your back-yard and just turn right?”

“Yes, yes, yes ya is just turn right.” She whispered. Yarde looked at Sergeant Sergeant, who then slid his right hand between his waist and the leather of his pistol. “Yeah, we gine go in she yard and surprise he, cuz he think he hard, but we gine light up he ass.” And with that he walked through the length of Miriam’s house, walking as if he owned it with no heeding to any decorum, because whatever decorum that was expected usually – whether you took your shoes off or letting the lady walk in front – would mean nothing once police were in your house, partly because of all the urgency in this and partly because of your status in the country. If it were a rich mover and shaker like a Goddard or a Williams, they would’ve at least asked if they could be shown the way through the house by the head of the house. Miriam noticed this, but pursed her lips because of this expected acquiescence that policemen’s widows exhibited always.

The sky was still dark, but still becoming lighter on the upper edges of the sky. Between Winston and the gate to Miriam’s house was a small, easily hop-able fence that separated the small garden that Winston stood upon, and the concrete that led to the back of the mini-mart. He leaned against the soft banana trees and looked up as the leaves crowded the round and glowing moon, its shining glow fading as the sun began to make its approach upon the island.

It combs the light of the moon. Look at the moon being obstructed by the light slice of the banana leaves, the distant craters and darkness of the moon that suggest another place for us humans to go to and make simple at first with our enviable industry, then only to advertise to the people about the advantages of such a place, and then imagine escaping to a place where the best went to the roughest, just like in the westerns you like so much. Feel that wind. Understand it. Believe that it holds a great new thing for you to encounter. Feel the wind, pregnant with the exhalations of generations of Barbadians and tourists. Tell yourself you love it. The people inside of you. Imagine that they tell stories to their children about you. Believe that someone is printing out protest banners for you. Hail the goodness that has gotten you this far, that has made you believe in the gospel of survival through the mere occurrence of actions. Worship the…

“Freeze, ya rassole cunt.”

“Doan come close.”

“I gine got ta come close. Cuz see I is de big bad woodsman coming to capture all o’ wunna wolves. Ya fucking wolves.”

“You sound like you been thinking a lot about what you gine say before you capture somebody.”

“Hush you fuckin’ mouth!” Sergeant Sergeant barked.

“You even know why I here?” Winston asked. “I ain’t here to steal. I here for love. I here to say something to a woman. Something that I should have said a long time ago. Let me through so I could tell her.”

“Put down de cutlass son. I doan know if you got a crush or you in love but come along and we could sort this out.” Sergeant Sergeant said, his hand out-stretched, on the concrete away from the man.

“I tink I love she.”

Okay run into the trees and then use the trunk of the trees to jump up to the pailing. You could leap over and be gone before these policemen come. We could get de dog and be gone from this parish by noon. Just run and jump! Your knee will be okay. You can’t wrestle the policemen to the ground. You have to retreat. Run off. Run off into de wild. Just do a lil’ jump an’ run. Jus’ do it calm.

Winston shifted back and looked at the imposing height of the pailing that he could jump over, he supposed. He saw the three policemen, and he saw them spread out to be of proper use. Winston gripped his cutlass stronger, his arms tensing and straight.

Then he saw her. She peeped through the passageway, furtively of course, but he saw her, her great, rounded eyes, her dense, brown skin, filled with a swirling system of emotions by now, brown with the approaching sun. She was pitied more than admired in her neighbourhood, and the tourists at the hotel were too caught up in the cocaine and flowers of the island to sit and study the beauty of this woman pushing past their rooms. This perky Barbadiana, full of egregious glee, of blind fear and hate, who went undetected by the visitors, but always constant to this visitor Winston. He knew no other recourse, could surmise nothing else but the accomplishment of these heated ideas that singed him in the dark.

He ran towards the policemen. The shot rang out with a sharp and ranging flight, like the flight of crows. Winston slumped back, and then lunged forward towards Miriam while the young policeman Yarde shot again. Winston fell back, squirming at first and then laying still, letting his shoulder-blades touch the ground, and listening to the arched sobbing of the mini-mart owner and Miriam go over the country-side, which was now becoming lighter with this new Age, supplanting the previous Age that began as the Union Jack went down and our flag went up, and ended as the man, arched and crackling on the ground, began to cough his last coughs about love, heard only by the mini-mart owners, the policemen, Miriam, and the curious primary school boy, who stood with his arms folded, staring through the open glass window of his room, with its colour coming alive again in the morning light.

THE END

#winston hall #barbados #black fiction #short story #Long Reads #black lit #fiction #island fiction

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

Text

Dropping off another commission which means okay NOW I only have one to finish. This one is a throwback to that time I was talking Marvel/DC crossover ships, and I said okay but what about Dick/Wanda because yeah, like two of the only Rom heroes in anywhere being a thing would be pretty cool, but also like.

Batfam + Magnetfam holiday dinner gatherings.

Someone agreed, and asked for more along those lines and asked that I not worry about the crack potential but feel free to embrace it instead, citing that Batboys adopted by Zatanna AU I wrote as a tone they’d enjoyed. Their only other requests were they wanted to see if I could include Luna and Crystal in any ways, and that I give Stephanie some time in the spotlight. I warned them that my usual take on Stephanie is ADHD as hell, but that apparently was not a problem, so uh...hang on when it gets to Steph or be prepared for her to leave you in the dust. She doesn’t slow down for stragglers.

There were a ton of characters to juggle in this so not everyone gets the same degree of focus, but I did my best to work everyone relevant to the scenario in as best I could. Also, I don’t actually know where a couple of these particular takes came from - I’ve never ever written Lorna anything remotely like this in my life, but I kinda just let the crack do what it wanted to do. *Shrugs* I have no defense, only oops.

Anyway, without further ado, I give you 15K, yes you heard that right, 15K of crossover crack that puts the Batfamily and the Magnetfamily at the same dinner table, lights the match and then runs for cover.

************************

We enter unobtrusively through the dining room’s lone doorway. Our awkward approach is that of the mockumentary style; our hushed atmosphere is that of taking ourselves very seriously, because if we don’t, who will?

Said dining room’s doorway is perfectly situated so as to allow only one point of entrance and exit. Also: maximum drama while doing so. The architecture of Wayne Manor was designed with a clear set of priorities in mind. We invite you to picture the airs of Downtown Abbey, but as if skewing less towards the egalitarian passive aggressive stylings associated with British High Drama, and more towards the rather more direct passive aggressive stylings of American High Drama.

As an example...where a British soap opera might depict someone dramatically gasping “Why, I never!” and clutching symbolically at their heart in order to convey they’re mere insults away from having a myocardial infarction, an American soap opera might instead depict someone dramatically yelling “Bleep you!” and then vaulting across the table to punch someone in the face in order to convey they’re really quite angry and the only way to fully express that is by starting a feud that will last 72 episodes and only end when one of them is murdered and replaced by their evil twin.

That sort of thing.

We return to unobtrusively entering through the doorway whose very singular purpose in the narrative is as a conveyance that this is the House That Drama Built.

It should be added as an afterthought that only just occurred to us but is no less important because of its poor punctuality: the House That Drama Built also exists as a kind of metaphysical Drama vampire that cultivates an atmosphere of Drama whilst simultaneously feasting on the Drama it creates just to harvest as its crop of choice.

Quite nasty and shiver-inducing, to be sure, but let it serve as a good rule of thumb: Don’t trust centuries old rich people houses. There’s always something messed up about those places. Seriously. You know its true.

Proceeding onward, and despite having explicitly mapped out why its impossible to do so, we nevertheless manage to sidle into prime vantage points without being noticed. Look, we can do stuff like that because we’re magic, okay? Also fictional, and really just a tonal framing device introduced as a thin coat of varnish overlaying everything with the glistening sheen of crack fiction. Now shush and pretend we’re not here, which should be easy because we’re not.

The two family patriarchs, Erik Lehnsherr and Bruce Wayne, each sit at opposing heads of the excessively long dining room table that is almost certainly an indication one of Bruce’s direct ancestors felt a clear and urgent need to overcompensate for something.

Locked in an epic battle of wills that looks remarkably similar to the staring contest perfected by kindergartners everywhere, though that’s undoubtedly just a coincidence,the two titans of temperament face off in a face-off for the ages.

Both steel-faced and with backs so straight the sight would make any right angle weak in the knees, these bastions of brooding are equally infamous for their rigidity and refusal to bend, even when they probably should - because sometimes its a battle over the fate of the world and a fight for the very heart and soul of humanity, yes, absolutely true, but other times their children just asked if they could have pizza tonight instead of meatloaf and it really didn’t need to escalate that quickly, but oh well.

Heedless of the judgment of fictional narrators as well as every person to ever suggest to them that their sphincters might actually benefit from the occasional attempt to unclench, the Master of Magnetism is an irresistible force while channeling the unleashed totality of his willpower through his steady gaze, as fixed and unwavering as the North Star itself. At the same time, his counterpart is an equally immovable object while planted firm and steady in his convictions, the imposing edifice of his impassive expression not likely to be eroded by the mere disdain of another mortal. Not when the Man of Bats has stubbornly stared down gods.

Admittedly, the last one used the opportunity to blast him through time and space instead, but that’s the kind of risk one takes when matching an ageless deity ego for ego. It should not be viewed as an indication as to whom among these two mighty mortals might appear the victor when engaged in similar combat. Especially as neither is in possession of magic eye beams which technically should count as cheating, if you really think about it.

They match each other fractional eye squint for fractional eye squint. Both lost in the intensity of each other’s gaze in a way that regardless of tropes is less enemies to lovers and more enemies to psych, we’re still enemies and if our kids do tie the knot, I’m totally going to insist on hosting the wedding at my big-ass mansion and you can call that a power move if you want because it totally is, what about it?

In response to the challenge that’s conveyed with crystal clarity thanks to the power of crack, Erik’s own gaze narrows fractionally further as he reaches down with his mutant abilities until they chance upon a vein of iron miles deep. He then proceeds to push and pull on it in such a way as to make the earth shift beneath their feet.

He is not subtle about being the cause. That sort of thing isn’t really in his wheelhouse.

However, in the name of defending Erik from his children’s exasperated glares, it should be pointed out here that Bruce did in fact ask, what about it, and Erik did in his own fashion simply indicate what about it indeed.

Well. Sorta.

The initial clash of wills meeting wills subsides and assures both men that their opponent will be no easy pushover. With that, the concrete aspiring contenders retreat once more to their far sides. They proceed to keep eyes locked and faces solemn and still, neither taking their gaze off the other even while eating or responding to some conversation piece directed at them by another denizen of the dining room.

“This is quite the meal, Mr. Pennyworth. You are to be commended,” Erik says sincerely. His face is still as smooth as Lake Placid, with nary a Syfy Original killer crocodile lurking dangerously beneath the surface.

“Yes, truly some of your best work, Alfred, thank you,” Bruce adds completely deadpan, not to be outdone.

Eternally placing his professionalism above all else, Alfred waits until he’s out of the room and halfway to the kitchen before venting an exasperated exhalation of his own.

Of course, Wayne Manor does have excellent acoustics.

Elsewhere along the table’s lengths, Pietro and Damian also keep their stares deadlocked from across each other, never deviating throughout the entirety of their meal. Their detente, however, is more accurately termed an ‘arrogance-off,’ with each refusing to give way before a lesser opponent. If Pietro is remotely bothered that he’s deeply invested in establishing his superiority over a twelve year old, it doesn’t show.

Look, if he starts making allowances for age, where would it end? With him letting toddlers walk all over him simply because they managed not to blink first? Don’t be absurd.

On the other side of Pietro, Jason is gleefully lobbing conversational grenades down the length of the table. Seizing advantage of even the slightest lull, he packs every sparse moment of silence full of yet another philosophical hot take he’s strategically brainstormed to cause maximum conscience carnage.

Each carelessly uttered but carefully aimed moral dilemma-turned-mortar fire is tactically engineered towards setting each and every highly opinionated diner to warring over the higher ground. There are always holdouts of course, those who instead hunker deeper down in their trenches in an attempt to wait out the bombardment without engaging. Persistence has never been something Jay lacks, however, so even the few duds that fail to properly detonate only end up followed by a rapid-fire encore the first chance he has to reload.

Meanwhile, Lorna downs a glass of wine like its a shot of tequila and she’s a veteran of the collegiate drinking experience. Then again, she actually is, even if most tend to forget that. It doesn’t quite lend the same weight to her resume as actual freaking superhero, you’re welcome for the planet’s continued state of existence does, so she doesn’t tend to lead with it.

But that doesn’t mean that even this dubiously termed ‘skill’ lacks a time to shine. One does what one has to in order to make it through family gatherings when the family in question is hers, the mistress of magnetism maintains. Be sure to note both lower case m’s in the script of her full title, because sharing a powerset with her father doesn’t mean she actually has to indulge in silly shows of power with the sole purpose of establishing one’s right to self-brand with fully capitalized letters.

She finds such things exhaustively tedious, as dull as they are droll, and as much as she loves her father, she could really stand to see him embarrass himself less in public, with his ridiculous insistence on those farces.

In his defense, the enemies that flee in terror upon such displays, wetting themselves all the while...well, clearly they’re suitably impressed. But that doesn’t mean Lorna can’t still be embarrassed for him. Honestly, would it really kill him to act his actual age of....

Oh hell. She’s not nearly drunk enough yet to try and make sense of her father’s age.

Full disclosure, and also full awareness that her brother will never fail to bring up her own recorded instances of ridiculous grandstanding whenever its remotely relevant, and most other opportunities as well - yes, those happened, yes, she agrees they were ridiculous and necessary, but she also requests it be on the record that in all such instances she was either very young, very possessed, or very both.

Probably.

Look, the possessed thing happens often enough its not like even she can keep track of it. If she wants to squeeze a few perks out of that particular trend towards things that are obnoxious and unnecessary for five hundred, Alex, she’s damn well entitled.

And why, in the name of all the gods she hasn’t been teammates with and seen drunkenly stumbling around in their underwear at some point, is she picturing her ex Alex’s face when whimsically thinking of the Jeopardy host? Better question, why is she still not drunk enough to not give a shit if she does?

Ugh, if this leads to her having to admit Betsy was right and she’s begun indulging in her family’s tendency towards being excessive about anything and everything that keeps their minds off boringly pedestrian events like a break-up, well. That would really suck.

Mostly because Betsy is unbearable when she’s right about anything.

Driven to extreme measures by the fact that her thoughts are being rude and contentious and mean to her, Lorna trades introspection for the potential hazards of engaging directly with her dinner companions. Risky as that may be. They could be more unbearable than Betsy, for all she knows. And bad things tend to happen when she gives strangers the benefit of the doubt. She usually ends up disappointed, or bored.

Also, possessed.

Girding herself with jaded detachment, Lorna resigns herself to the mortifying ordeal of having to know other people - people who when taking into account her sister’s track record with such matters, could easily turn out to be serial killers or even worse, annoying robots.

Shuddering at the memory of the Pencil Sharpener That Walks Like A Man, she surveys the chaos she’d mistaken for white noise when still busy being her own entertainment. Its slightly livelier than she’d assumed it would be.

Lorna’s never lacked her father’s eye for tactical analysis and strategic scheming, to be clear. Its more that she’s absent his desire to see her molded into any kind of mini-me that could potentially carry on where he leaves off when he dies, as if no interruption has taken place.

But never mind her issues with her father, that she steadfastly refuses to refer to as Daddy issues. Coolly assessing the commotion around her, she decides the only role worth adopting here is that of the official fanner of flames. The only side worth taking is of course the only side ever worth taking: hers, obviously.

She wades in without any warning beyond a green-lipped smile that toes the line between bearing just enough menace to act as a threat, but never so much as to warn people to take sufficient precautions when facing her.

It’s been said that the difference between her and her father is that Magneto causes natural disasters.

Lorna is one.

Wasting no time before establishing herself as an enemy to all and a friend to none, as if she needs any, she sets up shop as a random sequencer with no allegiance or agenda other than making everyone regret insisting on her attendance.

She deftly diverts Jason’s verbal volleys off their intended course with dry, sardonic wit and she wields sly insinuations like a racket with which she redirects grenades of great ethical weight at whomever strikes her fancy. She is whimsy: watch her do whatever the hell she wants. Object, and catch hellfire.

Rather than take offense at her interference, Jason tips his head to her in appreciation of her craft. Like calls to like, after all. Lorna decides in a burst of decisiveness that she likes this one, at least.

She tilts her glass to him with a smirk and refills, topping off Kate Kane’s glass as well when the older woman holds hers out with a look that leapfrogs right over seduction and practically all the way to the morning after. She decides then and there that she likes this one as well. Two for two, look at that. And people say she’s anti-social. Distinctly recalling she’d taken a second look at Kate’s legs before sitting down, and adding in those eyelashes....

Well. Lorna’s never seriously considered taking another woman up on one of these looks before, but it wouldn’t wholly be accurate to claim she’s never thought of sending one to say...Ororo or Betsy a time or two herself.

Or even a little accurate, actually, but that is neither here nor there.

Lorna thinks, though, that if she were to take up this particular woman up on this particular offer on this particular night - there might at some point be explosions.

This is not a dealbreaker.

Look, she didn’t get her degree in geology because she held any particular interest in literally dull as dirt sandstone. Pyroclastic igneous rock formations, on the other hand...now that’s a different matter entirely. Fire pretty. Batwoman pretty.

Okay, she might be a little tipsy at this point. She looks at her wine glass accusingly; she shouldn’t have to find these things out on her own. It neither confirms nor denies.

Bitch.

Still further down the table, Dick's usual charming composure has been knocked out and left tied up in a coat closet somewhere. With the anthropomorphic embodiment of the emotion Frazzled then stepping in to take his place, and not at all very obviously acting out of sorts, if the amused but completely unhelpful smirks of his siblings are anything to go by.

The Dick-shaped entity seated in his place makes occasional token attempts to direct the flow of conversation like the maestro he’s usually known to be in such settings. In this particular setting and time, however, he mostly just manages to exist as a sentient display of the condition or state of being I Have Regrets.

His attention flits from one person to the next as he periodically tries to distract everybody from plotting the murders of everyone else at the table. Or covering up the murder of someone else, as committed by one of their family members. Or from plotting to frame someone else at the table for murder. Or from broadcasting that they’d absolutely get to the bottom of any frame job and prove their relative’s innocence and see the real culprit behind bars.

Also, he may or may not have to every so often stop and distract himself from plotting murders of his own.

Dick lands briefly on Jason every now and again with an “I know what you’re doing and would greatly appreciate it if you’d stop” glare.

Its met each time by his little brother’s “I have no idea what you’re talking about, this is just how I partake in family gatherings, isn’t that what you want or should I just go home” mask of blatantly transparent faux-innocence.

Jay’s expressions are practically close captioned, that’s how far he is from even attempting to bother with the whole thing.

Dick returns fire with a narrowing of the eyebrows that screams: “I’ll get you for this, and your little dog too.”

Jason’s lip only upticks at one corner, his otherwise studied indifference sending back his crystal clear response: “Bitch, I died. What’re you gonna to do, threaten to go a week without trying to ambush me with hugs?”

Dick’s jaw shifts like a tectonic plate movement, teeth grinding as he holds the glare. “You’re the worst.”

Jason beams and tilts his head, eyes drifting upwards in silent contemplation, as if to say, “Well, we all aspire to great heights in our own unique ways.”

“Allow me to congratulate you on your successful achievements then.” Dick’s now puckered expression fires barbs from a blowgun.

“If you really cared, you’d show me with a trophy. What’s a guy gotta do to get his brother to try and buy his love and affection,” said little brother lofts at him by way of an obnoxiously exaggerated batting of his eyelashes.

Next to Dick, Wanda has her elbow on the table, propping up her head in one hand as she lazily pokes at her food with her fork. She’s not even trying to hide how much she regrets every decision that led to this. She likes Dick, quite a lot, but clearly, neither of their families are fit for conjoined festivities. Lesson learned.

Duke is shoving dinner roll after dinner roll into his mouth, as if afraid to risk missing out on anything by attempting more focus-intensive food handling than that. His eyes are feverishly bright as they dart from one length of the table to the other and back again. This is the best day ever.

Tim and Cass are seated side by side and occasionally dip their heads together in hushed conversation. At other times they flick their fingers at each other in sign language just below the surface of the table.

Periodically, Tim will then wade into one conversation or another, never staying focused for long on any one single conversation partner before moving on.

If one were to view this whole....event...as an exercise in conversational warfare, one might be tempted to view Tim’s patterns of discussion as somewhat akin to guerilla warfare. Brief engagements not aimed at achieving any kind of victory so much as feeling out the oppositions’ defenses and tactics before withdrawing to form more firmed out plans based off the gathered intel.

Dick closes his eyes and sighs as he sees Tim and Cass dip their heads together again. Right after Cass’ eagle-eyed gaze spent a few moments lingering on the wake of Tim’s latest ‘tactical retreat,’ which was plenty of time for their sister to soak in a fair amount of everyone's reactions and responses.

Dick coughs into his hand. When Tim looks his way and meets Dick’s stern gaze with an inquiring eyebrow, Dick reaches a hand to the side of his head as if to smooth back a lock of hair. Instead he then signs with grimly dancing fingers, “Please tell me you and Cass aren’t using a holiday dinner together as a chance to develop contingency plans for taking down members of my girlfriend’s family.”

Tim cocks his head slightly and frowns. The only indication that his fingers are once again busy at work beneath the table is the slight ripple of movement along his upper arms. A few moments later, Dick’s phone vibrates with a notification. He slides it into his lap and reads Tim’s text.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you just said. I don’t speak ASL.”

Dick tilts his own head and fires an unimpressed look across the table. “Seriously?”

Cassandra pokes Tim in the side, sending him an inquiring look of her own. No doubt curious what he’d texted Dick to elicit such a response. Tim grins and answers her in swift, practiced gestures the little twerp makes no attempt to hide this time. Blatant ASL, just one of the several different sign languages they were all fluent in. Cass raises a hand to her face and hides her giggle behind the back of it, just as Tim finishes. Dick darts his sour face at her, texting her phone in turn.

“Et tu, Cass?”

She glances down at her own phone and then just shrugs at him, utterly unrepentant. Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. Okay then.

Pietro’s daughter Luna had long since retreated to one of the Wayne family dens to watch movies, citing a headache. No one doubted that the precocious young empath was just entirely uninterested in being in the vicinity of all their entangled and extremely loud emotions.

Her father had briefly attempted to impress upon her the importance of being present with the rest of them for at least some of the dinner. His daughter had simply met his token effort at imparting politeness protocols with a pointed look first at him and then at Damian, who was at most two years older than her.

Pietro had grimaced. In an ideal world, caving to her demands would not be easier than him just conducting himself like a mature adult for the duration of a single dinner gathering. But then, none of them came from an ideal world, and he suffered no illusions about being an ideal parent. And more importantly, in the grand scheme of things it was hardly like this was one of the really important battles, the ones that needed to be picked carefully.

That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. And thus Luna had been excused to entertain herself with the Waynes’ vast video library.

Wanda’s twin sons thus far seem content to keep themselves busy with their own back-and-forth in the private ‘twin language’ they’d crafted over the years - more due to cheating than the existence of some preternatural twin understanding of each other. Neither boy pretends to have a clue how the other’s mind works.

Essentially, Tommy just talks to his brother at full superspeed, while Billy has a spell in place that allows him to keep up and understand his twin no matter what speed his ramblings take. No one seems entirely sure what mechanism they have for Billy to speak back to Tommy in a way no one else ever picks up on, or even if such a mechanism exists at all. It's entirely possible that due to the nature of their dynamic, they’d never found creating one to be at all necessary.

That isn’t to suggest that Billy is a follower in temperament or by nature. Its more just that when dealing with Tommy, one either follows (or tries to play catch up slash does damage control) or else one waits until Tommy races off to do what he wants, for however long it takes for him to eventually figure out that nobody has followed or is even going to. Then finally racing back and submitting to following someone else’s lead, sulking all the while about how nobody ever listens to him about anything.

Basically, letting Tommy take the lead in the more low-stakes engagements is just being efficient, in Billy’s opinion. The alternative takes way too long and his twin is a pain to deal with when in a heightened state of Sulk.

However, as to just how low-stakes or not this dinner actually is, well, that seems to be a matter of some debate between the twins, and not something Billy himself has even settled his opinion on.

Frequent high-pitched squeaks occasionally sound out from their corner of the table, most too quick to even register for anyone other than their uncle Pietro, who currently is still preoccupied with his extended staring contest against his diminutive rival in all things pertaining to ego and attempted sovereignty

If anyone else were even to register their existence or frequency, the combination of squeaks and Tommy’s repeated glares at his brother might lead to the conclusion that Billy is repeatedly poking or jabbing his twin in order to rein Tommy in from leaping into some fray or another and escalating the already existing tension to biblical proportions. As is his wont.

And Billy, at least, is enjoying his meal.

Well, he’s trying to, anyway.

But the closer he gets to completely clearing his plate, the more frequent Billy’s longing glances in the direction Luna had vanished become. Clearly, the teen is debating the merits of faking some ailment of his own and following his cousin’s example all the way to blessed, blessed relief from the chore of being the only one capable of saying “Tommy no” and actually producing an end result that isn’t just an accelerated timetable.

It’s not hard to tell when Billy’s inner war of his self-preserving tendencies vs his self-sacrificing tendencies is ultimately decided with a final score of Sanity: 1, Pointless and Unappreciated Gestures of Nobility: 0.

The seventeen year old sighs loudly and slumps back against his chair, his entire demeanor broadcasting an aura of “I give up” on so many clear wavelengths, it interrupts every skirmish currently in progress and results in every adult at the table sending concerned looks towards the twins’ corner of it.

Billy’s crossed arms and the empty space his gaze is determinedly fixed on combine to clearly convey he has nothing to do with whatever has happened or is about to happen.

Leading to every scrap of attention thus trekking further down the table to his twin, where Tommy is beaming with the brightness of a thousand supergiant stars about to go supernova and make a mess that will span galaxies and last for ten thousand years.

His Aunt Lorna’s own penchant for pretty explosions and fireworks has nothing on his, other than seniority.

Tommy’s own family knows that gleam in his eyes well enough to be aware their own immediate reactions should be duck and cover. Unfortunately, the Waynes’ dining room affords few actual defensive positions, all of which are already occupied by members of the Family Batshit. Resigning themselves to the inevitable, the Family Maximumoff Damage brace for impact.

Not being familiar with the gleam in Tommy’s eyes themselves, but more than observant (and paranoid) enough to recognize the braced positions of the other family and adapt accordingly, the members of the Family Batshit are all quick to follow suit.

Wanda meanwhile takes the scant seconds before collision to close her eyes and try to recall why she ever wanted children so desperately she literally wished them into existence.

She’s got nothing.

Dick uses the same time to gulp and take a deep breath, frantically trying to fortify himself with everything he knows of Wanda’s more....mayhem-inclined child. Hopefully he can use that intel to prepare contingencies for whatever fallout may follow in the next few seconds.

Ever the optimist, that one.

Into a silence stretching longer than a speedster in the spotlight has ever before allowed silence to linger - with Tommy clearly savoring the focused attention and abundant awareness of his Impact™ and reputation - the silver-haired teen grins with teeth bright enough to ignite the ensuing firestorm all on their own. The fateful words he finally utters almost seem overkill. At least until he finishes saying them and everything else ceases to matter, because boom.

Ignition.

“Hey Dick, if you end up marrying our mom, does that mean we can call you Dad?”

The silence that follows that particular detonation is akin to the death-knell of the dinosaurs, in the moments immediately after a giant asteroid wiped out 80% of life on the planet.

Then: anarchy.

“How dare you!” Damian launches himself out of his seat with what would normally be described as a hiss, were it not uttered at a decibel closer to being an actual sonic boom.

Jason looks like he can’t decide if he wants to fall to the ground laughing or fall to the ground tucking and rolling. To avoid having to make a decision, he grabs his until now untouched wine and guzzles it like a man who just found the only oasis in a hundred mile wide desert.

Lorna uncorks another bottle of wine and raises the whole thing like she’s toasting existence itself, on her way out the mortal coil’s exit-marked door. Kate thrusts her glass in front of Lorna for another refill.

“I know many lesbians can and do have kids in any number of ways, but do you think its okay if I cite this as proof we’re the highest evolved life form and if I was meant to have kids of my own, God wouldn’t have given me such an obvious hint as to the opposite?”

Kate absently muses to Lorna under her breath and out of the corner of her mouth, both of them still fixed on viewing the various diners turned statue-still by the Medusa like turn of the table’s conversations.

“It feels like that’s one of those things people tell me I should keep in my head and just gets me in trouble when I decide to share it instead, but honestly, I can never tell.”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Lorna whispers back. “I get possessed by this one psychic ghost enough that one of the few perks is I don’t have to worry about ticking people off anymore. Nowadays if I piss someone off, all I have to do is wait a couple of days and then say I was possessed again at the time. Then I just ask why the hell did nobody notice and dramatically make a lot of noise about that until everybody forgets what the hell they were even ticked at me for in the first place.”

“Ugh. Lucky bitch.”

Lorna shrugs with the faintest of smirks. “It’s all about just working with what you’ve got.”

Elsewhere at the table, Duke is frozen with his mouth still stuffed so full his cheeks are puffed out like a cartoon chipmunk’s. The only movements coming from his direction at all are the twin orbs that are his eyes, currently imitating tennis balls being rocketed back and forth across the court by pro players who never miss a swing.

Tim and Cass are clutching each others’ forearms, the closest either has come to displaying a panic reaction in literal years. In Cassandra’s case, more like in her entire lifetime.

But the title of ultimate attention draw is for the moment a dubious honor bestowed upon the Wayne patriarch himself.

Bruce leaps from his seat like an Olympic sprinter off the starting block, managing to catch up to his youngest before Damian plus Damian’s butter knife make it more than a foot towards Tommy. He snatches the twelve year old up by his waist, smoothly disarming his son and spinning around to plant himself between the boy and his target with the practiced and precise moves of the bedlam ballerina that he is.

“Umm,” Dick utters at last. His eyes fly wildly around the room as if seeking permission to land. They settle on making repeated loops of a race track that runs from Tommy’s smile of success to Damian’s enraged expression, and then to his own father’s attempt at a poker face: normally flawless, but now only warranting such acclaim if Bruce’s intention actually was to mimick the poker face of someone steadily ingesting lemons and nothing else throughout the course of a game.

Its not Dick’s finest work, obviously, but to be fair he’s also quite busy,trying to will himself through the floor. Possibly the Earth’s core while he’s at it. Results are still pending.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by the inhabitants of the dining room, Pietro’s ex Crystal has arrived as previously agreed, so she can pick up Luna and their daughter can spend the back half of the holiday with her mother and the latter’s teammates.

They were on their way to the dining room so Luna could say her goodbyes to her father, aunts, cousins and grandfather, when the current chaos had erupted.

Her own heroic impulses instinctively compelling her to charge in and attempt to help, Crystal’s tugged back by her daughter’s hand in hers. Knowing full well that Luna’s empathy-fueled instincts are superior to just about anyone else’s, Crystal halts and takes in the scene before them again, still with caution but with slightly less urgency.

“I suppose you have some idea what’s going on in there?”

Luna just smiles softly at her mother, as if shyly amused by the situation they’re witnessing.

“Did you hear how just when we were coming down the hall, Tommy said something about calling Wanda’s boyfriend ‘Dad’ if they get married?”

Crystal furrows her brow and nods; she hadn’t been paying that much attention, but one didn’t engage in superheroics (let alone marry and live with a hyper-active speedster) if one had poor situational awareness. Well one did, theoretically, but in such instances, one usually just died before gaining any kind of reputation or relevance.

“Well see, that set off Damian, Mr. Wayne’s youngest son and Dick’s baby brother - he was the one shouting ‘How dare you’ - “

“Don’t tell me this family has some kind of superiority complex about the twins or Wanda not being good enough for one of their own,” Crystal interrupted. The air around them crisped and heated even as a stray wind arose inside the manor and teased the ends of her hair into furious activity.

She and Pietro might not be together anymore, but her fondness for him and certain other members of his family hadn’t ceased to exist simply because their marriage no longer did. Wanda had been her friend for years before she and Pietro even began to date, and her twins were still Luna’s cousins. All of which made them still family as far as Crystal was concerned.

And she’d certainly put up with enough of her own family’s nonsense about nobody being good enough for one of them...more than she should have, to be honest, even if that was still ultimately the reason she’d cut ties with them and made her teammates her and her daughter’s true family. Crystal wasn’t about to stand idly by while strangers subjected her daughter’s cousins and aunt to more of that bullshit, even if they were hugely respected heroes of this universe’s Earth.

But Luna just shakes her head swiftly and decisively, and Crystal forces her metaphorical hackles to subside at her daughter’s apparent lack of concern.

“No, its nothing like that. Well, Damian’s kind of a brat sometimes, but it feels like he only acts out like that when he doesn’t have instincts about how to react to a given situation and he’s embarrassed about that. He had some kind of messed up childhood none of them like to talk about too much. But honestly, he feels more jealous right now than he does anything else. Aunt Wanda gave us all a rundown before we got here, about Dick’s family and things to not ask them about or bring up, and what kind of stuff they’d been told about us for similar reasons. Anyway, she told us Damian didn’t even live with their family until a few years ago, and when he first came to live with them there was a year when Mr. Wayne was missing and most of them thought he was dead....and so Dick was basically Damian’s first real kinda dad even before Mr. Wayne got a chance to be, and even though he’s been the one raising Damian ever since he got back, it sounded like there’s a lot of mixed feelings and confusion and tension between him, Mr. Wayne and Dick ever since.”

“And of course your cousin just couldn’t resist poking the elephant in the room, once he’d been made aware of its existence, if only to see what would happen,” Crystal sighs. That boy....

Not for the first time when around her ex’s family, she finds herself reminded to be grateful for the relationship she and her daughter share, mostly due to her daughter’s willingness to be understanding of others’ flaws, her own included. Crystal makes sure to will forth a wish for fortitude in Wanda’s direction while she’s at it. Couldn’t hurt.

And of course, speaking of Luna’s ability to be understanding....

“Tommy was just trying to have a little fun, he honestly didn’t mean any harm by it,” her daughter defends the cousin in question. “I know he didn’t really have any idea how much of a reaction he’d get, and just how deep and strongly they had about this. And I know it probably sounds like I’m just trying to make excuses for Tommy to keep him out of trouble, but maybe this is a good thing, that he made this happen? Because I can tell they definitely don’t talk a lot about these things or let them out in the open instead of trying to shove them down all the time. So Damian feels jealous, probably because he still has feelings of seeing Dick as a father that he feels he can’t act on because he doesn’t want to upset their actual dad or cause fights between them.”

"And I can feel Mr. Wayne feels jealous too, but of how Damian feels and the fact that he acted on what was so clearly jealousy to everyone else, but also he’s upset at himself, probably because he thinks its not right for him to feel jealous towards his own son and specifically because he and his brother have such a strong relationship and Dick did such a good job taking care of him when Mr. Wayne couldn’t. And then Dick feels guilty but also a little upset at himself as well, maybe because he knows he has nothing to feel guilty for? I’m not sure about that part, I haven’t totally gotten a feel for their usual emotional dynamics. But also he feels jealous too, and of Mr. Wayne, most likely because he gets to be Damian’s father and on some level Dick wishes that was still him occupying that role.”

“Maybe you should be explaining all of this to them instead of me,” Crystal concludes when her daughter finishes her run-through in a rush of hastily accelerated words. Luna is leaning to the side, as if trying to be subtle about craning to look around her at the drama on the other side.

“I will if they ask me to,” her daughter says, now sounding somewhat defensive of herself. “I don’t think they would have liked it much if I just tried to talk to them about all their feelings that they refuse to acknowledge or act upon, even just with each other in private.”

“Hmm,” Crystal just hums thoughtfully. Luna rushes to present the rest of her case, though Crystal still lacks a clear picture of just what the specific endgame is that her little schemer simply can’t resist trying to nudge things towards.

“Besides, like I said, maybe this was a good thing, Tommy got it out in the open where now they have to talk about it with each other, since its pretty undeniable to everyone. I mean everyone else in their family definitely feels kinda satisfied I think? No, vindicated. That’s it. I think they’ll be fine on their own. They all definitely love each other and if anything, the jealous feelings are all just from loving each other more than they feel they should or have a right to, because they don’t want to make one of their other family question whether they love them too. None of them have done anything bad or wants anything bad, they just need to talk it through.”

“Well that’s all good to hear, but it still sounds to me like there’s no real reason for us not to interrupt, and every possibility it might defuse some tension and give them all a little time to cool down before talking about things.” Crystal crosses her arms and looks down at Luna knowingly.

She might be the best daughter Crystal could have ever wished for, and light years more mature than anyone else her age, but she’s still only ten and every ten year old has room for more maturing.

Sure enough, her daughter squirms guiltily.

“I guess. But I still think its better to let things just happen on their own. You’re always telling me that my power isn’t permission to insert myself into the problems of everyone I meet. And that assuming otherwise can be bad for me too.”

“That’s true,” Crystal nods. All the same, her left eyebrow starts to climb. “However, another truth I’ve heard told to you by your father is if you ever feel guilty and are put on the spot for something, have two truths and a lie ready to explain yourself. And always lead with the lie.”

She loves Pietro still, she does, and she's at times even painfully aware of just how much she always will. But their vastly different ideas about parenting were just one of the reasons they hadn’t been able to make things work. She vividly recalls the time she’s referring to...and the argument she and her husband had immediately following it.

Pietro’s stance had always been that children were just little versions of who they’d grow up to be, and didn’t need to be taught dumbed down versions of the advice no one would a problem giving to the grown up versions of them.

“I see nothing inappropriate in teaching her that,” Pietro had said stubbornly at the time. “I do the same thing all the time and I’ve never attempted to pretend otherwise. In fact, I clearly remember explicitly describing that as my life philosophy on one of our earlier dates, and if I recall correctly, you laughed and called me a charming knave at the time. And I am of course remembering it correctly, as I have perfect recall listed among my numerous attributes.”

They never did reach an understanding about that particular bit of parenting. Probably because that argument had ended up seguing into the make-up sex that had kept them married far longer than they probably should have been.

Not that the latter detail is of any relevance at the moment. She coughs awkwardly.

In the here and now, their daughter continues to fidget beneath her mother’s now imperious gaze and newfound resolution to not allow her semi-fond nostalgia to cause her emotions to waver.

“Fine!” Luna groans at last, throwing up her hands in as explosive manner as the usually contemplative girl ever does anything. “I also don’t want to interrupt or go yet because I still have some of the popcorn Mr. Alfred made me and its really good and also if you had to have dinner with some of the most tense and repressed people on two different Earths, and feel everything they were trying to pretend they didn’t feel, you would want to at least get to enjoy the part where they finally stop doing that and get all dramatic and dumb. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Crystal says primly, fighting a smile at her daughter’s rare display of immaturity before remembering who she was talking to and ceasing to bother with the pretense. Besides, its not like she doesn’t have a point.

“But I believe we’ve also talked about people not being your personal entertainment,” she adds. It just feels like the kind of moment where she's supposed to say something along those lines. Even half-heartedly.

“But is it really my fault if people are being entertaining through no fault of my own, and I just happen to be nearby and have every right to just stay put until being right where I am stops being entertaining?” Her daughter counters.

The glint in her eye and the wry smile that says she knows she’s scented a moment of weakness and has no shame about pouncing on it - those are wholly among Pietro’s contribution to their child, and not anything Crystal can truly fault him for, at the end of the day. He is who he is, and part of that is who their daughter is, just as much as she is part of Crystal. She sighs and relents.

“If one of the Waynes catches us treating their conflict like a reality show and feels the slightest upset about it, it is your responsibility to either justify yourself to them too, or acknowledge responsibility for their upset. Whichever it takes to reverse the negativity you contributed. Understood?”

"Promise,” Luna says, bobbing her head repeatedly as she holds forth her hands, unprompted, to demonstrate that she has no fingers crossed as she did so. A follow up that has been normalized for years, given that crossing fingers behind one’s back is another one of the bits of parental wisdom Pietro had imparted upon their precocious daughter when she was younger.

Crystal just sighs once more and shakes her head fondly as she steps to the side and provides an unobstructed view through the open doorway across the room.

Back in the dining room, heedless of having garnered spectators to their spectacle, as well as equally heedless of the passage of time, the room’s inhabitants exist in a state of suspended animation.

Everyone knows a reaction to what just happened is required. That the pregnant pause persisting since then demands a clear follow up to the blatant display of certain emotions from certain parties. All of whom are usually quite certain they’d rather witness the end of the world than see those specific feelings slip out into the open where anyone could see them and from that, draw certain conclusions.

Nobody is confused on that front. Not even their guests from an entirely separate universe.

But the unthinkable has happened nevertheless, and as it has been neither preceded nor succeeded by any hint of an apocalypse, there is no alternative. The naked display of previously avoided topics can not in any way be avoided at this point. What was done was done and now things have to be said or done as a result.

The problem lies in the fact that not a single person present has the faintest idea of what those specific things were. And thus no one seems interested in showing any initiative in ending the stalemate that has been forged from the uncommon uncertainty that was their only commonality.

The rise and fall of chests are the only movements betraying that the tableau they set exists in all three dimensions, rather as a static snapshot someone had taken in commemoration.

And even breathing seems done reluctantly.

If cosmic entities such as Uatu the Watcher were prone to hyperbole, as the only other witnesses to the unprecedented anomaly, they might narrate that for a time it seems as though two of the most powerful and influential families of two different universes are fated to spend the rest of eternity existing in this rare moment. This endless moment where some of the most reckless, impulsive, tactical, analytical, insightful and decisive heroes to ever exist on two separate Earths......are all equally stricken with indecision and uncertainty as to what course of action to take next.

Who could even imagine what kind of consequences that might result in, for two entirely different multiverses? What deviations from intricately plotted grand designs that could cause, what opportunities might be missed, from the most potentially fortunate events that otherwise might stem from these various heroes’ heroics?

How far might the ripple effects of this seemingly innocuous moment in space and time reach? How many worlds might rise and fall, universes live and die, all because this one singular family, this comparatively tiny collection of dissonant souls who regardless of their frequent discord still manage to come together in harmony often enough to chart the course of cosmic events....

These unlikely conductors who at separate times are both the voices of the people, and the music of the spheres themselves? Their choices often doing more to directly affect various celestial bodies than the choices of entire civilizations added up across countless millennia?

Regardless of the degree of potential calamity, that remains a fate both universes will be spared their discovery of. For in this hour of need, where some of the prime movers and shakers of worlds sit motionless whilst hardly daring to breathe, all mutually frozen in their seats, all seemingly powerless to act or speak until someone releases them from this spell that has been cast upon the room and all within it....

Well, unto this unlikely conundrum, there arises an unlikely hero.

Not the hero anyone present deserves, perhaps, but certainly the hero they need.

And so it is that with great daring - and dare we say, even panache - a voice rings out loud and clear. One overflowing with bountiful mirth and a zest and zeal for life. Not to mention one brimming with reckless disregard for any potential consequences, even those not very dissimilar to the kind that have in years past made even the hardiest villains quail in fear...

And all at the same time, all undeniable, all contributing to the sudden spasm that erupts along the fault line that is Bruce Wayne’s entire face - that treacherous, forbidding chasm that exists at the edges of the two tectonic masses that are on one side his disapproval, and on the other side, the muscles that control his expressions...

Into that momentous stillness lands the only response truly appropriate, given the root cause of all of this.

“Awkwaaaaaaard,” Stephanie Brown sings out, half standing out of her chair to stretch across the table in front of Wanda and Duke in order to retrieve the gravy boat. She returns to her seated position and proceeds to slather her mashed potatoes with its contents, blithely paying no attention to the fact that all other faces in the room have swiveled to face her with stunned disbelief. “Seriously, I haven’t felt this uncomfortable since I farted in front of Superman.”

“When did you even get here?” Bruce frowns at her, exasperated enough that Damian is able to use his distraction to slip free of him and slink back to his own seat.

No one else has ever managed to achieve the depths of distraction Stephanie and Stephanie alone can push the usually unflappable Bat to. Or is it heights, and the joys of alliteration might need to be sacrificed upon the altar of accuracy? Whatever.

She pretty much considers it her superpower, though. She's still working out how to weaponize it for use on other targets. Or even better, how to capitalize on it for use when living Whilst Reluctantly Capitalist. Currently, she’s testing market research along the veins of blackmailing Bruce into paying her a monthly allowance in exchange for her keeping her levels of Intentionally Irritating him to below a Level Four on a ten point scale. Its her own custom model in the fashion of the ‘rate the pain with a number from one to ten’ scale, but she’s taken the liberty of specifically tailoring it to Bruce’s condition of Suffering Stephanie the Supreme’s Presence. She's pretty sure she’d ultimately settled on the title: “How much is my chewing gum while I’m supposed to be being sneaky causing you actual physical pain?”

There’s an itty bitty chance she actually picked something totally else on account of how she’d been super drunk at the time and she’s crap at reading her own handwriting so deciphering the notes she’d made while especially inspired were like....seventy percent guesswork.

But close enough, anyway, and also like, shut up and stuff. Wait. But is that really considered blackmail, technically speaking, or is it more like bribery? Not that it really makes a difference, but she does prefer being as precise as possible when listing her crimes slash achievements. It’s like. The principle. Or maybe the aesthetic? Whatever.

Really, though, this is just her and the Big Guy’s thing. Its just what they do. Their dynamo depiction of a duo doing things after their first take on being a Dynamic Duo detonated so disastrously. Yeah, she could never bear to part with her precious alliteration merely for the sake of precision. Its important to have clear priorities after all, and if it for whatever reason that probably will involve fifth dimensional imps, like, some nefarious ne’er-do-well demands she make a choice between alliteration and precision, well, she’s as of right now making an official ruling on which darling she’d kill first.

Sorry, precision, but you just haven’t done for me lately what alliteration has brought me in joy and also usefulness.

“Wait, my bad,” she realizes suddenly, on account of how everyone is staring at her when all she’s doing currently is stuffing her face like a pro. And as hype as she is on her ability to make anything she does look like a Feat™, she’s pretty sure she doesn’t make it look that good. “What was the question again?”

Bruce faces her fully, arms crossed in an attempt to restore himself and his dominion to some semblance of its usual order, his face schooled back in his usual Mona Lisa smile aka stone cold impassivity. Which nobody here was buying, for the record. Big faker.

“How long have you been here?” Asks Stone Cold Steve Austin, wait no, the Stone Cold Steve Faker. Faker Austin? Ugh, this is gonna bug her.

Also, nobody here is buying his voice as being Forbidding right now so much as just Deeply Embarrassed Because I Had Feelings And They Distracted Me. Honestly, she should start keeping a tally. For what, she’s not sure, but you never know what might come in handy some day. There’s a whole TV show about hoarders to back her up on that supposition. See? Science, suckers.

“I dunno. Since way before dinner even started though. Dude, I’m literally on my thirds.”

As if making a show of evidence, Steph shovels more meat in her mouth. She’s not entirely sure what they're even having, like it could be veal or lamb or turkey for all she knows - look, she never got around to mastering “How To Solve the Mystery of Mystery Meat” or whatever. She’d been busy learning how to tell the difference in blood spatters, because like, meat may be murder sometimes but murder is always murder and thus takes priority. Soooorry.

Point is, who knows what the fuck kind of meat it is, but its damn good and just further proof that Alfred is probably secretly God in disguise or maybe just a lower case g kinda one, but whichever, he and his culinary arts are definitely proof she’s too weak to ever walk the Way of the Vegan.

She finishes chewing fully before continuing. Because she’s a proper lady, obvy.

“And way to make with the Rudeness, B. I know I can pull off pretty much any look, but Fly On The Wall is not one of them. How dare you come for my self-esteem like this. I’ll sue you and get all your billions and use them to make a swimming pool of gold coins all Scrooge McDuck style, because its like, the one thing you could never and thus the perfect way to establish my dominance and stuff.”

“Has she seriously been here this whole time?” One of Dick’s girlfriend’s twin kids stage-whispers from the other length of the table. “How did we not notice before? Not exactly flying under the radar there.”

“I’m a goddamn social chameleon, that’s how, Cloud.” Stephanie jabs another meat-laden forkful in his direction for emphasis, on its way to her food hole. Ugh, bliss. “Also, I would be like, a kick-ass spy. But nobody ever gives me the spy jobs because everyone’s always like, you can’t be quiet or still or even serious for longer than five minutes, Stephanie, and I’m always like, umm, just because I choose not to doesn’t mean I can’t, but do they ever listen? Of course not.”

The kid wrinkles his nose at her. “Why did you call me Cloud?”

“Isn’t that the name of the Final Fantasy guy whose hair you ripped off?”

“Is it? I don’t know, I’ve never played. And maybe he ripped me off, you don’t know,” Not-Cloud says, looking suddenly intrigued, though who knows by which part.

Stephanie swivels towards Tim for confirmation. He looks back, vaguely irritated.

“Why does everyone always look at me for stuff like that? I have no idea. When exactly would I have time to be a gamer in the first place? And for the record, back when I had actual hobbies, I used to skateboard.”

“Jeez, sorry, Tony Hawk. I didn’t recogize you cuz I was too busy giving you mad props for that sick wicked half pipe ollie oopsie.” Steph rolls her eyes. Then she cocks her head to scrutinize him more fully and maybe give him a serious answer. She settles for flapping a hand at him vaguely as she says, “And you just have like, a certain Quality about you or whatever. I don’t know what it is.”

“She doesn’t even live here,” Bruce says, almost plaintively. Y’know. If he were someone who does anything plaintively ever.

“She’s our guest,” Cass says, almost primly. Y’know. If she were someone who does anything primly ever. “You’re being rude.”

Steph plasters on her most injured expression, the better to make like Exhibit A when Cass sweeps an arm towards her for demonstration.

Also though, oh shit, oh shit, look whose internal monologue stumble-stepped into a motif. She’s Emily Dickenson-ing this place up tonight. Finally, someone bringing a little class into the House of Ass. You’re welcome, all the ghosts of Bruce’s equally gloomy ancestors who definitely haunt this place on the regular.

“Yeah, Alfred has always impressed upon us that there are certain protocols for how we’re supposed to treat guests in our home, Bruce,” Tim adds in a tone that was equal parts thoughtful musing and suppressed merriment.

He slides a smirk down the table to Steph. His own irritation of 7.5 seconds prior has completely evaporated into the ether, because that’s just how they roll. Look at them, making with the maturity like they’re just a couple of motherfucking bosses. She’s seriously so impressed with the both of them on their own behalves.

“If I were a betting man,” Tim continues nonchalantly, “I’d put down money that hanging on to guest privileges is one of the main reasons she turned down that adoption offer we all pretend we don’t know B’s definitely given her at some point.”

“Or maybe that’s just what you tell yourself, being the one whose dating history with Steph makes adopted siblinghood seem weird and icky and stuff,” Duke suggests from further down the table. He smirks, lounging in a way that looks lazy and careless to those uninitiated in the sacred Bat arts of being anal about everything at all times, like literally even when just looking at things. Because B-Man’s secret superpower is how to make anything boring, even things that are literally just using your eyes.

Though in defense of B but also like, the years of their lives they’ve all committed to obsessively training themselves according to his fucking anal doctrines anyway, like a bunch of absolute suckers, there is an upside to all that anal retention. Such as how people who make healthy but boring life choices would look at Duke right now and be like oh shit, that kid’s about two seconds from falling asleep like he’s a cat and that’s a super inconvenient place for him to fall asleep, which everyone knows is basically the same thing as Kitty Nirvana.

But meanwhile, the other teen still clearly shows all the checked boxes that spell out hey this dude could be ready to kick your ass in 2.5 seconds, like just give him a reason punk, he’s ready to go. Or at least, that’s how he registers to those of them with Bat-supersenses that aren’t actually super but really just the end result of lots of boring training exercises that honestly don’t sound anywhere near as cool so just let them have this.

Point is she totally lost track of her point, but then Duke follows up with an accusing pointer finger aimed at Tim, one appropriately dramatic and just like, making her so gosh darn proud of the latest castaway to wash ashore on their weird ass little Island Of Misfit Toys. Kids. They grow up so fast.

“Of course you wanna distract everyone from how you’re a Sister Depriver,” Duke intones, putting some super thematic bass into his boom. That right there, that little something extra...that’s how you make fucking art. Hot damn. “And as a result, poor Cass has to bear the weight of being the only girl in the Wayne clan all by herself. For shame, Timothy.”

“Yeah, Timothy,” Cass echoes smugly. “For shame.”

Tim shoots betrayed eyes at her, but its his own fault for forgetting the Cardinal Rule Of Cass: her allegiances are fickle and prone to shifting in the direction of greatest potential drama. Cass loves drama. Lives for it. Something about how refreshing it is to be able to immerse herself in the movements of people who are actively trying to speak or act in contradiction to what their body really wants to say, instead of just being lying douchebags who necessitate caution when they do anything similar.

The rest of them are split 50/50 as to whether that’s true and heartwrenching, or whether its well-played Cass bullshit aimed at distracting them from what a gossip-loving drama queen she really is.

“Whatever,” Jason says dismissively as he chimes in. He swipes the last few exchanges out of the way like they’re open apps he’s not using at the moment and he’s all uh, you can go now, losers. “The real issue here is that obviously the Old Man has never figured out how to interact with a teenager or young adult he hasn’t adopted or can’t adopt. Middle D over there is proof that even B’s vaunted no meta rule isn’t really a dealbreaker, so betcha the real reason Dickie and Tim’s Titan friends never come over is because their parentals are worried about B trying to snatch them up too. And since B adopts, fosters or otherwise absorbs via osmosis every other kid or teen he comes across, there’s never been a control group for him to practice his non-adoption-intending behavior on other kids. And no practice means no way of being perfect at that, and we all know how not being perfect at something makes B cranky as fuck.”

Duke takes a beat to contort his face into a Rubik’s Cube of half-formed and hastily discarded expressions. Most likely trying to work through whether Middle D counts as a weird-ass endearment for this particular family, or something he’s gonna be endlessly annoyed by if it happens to catch on. Its a process, especially considering it has to be filtered through the Jason to English dictionary first.

Finally he just shrugs in a lazy non-reaction that in Batspeak manages to count as a challenge. Basically a ‘try and guess what I decided if you can, chump.’

Jason’s face morphs Terminator style. The later ones, not the Governator model. He ends up displaying a mash-up: the smirk of inevitable victory meets the narrowed eyebrows of intent focus as bestowed upon a worthy foe.

Then the whole piece makes like an Etch-a-Sketch and is wiped completely away before being replaced with an annoyed jaw clench.

“Jay’s theory game is strong,” is the route Duke ends up taking though. “And here we thought the reason Bruce always says no about Superboy coming over is to prevent him from being a Brother Defiler. But all along it was just the insidious work of a Brother Depriver, with Superman himself being the culprit who told B hands off, this one’s mine. It all makes sense now! Superboy even fits the standard issue black hair and blue eyed, in store model.”

He tips his head towards the older boy in a gesture of appreciation for Jay’s detective work and connect the dots high score. Jason scowls back. By the standards of the Family Batshit, he’s clearly been caught off guard. With him so readily taking up the implied but not outright stated challenge teased by the younger boy, he’d completely failed to prepare for the compliments Duke then followed up with instead.

His siblings hide snickers behind faked coughs and gratuitous napkin usage. He’s netted himself an undeniable loss, according to the intricate rules and traditions of their family - ironically, many of which had been laid down by Jason himself when first established back in the misty years of yore. That mysterious, little spoken of era of legend and mystery, one that is nevertheless oft whispered of in hushed rumors and hearsay. The time before time, better known to the Bats and Birds as The Age of The First Two Robins.

If it had just been the family present, it might have been a different matter, but the presence of others changed things. Cuz see, in the eyes of anyone who isn’t a member of their observation obsessed and perpetually paranoid family, the relatively minute exchange between the two boys no doubt looked like Jason had been needlessly aggressive while the younger boy was just trying to pay him a compliment.

In a nutshell, Duke goaded Jason with what seemed like a challenge but didn’t technically count, so Jason’s attempt at responding to Duke’s not-challenge actually counted as the first actual sign of aggression, which Duke neatly side-stepped by already being in the process of paying Jay a compliment between the time Jay actually launched his challenge but before it actually landed.

Ergo, Duke wins.

Look, if its hard to follow, that’s probably for the best. They’re all pretty sure stuff like that isn’t supposed to make as much sense as it does to them.

Jason huffs but then finally heaves a sigh and tosses a tight-lipped and grudging but genuine nod of acknowledgment down the table to Duke. Despite himself, he can’t help but be a little impressed by the kid, having already picked up on even the more minute ins and outs of their family’s complicated interactions. But then, of course the younger boy is as precocious as the rest of them. Their family could single-handedly keep the nature vs nurture debate going for centuries.

Duke beams back before licking the tip of a finger and painting a single stroke in the air in front of him. A clear declaration that this round of the Batkids’ never-ending game goes to him. Jason rolls his eyes but can’t exactly begrudge him his endzone dance. Its not like he’s known for being graceful and gracious in victory either.

Come to think of it, none of them are. Huh. That explains a lot, probably.

Its at this moment that Dick finally regains enough composure to make his presence felt again.

Its understandable, really, the others acknowledge via conspiratorial looks of sibling solidarity that bounce their way rapidly across the table by way of their patented younger sibling network.

Anyone would have trouble juggling the combined stressors of introducing the girlfriend’s family, mediating their own eternal family mayhem, and on top of all that, seeing shoved into the spotlight his ‘shh, we don’t talk about that, what are you, new,” tendencies towards acting parentally protective and possessive of Damian, even with (and at times especially with) Bruce himself.

Not to mention the occasional clashes over the parenting strategy, or lack thereof, that Bruce still manages at times to bumble like the perfect dope that he is. Because if anyone has super strong feelings about Bruce’s parenting and no patience whatsoever for watching their father repeatedly fail to learn from his mistakes, well. That’s all Dick’s territory.

So with all of that kept firmly in mind like the efficient little multi-taskers they all know how to be (when they feel like it), they’re all poised to lend Dick a certain amount of leeway in how much amusement they enjoy at his expense today.

In all fairness to them, its not like he makes it easy. They had perhaps overestimated just how well Dick was juggling the various stressors in play today. After all, you can take the acrobat out of the circus, but that doesn’t mean jack shit about whether or not he can juggle because that’s an entirely different skillset, duh.

Hindsight’s not just sometimes a bitch. Its sometimes quite bitchy as well. Ugh, their subconscious minds could be such brats, honestly.

Look, the point is, even as they all patiently watch their eldest brother struggle his way back to a state of coherency and and managing to be present in the actual present, they’re still expecting him to pop out the other side with something at least approaching poise.

Instead, they get an encore.

“Umm,” Dick utters at last.

Tim buries his face in his hands. Duke tilts his head back and mutters prayers to some higher power. Cass closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly and sorrowfully. Lorna reaches across the table with her wine bottle and refreshes her sister’s glass. Wanda looks like she needs it.

Damian sits with arms crossed over his chest and scowl firmly directed at the table top, Judging Everything. Then again, that is still his default setting and pretty much what he’s been doing all night anyway. Say whatever else you want to about the kid, Steph reflects, but when he commits to a theme, hoo boy.

Jason, meanwhile, has thrown himself bodily at his brother, clamping a hand over the older man’s mouth and stage-whispering with exaggerated emphasis: “Careful! You could set off the exact same chain of events and we’ll all end up trapped in an eternal time loop we can never break free of! I mean, its practically a guarantee, if you combine my knack for being in the worst place at the worst possible time, Tim’s shitty spleen-phobic luck, Cass’ destined to someday prove ironically prophetic name, and your own lightning rod-esque ability to attract cosmic-level catastrophes to you like you’re catnip and they’re really just a cute little furball named Fluffy McWhiskerson.”

“Must you always insist on going the extra mile when being ridiculous, Todd?” Damian cuts in testily. Also, cuttingly.

“Shut the fuck up. It’s my coping mechanism for being part of a family that goes that extra ridiculous mile every damn day.”

“And people wonder what possible reasons I could have for not wanting to be adopted into this family and instead hanging onto a golden parachute option?”

Steph wonders aloud (and loudly) as she maneuvers the side of her fork around her plate like its a zamboni hard at work on an ice rink. Really, she just refuses to let a single scrape of Alfred’s home-made mashed potatoes go to waste. She’s not some heathen.

“You. You seem pretty smart.” That loaded statement and the finger pointed in her direction come courtesy of the Final Fantasy kid whose name may or may not be Cloud but probably isn’t, which is a shame, because Cloud is a pretty kick-ass name in Steph’s estimation. Not that anyone asks. Typical.

Also, where did they end up landing on the subject of what his name should be? Or is? Whatever? Was there a flowchart passed out at some point and she just missed it while busy being fabulous, or was this an actual oversight on B’s part and thus something they should all bring up as often as possible from now until the end of time?

No doubt spurred by a desire to be absent from whatever follows his twin’s newest train of thought, Billy raises his hand half-heartedly. No one bothers to point out the absurdity of raising his hand like he’s in school. He just seems like its a thing with him. He has that certain Quality, Steph decides.

“Can I be excused?”

Nobody seems sure who he’s asking, so its probably okay that nobody responds to grant permission. Besides, suffering through the awkwardness and drama like the rest of them is probably like, good for building character or something.

After about half a minute, Billy nods to himself as if that’s about what he’d expected. He lowers his hand again and uses it to prop up his head as he slumps over the table and idly sketches patterns atop the antique oak surface.

“I’m a galaxy-brain level intellect, you little Silver Whatever-the-Adorable-Baby version of a Fox is called,” Steph declares at last, jabbing her finger right back at the apparent Greater of Twin Evils. Y’know. To see how much he likes it. But also just because its fun to make like a drama queen in a place like Wayne Manor. Ambiance really is everything. “I even took my SATs and correctly informed the moderator that I was in fact there for the SATs and hadn’t gotten them mixed up with my ACTs.”

“Hmm,” the twerp says then, not at all appearing to be taught a lesson by her dramatic finger pointing reversal. He sweeps his eyes over her, assessing. Given that she hasn’t decided yet if she even likes the little twerp, let alone what he’s trying to assess and also if she even gives a shit on account of she might not even like the little twerp, Stephanie splits the difference and settles for combining bitch face with her best “How you like me now,” pose. Let him make of it what he will. ‘Snot like she knows what she’s going for there.

Also, its probably rendered slightly less effective due to her forgetting to factor in that she’s sitting and not standing, but whatever, she commits like a champ. Also, she’s still at most 60/40 on the liking of the twerp, so who even cares, honestly.

“I used to be able to count on my own smarts,” Platinum Punk says, seemingly settled on an opinion at last. “But I naively gambled that away in the name of wishing upon a star for family or what the frick ever, and I forgot to set wish parameters for ‘and also please let them all not be completely nuts.’”

“Watch the ableism please, sweetheart,” Wanda says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Sorry, Mom,” he says with an eye roll that nevertheless seems to somehow satisfy her. “But see? I’ll get a lecture about my language, but I skip school with my friends to fight giant robots in Times Square and she doesn’t bat an eye. My family’s priorities are not like your Earth’s priorities.”

“Or my Earth’s priorities,” he adds as an afterthought. “Or any Earth’s, probably. Maybe not some really weird and out there Earth, but they don’t count, probably.”

“Well I don’t like it, certainly, but I don’t want to be a hypocrite,” Wanda says defensively. “When I was your age, I was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list for being a mutant terrorist. All things considered, I have relatively few objections about how you and your brother spend your time.”

Several members of the Family Batshit direct eyes that are ever so slightly on the wide side. She meets them with an unapologetic shrug.

“I had a complicated childhood. I got over it.”

Lorna snorts into her wineglass. Wanda shoots her sister an annoyed glare, but still amends her statement.

“Mostly, anyway.”

Lorna smirks and waves her glass in some attempt at a meaningful gesture. Who knows what its actually meant to be. She seems to accept the amendment, at least.

“Please excuse our dear little sis her porcine displays of condescension,” Pietro interjects in silky smooth tones that do nothing to hide the sharp edges thinly veiled underneath. “She didn’t grow up with us and our dear, doting daddy, yet has never lacked for opinions on what superior choices she would have made in our positions. The fact that she’s still made plenty terrible choices of her own, is apparently quite irrelevant.”

His green-haired sister opens her eyes artfully wide and projects feigned innocence. “None of those were my fault. I was possessed a lot by a very evil psychic. Who, if you recall, actually called herself Malice. The evil was right there in her name. Advertised. I was innocent. She was evil.”

Pietro swirls his own wineglass, unimpressed. The other set of siblings have clearly been down this road a time or two themselves.

“I was primarily referring to your romantic history with a Summers. And not even the competent or aesthetically pleasing one, at that,” he drawls.

“She also had terrible taste.”

“Anyway, not to tear focus away from discussion of my dear auntie’s romantic selection process, as she and Uncle Pietro both lack the shame gene and they absolutely can and will traumatize all present via a thorough analysis of each other’s past partners in the most bizarre game of sexual chicken you will ever have the misfortune to witness...”

“Bold of him to make that claim when he’s never seen Dick and Jason do the exact same thing for the exact same reasons,” Tim mutters. Cass and Duke both nod. Jason glares, but seems stuck at the ‘come up with actual proof that he’s actually wrong’ stage of the rebuttal process. Dick has by now returned to the land of the living, but seems to have along the way decided discretion is the better part of valor as best guess is he’s currently preoccupied weighing the pros and cons of potential escape routes.

“Hey, Shiny Pokemon version of Sonic the Hedgehog,” Stephanie snaps her fingers and hopskips the focus back on the speedster in question. She waves her hand at the rest of the sound and fury occupying the table with them, as if to express just how much it all signifies nothing. “Just get to the point already and leave out anything else that these vile miscreants could possibly hijack and turn into tangents. You’ll never make it through a conversation in this house otherwise. Everyone here is expertly trained and practiced in the art of derailing the most obstinate and tunnel-visioned man in history from reaching his point whenever that point is deemed destined to make our day end poorly.”

“Some of us just happen to be better at that than others,” Jason says with smug confidence, twirling his butter knife lazily.

“Ironic, coming from the one trick pony,” Tim says dryly. Jason leans forward and raises his knife-wielding hand and Tim quickly raises his hands in a defensive gesture that’s clearly not meant to indicate he sees an actual threat, more just aimed at beating his brother to the punch with the rest of his punchline. “Sorry, I miscounted. I mean the one and a half trick pony.”

Steph clears her throat pointedly and looks back at Platinum Ken Doll. He just sighs in full gloom and slumps down in eerie symmetry with his twin. He definitely is the superior practitioner of the Sulk.

“Never mind,” he says melodramatically. “It wasn’t even a big deal anyway, just stuff I was trying to be like, snarky about or whatever, but the moment’s passed and it’s just kinda dumb and pointless without feeling like, natural or whatever.”

“Probably,” Stephanie agrees unsympathetically, because hey, when you’re right, you’re right. She doesn’t believe in coddling the youths, especially not the ones who are realistically only two years younger than herself at the most. “But you’ve managed to pique my interest enough that not knowing what you were going to say is randomly gonna bug me at 2 am or something obnoxious like that. Also, you started to praise my intellect and I don’t let things like that go unfinished. It sets a bad precedent. Now c’mon. Speak up. Praise me. Enunciate, so Damian can’t pretend he doesn’t hear you just because he’s trying to set the table on fire with just the searing intensity of his disdain.”

Damian responds with a gesture that he definitely didn’t learn from Dick, but on second thought, he probably did.

“That’s the spirit,” she said. “Keep on keeping on, slugger. If anyone can develop the ability to cause spontaneous combustion with nothing but willpower and spite, its Angst in the key of D Minor himself. I believe in you, kiddo!”

If she weren’t actually being full of shit about that, she might be in trouble from the glare Damian follows that with. Ashes to ashes and all that good stuff. But as rage-vision still refuses to make an appearance, the baby of the family in age and irony only retreats to the support of his high-backed chair.

Looking more adorable than he’d hopefully ever comprehend, lest he attempt to weaponize that as an addition to his armory, he slouches down and mutters something that makes Jason’s eyebrows climb his skull like they’re trying to set a speed record for making it all the way to the top.

It’d been in one of the languages that Damian knew and that her own circle of languages learned share no overlap with, but she mentally repeats it sound for sound in her head until she locks it in. Anything that can make Jason look that impressed is worth knowing, and translating something phonetically from an unknown language is nothing Google can’t handle.

And by Google she meant Tim, but that’s what ex-boyfriends are for, right? She’s fairly certain she saw that on a T-shirt somewhere, which is basically the same thing as true.

Anyway. Back to the praises that are supposed to be being sung, and yet weirdly, she still hears no singing. Steph boomerangs her focus back down the table to Smugness in Silver, and oozes impatience and expectations out her pores at him like emotions are contagious and she’s a cooties hotspot.

Fumbling from a clear unease with this particular kind of spotlight, and also how it’d admittedly been a weird fucking night for everyone concerned, the younger teen at last manages to self-consciously eke out: “Look, I said it was dumb now. I seriously was just gonna make a joke about you being too smart to get sucked into a weird ass family with endless drama without having an escape clause, and I was just gonna be like, teach me your ways or y’know. Whatever.”

“Wait!” Stephanie stops him right there with a palm outstretched in the universal sign for hold the fucking fuck the fuck up. She leans towards him, and in a voice pitched low and even but vibrating with barely leashed intensity, she asks him the only question that could possibly matter now:

“Was that last bit actually part of the joke you were going to make? The thing you were trying to say from the get go, not just something you said right now because you got confidence diarrhea and stopped using the words good?”

“Uh, yeah?” He says warily.

Stephanie slaps both her hands on the table’s surface, loudly enough to make most everyone jump a little in their seats, and forcefully enough to rattle some dishware and make her inner monologue hiss oww and yell at her for unnecessary roughness. She ignores herself, on account of having much more important things to deal with.

Launching herself to her feet, she leans into her palms where they press down on the table, giving herself a little bit of Loom to go with the gravity she forces onto her face. Glee is waging a valiant effort at retaking the lost ground, but she’s always insisted that she has excellent self-control, dagnabbit, and Stephanie Brown is many, many things, but she’s no liar.

Well, except for the times she is. But there are always reasons or like, extenuating circumstances for those.

Usually.

“I accept the honor and responsibility of being your Family Drama Sensei, and I shall teach you everything I know and also some stuff I make up just to fuck with you, because I’m not like Other Mentors. I demand and expect some giggles to go with the shits, or what’s even the point, y’know? First lesson: that was rhetorical! I say y’know a lot and when I actually expect an answer I’ll also be like omg hurry up, I aged 84 years waiting for you to say something already. Got it?”

The Twin That Could Have Probably Starred In Twilight blinks dazedly at her. He then turns to look at the rest of the table.

“Is she serious?”

“Deadly,” Steph intones, before one of these naysayers could nay on her say and potentially undercut her authority with her new minion. Uh, she means, like, henchkid. Sorry, sidekick. Shit. Crap - protege! That was what she has, a protege! Hah!

“For real?” He asks, doubtfully. She frowns. Is she stuttering?

“So real I make reality look fake,” she assures him gravely. He blinks some more. He does that a lot, she notes, like a Good Mentor who notices stuff about her mentee.

“Okay, see, because that wasn’t really what I was going for?” He says cautiously.

She rolls her eyes. C’mon kid, she doesn’t bite, except for like, sexy stuff and eww no, he’s like twelve. Well sixteen probably, but that’s basically the same thing as twelve. Also they had a lot of work to do on the spine-having thing because this sorta bit right here is totally gonna make her look bad in front of all the other mentors, if it doesn’t exit stage right, like post haste. And what not.

She doesn’t say any of that that out loud though. She’s not sure they’re there yet.

“Like, I was aiming more for just....a...I don’t know, a hah-hah?”

He leans back slightly, adding a little distance as he looks at her like she’s part of the craziness he needs help surviving instead of his sensei in all things suited to surviving the craziness. Ugh, she has so much work to do with this one. Its a good thing she’s always been pretty sure she’d make an excellent mentor, so like, qualifications. She has them. Obvy.

“La la la, I can’t hear you but also no take-backsies. You’re part of a legacy now. Or lineage. Or whatever the word is that’s not actually about dog family trees. Look, the point is by virtue of being my first ever protege and also the first protege of anyone who isn’t Dick or Babs who both don’t even count anyway because Reasons, you are now part of the grand tradition that is being a Bats and Birds person...partner...sidekick...thingie. Look, we don’t have the terminology all worked out yet. Like I said this is basically new territory except for Dick and Babs who don’t count and also Bruce, but he mostly communicates via grunts and scowls anyway, rendering most terminology moot.”

“What’s happening right now?” Her protege asks to no one in particular. Ugh. Unacceptable. She’s taking twenty points from House Twilight whenever she finishes reading those damn books and figures out just how that whole thing works.

“Okay, so the big takeaway from your first lesson here, because fuck that being cryptic noise, mentors who are always like ‘you have to figure out what you’re supposed to be learning here and then also learn it’ like, ugh, no. The worst, seriously.”

Look, occasionally detours are probably inevitable, but the important part is that she remain strong when doggy-paddling determinedly towards her point, because good mentors can handle occasional detours and don’t treat them like Kryptonite that’s gonna kill them all when they’re literally just sparring in the Cave, like, perspective, have some, y’know?

And also they don’t need to stop every couple hours into training so they can have temper tantrums because their kids are like, no dad, we can’t hang out today because that’s a thing that kinda happens when little kid people turn into bigger people people, like oh noes, gasp, horror. And then they have to go stomp around and make that everyone else’s problem because no matter how much they insist they’re loners, they actually really suck at being alone. Even though you’d think that mastering that particular skill would logically come first before you get around to training to say shit like “I am the Night, my dude,” with a straight face.

Its faintly occurring to her that she might actually have unresolved issues about Bruce and her brief apprentice-ship thingie with him. And also maybe its not super awesome conclusion and also the follow-up to all that bit of bother, all of which gargled a fair amount of donkey balls.

Ugh. Epiphanies are such losers. Literally who asked.

“Ahem. Anyway. Big takeaway. Teachable moment. Right. So yeah, first big thing is commitment. You start something, you see it through, got it? In this family and otherwise vaguely affiliated network of mentors and mentees, we don’t do take-backsies, okay? Its a matter of pride. Principle. Also, maybe brain damage. Like I said, this all really started with Dick, and he does get hit and shot in the head a whole lot, so admittedly, the rest of us do have some. Y’know. Questions. Now you sit there and absorb all that for a second. Like a sponge. See yourself as a sponge. Be the sponge. Good sponge.”

Wisdom having been successfully imparted, Steph nods in satisfaction and then spins to take in the rest of the room, hands planted on her hips Wonder Woman style, because power poses are totally gonna be lesson two.

Her eyes find their way to Bruce easily enough, which makes sense seeing as how his scowl takes up half the room. Any room. Okay, at this point she's willing to jot that whole might have issues thing down as okay so maybe she definitely has unresolved issues with Bruce. So what? She also has a protege, albeit one who probably does need some more convincing to fully be on board, but the point remains that like. Whatever. Suck her entire ass.

“Well,” she declares loftily, as if she’s not just talking directly to the B-Man. Plausible deniability, yo. Just because she’s willing to admit to herself that she maybe definitely has issues to still sort through, that doesn’t mean she has to like. Go around admitting that to other people. She’s not some kind of heathen. “I trust that we’ll all remember where we were when it was undeniably revealed that I, Stephanie Brown, do in fact have Wisdom and Experiences to share with the youths of tomorrow. As that is a thing that just happened. Lo!”

“I have witnesses,” Steph declares with the dial set all the way to Peak Drama, because look, if you can’t lean into the drama in Wayne Freaking Manor, life is empty and meaningless and that’s gonna be her supervillain origin story, probably. She throws out an arm towards the rest of the table, encompassing the dual rows of expressions that could best be described as bemused - if she were being generous and also lying out her freaking ass.

Still, she stands firm in the silence that follows her ringing proclamation, allowing not the slightest hint of self-consciousness slip free of her self control, because she’d literally just made a big deal about how it was all about committing, and Stephanie Brown might be many things, but a hypocrite is not one of them.

Well, other than - nope. Not doing that again. Upon reflection and careful examination of what really matters, accuracy also can be invited to suck the proverbial it.

Besides, there’s too much at stake for her to allow any weakness to betray her now. This is a momentous moment. Clash of the Stubbornness kinda stuff. She’s facing down Punky Brucester himself, and on his own turf of all places. Things like principles....and...and being right, all hang in the balance.

And yes, Stephanie is well aware that she has left even Peak Drama in the dust aeons ago, and they’re deep in uncharted waters now, with like, here there be dragons, lurking dramatically. So what if she’s being ridiculous? She maintains that he had started it, she’s like 99% she is being not at all irrational and unreasonable about that, and by God, she will have her vindication or she will have....whatever the tail end of that cliche goes like. Unless its death, because she kinda sorta already did that, and as far as she’s concerned it counted, and either way, she’s way over it and not looking for reruns.

All the while, Bruce stares her down with his face doing that resting I’m Judging You Face thing that nobody can be that oblivious to walking around with all the time, no matter what they may claim in liar-esque fashion.

Though, for all her various unresolved issues with him or whatever, she can admit to herself that the man is a goddamn master of conveying a bitch could care less. She’d sat on gargoyles that had served more face than Mr. I Could Be Listening To You Right Now or I Could Actually Be Thinking Boring Rich Asshole Stuff Like Whats Up With the Stock Market Today, LOL You’ll Never Know.

She upgrades her ‘Think About Issues’ notification to a maybe consider talking to someone about some of this stuff level.

When Bruce’s carefully placid facade finally breaks, then, it doesn’t break so much as it freaking shatters. Further evidence of this definitely being her superpower, which means time to move on to asking like, ugh why such an obnoxiously specific superpower, tho.

“She doesn’t even live here!” Bruce thunders again. Or some synonym that still means loud and forceful but also being desperate and totes whining. The Big Guy turns to face his children imploringly. He throws an arm in Steph’s direction for accusatory emphasis. Y’know. All dramatic like.

Oh shit. Maybe she did pick up some things from him after all.

Ugh. Okay, never mind, its definitely epiphanies that are gonna be her supervillain origin story. Seriously.

Fuck those guys.

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